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fruitcoops · 3 years

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hi eve! i was wondering if you would be interested in writing a coops shower fic, nothing smutty, just really soft and sensual and maybe comforting. i’m going through a tough time right now and your writing always cheers me up. thanks <3

Yes! This was combined with an ask for Coops' first day/ night living together--I hope you enjoy! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove

TW for showering together (nothing smutty, just fluff)

They tumbled through the front door in a mess of laughter and rainwater—Remus’ soaked sneakers slipped on the floor and he skidded into Sirius, who was still blinded by the damp hair hanging in his eyes. “Shit!” Remus spluttered around his breathless grin as they struggled to keep their balance. “Baby, baby, grab the door—”

The front door slammed shut and steadied them just as another bolt of lightning cracked overhead; they stood in the entrance, panting and drenched, before Sirius’ chest began to shake beneath Remus’ cheek once more. “Mon dieu,” he snickered, leaning his head back against the heavy wood. “Which god did we piss off?”

“I’m taking this as a good sign.” Remus shivered as he shook his raincoat out on the welcome mat. “A fresh start, and all that symbolism.”

“Okay, college boy.”

He peeled one wet sock off and snapped it at Sirius’ hip, but the extra water weight made him miss by a mile and Sirius just shot him a teasing grin while he wriggled out of his tshirt. “I told you to bring a jacket,” Remus said wryly as his head got stuck. “But oh no, sweetheart, it’s totally not going to rain today. The weatherman is always wrong, it’s been sunny all week—”

“Alright, alright,” Sirius grumbled from the depths of wet fabric, waving one hand in his general direction. “You’re very smart.”

“Do you want first shower?”

Sirius’ cheeks were pink when he finally freed himself, both from his efforts and their mad five-block dash home. His brows furrowed in confusion. “Aren’t we showering together?”

Remus shrugged. “Hey, it’s your house.”

“Our house,” he corrected, taking the hem of Remus’ shirt and helping him pull it over his head.

A little flurry of joy ran through Remus’ gut at his words; goosebumps broke out over his freezing skin, and he could feel a dopey smile spread over his face. Ours. Most of his stuff had been living at Sirius’ for a couple days, but he had only brought the last of it over and dropped his key off with his landlord that morning. The last six hours had been filled with delirious happiness every time he remembered. “Then lead the way, captain.”

Sirius kissed his chilly nose and took him by the hand—both their palms were clammy and half-numb from the rain, and Remus didn’t care one bit. Stripping down was significantly more difficult when every article of clothing seemed dead-set on becoming a second skin, but after a handful of minor mishaps and more than one muffled curse, they were finally standing under warm water.

Remus closed his eyes with a sigh, letting the steam wrap around every inch of him. His apartment may have been comfortable, but it was severely lacking in water pressure and heat compared to Sirius’ house.

Our house.

He hummed to himself and stepped back until his shoulder blades were pressed to Sirius’ chest; there was a low laugh, then callused fingers running through his hair. “What are you thinking about?”

“Our house,” he answered, turning to stand on his toes and place a kiss to Sirius’ lips. It was chaste and unhurried; there was no time constraint on how long they could spend there. Remus didn’t have to worry about getting home too late, or whether he had brought enough stuff to stay the night. Everything he wanted was within reach.

Sirius smiled against his lips and draped his arms over Remus’ shoulders, tugging playfully on the wet curls at the base of his neck. “Good thoughts?”

“Always,” he said immediately. “This is…it’s so good, Sirius. So good. I am so happy.”

Their next kiss was deeper, but there was no real heat behind it, even as Remus curled his hands around the sharp peaks of Sirius’ hips. “I love you,” Sirius murmured when they pulled back for air. He bumped their noses together. “And I can’t wait to have you here all the time.”

“You don’t have to wait at all.”

His grin widened and he kissed Remus again. “I know.”

Remus nuzzled into the side of his neck and relaxed into the soapy slide of Sirius’ hand down his spine. He hadn’t realized how cold he was until the hot water started pouring over him, and sudden sleepiness trickled into the edges of his thoughts like rain through a gutter. The steam turned minty fresh as Sirius washed the expanse of his shoulders, then his neck, then all the way down each arm; he dropped a teasing pinch to Remus’ ass, but moved right back up to rub his thumb in the crook of one elbow.

“Do you want me to wash your hair?” he asked quietly against Remus’ temple.

“Mmm, please,” was all Remus could muster in response.

He had never really understood the hype about physical affection before he met Sirius. Sure, hugs from his parents and Jules were amazing, and fist bumps from the guys always made him feel included, but the gravitational pull Sirius had was like nothing he had ever felt. It was impossible to be uncomfortable if Remus was within five feet of him—impossible to feel unsafe when he fit so neatly in the dip of one shoulder.

“Love you,” he said around a slow exhale as Sirius began combing the conditioner through his hair. It was almost long enough to flop into his eyes, something that seemed to delight Sirius any time he saw it.

Warm lips brushed the shell of his ear for a moment. “You smell like la lavande.”

“Lavender?” Sirius hummed his approval and Remus raised his head just enough to kiss the water off his collarbone. “Do you like it?”

“Love it.” Sirius glanced down at him with a sideways smile, making one dimple pop. “Love you. Where did you get this?”

“Walgreens.”

That startled a laugh from him, which set Remus off as well. “Walgreens? Really?”

“I ran out one day at, like, midnight and it was the closest place. It smelled nice, so I just kept on buying it.”

Sirius shook his head with the same awed look on his face. “The secret to illegally soft hair is Walgreens conditioner. Amazing. My hair would riot.”

Remus frowned. “Your hair looks incredible even after you swim in salt water all day.”

“And then it tangles, and frizzes, and—” He paused. “Comment dit-on une colère? Like a toddler?”

“A tantrum?”

“Ouais.” Remus tilted his chin back obediently to let him wash the conditioner out. “It throws a tantrum. See, this is why I need you around all the time.”

“I have never seen your hair throw a tantrum before.” Sirius’ cheeks flushed and he bit his lip around a smile; Remus poked him lightly in the chest. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s an awfully big smile for nothing.”

His silver eyes shone as he placed yet another gentle kiss to Remus’ lips through the water running down both their faces. “You get to see it all the time now. No more going back to your apartment after we go places.”

“You’ll be subjected to my bedhead every morning,” Remus teased, resting their foreheads together as he reached for the soap.

“I love your bedhead.”

“I’m counting on it.” He took the bar of soap and ran it along the planes of Sirius’ chest, then around his back to trace every muscle. He could feel Sirius’ gaze on him with each movement and warmed from the inside out at the attention. Every bit of rainy cold that had snuck under his skin vanished in the minutes of comfortable quiet.

Thunder rolled through the sky when they finally turned the shower off and wrapped up in Sirius’ fluffiest towels—Remus’ own were significantly less fancy, but they remained in the linen closet on equal standing. It was silent things like that that made him love Sirius just a little bit more.

“Wait, wait, hang on,” he said as Sirius started pulling his sweatpants on.

“Hey!” Sirius protested when Remus took both the pants and his soft tshirt right out of his hands, winding the towel back around his waist with an awkward hop. “I’m going to get cold!”

“Five minutes!” Remus called over his shoulder as he hurried down the stairs with their clothes. “I promise it’s worth it!”

It would be a drizzly night; grand plans of takeout and a movie ran through his head and he did a small happy dance in the laundry room as he tossed their clothes in the dryer. His dryer. Their dryer. “Mine,” he murmured, running a hand over the top of the machine. It was a wild thought, and one he would have to get used to. He still instinctively checked the clock from time to time before remembering that he would be staying for—

Forever.

The thought came before Remus could really process it and he leaned against the dryer with an unsteady breath. It was only his first real day in the house, and already he was thinking about…that. About staying forever. It wasn’t as scary as he had imagined.

“Mon loup?” Sirius peeked around the doorjamb in confusion, still fiddling with the tucked side of his towel. “What are you doing?”

“It’s a trick that I learned from my mom,” Remus said rather than getting into the specific train of thought that probably left him looking like he had been whacked with a frying pan. “Do you want to do takeout for dinner?”

“I…kind of wanted to get dressed.”

Remus patted his hip as he passed. “Five minutes, baby. Where should we eat?”

“You pick.”

Forty minutes later, Remus found himself tucked under the blanket his mother had given him when he went away for college with his boyfriend and a box of takeout Thai food. Their clothes were still warm from the dryer—he would never forget the pure bliss on Sirius’ face when he got dressed and was instantly cocooned in heat—and Sirius’ hair was still half-damp from their shower, curling in little wings over his ears. It felt like worlds colliding. Somehow, Remus was just fine with that.

“Hey,” he said quietly as the exposition continued on screen. Sirius glanced over with his fork halfway to his mouth. “This is perfect.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looked around the living room—their living room—that had seemed so empty the first time he saw it. They could put pictures on the wall by the back door, and one box of his books still laid unopened by the shelves. He could bring out his grandmother’s quilt in the winter. A month from then, two months, ten months. “I’m happy here.”

Sirius’ breath caught for a moment before a hoodie-clad arm slid between Remus’ back and the couch and guided him over to rest his head on Sirius’ chest. His lips were slightly spicy from the curry when he kissed him. “I’m happy when you’re here,” Sirius said, hardly above a whisper. “I miss you when you’re not.”

Remus breathed in the smell of his—their—laundry detergent and felt his heart give a hard thump. “You don’t have to miss me anymore.”

“C’mere.” There was a shuffle as Sirius set both their food boxes on the coffee table and paused the movie, then shifted around so Remus was laying on his chest. He pulled the blanket all the way up to their shoulders and slipped one warm hand up Remus’ shirt to rest on the small of his back; his eyes were bright in the semi-darkness. “Stay with me.”

Remus didn’t hesitate. “Always.”

#remus lupin #sirius black #coops #sweater weather #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #living together #shower #rainy day

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lumosinlove · 3 years

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Vaincre

It’s here!! Thank you all for the support of this universe, it truly means so very much to me. Every time I get a comment, or get to read the fan fiction you all write, see the art you create...it just fills me with so much joy. I’m so excited to share the Sweater Weather sequel with you, Vaincre! Go Lions!

cw: brief mention of past injury and past abuse

part i: July

I’ve been holding my breath

I’ve been counting to ten

The media wasn’t kind. There were network shows and blogs. Magazines and papers and podcasts. Not to mention Twitter.

Remus had heard his name on all of them, even if he wasn’t listening. It was part of Alice’s job to make sure he knew what was being said about him. It was his job to tune most of it out. Some outrage. Some elation. Some confusion.

This is my question, one podcast asked. I mean, I’m happy for Black. Lupin, too. I’m happy for the hockey world to have this happen, it’s about time, I mean, tune it, come on, and all that.

I’m confused about the, you know, ‘let’s put the PT on the roster.’ I’ve seen college clips, like, those have been released, we know that he got injured, we know all that. He’s fast, we know that, too. But a lot of guys are fast.

Just…what a move by Coach Weasley. A good move? I don’t know. I really don’t know.

Remus had always loved to run. It cleared his head. It had been one of the forms of exercise he had been able to do first once his shoulder had healed, before weights or any sort of strength training. His therapists had recommended it. Endorphins, they had said.

But Remus liked it because it was the closest he had been able to get to gliding on the ice, even when he still couldn’t stand to even look at a rink.

A good move? I don’t know. I really don’t know.

Remus was used to not knowing. He was beginning to think he thrived on it. Would he play hockey again? Would he ever find love? Would Sirius want him?

Was this really happening?

He didn’t think of dreams as coming so late, but, then again, why should dreams be put on any sort of time schedule?

Now, he banged out the screen door and onto the rickety, well-loved porch of the lake house that had been passed down through his family for years. His mother and her brothers split it up in the summer, overlapping for a week or so, and there were always little gifts left behind for each family at the trade-off. A bottle of the best maple syrup, or some of the local honey. They were small, but Remus smiled when he saw what his uncle and aunt and cousins had left for him and Sirius after his parents and Julian had given them the month of July with the house to themselves. A little flower arrangement with two hockey sticks, carved out of wood, sticking up in the middle.

Sirius had plucked one from the dirt, twirled it over in his fingers, and smiled.

“Your family will never stop surprising me.”

Green Lake was deep, prime for fishing, and gorgeous. The smell of the water, of the soil and sweet summer air was as good as home to Remus. He breathed it in now as he bent to lace up his sneakers. He could smell the fire pit that they had lit last night, one that he and Julian had roasted thousands of marshmallows over.

“I showed Jules how to roast the perfect marshmallow here,” Remus had said that first July night, leaning back against Sirius’ chest.

Sirius had blew out his burnt-black one. “Like this?”

Remus had scoffed. “No, you heathen.”

Sirius looked good here, surrounded by the woods and rusty cabin, wearing the old fleeces that never seemed to leave this place for when the sun had yet to warm the chilly mornings. Some mornings, they’d make their coffee, tangle their socked feet together on the small couch until the sun began to get high and they’d strip it all off in favor of swimsuits and sunscreen. Other mornings, Remus would rise, pressing a gentle kiss to Sirius’ sleeping face, and take to the dirt road that ran around the lake.

Sirius, just off of the hard won playoffs, needed to rest. Remus needed to train.

A good move? I don’t know. I really don’t know.

They would leave in two days for Pascal’s Cup Day celebration, and then to meet Remus’ parents, his little brother Julian, and Regulus back in Gryffindor for Sirius’ Cup Day. And August training. Remus stretched his hands to his toes and closed his eyes. A strange type of adrenaline filled him whenever he thought about practicing with the team, about the fitness tests that would come first. He’d have to prove himself again and again. He wanted to. But part of him wondered what would happen if he couldn’t.

The screen door squeaked open and shut again, and Remus jumped, looking up to find Sirius, still sleep rumpled, standing there in running shorts.

Remus laughed, reaching up to trace a pillow crease in his cheek. “You’re supposed to be sleeping in while you can.”

Sirius let out a grumbly sort of yawn and gathered his hair, long from the summer and just brushing his chin now, back into a small half-up bun.

“I can’t believe you do this before coffee.”

“Too acidic. Gives you running stitches.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sirius sighed, and threw his arm around Remus’ shoulders as they walked up the steep driveway to the road.

Remus kissed his wrist. “I’ll miss being here with you.”

Sirius smiled. He was tan from the summer, hair dark as ever and his skin sun-kissed.

Remus leaned into his shoulder. “I mean look at you. I like seeing you this relaxed.”

Sirius bit his lip as the rounded a bend, waving at Mrs. Barrow, who was tending to her garden.

“I don’t think I knew I could be this relaxed,” Sirius admitted. “It was always train, train, train, you didn’t get a Cup, try harder.”

Remus was familiar with the notes that appeared in Sirius’ voice now from years of Sirius’ small slips in conversation, even when, to Remus, Sirius had only been they youngest captain in the league, cold and reserved from even more years of his father’s abusive, relentless attitude towards hockey and Sirius’ skills. Even when Remus had only been the team’s physical therapist, closeted, crushing on Sirius, and surprised by the cracks Sirius showed when he had gotten his ankle smashed by Severus Snape, Captain of the Slytherin Snakes—the Gryffindor Lions greatest rivalry. Pain, it had seemed, and fear of never stepping on the ice again, had given Remus his first glimpses into a different Sirius beneath it all, a boy who was filled with much more than just a need to win, but for whom the want of winning only made him love his sport, and his team, more.

“And now that you have a Cup?” Remus asked. “How’re you feeling?”

They came to the road and Sirius balanced on one foot, stretching his thigh. “Now that I have you,” he said. “I’m feeling just fine.”

Remus snorted. “Yeah, the Stanley Cup Champion part has nothing to do with it.”

Sirius laughed, but took Remus’ face between his palms. “If I didn’t have you, and I had only a Cup, all I would be doing right now is thinking about another Cup.”

Remus put a hand on his chest, fingers finding the number twelve pendant that rested there.

“Now, there’s more,” Sirius said simply, and leaned down for a tender kiss. “Like your mother’s peach pie.”

Remus punched him in the arm as Sirius laughed loudly.

“You’ll have to beat me if you want a slice of that!” Remus called as he took off.

Sirius made a wounded noise, but sprinted after him until they were side by side again.

“I don’t think I can leave this beach,” Leo mumbled into the lounging cabana they were spread out beneath, and Logan looked down at him from where he was reading—trying to read—one of the books Finn had given him. He didn’t know how many books Finn had tried to get him to read over the years, but he knew he never made it through more than a few pages without looking up, getting distracted, or having to go back.

“Non?” Logan asked.

Leo shook his head. “The sun. The sea. I’m in heaven.”

“What about hockey?”

“Brr.”

Logan laughed and settled back into the pillows, setting the book aside and rolling towards Leo to feel his sun-warmed back and leaned down to kiss his temple. A private beach definitely had its perks—and so did three hockey salaries.

“We’ll just stay here, then.”

They’d had a good summer. Leo’s Cup Day, Finn’s, his own, all in their hometowns and accompanied by large parades and fanfare. Logan had finally gotten to take Leo home to his sisters and parents for the first time. It had been nice to see Finn around his family again, too, after what felt like eons of avoiding him in that small gap between being at Harvard and then them both making it to the NHL, and to the Lions.

Leo’s sleepy smile up at him melted Logan like ice in the sun.

“Okay, good,” Leo said, then his eyes went behind Logan. “There’s the ghost-on-toast with our drinks.”

Logan snorted and looked up to see Finn—and Finn’s tiny blue swim shorts that he insisted weren’t see-through—walking towards them through the sand from the resort bar with a tray of drinks in his hands.

“Hey, lover-nuts,” Finn said as he set the tray down in the shade. “Got us some snacks, too. That bar tender loves me.”

“You are so pale,” Leo laughed. “I love you, though, please put more sunscreen on.”

“Keep your sandy feet off my towel,” Logan nudged Finn’s foot with his own as he reached for his drink. Finn just smiled and nodded at the book.

“How is it?” Finn asked.

Logan just looked at him.

He laughed and ran a hand through Logan’s salty, damp hair. “I know. I’ll read it to you later. I just thought you might want something for the beach!”

Logan held up his cocktail. “I have something for the beach.”

They settled back under their cabana, the thin, white linen curtains fluttering around them in the three o’clock breeze. Maybe Logan, as he closed his eyes between Leo and Finn, Leo’s hand still on his thigh, Finn’s arm pillowing the back of his neck, never wanted to leave this beach, either.

“Back to Gryffindor tomorrow,” Logan said.

“Group chat says most guys’ll be back this week,” Finn said, squinting at his phone over his sunglasses. “We gotta be back for Dumo’s, and then Cap’s Cup Day. That’ll be nice, man.”

“I like that they’re bringing it to Gryffindor Pride,” Leo said, rolling onto his back. “Should have thought of that. Or, I guess…” Leo trailed off and Logan frowned. They couldn’t do that. Not yet, at least. Leo caught Logan’s expression and rested a reassuring hand on his thigh. “I’m glad we get to go, even if its for them on the surface. That’s real thoughtful of them, you know?”

Logan nodded. It was thoughtful. When Remus and Sirius had brought it up to them, he’d found himself getting a little choked up.

“We want you guys to be able to experience that, too,” Remus had said. “If you want. No matter what you decide to do public-wise in the future.”

Finn clicked his phone off and chucked it to the side. “Hey, don’t take me off island time yet. We’ll order to the room, eat on the deck, hike up and stargaze…”

Finn rattled off the perfect list, tilting towards Logan until their lips met.

“And then we’ll go win another Cup.”

Leo and Logan punched him at the same time.

Thomas sat in the shade with Kasey as they watched Alex try to take on Natalie and Noelle at pool basketball.

“I really think they’re going to accidentally drown him,” Thomas said thoughtfully.

“He probably thinks that, too, and is just too competitive to stop,” Kasey replied.

Thomas laughed, and held out his beer to cheers.

“This is a nice house the O’Haras have, man,” he looked at the sparkling ocean beyond the steps and fence, and at the pool with the grill and lounge chairs. They’d only come up for the weekend, between training and visiting their own families, and before returning to Gryffindor for the season.

“Tell me about it.”

“Cheating!” Alex spluttered from the pool as Natalie put all of her weight on him to dunk him under the water. Alex pointed very seriously to the foot marker on the side tile. “We agreed from that to Thomas’ chair, I was too far away!”

“Too bad!” Noelle shouted as she made another basket.

Thomas didn’t think it was the alcohol that made him feel a little fuzzy at the edges as he looked over her in her swimsuit. She was all curves of tanned muscle, softened the summer around her stomach and arms. Thomas was a goner. But she seemed pretty gone, too, so he guessed it was all right.

“This moment’s always rough,” Kasey said softly from beside him, and when Thomas looked at him questioningly, he gestured vaguely with his beer. “The end of July. One more month, but not really. Alex’ll go back for training, you know? It’s like a trick. I always think, I get three months with these two. But it’s more like two and the first week of August.”

Thomas nodded. “I know. Noelle, too. Her training camp starts on the eight. I’m just…”

Kasey sighed in sympathy.

“At least you have Nat, you know?” Thomas said. “Not that I’m saying you have it easier, I just…”

Kasey shook his head. “I know. Believe me, I’m thankful for that every day. But…when you miss someone, you miss someone.”

Thomas nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, exactly.”

Last season hadn’t been too bad. His relationship with Noelle had been new. They only really knew FaceTime dates, and squeezed in weekend flights that sometimes left them more exhausted than sated. They had been taking it slow. Thomas had been kissed by Noelle—a lot. Enough to make him dizzy with it. Only, then she’d met him at the airport in Quebec, they’d spent a month with her family in France…

And Thomas wasn’t sure he knew how to do just FaceTime anymore. There was a new yearning, knotted just below his heart. He knew what her skin felt like under his hands now, knew what she looked like right when she waked up, even her skincare routine before bed. It would feel like being away from the ice for too long, the knot pulling tight. He thought this year was going to be harder. Maybe he knew it, but if he did, he was pretending it might be easy still.

“T,” Noelle called, floating on her back, dark hair fanned out in the water. “C’mere!”

Thomas smiled, setting his drink down. He would come, whenever she called. Wherever.

Cole Reyes didn’t know if Adele Dumais staring at him the way she was was a good thing, or a bad thing. He was nervous enough without the seemingly disapproval of Pascal Dumais'—the Pascal Dumais of the Gryffindor Lions, oldest player in the league—teenage daughter.

“Don’t you talk?” Marc, one of his sons, asked.

Cole blinked. “Uh. Yeah. Yeah.”

Adele waved her brother off. “They’re always super nervous at first. Remember Sirius?”

Marc scoffed. “I was a baby.”

Cole let out a breath. Now they were casually talking about Sirius Black, who had lived in the very room Cole had been sleeping in for a week now when he was a rookie, too. It was the same with Logan Tremblay. He felt like he needed to keep the room pristine, like he was living in some Hockey Hall of Fame museum that he had not earned the right to be in yet.

“You’re still a baby,” Adele shot back.

“Kids,” came Celeste, Pascal’s wife’s voice from where she was setting the table. “Come on now.”

“Sorry, maman,” Marc said softly.

“Sorry,” Adele sighed more reluctantly.

“Go help your father with the grill, you two,” she said. “Everyone will be arriving soon.”

Katie, Celeste and Pascal’s youngest daughter, perked up from where she was sitting beside Cole, drawing. Not Pascal, Dumo—Cole kept having to remind himself that he could call Pascal by his nickname now, that it was all official, that he was a Gryffindor Lion, too. Katie hadn’t left his side since he arrived a week ago to billet with the Dumais, and he still wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“Even the Cup?” she asked.

Celeste laughed. “Oui, ma cherie. Cole? Would you mind going to get the flowers for the table? They’re on the kitchen counter, just inside.”

“Oh, sure, Mrs. Dumais,” Cole nodded, glad for something to do. The thought of the Cup arriving gave him the chills. He’d have to be careful not to touch it. He was scared to even look at it, to be honest. His mom would be laughing at him right about now. He wanted to call her afterwards, tell her everything.

“Call me Celeste, I told you, please,” Celeste smiled. She was lovely, with her dark hair twisted and clipped up and a summer dress as green as her eyes, silky against her olive skin.

Cole flushed, but smiled. “Celeste.”

Cole made his way through the sliding door from the back yard and through the dining room. The kitchen was one of the biggest rooms in the house—and it was a big house. Beautiful copper pans hung shining above the island, along with some herbs that Celeste grew and dried herself. It looked like something out of a magazine to Cole, and it was nice, but it wouldn’t beat his mom’s kitchen in the small apartment they shared in Boston. The small space would fill up to the brim with the smell of spices, or cobbler. The thought sent a pang right to his heart. He missed home, that was for sure. After being away for so long, for so many hockey camps, he’d hoped he would be more used to it by now.

The flowers were right where Celeste had said they would be, and he was reaching for one when the back door that led to the garage dinged open. Cole froze, sure that he was about to run into captain Sirius Black completely unprepared, when a girl stepped through instead. She was dressed in denim shorts and a white tank top, had dark brown skin, and a Gryffindor College hat over her hair, which was plaited back into many small braids.

She smiled when she saw him. No sign of surprised, or of the nervousness Cole felt when he met basically anyone.

“You must be Cole,” she said.

Cole nodded. The girl was gorgeous. Cole was a mess of nerves already. He didn’t need the stare of the teenage daughter of one of his idols, but he especially could not handle a beautiful girl right now.

“Yeah,” Cole said. “No, yeah, um. Yes.”

The girl strode forward, setting her bag down on the counter, along with a water bottle decorated in stickers. He caught a few Lions ones. She offered her hand, which was slender and had two golden rings on it. “I’m Layla. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Cole took it, trying to place her. “Nice to meet you.”

“Oh, I babysit for the Dumais family,” she said in explanation, then waved her hand. “Well, this year, at least. I’m actually—we’re going to be working together.”

Cole blinked. “You mean the Lions?”

She nodded. “I’m in the middle of my undergrad for physical therapy. Dumo’s amazing and he got me an internship under the new PT. You know. I’ll probably get you stick tape or something,” she laughed. “Congrats, by the way.”

Cole tilted his head and she raised an eyebrow.

“On making it to the NHL?”

“Oh,” Cole laughed. “Oh, I, yeah, thanks. You, too—or…yeah.”

Cole was going to stay in his room in the basement and never come out.

“I gotta—Mrs. Du—Celeste wants these flowers outside,” he said, picking the vases up.

“Sure thing,” Layla smiled.

“Layla,” came a shriek, and a moment later Katie Dumais came sprinting into the kitchen and wrapped herself around Layla’s legs and smiled at Cole. “This is my new hockey player.”

Cole couldn’t help but laugh. He didn’t have a lot of experience with kids, but Katie sure was cute.

“Yours?” Layla gasped as she smiled at Cole. “He’s all yours, is he?”

Katie nodded. “Like Tremzy and Sirius. His name is Cole, like when Santa Clause doesn’t like you.”

Again, with the casual mentions of Logan Tremblay and Sirius Black.

“Oh, of course,” Layla laughed. “Well, I’m sure Santa Clause has never not liked you, babes. Let’s go let your mom know I’m here, okay? Your new hockey player can come with us, too.”

“He’s yours, too!” Katie insisted. “You’re here all the time, so he’s yours, too, don’t worry.”

“Oh, good,” Layla said. “I was worried.”

When Katie looked at Cole expectedly, Cole managed, “I guess everyone does need a hockey player?”

“Exactly!” Katie squealed, and Cole could only follow them outside, heart pounding.

It was good to be back in Gryffindor. Remus and Sirius had dropped their bags in Sirius’ entryway, said hello to Regulus, showered, and then hopped right back in the car to get to Pascal’s house.

“You two look disgustingly happy,” Regulus said, leaning forward from the back seat.

“We are,” Sirius grinned at him in the review mirror. “I am also happy,” he stroked the leather steering wheel of his Range Rover. “To be back with this baby.”

While Sirius’ hair had grown longer, Regulus had shaved his short. The curls were barely curls at all anymore, but Remus was happy to see that his seemingly ever-present dark circles had receded some.

“Why, thank you, Regulus, you look happy, too,” Remus snorted. “When do you leave for NYU’s orientation?”

“August 23rd,” he said. “Been texting with my housemates, too. They seem cool.”

“Maybe one of you will pull a Finn and fall in love with each other,” Sirius said.

“Twice,” Remus laughed, and Regulus did, too.

“I think I’ve had enough romance drama to last me a life time, thanks,” Regulus smiled. “But, yeah. I’m just…I’m focused on friends right now, I think. Normal, non-hockey creatures like you two. But that’s not to say if something came up…or I guess someone. Who knows.”

Sirius’ smile was softer this time. “Focus on whatever you want, Reg. You deserve it.”

Regulus just grumbled something about hockey gods, and then they were pulling up to the Dumais’. There were silver and white balloons lining the driveway and the fence to the backyard where, as Remus slammed his door, he could already hear laughter. A zing of excitement shot through him.

“I missed this team,” he sighed as Sirius took his hand.

Sirius pressed a kiss to his temple. “Your team.”

“Our team.”

“Jesus Christ,” Regulus said, and gave them a shove forward.

Thomas gave a loud woop when he spotted them coming out to the backyard. Regulus immediately made a B-line towards Leo and the Cubs.

“Yes! The Captain!” Thomas said and pulled Sirius into a hug. “Missed you, man.”

“You, too, T,” Sirius said. “Ready to tear it up?”

“You know it.”

Remus smiled as Thomas hugged him next. “I forgot you two train together before pre-season.”

“You two?” Thomas raised an eyebrow, the small gold hoops in his ears glinting in the sun. Remus noticed he’d shaved three stripes into one side of his head. They were a little wobbly. Maybe Noelle had done it. “You’re not coming with us?”

“You know how this one is about his routines,” Remus said, wrapping an arm around Sirius’ waist. “Wouldn’t want to mess anything up.”

“Please,” Sirius said. “I want you there more than I want a second—”

Remus and Thomas punched him at the same time.

“I know you weren’t just about to say that,” said an accented voice from behind Remus, and they turned to see Pascal standing there. He looked as he always did, smile lines around his eyes, gray streaks at his temples. He wore a white t-shirt and had Katie on his hip. She was definitely getting too big to be carried around like that, but Remus couldn’t see a time when Pascal would ever refuse her. He’d probably carry Adele around like that, too, if she’d let him.

“Dumo,” Sirius smiled, and took the two beers he was holding out, handing one to Remus. He kissed Katie’s forehead. “Good summer?”

“The best,” Pascal laughed, and nodded towards the edge of the yard. “Especially with the promise of seeing that thing again.”

Remus followed his gaze, and his breath caught, just as he knew it would. The Cup stood there, its guards near by with drinks and plates of food in their hands. It sat proudly on a table, surrounded by white tulips—no doubt Celeste’s doing.

“I’m excited to see you two bring it to the parade,” Pascal said. “That will be a wonderful day for everyone.”

Remus glanced at where Logan, Leo, and Finn were standing with Kasey Winter, Gryffindor’s goalie, and his partners Natalie, with her long blonde hair, and Finn’s brother Alex, who played for Tampa Bay.

Sirius’ smile lit up his face. “It will be.”

Remus peered around him. “Is that our rookie?”

Sirius scoffed. “A rookie can’t call a fellow rookie rookie, rookie.”

Remus blinked. “What did you just say?”

“That’s Cole!” Katie said. “I love him.” Then she turned and shouted his name again. He looked up from where he was standing quietly beside Jackson Nadeau, another player, and Remus suppressed a smile at the way his eyes widened when he saw Sirius.

“Oh, here we go,” Sirius mumbled.

“Oh, hush,” Remus said, and sounded far too much like his mother to himself. “You’re going to be throwing hands for him the second someone gets close, and you know it.”

“I don’t know how to tell rookies I’m just a person!” Sirius whispered as Cole began to make his way over. “They act all…”

“Star struck?” Thomas offered.

Sirius just glowered at him.

Cole Reyes did not look as young as he was. Even at 19, he was jacked, and tall, with light brown skin, green eyes, and a stripe shaved into one of his eyebrows. His hair was shaved at the sides, but longer on the top and in tight curls.

Remus glanced somewhat self-consciously down at himself. He could only put on more muscle healthily so fast. He thought he’d been doing well, but looking at Cole…

“Hello,” Cole said hesitantly and Pascal set Katie down and clapped Cole on the shoulder.

“Reyes, meet Sirius. Sirius, meet the boy who is a much better billet than you ever were.”

Sirius snorted, and Cole laughed—nervously.

“Hi, Cole,” Sirius said, and held out his hand. “I know we spoke briefly over the summer, but it’s nice to officially meet you.”

“You, too,” Cole said, smile slight. “Thanks for the call. My mom freaked out. I mean—well, me too, but my mom…” Cole stuttered out, wincing.

“Loves me?” Sirius laughed. “I get that a lot.”

“He’s so humble,” Remus shook his head jokingly. “Hi Cole, I’m Remus. Welcome to the team.”

“You too…?” Cole said hesitantly. “Well, the roster, I guess.”

“Cole,” Katie said, taking his large hand in her small one. “Come meet Tremzy. He’s my best friend.”

Sirius feigned a pout. “What about me?”

Katie smiled sheepishly, throwing herself at Sirius’ legs, “You, too!”

“Always one-uped by Tremblay,” Thomas laughed, shaking his head. “How’s it feel, Cap?”

“Wonderful,” Sirius said dryly and then looked down at Katie, petting her head. “Go on, go show Cole your best friend.”

They watched her lead Cole through the crowd for a moment before Sirius huffed.

“See?” Sirius whispered to Remus. “It’s like he’s scared of me.”

“I’ve never heard you use the phrase spoke briefly in my life. Who are you, Alice?”

“I was trying to be professional!”

Remus laughed. “Why?”

Sirius just rolled his eyes and dragged him over to stack their plates with food.

The party went well into the evening, the sky pink and blue in the setting sun. There were lanterns floating in the pool where Evgeni and Jackson were playing chicken with a delighted Marc and Louis, or sometimes one of Coach Arthur Weasley’s boys, on their shoulders. Logan was sitting with Cole and Finn, cradling a sleepy Katie against his chest, Leo and Regulus laughing with Kasey and Alex.

Remus found Sirius again standing alone in front of the Cup. His hair was falling into his face, the curls gentled by the evening breeze and the Cup’s silver surface reflecting the silver of Sirius’ eyes. Remus went to stand beside him, and neither of them spoke for a moment.

“I’m nervous,” Remus broke the silence.

Sirius nodded. “I know, mon loup.”

Remus sighed, resting his head against Sirius’ arm. “Yeah?”

“Of course,” Sirius switched his drink to his other hand so he could run his fingers through Remus’ hair. “This is…big.”

“It’s what I’ve always wanted,” Remus whispered. It felt dangerous, to say the words aloud. “It’s everything that I lost. Last time.”

Remus could still feel Fenrir Greyback rip at his shoulder, even if it was years ago now, while they were still at college. Being in the NHL meant that Remus would have to play against him again whenever they met Vegas.

Sirius turned towards him, hand on his cheek.

“You will have this,” he said earnestly, and then smile, reaching into his shirt for his necklace, the one Remus had gifted him last Christmas. He brought it to his lips. “Loops.”

Remus smiled at the now familiar sight, touching the pendant when Sirius’ let it drop.

“You know,” Remus said. “You’re everything I’ve always wanted, too.”

Sirius’ smile was one of Remus’ favorites, and he tucked him against his side. Remus followed his gaze to find him looking at Cole again.

“I’m not happy with the way it happened,” Sirius said softly, and Remus knew he was thinking of the pictures that someone had leaked of them kissing. The pictures that had upturned their entire lives. “But I’m glad I get to hold you like this in front of new faces. I wasn’t thinking about trades—I try not to—but getting Reyes, if things had been different, would have meant we were back to square one at parties like these.”

Remus nodded, taking a drink. “And he seemed okay with it. With us.”

“I was thinking we should invite him to train with us. With me, you, and T. Maybe Dumo would join, too. I know he usually goes with Sergei, but Sergei might be with Kuns and Nado, even though they usually like it just them. The Cubs—”

“Okay, Captain, okay,” Remus laughed.

Sirius pressed a hand over his eyes, laughing. “I just don’t like it when they’re nervous around me. Like Leo was. It’s so much better now that we’re friends.”

“You’ll get there with him,” Remus said. “Yeah, invite him to train with us. The more the merrier.”

Secretly, Remus wanted to see how Cole trained. He couldn’t shake the analytical side of him, the physical therapist side. Cole was built for such a young age.

“If I didn’t know better,” Sirius said softly, mouth close to Remus’ ear. “I’d say you were checking him out.”

Remus spluttered. “I’m not! I want to know his routine!”

Sirius cracked up. “This is your superstition, isn’t it? Cracking other player’s codes.”

Remus just shrugged, smiling into his cup.

“Have you cracked my code?” Sirius asked in the low voice he used that made Remus not want to be surrounded by people.

Remus looked up at him. “Maybe. It certainly has nothing to do with a piece of toast at five o’clock.”

“My pre-game toast is very important to me.”

Remus leaned up to press a quick kiss to his lips. “No, you just like honey and cinnamon.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Okay, I’m going to talk to Reyes now.”

“Catch him if he passes out.”

Sirius just glowered over his shoulder as he stalked across the grass. Remus looked around at the back yard, at the team, together again. His team.

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harrygroves · 3 years

Text

part four

part three

of course i did a part four of the willing victim Steve/ lifeguard Billy fic.

Max is getting ice cream with Lucas the next time she runs into Steve. They get to the front of the line, order, and Steve hands their respective cones to them with a smile.

“Oh, you got your name tag back.” She mentions casually, licking at her strawberry ice cream.

Steve looks down at his chest, like he’s confirming it’s there. “What?” He asks when he looks back at her.

“Your name tag.” She repeats, louder and more aggressive like she’s annoyed.

“I got it...back?” He prompts with a small shake of his head. Steve didn’t say anything to any of the kids, and Billy didn’t really seem like the type of brother to bond over a tub of ice cream and hair rollers while talking about all the mean shit he did that particular day.

“Yeah, it was in a box under Billy’s bed.” She says with a small shrug, like it’s no big deal.

Says it so calm and flippant that Steve doesn’t really understand at first.

Then he processes what she said.

It was in a box.

That’s weird.

Steve is caught up in his thoughts, heart deciding on it’s own to double in speed at this little revelation because it feels innately personal. Max and Lucas have the audacity to turn away and leave.

“Robin! Take the register!” Steve yells as they move through the crowd.

“Jesus, Steve, I’m right here!” Robin snaps back at him, no more than two feet away. She doesn’t ask where he’s going, just slides over to the register before realizing he’s not replacing her at the ice cream stand, then shouts after him to get your ass back here!

He ignores her and springs around the corner of the counter, chasing Max and Lucas who’re already heading out the door.

“Hey!” He yells after them.

He yells again when he exits the shop. They glance back and stop in their tracks, but they both appear confused and slightly concerned.

“Max!” He shouts, stopping in front of her. “Wait, explain.”

“Ex...plain?” She says.

Steve’s breathing is haggard, but it’s not the short jog, it’s this feeling that’s shooting through his body, a lightbulb goes off in his head that this is important. “Yeah, you said it was in a box under Billy’s bed?”

“Yeah, with like, a bunch of other weird shit. He never cleans his room.” She says with a disgusted face, a roll of her eyes.

“What else was in the box?” He asks.

“Uh…” She trails off, eyes defocusing like she’s trying to remember.

“What else?!” He yells at her. He doesn’t mean to do it, it just happens because of the roaring in his ears and the heat on his face. Whatwhatwhat???

“Okay! Okay!” She yells back, eyebrows drawing together, but she’s not mad, it’s more like wide-eyed concern. “Uh...there was like, I don't know, random shit. A party invite -- ”

“What did it say?” He interrupted.

“God, I don't remember, but I think it was, like...a Halloween party? And...um, there was one of those drawings from Will’s house, your name tag...a sock…”

“What?” Steve blurts out incredulously.

“Yeah, it was like a gold and green sock.” She tells him.

It’s his sock. It has to be. It went missing from his gym locker -- he kept thinking it had fallen out and the janitor had thrown it away. As for the other stuff...it sounds like a curated collection of items to remind Billy of...

“Oh!” She says, startling him out of his thoughts. “And your yearbook picture!” She says with a snap of her fingers.

“What?” Steve asks hollowly, but he’s no longer fired up. No. Now, it’s a molten heat pooling in his cheeks, tugging in his stomach, making the back of his knees quiver.

Oh.

Max starts babbling while Steve is having his mini panic attack. “Yeah, like, I really don't know what his problem is. I don't keep shit that reminds me of people I ha--”

She stops, mid-word and her eyes suddenly get really wide, mouth hanging open. Lucas’ mouth falls open in perfect mimicry.

“Holy shit.” She says. The ice cream is trailing down her hand. She doesn’t appear to notice.

“Max.” Steve starts.

“Oh my god.” She says thickly, a little aghast, volume rising. The ice cream is now dripping onto the floor.

“Max, look.” He tries again.

“I...Steve. I think--”

“Stop!” He puts both his hands up and she stops talking. “I know, I get it, okay? Look, I need you two to...keep this quiet, okay? Seriously, no telling the others. Just leave it alone, alright? I’ll give you free ice cream for the rest of the summer.”

They look at each other. Lucas tilts his head at her, she nods shortly in return and looks back to Steve after their silent discussion.

“A year.” Max negotiates.

Steve scoffs. “God, okay, a year. Just keep it zipped. Promise?”

They both nod and walk off, moving close together, heads bowed in deep conversation.

Holy fucking shit.

On Steve’s next day off, he goes to the pool. It’s blistering hot and the humidity hangs around through the afternoon, into the evening. The sky darkens a bit too quickly for this time of the year, thick gray clouds rolling in, the promise of a summer storm approaching.

He waits until the pool closes.

Pulls into the parking lot close to the end of the day, parks next to the Camaro and waits. Sweat drips slow down his back, gathers at his hairline. He’s in khaki shorts and a thin, white shirt but his body can’t keep cool.

He slides out of his car when the last round of children and teens trail out and he waits, barely breathing, ears perked, jaw tense as he listens to the shuffle of Billy moving chairs back in place, the plastic sounds of gathering up floating devices and shoving them into the shed.

He watches the tall lights around the perimeter of the pool turn off.

That’s when he makes his move.

Steve, limbs feeling sluggish and numb but his mind in overdrive, heart in his throat, pushes open the pool gate.

“We’re closed.” He hears Billy grumble before he sees him. He’s over by the employee entrance, facing away from Steve but he turns his body halfway, glancing over his shoulder to see who has interrupted his shutdown routine.

Steve freezes, unsure. Confused. Billy’s eyes lock him in place, and he can’t move. Steve feels like an animal suddenly caught in a trap, like one of those metal rabbit cages, the gate to the pool slamming shut behind him only amplifying the tension. A sound threatens to spill out of him, but it dies in his throat. The heat in the air has seeped into his lungs, filling them to burst.

“Harrington?” Billy chokes out with a lilt in his voice, one of surprise and anger at the same time. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

That seems to be Billy’s whole deal. He’s as equally happy as he is annoyed when Steve is around, and Steve’s been thinking about all those moments -- ones filled with jabs and shoves but also with glints of light in his eyes and suggestive tongue wagging; he leans in, takes up space, like he’s trying to make sure he’s the only thing Steve’s focused on.

And, well. Steve’s finally paying attention.

“Drowning.”

He’s positive that he said it aloud, but the thunder in his chest, the electric fizzle crackling in the air making the tips of his fingers feel fuzzy; it’s overstimulation, and he can’t be sure that he said it, only that he hears it come out of his mouth somewhere very far away.

Steve can’t even be sure if Billy heard him.

He walks forward and pitches himself into the deep end of the pool.

Steve hadn’t actually remembered to take a deep breath before doing this. He’d been too preoccupied with the way Billy was looking at him. Every thought in his head was solely focused on the curve of Billy’s back, the bulge of his calves, the angle of his long neck and the bob of his adam’s apple, the way his eyes bored into Steve when he realized who it was.

So now his dumbass is underwater and he doesn’t have any intention of coming up and it’s for two reasons: one, he wants Billy to jump in after him and two, he feels like an absolute moron for doing this and if he dies it’ll be a blessing. It’s a win-win.

He’s underwater for maybe a full fifteen seconds before getting a little worried that Billy isn’t coming to save him but then the water breaks next to him as Billy jumps in.

Steve watches as Billy swims down to him, staring at him through the water with a strange mix of bafflement and rage. Steve stares back, eyes stinging, letting bubbles of air fall out of his mouth and float between them. Billy grabs his arm roughly. The water is cold but the place where Billy holds him is warm, and he’s pulling Steve up to the surface.

They explode out of the water, Billy keeping his death grip on Steve’s arm.

“What the hell is your problem, Harrington?” He yells instantly, water splashing around them, rolling down his face.

Billy’s holding him close, their legs brush in the water below. Steve stares into his eyes, watches Billy’s face change between curious and irate, pensive and scared.

He hasn’t said anything -- he realizes this, and they both tread water while the low rumble of thunder builds around them.

Billy opens his mouth and starts to say Steve’s last name again but Steve pushes himself closer and slots his lips over Billy’s.

It’s unhinging.

They both taste of chlorine, Steve craning forward, the determined, wet weight of his mouth keeping him afloat as Billy’s hand relinquishes Steve’s arm. Steve doesn’t care though, solely preoccupied with the heated, damp feeling of Billy’s mouth balanced against his perfectly. Steve lets out a long, deep groan, the sound of it coming up from his chest, rumbling through him in a hum against Billy’s mouth.

Billy jerks his head back all of the sudden. Steve’s eyes slowly flick open, but Billy doesn’t explode the way Steve expects. He stares at Steve’s mouth, eyes heavy and lidded, mouth open. They continue to keep themselves afloat, bodies cutting through the water as they bob up and down.

The thunder grows louder.

Steve takes a deep breath and plunges himself below the water’s surface.

He stares at Billy’s torso, the swayed movement of his swim trunks for a moment before Billy lowers himself to match Steve head-on. For the first time ever, Billy doesn’t look angry, doesn’t look like he’s playing a game where only he knows the rules and the outcome. He looks...soft. His features aren’t tense, no pent-up emotion boxing his shoulders.

In this hastily-created private world they look at one another without apprehension for perhaps the first time in either of their lives. A crack of muddled lighting flashes above them, barely registering through the clouds and the water.

Billy swims forward and pushes his mouth against Steve’s.

It’s hard to properly kiss underwater. The space between them diminishes quickly. They don't grapple for one another, both too nervous but there’s hesitant slide of hands over bare planes of skin, the timid tangle of legs, eyes pinched shut.

They pull back at the same time and swim upwards, gasp in lungfuls of air simultaneously.

Steve doesn’t -- he can’t let Billy get away for too long, knows the moment will be broken so he moves back in, crowds close and kisses him, hands coming up to touch Billy’s shoulders. The soft pads of his fingers sink into his flesh, skid over the edge of his collarbone. Steve feels the tentative press of Billy’s fingers along his sides where his shirt has floated up. He opens his mouth, lets his tongue flash out and run against Billy’s bottom lip. Billy actually opens his mouth, let’s Steve teasingly dip his tongue in for the briefest moment and Billy makes this soft, strained noise against Steve’s mouth before jerking back again.

Apprehensive eye contact is exchanged before Billy starts swimming towards the edge of the pool, moving in skilled, even strokes.

Steve scrambles after him and hoists himself up onto the cement, and they both lay back against the warmed cement, staring at the sky. Steve lets his feet stay submerged in the water.

Time passes as the clouds roll and tumble past them, indistinguishable shape-shifting with sudden bursts of white lightning. Steve keeps trying to think of something to say but he’s coming up blank.

What the fuck is he doing?

Billy finally breaks the silence. “Like I said. The pool’s closed.” He says, sitting up. His face is angled away from Steve.

Steve sits up too, retracting his feet from the water, moving to stand in tandem with Billy, trying to decipher his tone, his body language, but he’s getting nothing. Billy is stoic, each movement purposeful as he starts walking away from Steve towards the employee building. Steve feels the moment pass, and finally -- the sky breaks. Soft rain starts coming down around them, dripping into the pool, cement exploding in dark circles.

Say something, Steve thinks angrily.

Billy stops walking, but he doesn’t look back. “Go home, Steve.” He says firmly before he starts walking again. A thread of lightning flashes, turning everything white and blue.

Say something! Steve’s mind screams.

Steve opens his mouth, but a loud crack of thunder steals his voice.

#i really need to come up with a title and move this thing over to A03 #harringrove #my fic

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obae-me · 4 years

Text

A Taste of His Own Medicine- Lucifer

I’d like to do one of these for each of the brothers because they’re all whiny babies who need to be taken care of. This one is based off the Daily Chats where Lucifer falls ill.

Lucifer was the first in the household to catch it. He had shown symptoms a few days before; not having the energy to scold Mammon, almost losing his balance while going up the stairs. It concerned you. Everyone else didn’t seem to notice, but you knew something was off.

You decided to go ask him what was wrong that night, and had even had made some of his favorite tea. You went straight to his bedroom and knocked on the door twice. No answer. His Study then, perhaps. So you headed there, passing the shelves of dusty tomes to see that the bookshelf that served as his secret entrance was wide open.

“Lucifer?” You called. He preferred when he could grant access other than anyone just waltzing in themselves. There was no response to your announcement. “Lucifer?” You asked again, your voice slightly louder. You couldn’t help but peek inside. Instead of behind his desk in his overly grandiose chair, Lucifer was on the ground, surrounded by what should’ve been a stack of papers, but now was a scattered mess on the floor.

Gently putting the teacups aside, you rush to him, moving him onto his back so you could better look at his face. You shouted his name in an attempt to wake him. “Lucifer!” He didn’t move. His cheeks were stark red while the rest of him was deadly pale. You checked his breathing, constant, luckily, but shaky. You placed your hand on his forehead, feeling his skin burning. Your hand drifted down to his cheek as you caressed his face.

You fumbled for your D.D.D. desperately hoping that Beel would pick up quickly. Beel was probably more dependable when it came to Lucifer than any other brother. You didn’t want to risk anyone else taking advantage of him like this. Besides there was no way you could drag Lucifer up to bed alone.

“Oh, [your name], you called at a good time. I’m getting ready to order food since the kitchen is empty. What do you want? I’ll get it for you?” Beel sounded like he was still in the middle of chewing, which probably meant he just now emptied out the kitchen. Now wasn’t the time to worry about that though.

“Beel please come down to Lucifer’s study, I-I need your help, Lucifer he’s...not well.” Your voice shook slightly. You’d hid the fact that he collapsed to save some of his pride.

Beel’s tone went more serious, he swallowed whatever food he had left. “I’ll be right down.” He hung up.

Now that Beel was coming to help, you felt a bit more relaxed. You put your D.D.D. back into your pocket, and knelt beside Lucifer’s head. You carefully lifted him up and put his head in your lap, brushing away the hair that was now starting to stick to his skin. You’d never seen him like this before, and was sure that Lucifer would rather die than look this way. Nevertheless you couldn’t help but pet his head.

It wasn’t too long before Beel came in, messy crumbs all over his shirt as he left in a haste. Once he saw the state Lucifer was in, he looked over his shoulder. “Mammon is busy arguing with Levi, and I’m hoping Satan is in his room. Let’s get Lucifer to bed quickly.” He came over and quickly lifted his elder brother up off the floor. You were always amazed with how strong Beel was. “Why don’t you go ahead of us and meet me in his room?”

You nodded, and quickly bolted to the end of the second hallway where Lucifer’s room was. You looked around for anyone before opening the door and heading inside. You let the entrance open so Beel could easily come right in, and then you headed to the bed.

It was extremely large, entirely unnecessary for one person, but was a perfect fit for the Demon of Pride. You took one corner of the silky sheets and folded them aside. Then you waited. And waited. Until after what seemed like much too long (but was probably only a minute) both brothers entered the room. You got up and quietly shut the door behind them while Beel placed Lucifer on the bed.

“What do we do now?” You asked. “Should we call a doctor?”

Beel shook his head. “We can’t. We leave him alone and he’ll probably call someone when he wakes up.”

You blinked, not being able to process the words ‘we can’t’. “W-what do you mean?”

“One of the house rules, if Lucifer ever gets sick we have to leave him alone. Even just the fact that we brought him up here might get us in trouble.” Beel looked a bit downtrodden.

You stammered over your words. “That’s the most ridiculous and hypocritical rule I’ve ever heard!”

“It’s mostly to keep Satan and Mammon away.” Beel explained. He shrugged. “I’ll go keep watch over this room, maybe if you take care of him, [your name], he won’t be as upset.” With that he left, however you could still hear him outside the door, already munching on something.

You nervously paced. Taking care of him sounded easy in theory, but in actuality you had no idea how to take care of a demon. Would it be the same as a human? Probably not but that was all you knew how to do, so it had to be better than nothing, right? So you left the room for just a moment to grab a few things. A glass of water so he could stay hydrated and a bowl of cold water with a soft rag to bring down his temperature.

When you came back to the room, you breathed a slight sigh of relief. Lucifer was sitting up slightly in bed, looking disoriented. “Oh thank goodness, Lucifer are you okay?”

His head swung around at you. “[Your name], what’re you doing in here?” You placed the cup of water in his hands and the bowl on the table in the middle of the room. You got the rag cold and damp.

“Do you not remember?” You asked him, coming over to put the rag against his face, but he swatted the rag away, and forcefully put the glass back in your hands.

“Enough of this fussing, there’s no need for it. I don’t know what got you to think you needed to come in my room but it’s about time for you to leave.” His tone was stern but his words didn’t have the usual sharp impact they did when he was upset.

You frowned. You couldn’t tell if he was unaware he collapsed or just glancing over the fact he did. Either way he was lying about being alright. You decided not to bring up the study situation for his pride’s sake, but even with your two ordinary human eyes you could tell that he needed to be looked after. You’d defied him before and haven’t died yet, so what was doing it one more time going to do?

“I’m not leaving.” You told him. He didn’t like that. His eyes went narrow and air around him grew even hotter.

“Would you like to say that again? I hope for your sake I misheard you.”

“I’m not leaving you right now, Lucifer.” You stood your ground. Lucifer clenched his jaw and stood up. Too quickly. He lost his balance and fell to his knees, clutching tightly the only thing keeping him from falling over. You. He had his face buried in your shirt, his breathing now ragged. You hated seeing him like this. Again you ran your hand through his hair. Even him just being this close made you hot, he was a burning furnace. “You’re not well, Lucifer, and I know you won’t ever admit it so you don’t have to say anything. So let me take care of you. You take care of everyone else, so when you can’t even take care of yourself let me take care of you. Please.”

He didn’t respond, he just kept his face hidden. His grip on your clothes getting tighter. You bent down to grab one of his arms to help him get to his feet. He refused to look at you. You helped him get his coat, vest, tie, socks, and shoes off, and already he looked better without all the layers. When he got back to bed he turned away from you. Sulking and defeated probably. You tried hard not to smile, he would absolutely kill you if he knew you thought he was being cute.

You pulled the blankets up to his neck, and placed the rag on his forehead. Then you went over to one of his record players, scouring through his large collection until you found the record that he told you was a favorite of his. You put it on, making sure the music was loud enough to be heard but not enough to bother him. It started with a soft piece, something calm and beautiful. Hopefully it would help him relax.

Lucifer already had his eyes closed again, the red in his cheeks gone down just a touch, but enough to make you feel a bit better for his condition. Since you had just had your hands in the water, they were cool to the touch, so you gently brushed them against his cheek again. This time he moved his head to melt into your touch. He grabbed your sleeve, now looking up at you with an expression entirely different than just a few minutes before.

“Please...don’t leave tonight.” His voice was soft and hush, almost as if he didn’t want to hear his own words.

You rubbed his cheekbone with your thumb. “Don’t worry, I won’t. Sleep now.”

He shut his eyes and with a large shuddering sigh seemed to drift back to sleep. You took the rag, it already warm, and you touched your forehead to his. “Sweet dreams.” You whispered.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer x mc

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amerrierworld · 3 years

Text

Staring back at me

for @idrewbedraggledbreaths: Carol/Therese with top Carol and mirrors.

Summary: Carol gets what she wants.

Characters: Carol x Therese

Word Count: 2,254

Warnings: mirror sex! strap ons :) Carol being a raunchy girlfriend, as always

Therese heard the dressing room door clicking shut before seeing her blonde lover in the reflection. Her perfume drifted slowly towards her as Carol stepped into the space, watching Therese tidy up after her most recent model had come to the studio for a modelling session.

Carol had shown up a tad too early to pick Therese up, but rather than waiting in her car, she lingered by the door and watched Therese submersed in her work.

The model was some tanned, European beauty who giggled with a twinkle in her eyes and enamoured people with the gap in her teeth. But Carol didn’t care much for her, because Therese was wearing a button-down and vest, with loose jeans cuffed at the bottoms and in just her socks. She sat cross-legged on the studio space floor, so that her camera tilted up towards the model arching her shoulders and arms in numerous sensual and bewitching poses.

When Therese noticed Carol watching patiently with her arms crossed and eyes glittering, she had only stuttered a moment before finishing the shots. And as the model had gotten her things and changed her clothes, Carol nearly pounced on Therese right there on the floor, because the brunette had to gall to undo one of her top buttons.

Therese introduced Carol -her roommate- to the model, who amicably shook her hand, said they should all go out for drinks sometime, and was eager to see the finished product soon.

“I’ve got to clean up,” Therese said to Carol once they were alone, pecking her cheek. “Give me 15 minutes?”

Carol had contently hummed in the back of her throat and watched her lover scuttle back to the studio, putting away equipment and tidying up, then going to the dressing room and making sure nothing was left behind. Though Therese used the space for her work throughout the week, it didn’t belong to her, and the owner rented it out over the weekends for other creative minds. So, she liked to be thorough and not leave anything behind at the end of the week.

Now, it looked quite bare. There were no windows, and only the bulb lights framing the mirror were on, bathing Therese in warm light as she wiped down the desk space. That’s when Carol noticed the photographer had rolled up her sleeves, and her nostrils flaring at the sight.

“What do you want for dinner tonight?” she asked, seemingly oblivious to Carol’s reaction. “I was thinking we could stop by that Chinese place, the one Dannie recommended, on the way home?”

“Oh, sure,” Carol replied. Therese ran a cloth over the mirror, stretching up to catch the top edge of it. Her shirt rode up, revealing milky skin underneath. Carol came closer.

“Was it very busy today?”

“Hm, not really. I’ve managed to finish a lot of print orders. The last appointment only ran late because that girl was such a talker.”

“I bet,” Carol was practically flush against Therese’s back at this point, distracted by the way she seemed to glow in the lights. Therese was teetering as she tried dusting the top lights off. She nearly tipped forward had two hands not gripped her hips, making her squeal but holding her steady.

“I don’t think your landlord will care much about the dust on the top lights, darling,” Carol brushed her lips over the shell of Therese’s ear.

“I know, but you know me,” Therese protested, “I like to be-”

“Thorough,” Carol finished, before nudging Therese’s head to the side with her nose and pressing a firm kiss on her neck. She felt the muscles tense and quiver underneath her mouth and couldn’t help but run her teeth along the skin as well, making Therese gasp, and press back entirely against her.

The brunette stilled, breathing heavily as she realized what the firmness was that she felt underneath Carol’s slacks. And when Carol caught her lustful gaze in the mirror, with her mouth hanging slightly open, she knew that Therese was done for. Chuckling, Carol kissed her neck again, leaving a second bright red lip stick stain on the fair skin.

“You didn’t come all this way to pick me up just to-” Therese trailed off as she rocked her hips back against Carol, feeling the strap through the fabric of their clothes.

“No, I wanted to surprise you when we got home,” Carol mumbled, her fingers making quick work of the buttons on Therese’s outfit, “..you know how much of a hassle it is to put all those buckles in place. But when you took so long with your last client, I was thinking...”

She finished her thought with a sharp grind of her own hips against Therese, whose hand flew up and pressed against the mirror to catch herself before she fell forward, barely balancing on her tiptoes. When she slipped her arms out of the shirt with Carol’s help, her hand left a print behind on the newly cleaned mirror, and Carol clucked her tongue.

“Oh, dear, looks like we’re not done cleaning here yet,” she said. “You’ve made a mess of your work.”

“You’re lucky no one else is booked for the evening,” Therese gasped. Carol ran her fingers over her breasts, teasing at the edges of her bra, before tugging it down and using her fingernails to raise goosebumps on her skin.

“I don’t think you would’ve said no either way,” Carol whispered cheekily, making Therese huff out a laugh, quickly replaced by another grunt of pleasure as Carol rocked her hips again.

Carol let Therese go only for a moment, to unzip her own trousers and clumsily untuck her blouse, lust beginning to cloud her mind. Therese threw off her bra and spun around on the spot, dropping to her knees before Carol could protest.

“Baby-,” the blonde began, but Therese had already yanked everything down and took the toy in her mouth as deep as she could. Carol let out a low groan as the sudden push against her made her clit throb.

Therese knew how to make her quiver, knew how to make her beg, but Carol wasn’t having any of that today. Not even when Therese spat on the strap and sucked so loudly that Carol’s ears flushed red at the sound of it.

She put a hand in the fine brown hair and pulled, sharply, letting the strap go with a ‘pop’. Therese pouted at the loss, and her hands, which had been gripping Carol’s firm thighs, traveled up towards the harness. Her fingers wiggled underneath the contraption and brushed lightly against Carol’s clit, making her curse loudly.

Therese took the distraction to her advantage, dipped her fingers to her entrance, and took the toy in her mouth again. Carol could become addicted to the way her cheeks hollowed as she sucked in, the way her green eyes stared at her hazily. But when Therese’s fingers started rubbing and prodding a little too confidently, she knew she wanted control again.

She yanked Therese up, her chin wet with saliva, and attacked her mouth with a vengeance. They kissed roughly, Carol pressing Therese up until she was teetering on her toes again and she had to fling her arms around the blonde to keep from falling.

Carol pried her away and let her catch herself to pull Therese’s jeans down as far as possible, running her fingers over her panties and chuckling at how damp they were.

Therese mewled, her neck and chest shining with beading sweat. She wanted to spread her legs, wanted to wrap around Carol, open herself up, but Carol kept rubbing firmly but slowly, and she could only tremble.

Her legs still confined with her jeans up to her mid thighs, Carol urged her to turn around again for her, her torso completely exposed in the mirror’s reflection.

“Oh my...” Carol breathed in Therese’s ear, rolling her nipples between her fingertips. “Someone should be photographing you, my dear.”

She was a vision, dark eyeshadow smudging, her stomach rippling with tremors and hasty breaths. And then Carol tugged her underwear down and slid two fingers against her, and she cried out.

Carol sucked her fingers, tasting the musk of her lover and smelling her heavenly scent before reaching down again, from behind, and firmly pushing those two teasing fingers inside.

“Oh!” Therese gasped at the intrusion, and Carol’s other arm wrapped around her middle, enamoured by the little twitches in Therese’s eyebrows that she could watch in the mirror.

“You’re so tight, angel,” Carol growled. “Do you like it like this? Like how tight it feels?”

Therese nodded. Carol had her hoisted up where she could feel the edge of the vanity desk nudge at her clit with every thrust of Carol’s hand, shooting shivers of pleasure up her spine.

“I’m almost tempted to urge you to be one of those Playboy models,” Carol groaned, “take photos of how gorgeous you look, especially when you're like this. Why no one has taken you on as a model yet, I’ll never understand.”

“Because I’m much better behind the camera,” Therese huffed.

“Oh, I beg to differ,” Carol gripped her jaw, and Therese opened her eyes, staring into the mirror, into Carol’s sultry eyes. “Look at how fine you look; how elegant, yet disheveled. I’d pay a fortune to have this look hanging on my wall forever. You, coming undone; absolutely perfect, my perfect angel.”

Her fingers thrust hard, and curled up, and Therese felt her clit grind against the wood, and she came. It was a sharp, short orgasm, one that faded far too quick, but left her incredibly wet and aching for more.

Carol, impatient as ever when she was aroused like this, pulled Therese’s jeans down to below her knees, to allow her legs to spread, but only a little more. And then, with the slick from Therese’s cunt and her saliva, she pressed the strap inside, filling her up with a hasty, inelegant thrust. They both groaned as their bodies joined together, and Therese could barely hold herself up as Carol set a furious, demanding pace, jaw clenched. The brunette pressed both hands flat against the mirror, looking at how Carol grabbed her hips, how her eyes raked up from her ass, to her back, and then met her gaze in the mirror.

It was such a tight fit, such a deliciously tight fit, and Therese felt herself losing her mind with how dirty and ferocious it felt.

Carol wormed her hand around and between Therese’s legs, finding the hard tip of her clit with ease. The thrusting must have hurt her hand at least a little as it came in contact with the desk, but it barely took three thrusts for Therese to tip over again, because the consistent rubbing of Carol’s fingertips made her see stars.

Carol didn’t stop, chasing her own release as she kept pounding, and Therese choked out incessant whimpers as the toy kept rubbing inside her.

But Therese knew she wouldn’t be able to come like this; the angle wasn’t right and the harness wasn’t enough friction against her clit. She pushed up with what little strength she had, halting her lover’s thrusting. Carol watched her questioningly, barely containing herself, and then Therese reached around to push her fingers underneath the harness, until it was between the base of the cock and Carol’s mons.

Carol cried out, biting Therese’s shoulder as her young lover reached for her clit, rubbing firmly and as quickly as she could in the confined space she had. Carol seemed to lose her control, forehead creasing and hands grabbling at Therese’s waist. She managed to thrust against Therese’s fingers, making her whimper at the cock pressing deeper again, but the brunette didn’t relent until she felt that familiar tremble, and then the gush of warmth over her fingers.

Carol’s hands were nearly gripping her hard enough to bruise. It took several moments for the heat in them both to settle, and Therese kept her fingers pressed against Carol’s clit for as long as the shocks racked through her body.

Then, Carol tugged her hand away and slipped out the toy before practically ripping the harness apart and shaking off her pants in the process. Her naked form bracketed Therese’s in the mirror, rubbing soothingly up and down her arms, her back.

“Fuck,” was all she managed to say. Therese giggled, pressing her head back onto Carol’s shoulder as the blonde enveloped her, “love you so much.”

“Love you too,” Therese whispered, her throat dry and feeling exhausted.

Prying away, Carol grimaced at the sound of her body unsticking from Therese’s, their sweat and juices making them gleam in the light. Therese laughed at the expression, the feral sex beast not as present anymore as Carol checked her smudged makeup. She turned and grabbed Carol’s face, tearing her gaze away from the mirror as she began kissing her languidly and slowly, until Carol melted in her hold again.

“There’s a bathroom down the hall on the left,” Therese suggested as Carol fanned herself, trying to get rid of the flushed look spread over her chest and face. “You go first, I have even more things to clean up in here now.”

Carol grinned lovingly, putting on her underwear and blouse as Therese hoisted her jeans up again. They were sticky and uncomfortable, but it would have to do, at least until they got home. Chinese takeout would have to wait.

A/N: WHAT’S UP, i’m alive. Yeah if you’ve been here for a while, you’ll probably see that I tend to go through phases of *very present online and posting lots of content* to then *disappearing for days or weeks at a time*. I always come back, I promise! Sometimes it just takes a while to crank up the motivation again, but I appreciate all of you who have stuck around thus far <3

#carol #carol aird #carol movie #carol fanfiction #carol & therese #cate blanchett #rooney mara #therese belivet #The Price of Salt #patricia highsmith #todd haynes #carolxtherese #carol/therese #carol aird x therese belivet #wlw #lgbt #fanfiction #merry writes #idrewbedraggledbreaths

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patton-cake · 4 years

Text

No thoughts- head gay

@katlikethesword Happy birthday Kat!! @irritating-lady-knight and I wrote this as your birthday present!!! We hope you enjoy it! We love you so much Kitty Kat! You're just always so precious and kind and I could go on forever. You're amazing Kat! Take all our love and affection

Pairing: prinxiety

Summary: Roman is precious and Virgil definitely isn't simping, no that would be ridiculous he would never simp for his roommate

"Ro? What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in class? Don't tell me that you're skipping your silly theater thing for me"

Virgil gently hit Roman's arm and started walking next to him. Their footsteps echoing in the empty hallway.

"Pff don't flatter yourself too much finding emo. Class got cancelled, some dude tried to recreate the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet. He broke 3 ribs."

Roman let out a muffled laugh and handed his friend some oreos

"Want one? I was bored so decided to stop for a snack"

"Thanks princey, you always know how to find your way into my heart"

Virgil rolled his eyes but softly smiled as he accepted the food. They ate in comfortable silence and made their way out of the school building.

"Uh Virge? You don't happen to have an umbrella do you?"

He looked up from his phone and saw the rain falling down from the sky

"What's the matter prince charming? Afraid of water? Afraid that it might ruin your hair?"

Roman glared at him before shoving Virgil outside.

"Go on sunshine, let's see how long your makeup will last in the rain"

"How mature of you Ro, afraid to go first? Well come on then! Go follow mother duck. I will protect you my little duckling"

Virgil pulled Roman into the rain and started to walk very proudly, arms linked with Roman.

"Okay, if this is how you want to play this V, then you need to carry me on your back. This poor little duckling needs to be carried!"

Roman pouted and dramatically leaned his full weight against Virgil, who started at him with an annoyed face. But unfortunately for himself, Virgil was way to competitive to give up now.

"Bring it on ugly duckling"

"Auch that one hurts V, that one hurts"

And that's how Virgil ended up giving Roman a piggyback ride all the way to their apartment. When they finally arrived, they both were completely soaked.

"Thank you my noble horse for carrying me to my palace!"

"I thought I was mama duck?"

Roman laughed and opened the door to their apartment

"Nah a horse suits you better"

Virgil rolled his eyes and dropped his backpack on their apartment floor.

"Whatever makes you happy Romano, I'm gonna shower, please don't burn the house down."

Roman sputtered out a complaining noice as Virgil walked up stairs

"THAT HAPPENED ONE TIME"

After Virgil was down showering, he walked downstairs and put on a movie. He heard Roman serenading himself under the shower and chuckled softly. When he finally heard Roman's footsteps, he looked up and his heart stopped for a second

"Is that my hoodie?"

A soft red blush spread over both of their cheeks

"Uh- yeay- I was really cold a-and your hoodies always look so soft and warm, but I can put it back if you want me to!"

"Keep it"

Roman awkwardly sat down next to him

"You want me to keep it? Are you sure?"

Virgil looked at him with a soft look in his eyes,

"Yeay, it looks better on you anyway"

He didn't think that Roman's face could turn more red, it almost matched his annoyingly adorable sweater that he was wearing. No Virgil, no more gay thoughts for today, he had already reached his limits. He just had to focus on the movie they were watching.

"Wait a minute, are you complementing me Virge? Awww you don't hate me!"

Virgil almost believed Roman's confident voice if it wasn't for the blush that still burned bright red on his cheeks

"I take it back, you're the worst"

After this, it didn’t take very long for the two of them to fall back in their familiar rhythm, Virgil grumbling about plot holes, Roman criticizing the choices of the main characters- both jostling each other while fighting to eat as much popcorn as possible before the other could take ‘more than their fair share’. Slowly their comments and arguments and movement died off, though, and they truly became invested in the plot.

After two and a half movies, a sunset, a frantic call from Logan, and 4 cups of cocoa, Virgil had settled into his corner of the couch, warmth pooled in his belly and a blanket pulled to his chin. Roman had decided that it was too much work to actually get up and put on socks, so he’d tucked his ice cold feet under Virgil’s thighs and flopped dramatically across the rest of the couch, mumbling about Virgil’s abundant heat that he insisted on taking advantage of. Selfish fucker. Virgil didn’t know why he continued to deal with him. Most certainly not because he’d grown fond of him, god forbid. Motherfucker. Getting attached

. This is why he didn’t want a roommate freshman year. But as he watched Roman mouthing lines right alongside Jack, he was unable to smother a fond smile, shaking his head in disgust at himself.

“V.”

He grunted in response, looking up from his thoughts to see Roman standing in front of him, Sally frozen on screen. “Mug.”

Virgil pressed his mug into Roman’s hands and nudged his shin with a gentle foot in thanks, shifting to turtle further into his nest of blankets. A few minutes later Roman returned, mugs filled to the brim with steamy cocoa, Roman’s piled high with marshmallows and whipped cream.

“Move over.” Roman demanded, sitting down right beside him, their thighs pressed together. Virgil was wide awake.

“I- move? I’m pressed up against the side, dipshit. There is nowhere else for me to move!” Virgil pushed at him gently, but Roman only made a soft noise in response, carefully putting his mug in Virgil’s hands, the latter spluttering in offense. “The f-” He cut himself off with a grunt of surprise as his roommate flopped against him, pressing his cheek flat against Virgil’s arm.

“My dude???” Virgil squirmed until Roman sighed dramatically and shifted again, until Virgil was sitting up, two mugs balanced precariously in his hands, and Roman was pressed up against his side, feet once again tucked beneath his roommate’s thighs.

“I’m staying here, don’t complain or I’m spilling your cocoa on you. You are a human heater and I am visibly shivering, don’t be selfish and share.” Roman stated firmly, snuggling back against Virgil’s shoulder before pressing play.

Virgil.exe has stopped working. Press any button on your keyboard to restart.

Roman smelled like lemon and sandalwood. Virgil didn’t know what sandalwood was, but Roman smelled like it. His hair was still slightly damp from his shower, and it was soft and gentle against Virgil’s neck. He was lying when he said that he was cold, he was a nice sort of warm that Virgil melted into on contact, and couldn’t convince himself to move away from. Not that he wanted to. Except he did. He was no simp. He refused. Patton was a simp. Virgil was no simp. Absolutely not.

Except..

No.

Virgil. No.

Stop.

If you-

But he did.

Virgil quietly scolded himself and shook his head. It was time to focus on the movie, he shouldn't think about Roman or Roman's stupidly perfect face. No. He wouldn't think of that.

He almost found himself focusing back on the movie, but of course, Roman had to make it more difficult. Virgil felt a soft breath in his neck and saw that his friend had closed his eyes, his chest moving in a steady rhythm. He looked absolutely perfect. Okay, Virgil allowed that one gay thought, it was simply a fact and Logan had always told him that you can't argue with facts.

The movie. Virgil had to focus on the movie. He just had pretend that Roman was not there! That his hair didn't tickle Virgil's face. That shouldn't be that difficult right?

"..V..?"

Shit

Roman's voice was soft and Virgil lost his mind again

"Yeay Ro?"

His voice didn't squeak, it didn't . Virgil fought against his urges to kiss Roman's perfectly soft lips and to keep him here forever, laying on their couch. That sounded perfect to Virgil.

"Did you know that you're really hot Virge?"

The urges kept getting stronger and Virgil swallowed, trying not to squeak again

"Another heating pad joke? You're repeating yourself Ro"

"I didn't mean it in that way"

And with that he placed a soft kiss on Virgil's cheek before laying back down, closing his eyes again.

From that moment on Virgil was certain of two things.

One: He failed his gay thoughts rule

And two: He would risk absolutely everything for his roommate.

#prinxiety #roman sanders #virgil sanders #roman x virgil #virgil x roman #romantic prinxiety #pattoncake writes #gabi (attempts) to write #Collab with Gabi!! :D #I'm so excited for this one #gabi tag #kat tag #HAPPY BIRTHDAY KAT #virgils a simp #they cuddle #roman is precious #little smooch

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vannahfanfics · 4 years

Text

The Simple Honor of Domesticity

Category: Family Fluff

Characters: Rukia Kuchiki, Ichigo Kurosaki

Requested By: @deliazeedork (Tumblr)

Rukia held the flat of her hand against her forehead as she gazed up at the brilliant azure sky stretching above Karakura Town. Her indigo-hued eyes beheld the bright landscape dotted with fluffy white clouds moseying along, occasionally masking the intense luminescence blooming from the burning white-yellow sun peaking at the atmosphere. The time had just reached the height of noon, and to celebrate, the life-giving star blasted all its heat down onto the welcoming earth.

“The perfect time to dry the laundry!” Rukia chirped blissfully, dropping her arm so she could stoop down and scoop up the laundry basket resting by her feet. She scurried across the threshold of the front door and into the freshly-cut front yard, where the clothesline strung from the side of the house to the wooden fence outlining the small suburban property. Humming pleasantly, Rukia dropped the basket so she could begin plucking clothespins from the taut wire gently swaying on the afternoon breeze. One by one, she pinned them into her shirt so she would have easy access to them when she began stringing up the clothes. She paused when she heard the front door rattle, eyebrows knitting in confusion. Her expression then melted into soft affection as her five-year-old son, Kazui, carefully held the door open so his three-year-old brother Takeshi could waddle through the doorway.

“Mama,” Takeshi boy purled as he spotted her with his round, warm brown eyes. Cooing, he gestured at her with grabby hands, while Kazui regarded Rukia with a serious expression so like his father that she almost had to do a double-take.

“Mom, I tried to keep him inside, but he just won’t,” the orange-haired boy complained. Takeshi squatted down so he could cautiously descend the stairs, going down backward by lowering his feet while grasping the ledge of the stair above. Rukia smiled warmly as her baby boy settled on the pathway and then hurriedly whipped around so he could begin running toward her.

“Oh, it’s all right,” she sighed contently, crouching down to embrace her son with her slim arms as he plowed into her. Rukia chortled as he nearly threw her off-balance with his eager embrace, only managing to stay upright by pushing the balls of her feet into the dirt. “Takeshi, would you like to help Mama with the laundry?” The little boy peeled away from her to look curiously at the mound of fabrics piled into the plastic bin.

“Okay!” he chirped in agreement. He toddled forward to plunge his chubby fists into the pile of cloth, digging in to drag out several articles of clothing at once. Rukia hastily lunged forward to keep the freshly-washed clothes and bedsheets from tumbling into the dirt, allowing Takeshi to cling to the bottoms of the fabric while she carried it over to the line. The boy screeched delightedly, apparently very amused at the way the damp material wiggled in the wind. Rukia regarded him affectionately before instructing him to hold the fabric still so she could secure it to the wire. Takeshi watched her with rapture as she plucked up two clothespins to clamp the bedsheet onto the clothesline.

“Kazui!” Rukia called over her shoulder, holding the sheet at bay as it attempted to ripple into her person. The boy was sitting on the stoop, watching the two hang the clothes with a blank expression and fists pushed into his cheeks. He perked up as his mother addressed him, straightening and dropping his hands onto his knees. “Would you like to help?”

Rukia smiled in amusement as his internal debate reflected clearly in his expression. After a few seconds, he called, “Okay,” and trotted over. Rukia watched him in endearment as he gently stopped his brother, who was growing frustrated at how the wet clothes were tangled together, and showed him how to pull apart the clothes properly. Kazui gifted Takeshi two socks; the boy squealed in excitement and stamped his feet in elation as if he had won first prize in a race. Giddily, he ran over to Rukia to hold them up proudly.

“Thank you,” she praised as she kneeled. “Let Mama show you something fun!” She took one of the socks from him and slipped it over her hand, ignoring the way the water within cooled her skin. Grinning, she thrust the sock into his face and began flapping her hand like a mouth, making nonsensical noises. Screeching laughter and high-pitched cackles exploded from his small body as Rukia nuzzled the damp sock-puppet into the side of his face, squirming away at the odd sensation of the wet sock in his jet-black hair. Still giggling, he shoved his short, stubby arm into the sock (which was one of Ichigo’s and therefore covered nearly up to his shoulder). He waddled back to Kazui, who was watching with a mixture of embarrassment and amusement.

“Ha-ha! I got you!” Takeshi screamed and began mimicking Rukia, bouncing up and down as he paraded the puppet in Kazui’s face. Rukia held her free hand over her mouth as she laughed mirthfully, pleased by the flush of delight rosing his round cheeks. Kazui flinched away from the wet sock, snorting in laughter and batting at his brother’s hand. As his big brother took off to begin running in circles around the yard, Takeshi chased after him, chubby legs stamping through the grass as he tried his best to catch up. Rukia resumed hanging the clothes on the line as the two boys frolicked through the grassy space. A serene smile graced her face, and her cheeks shone with a rosy hue as she listened to their gleeful laughter and spotted their forms flitting through the gaps in the clothes.

If you had asked her ten years ago, Rukia would have abhorred the proposition of settling down and resigning herself to domesticity. She was a Soul Reaper, for crying out loud- a fierce warrior, a fiery spirit who lived for rising through the ranks and hunting down the Hollows. Where was the honor of being a housewife? Now, however… As she paused to peek around the fluttering bedsheet and watch as Kazui allowed Takeshi to clamber on top of him and pinch his nose with the damp sock-puppet, Rukia couldn’t imagine her life as anything else.

There was a simple honor within domesticity- the honor of watching young lives bud into maturity under her careful attention and care… Now, after all this time, she understood Hisana’s devotion to her adoptive elder brother and deep desire to have a family. Rukia already experienced more love than she ever thought possible, and yet it grew every day as she watched her boys slowly navigate their shared childhood. Her heart swelled, enjoying them tussling in the grass, with Kazui being gentle so as not to unduly hurt his sweet and energetic younger sibling. I’m so grateful…

“Rukia!” The woman turned to see her husband walking up the path, clutching a plastic bag from the convenience store down the road. A gentle smile brightened his angular face. Rukia dropped the piece of clothing that she had been clutching back into the basket so she could skip over and press a kiss onto his cheek. “What’s that for?” he laughed.

“I missed you.”

“I’ve only been gone ten minutes,” he reminded amusedly. Rukia puffed out her cheeks, displeased at his disregard for her affections, and lightly hand-chopped him on the crown of his head.

“I missed you for those ten minutes, dummy!” she scolded, striking him several more times. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt, so he only chuckled and reached up to grasp her hand. Her face flooded pink as he brought it to his lips so he could kiss her palm.

“I missed you, too.” Rukia hurriedly turned away; even after years of marriage, she still hated for him to see her blush. Ichigo laughed at her cute embarrassment, pressing little butterfly kisses across her knuckles to fluster her further. Though the temperature of her face rose several increments with each passing second, Rukia could not bring herself to retract her hand. She was both grateful and disappointed when Takeshi and Kazui charged through the drying sheets, simultaneously screaming “Daaaaad!”

“Hey, hey!” Ichigo grunted as they slammed into his long legs, making him stumble back a bit. Rukia laughed at his crooked smile and the way he leaned over to bear-hug them each with one big arm. “You’ve been helping Mom with the laundry, I see. Good boys. I love it when you help out your mother,” he praised as he ruffled their hair, Kazui’s bright orange and Takeshi’s midnight black. After a second of nuzzling his children, Ichigo let them go, and they immediately ran back to the laundry to play around in the damp clothes. It was only a few articles, so Rukia was content to allow them to slip them on and dirty them up; she would have to rewash them eventually, after all. As she watched them affectionately, Ichigo sidled up to wind his arm around her hips.

“Ya know,” he hummed, pressing his lips into her fluffy black hair, “sometimes it still surprises me that you adjusted to all this so easily.”

“Huh?” she blinked, pulling her head away to look up at him in surprise, though she’d basically had the same line of thinking just a few minutes ago. He smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck.

“It’s just… I dunno… You’re such a firecracker, ya know?” Rukia huffed haughtily and crossed her arms. As soon as she looked at her two boys chasing each other around the yard, Kazui bogged down with one of Ichigo’s hoodies and Takeshi chasing him with one of Rukia’s cardigans wound around his neck like a cape, the tension melted from her body like snow.

“What do I have to miss, Ichigo? I have everything I need right here.” Ichigo remained still beside her for a moment. He then huffed in amazement. She could feel him smiling as he pressed his face back into her hair to press a lingering kiss into her scalp. His big arms enveloped her smaller form, drawing her into his body to cover her in his gentle radiating warmth.

“Yeah. Me too.”

Together, they continued to watch their two bundles of joy play around the clothesline; together, they simply enjoyed the product of their union, the simple honor of domesticity.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

#ichiruki #rukia kuchiki #kuchiki rukia #ichigo kurosaki #kurosaki ichigo #domestic fluff #bleach #bleach fanfiction #bleach fanfic #ichiruki fanfic #ichiruki fanfiction

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 4 years

Text

Shackled - Ch 12

Summary: After nearly ten years, Sam Winchester calls Miriam Bard to collect on a life debt. Unfortunately for Miriam, Sam leaves out a few important details.

WARNINGS CHANGE EACH CHAPTER, PLEASE CHECK EACH TIME.

Warning: implied loss of family, grieving, depression, cursing, mention of emotional manipulation/mind fuckery/psychological manipulation, emotional exhaustion, depression

Word Count: 2945

Author’s Note: You made it this far; thanks for sticking with me! I can’t tell you how lovely everyone has been throughout posting this story. I’m going to hopefully start posting my next story “Walk Me Home” sometime within the next week, so if you’d like a tag, let me know. I’ll be posting the preview again tonight. Thank you all for lovely words and flailing, and here’s hoping I’ll see you again at the next story.

Thanks to @fangirlxwritesx67 for all the flailing. It means so much to me, I don’t have enough or proper words. @cracksinthewalls , you kept me going, you kept this story going. Like. Babe. Seriously. @thoughtslikeaminefield , I would have no Dean stories without you, probably would not have even entered the fandom without you. This story was first and foremost for you, and it’s only right the last thanks on it be for you.

I love you all.

Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY.

In case you missed it:

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10 | Ch 11

Masterlist

Chapter 12

Miriam swam back to consciousness as gentle fingers probed her face. The pain flared once, a bright flame that consumed every cell of her body before extinguishing all at once. She gasped, her lungs unrestricted and easy, and grabbed at the closest thing she could reach. Her wrists were whole again, functional, and she sat bolt upright, her eyes wide and wild as fear shot through her gut. Strong arms, for some reason clad in a tan trench coat, supported her as her head swam crazily.

“Miriam, I presume. I’ve got you, everything’s alright now. Dean is cured. You’re safe.” She looked into his eyes and saw the sincerity and strength there. She nodded slowly, willing her heart rate to calm. She took slow, measured breaths until the spinning stopped.

“Miriam!” Then Sam was in the doorway, rushing over to help her up, Dean following closely behind. What with Sam and the other man already pulling Miriam to her feet, Dean stood a safe distance away, unsure of his reception.

Miriam thought this wise of him.

She wobbled unsteadily long enough that Sam insisted on taking her back to her room to rest. She was too wiped out to argue and gladly accepted his support. She glanced back at Dean as Sam led her from the room, and she was startled at the depth of sorrow and pain she saw there.

Then she turned the corner with Sam and realized the pull she felt from Dean, that insatiable hunger for the darkness, was almost completely gone.

Almost.

…

Miriam lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, resolutely ignoring Sam’s instructions to sleep. Though she doubted she’d have any new visits from the demon, she could feel her other nightmares waiting at the edge of her consciousness, with a few new additions from her recent misadventures with the Winchesters to add a little spice to the mix.

A soft knock on her door pulled her out of her miserable reverie, and she sat up slowly. She wasn’t in pain, the angel (Castiel, Sam had explained) had healed her completely, but she was unsteady with exhaustion and shock.

“Come in, Dean,”

He entered hesitantly, still unsure of his welcome. He’d showered, shaved, and changed into a t-shirt, sweats, and a gray bathrobe. She had to admit he looked a lot better for it. Considering how appealing she thought he’d looked before, that was saying something.

They studied each other for a long moment, seeing each other as they really were for the first time in nearly a decade. Dean still stood tall and firm, wearing his “comfy clothes” better than most models wore a suit, but she could see the weight of the world dragging at his shoulders, staining his expression with grief and regret.

But there was less ferocity to him now. He’d lost the feral hunger, the malevolence of his earlier presence that had drawn her in so strongly. She’d never call Dean Winchester soft, not in a thousand years, but this Dean, the real human Dean, was appealing to her in a way she hadn’t expected. Despite everything that had happened, he still exuded a sense of strength and confidence that had little to do with his appearance and more to do with a natural gravity that spoke of protection and safety rather than danger and oblivion.

Then again, she thought, maybe I can just see the light on the other side of the darkness now. Maybe that said something good for the both of them.

But it hurt, looking into that light. Looking away from the darkness without shielding herself meant admitting that life without Aaron wasn’t just possible, that it was necessary.

She’d taken care of him for so long, leaned on him without realizing she was doing so. Now her universe was off-balance in the worst way, vertigo without promise of reprieve. Every day felt like freefall, and she hated that swooping sensation that tore through her gut whenever she opened her eyes and realized he wasn’t just one bed over.

But he was gone. And she wasn’t.

And now she had to decide what she was going to do with those facts, because she couldn’t continue her dim, half-existence anymore, no matter how much easier it was than facing an Aaron-less life.

And right now, in this moment, that meant addressing her own personal ex-demon.

Miriam offered him a half-smile and indicated the chair by her bedside. He wavered, his jaw working as his frown deepened, but she let him have his internal debate without interruption. After a moment, he made up his mind and sat heavily in the chair, elbows resting on the arms, hands dangling over his lap. He glared down at his socked feet as if angry they weren’t supplying him with the right conversation starter.

“How are you feeling?”

He started at her question and turned incredulous eyes on her, mouth gaping.

“How am I feeling? I nearly killed you, and you’re worried about...Miriam, god, I...I…”

“I know,” she said. He dropped his face into his palms, fingers digging hard into his forehead. His hands strained, veins standing out starkly under his skin, and her heart broke for him.

Dean was a good hunter, a good brother, a good man. He’d been seized by a literal demon, and if anyone besides possession victims could understand that, maybe even forgive it, it was Miriam. And, miracle of miracles, for once she knew the right thing to do.

She arranged her pillow behind her and reclined. Then she lifted the covers, opened her arms, and cleared her throat.

“Come here.”

He looked up at her with red, confused eyes. He straightened up and opened his mouth, and she knew he was about to refuse, say something manly or defensive, or both. She beat him to the punch.

“We are both done, Dean. I’ve got nothing left. I hurt you, you hurt me, we both did horrible things. Now is not the time to make comparison lists of sins. We’ve got tomorrow to tear ourselves new ones. Answer me one question right now, and you’d damned well better tell me the truth.”

He nodded slowly, watching her with wary eyes.

“Aren’t you tired, Dean?”

He stared hard at her, waiting for something else, maybe a rebuke or an insult, but when he realized she was finished, he sat for a moment, thinking. Then his shoulders slumped, and he scrubbed his fingers through his hair.

“Exhausted,” he finally answered.

She nodded.

“Then take your damned robe off and get over here. And keep your hands where I can see them, sir.”

Turns out, Dean Winchester wasn’t too bad at following directions, once properly motivated.

Dean fit into her shoulder with the perfection of a worn-out child cradled in trusted arms. As his face relaxed, Miriam thought she saw the briefest glimpse of that sweet, carefree little boy in his smiling mother’s arms.

Something tugged loose in her chest, and she knew then she’d done the right thing by coming here, no matter the damage she’d sustained. She glanced across the room to see Aaron staring back from the mirror. A tiny smile lifted the corner of his mouth.

“I love you,” she said. She meant so much more, and she knew Aaron understood that.

Dean shifted in her arms, murmuring something on the edge of dozing, and his frown returned. She moved automatically to smooth her thumb over his furrowed brow, massage the anxious crease that had formed between his eyes. Still drowsing, he nuzzled closer, his freshly shaven cheek sliding over her collarbone. Unable to resist, she pressed her nose to the crown of his head, inhaling softly.

Miriam had done a few hunting jobs in the Northwest, near the coast, and she’d fallen in love with the forests there. Unbelievably tall trees, disappearing upwards until you almost fell over backwards trying to see the tops. Damp and lush, there was a green, mossy smell that hung in the air and mingled with traces of fresh earth and mist.

Dean smelled as if he’d just stepped out from under those trees. Clean, a hint of cedar, and something warm and spicy. She hesitated, a new kind of want blooming in her chest as she held him close, reveling in his solid heat. She pressed a kiss to his temple and smiled when he curled tighter into her embrace.

“Hands where I can see ‘em, missy,” he murmured, eyes still closed. His arm slid under hers until it curled protectively around her back. “Sleep, Miri. I’ve got you.”

She took a deep breath, and settled into the exhale, resting her cheek against his damp hair.

Yeah, she thought, a welcome lethargy spreading through her thoughts. You do.

…

“Sure you don’t want to rest another day or two?” Sam asked. She didn’t have to look up from her packing to know his face was lined with concern. Dean leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, pretending he didn’t want to say the exact same thing.

“Sorry, Sam, another day of rabbit food, and I might starve. Gotta get some meat before I waste away. Dean, you’re welcome to come with if you aren’t worried about ruining your girlish figure.”

Dean barked a laugh from the doorway, and Miriam straightened up in time to see him wipe the smile off his face under the heat of Sam’s stern glare. She grinned, and Dean winked.

“Gonna go pull your car around. Meet you out front?” Without waiting for an answer, Dean straightened and nodded, disappearing from view.

“You really could stay a little longer,” Sam repeated, his voice low and earnest. For the first time since she’d met him, he seemed small, diminished by worry and uncertainty. Dark circles stood out starkly under his eyes, and his entreating smile was probably the weakest she’d ever seen it.

“Sam, I-” she paused, hesitating, then closed the space between them, reached up, and pulled him into a full hug. After a moment, Sam’s good arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her tight against his chest as his head bent down, his nose resting on top of her head. She held him close, waiting for Sam to pull away when he was ready.

“I can’t,” she murmured into his hair. “Not right now. It’s too fresh. I need to...deal with it. Actually deal with it,” she added as he leaned back far enough to give her a sharp look. She noticed he didn’t pull completely away from their embrace, though.

“I’m going to figure some things out, I promise. Again, you strong, heroic men didn’t magically fix my issues. But maybe you gave me the push I needed to do that for myself.”

“You’re welcome back here anytime,” Sam said. He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead and stepped back, releasing her. He gazed down at her face for a moment, and she could see he was choosing his next words carefully.

“I’m glad you’re going to...deal with it. I get what you’re working through. Not that I’m a paragon of mental health, but I’ve been there. A couple of times. If you ever want or need to talk about everything that happened, about anything at all, you can call me.”

Miriam felt a mischievous smile stretching across her face. “Everything? Well, Sam, when you were gone, there was this one thing that Dean did in one of my nightmares that-”

“Not everything!” Sam yelped, and she laughed, feeling the ever-present knot in her chest loosen just a little more. He chuckled, shaking his head, and squeezed her hand.

“Don’t lose my number, Miriam. I’ve...We’ve got your back.”

…

“Sure you don’t want to stay for another round of Sam’s ‘queen-wah’ salad?” Dean smirked. His green eyes sparkled in the sunlight, and she was surprised at the pleasurable twinge she felt upon receiving that smile.

“Get your ass off my car, Winchester,” she ordered, feigning exasperation. He pushed up from the hood and opened the back door, lifting the duffel from her hands and tossing it in the back seat.

“Where ya headed?” Dean asked, sticking his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. He stared at the ground between them, and she couldn’t help but smile. After all they’d been through, even after chastely sharing a bed for the last three nights, she felt awkward around him, too, though both were too stubborn to admit it aloud.

“Maybe Washington state or Oregon, check out some of the rainforests. The couple of times we had jobs over that way, walking around under all those giant trees made my issues seem pretty small. Could help me put some things in perspective. Anyway, I’ve got some time off saved up. I think I’ve earned a real vacation.”

He finally met her eyes, and the corner of his mouth turned up. He took a step closer.

“Yeah? Sounds pretty...majestic.” He dodged her blow easily, grinning. “I’m kidding. Some time off sounds pretty damn good, come to think of it. Don’t really remember what that’s like. It’s one disaster after another around here.”

“I kinda got that feeling,” Miriam said, pushing the back door shut. She stepped up to him, holding her arms open in invitation. Though he still hesitated, in the end, he relented and allowed her to pull him into a close hug that sent little flutters through her stomach. Just as she started to pull back, Dean’s arms tightened, holding her against his chest.

“We both need to take some time,” she said quietly. He nodded, turning his face inwards, pressing his lips to her temple. “We’ve got a lot of baggage to sort through and shit to deal with and other metaphors about mentally healing. Darkness to yank out by the roots and all that.”

He pulled back, his face drawn with concern. “Miriam, I need you to know. Those dreams you had, I didn’t...I could see them all whenever you came inside the trap.” His complexion darkened, and if she didn’t know better, Miriam would have thought Dean was actually blushing.

“But I didn’t send them to you. When you were outside the dungeon, outside the devil’s trap, I couldn’t do that.”

She nodded slowly, feeling some of the sunlight's warmth leeching away. She’d come to that conclusion herself, after listening to some conversations over the last couple of days between the boys and their guardian angel.

“I know. And that’s something I’m going to have to work through. There’s darkness in me, and it really, really liked the darkness I found in you.”

They both glanced significantly down at his right arm, their eyes drawn to the dark, ugly mark, before looking up again.

“I just...wanted it to be easy, like you, the demon you, said. I was, I am so tired, and I just wanted to be done.” She could say the words now, as she couldn’t say them only days ago.

Such a simple thing to say, she thought, and I had to nearly die to admit it.

“Awfully strong drug for any hunter,” Dean agreed, and though she hated that he knew the feeling well enough to understand, part of her was not-so-secretly glad that for the first time in months, she no longer felt alone in her pain.

“But I can work through it. And I think you can, too. I have no clue how, for either of us, but I’m willing to work on it if you are.”

He nodded slowly, and his eyes flicked to her lips for just a moment before his eyebrows raised questioningly. He looked ready to be rejected, braced for her dismissal, but for the life of her, she couldn’t think of a single decent reason to do so.

This time, the only pull she felt was Dean’s arms drawing her closer.

The kiss was soft, simple, and sweet. His hands, scarred and so gentle, slid over her jaw, threading into her hair. He tilted her face to the side, finding a better angle for both of them, and her hands found their way to his waist, tugging him further into her space. After a moment, they broke apart. Dean’s eyes were still closed as she stretched up to kiss his forehead.

“We can work on that, too,” Miriam said. Dean licked his lips, swallowed, and nodded as he straightened. They released their hold on each other reluctantly, and Miriam slid into the driver’s seat before she did something irrational like change her mind.

She cranked the car, stared out the windshield, and sighed. She had to go, needed some time and space to work through her thankfully no-longer-literal demons, but…

She really wanted to come back.

“Hey, Dean,” she said suddenly. He dropped a hand to the hood of her car, leaning down so he could see her through the open window. “You like cowboy movies?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You ever seen The Quick and the Dead?”

His face transformed from sad to wondering to glee in less than a second. “Wild West shootout, Sharon Stone at her hottest, Gene Hackman at his bad ass-est?”

Miriam giggled. “That’s not a word, but yeah. Got a copy?”

“No, but I can get one.”

She smiled, feeling warm and light down to her toes. “Give me a month or two, try to take some time off yourself. Call me when you’ve got a copy of the movie, and maybe we can have a movie night. I’ll bring the popcorn.”

The warmth of the kiss he brushed across her cheek lingered for hours.

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third-rail-vip · 4 years

Photo

Wide Awake

Summary:

“It’s quiet out here... too quiet” might be fun to say, but when it’s 2am and quiet as hell in Sanctuary, sometimes it’s just boring.

A sleepless MacCready pays a visit to the only other person who might still be awake.

Notes:

Tumblr fluff prompt: “what are you doing here? it’s late.” I accidentally deleted the ask because i’m an idiot.

Beautiful screenshot of the night sky at Sanctuary very kindly lent by @mutantenfisch

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 3873 [AO3 link] [Then I Met You - Series Link]

MacCready couldn’t sleep. Lay in his darkened room, he huffed out a sigh – cigarette smoke mingled with condensation in the cold air. A cursory glance at his watch told him it was pushing 2 am.

What felt like too many hours ago, he’d found a spot in one of Sanctuary’s many unoccupied houses and bedded down on a mattress that seemed to be more springs than anything else, but it would do. He’d slept on worse.

Not that sleep seemed to be on the cards.

Nah, the mattress wasn’t the problem. He just couldn’t settle properly the first night back in ‘civilisation’ after weeks on the road. His nerves were still on edge. He’d barely undressed for bed, only shedding his coat, hat and kicking off his boots. His rifle lay at hand by the mattress, ready for what still felt like the imminent possibility of attack. He’d studied the ceiling until his candle burnt down, then lay in the darkness, not even able to blame his usual turn on first watch for keeping him awake—they’d be well into Ivy’s shift by now.

Not that she’d be awake. She’d be enjoying a quiet night’s sleep, some space to herself and no monsters ready to jump out of the shadows.

Just whatever prowls the dark places in her head.

MacCready shook the thought from his mind; it wasn’t any of his business where his partner went in those glassy-eyed moments when the colour left her cheeks and she looked like she was watching something so real she could reach out and touch it. Something he had no idea how to even begin looking for. All he could do was watch her back if it happened again.

Instead, he busied himself fidgeting with a fresh pack of cigarettes— ‘fresh’ 200 years ago anyway —unable to decide whether he should just lie there and light another or get up and stretch his legs in the hope that the cold night air would either wake him up fully or put him to sleep.

Whatever he chose, he needed to decide soon because the boredom was driving him nuts.

He sat up, suspiciously eyeing the sliver of moonless sky he could see through a hole in the unpatched roof above him. For a boy who grew up in a cave, darkness made him twitchy (not that Lamplight was a dark place, the clue was in the damn name). The thing he’d come to realise about the dark and the quiet was, if you didn’t know any better, it could too easily be mistaken for calm and safe. Once, just once, he’d let himself be taken in by it. And he’d have to live with that for the rest of his days.

These days, not that MacCready would ever admit it, he liked it better if there was just that little bit of light to creep past his eyelids as he drifted off, and maybe a bit of noise too, some sort of show that there was life around him; campfires, candles, even the tinny echo of Ivy’s pipboy broadcasting that jackass, Travis, at all hours would do the trick.

This quiet wouldn’t do at all. Too few distractions. Too much time to think.

Finally freeing a cigarette, he fumbled for his lighter in the darkness, flicked it a few times to no avail. A cursory shake confirmed it—empty. He tossed it aside, tucked the cigarette back into the pack and reached for his boots instead.

A walk it was.

------

The damn door creaked.

MacCready cursed himself for using it instead of the other one, which didn’t even technically have a door in it anymore. Idiot. He’d seen a glow through the window and hadn’t even thought. He’d just walked straight in.

Ivy’s house (the one she’d adopted, anyway) wasn’t like the one he’d chosen to hide away in. It didn’t smell like damp or have holes in the roof. Someone had gone to great effort to get it back to being homely. It still smelled like supper from that evening, leftover veg stew, and the vague scent of-MacCready sniffed-was that carrot flowers? Probably had something to do with that fussy old woman of a Mr Handy unit. He was undoubtedly why there was also a lingering smell of disinfectant.

Ivy had told him that it had stayed there cleaning its old masters’ house for two hundred years. What a loser.

From the meagre moonlight he could just make out the dark shapes of the kitchen counters ( there was the vase of flowers the robot must have decided to put out while playing house in honor of his new mistress’s return home), the rickety dining table they’d decided not to eat their supper at, and the couch that, on the one occasion he’d been stupid enough to throw himself onto it, turned out to be even more uncomfortable than the one in their usual room at the Dugout.

The faint welcoming glow of lantern light from the hallway to the bedrooms almost made him forget his midnight trespassing. He meandered forward – fully intending to announce his arrival– only to boot a water bowl right across the room. He dived forward trying to put an end to the metallic ringing and sloshing, but too late.

“Who’s there?”

Mac knew Ivy well enough to hear the edge of panic behind the warning in that shout. He clamped his hands onto the bowl, finally stopping it rolling, and looked up from his spot knelt in a puddle of dog water.

Ivy darted out from the farthest room, the one where the warm light spilled from, oh, and now he felt bad . She was dressed for bed in the over-large plaid shirt she’d picked up from some trader in Diamond City; something more comfortable to sleep in that her vault suit, she’d said - it hadn’t seen much use, given the amount of time they spent staying in places where it was safer to stay as armoured as possible, even when trying to get a night’s rest. Her hair was all over the place, like she’d been tossing and turning, trying to get settled as badly as he had. Frankly, she looked exhausted.

But only a real dumbass would tell her that right now, because the startled woman, whose house he’d walked into at 2am was currently levelling a pistol straight at his head.

“Woah woah woah! Angel, it’s just me!” MacCready stuck his hands up in the air, giving her a startled grin. He may be used to being on the end of the threat of her pistol—he couldn’t help having a smart mouth—but the actual pistol… that was new. “Is this a hold-up? You want me to hand over my caps?”

Ivy dropped the gun to her side with a muttered curse and flopped back against her doorframe.

“Mac? What are you doing here? It’s late.” Rocking her head back, she let out a shaky breath. “You scared the shit out of me.”

He shrugged apologetically from his spot on the floor, avoiding her question long enough for her to wander forward offering her free hand.

“You can get off the floor now, tiger,” she said with a sigh that edged into a smirk. “Like I could get any caps out of you anyway. Gunpoint or not.”

Now banter he could handle. It was one of his favourite things about her, she enjoyed his teasing and his joking, she even put up with his snarking. Plus, she’d offered him the perfect get out of jail free card to avoid any explanations about why he was there.

He let his gaze flick down the bare legs he was currently eye-to-thigh with, and back up to Ivy’s face, giving her an excessively dramatic eye roll.

“If you’re trying to impress me, it’s not going to work,” he drawled.

She withdrew her hand with a mock scowl and gave him a sharp, but not painful, kick—enough to send him from kneeling to sitting in the puddle of dog water—turned on her heel and wandered back up the hall to her room. With maybe a little more sway to her hips than was entirely necessary.

It was probably safer not to call her on it though, she was still armed, after all. Best just to stay put, watch maybe...

“I was in bed, thank you very much. There were blankets and everything.” She snarked back over her shoulder at him, finally giving a cursory glance as she reached her room before disappearing out of view. “I was just drifting off when I heard this absolute racket. And I thought to myself, it’s not Christmas for a few more weeks, so it can’t be Santa. Not that he doesn’t owe me 210 years’ worth of presents…”

And people thought he was the sarcastic one.

MacCready grinned, getting up quickly and bounding after her up the hall.

He was careful to avoid looking into the darkened nursery as he passed. His first time in Sanctuary he’d found Ivy staring into the room. She’d asked him if he thought they’d ever find that missing boy, Shaun, but he couldn’t answer. The sight of that damn crib haunted him. All he could think about was Duncan and how time was passing and he’d gotten nowhere. He’d just about managed to thickly mutter “yeah, sure”, which didn’t sound overly convincing to either of them, before he had to rush outside and try not to be sick.

Leaning on her doorframe, he peeked round the corner into the room. It was mainly taken up by an old pre-war bed that’d been fixed up like new since the last time they were there. There were clothes, sketchbooks and empty gumdrop wrappers strewn over a dresser in the corner - Codsworth mustn’t be allowed in here, there was no way he’d leave it such a mess. The glow that spilled out into the hallway came from an oil lantern balanced on the windowsill and a single candle, melting its way down on the bedside table.

On the bed was an open comic and more gumdrops. She hadn’t been sleeping either.

“If you don’t think you can get caps out of me, you can be damn sure you aren’t getting 210 presents,” he grinned, but Ivy was too busy rummaging through the dresser drawers to do anything more enthusiastic than throw a sock at him.

He flopped down onto his back on the bed and snatched up the comic and a handful of gumdrop. This bed was a damn sight more comfortable than the crappy mattress he had to put up with, that was for sure.

Grognak the Barbarian and the Jungle of the Bat Babies.

“Meh. I’ve got this one,” he complained as he munched on the candy, continuing to idly leaf through the pages anyway.

“Well if you wouldn’t mind not losing my page…” Ivy shot him a sharp look over her shoulder as she dragged on a pair of tatter jeans.

After weeks of sleeping in foxholes, broken-down houses and on rooftops, privacy between the two of them had become less of an issue, he’d gotten fairly used to catching sight of her trying to wriggle in and out of a vault suit in his peripheral vision, but he still couldn’t help smirking at the idea of the raised eyebrows there’d be around the settlement if they could see them now. He had to stop himself chuckling out loud, wondering what Garvey would think of his precious General having an ex-Gunner in her room in the middle of the night.

Best not to get too smart about the Gunner part… he’d heard about Quincy. Might have been years after his time with them, but that kind of association tainted the way people looked at a man.

Most people anyway.

He glanced over at Ivy who was trying to get her hair to behave. Christ knows why, it’s not like there was anyone to see it. It wasn’t Preston’s fault he kept catching on Mac’s last nerve, it was just… there were only so many times you could hear someone called a ‘good man’ without starting to wonder if that made you the ‘bad’ one. Not to mention the looks—he glanced at Ivy again—the way Garvey would go soft whenever she was helping that handyman with settlement stuff, or any other do-gooder crap. You’d think she was some kind of miracle.

He’d bet every last cap he owned that the man had never seen her pickpocket Gunners or watched those fingers crack a lock faster than any professional he’d ever met, just to break into a guy’s house because he rubbed her up the wrong way. No, MacCready might call her angel, but he was more than aware that she was flesh and blood.

Ivy plonked herself down cross-legged on the end of the bed, entirely derailing his train of thought.

“So, a gentleman caller at this late hour… tongues will wag.” She raised an eyebrow. “Did you just come here to frighten me or did you need something?”

Well now he felt like an idiot. There was no dodging the question this time, and she was watching him intently. Why was he here?

Because he was lonely? Heck no. He couldn’t sleep and he’d gotten used to having someone to talk to? He was bored? This place is too damn quiet and too damn boring. And how the hell could she live here before the war? Surrounded by boring houses with boring people and boring jobs and boring everything , when she wasn’t boring at all…

“I saw your light was on.”

“You couldn’t sleep either, huh?”

“Never can on the first night somewhere.” He gave in and shrugged as nonchalantly as he could manage. “Still feels like I need to watch the shadows. Anyway, I gave up trying and figured I’d get some air.”

She considered his statement for a moment. He hoped she wasn’t considering too hard how much ending up in her house probably didn’t count as ‘getting air’.

“Air sounds good.”

Well, he couldn’t say he wasn’t a little disappointed at the turn of events. He’d just been getting comfy, wondering if he could sneakily doze off and then she’d be stuck with the couch - she could usually be relied on to be too nice to wake him if she didn’t have to. But he dutifully put aside the well-thumbed comic, grabbed another handful of gumdrops and waited for her to pull on some shoes and grab a spare blanket before they headed outside.

------

Ivy swore under her breath, something about Boston winters even without snow. She gave an exaggerated shiver and dragged the blanket around her shoulders before joining MacCready in the street. She probably should’ve grabbed a coat, MacCready mused, but she didn’t seem bothered enough to head back into the house. Instead she fidgeted on the spot, looking at him expectantly.

“It’s your walk,” she whispered after a moment, keeping her voice low for fear of waking the long since passed out settlers. He could just about see she was smiling at him despite the shadows of the house. “Lead on, boss. ”

Boss. He rolled his eyes at her, but led the way anyway, meandering slowly up the street towards the end of the cul-de-sac, their footsteps crunching quietly on the broken asphalt as they passed house after darkened house.

MacCready stopped when he reached the tree that dominated the end of the estate, not sure where to go next. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. They could wander the edge of the small island that housed the settlement, but that ran the risk of bumping into whoever was on guard and then they’d be stuck making awkward conversation. They could cross the north bridge towards the vault. No, definitely not. Ivy was one of the few people he knew who wanted to go near a vault even less than he did. Especially that vault. Anyway, they were meant to be distracting each other from lack of sleep, not creating more reasons for it.

Ivy must have noticed the lost look on his face (or just got impatient of waiting) because felt a tap on his arm. She didn’t wait for him to respond before dragging him towards the farthest house. Instead of going inside, she led the way to a ladder propped up against the roof.

“You’ve got your binoculars, right?” she whispered, pointing up the ladder. “After you.”

He gave her a confused look, but patted the pair strapped to his belt, and went ahead and climbed first - offering Ivy a hand when she reached the top. Other than a couple of tall trees, the roof offered an unimpeded view right across the commonwealth down to the coast.

They settled down on the broad roof tiles, feet in the gutter so they didn’t slip down. Ivy had offered to lay the blanket out for them to sit on but after her display outside the house, he wasn’t going to sit there and watch her shiver for the sake of keeping his ass warm. And he told her as much.

“Don’t let anybody tell you I’m not a gentleman,” he grinned after her laughter died down.

It was a hell of a view. Mac scanned the horizon, picking out the familiar shapes that loomed in the darkness; the jagged skyscrapers of Boston’s skyline - lit up by Diamond City’s unsubtle display of lights, the satellite bank out near the coast, and the freeway, snaking across the landscape towards mass pike interchange. That held his attention a little longer than the rest. Just one more item on his list of problems.

But Ivy didn’t seem to notice. She wasn’t even looking out across the vista, she was sat back on her elbows, staring straight up into the night sky.

He leant back too, looking across at her but he didn’t stand a chance of catching her eye, she was completely enthralled. After a couple of minutes he gave up and gently prodded her, “Come back down to earth, spaceman…” It was enough to get her to tear her eyes away from the sky and glance back across at him. A sad smile touched her lips.

“My dad loved looking at the stars. It was kind of his job... along with a lot of math. He taught at a college back home.” She didn’t often talk about before, and he wasn’t sure she’d ever mentioned her family. “You don’t know how lucky you are, seeing the sky like this. People would travel hundreds of miles for a view like this.”

“Seriously?” MacCready stared up, bemused.

“Seriously.” She smiled at him, or maybe through him. Her mind seemed to be somewhere else, but not in a bad way for once. “Have you ever tried to look at the stars when you’re in Diamond City? Even Goodneighbor? It’s far too bright, you can barely see anything. That’s what most places were like before the war. It was all streetlights stopping you from seeing ‘one of the best views in the universe’. That’s what my dad used to say, anyway. He used to drive me, my mum and my brother out into the middle of the countryside on clear nights like this. I swear he’d talk about space all night, if mum let him.”

“Sorry, I went a bit off topic…” She let out a small laugh and shook her head. “I think the point I was aiming for was it’s beautiful.”

“I suppose it is.”

He hazarded a smile in the dark. Starlight suited her. Sat there bathed in the soft glow, wide-eyed and taking everything in as though she was seeing it for the first time, she looked genuinely happy. Completely lost to the world, mind, with no idea of anything else happening around her.

“I’m probably boring you to death.”

“No. Well maybe a little.” MacCready couldn’t resist a chance to tease. “I read about stars when I was a kid. Big balls of glowing gas, yada yada. You said your dad was an expert, show me something I don’t know.”

Ivy sat up, giving him a determined look. Oh good, challenge accepted. “Fine. Give me those binoculars.”

He handed them over and watched her tracing the sky above them, leaning back to look further and further north east until she spotted what she wanted.

“You see that star?” she pointed. “The fuzzy looking one.”

“They all look fuzzy.”

“No they don’t! Come here.” She shuffled right up next to him, still pointing in the direction she was looking.

It took about five minutes of manhandling to get him looking in the right direction. He was having too much fun winding her up by purposefully not paying attention, and laughing too hard when she tried to move him by his chin because it tickled. Eventually, and only after she begged, he stopped still long enough for her to get him looking in the right direction - according to her anyway. To him it just looked like any other star.

“Ok, stay still will you?” This time Mac did his best as she squashed right up next to him, and pressed her cheek against his to make sure they were both looking where they should be. She produced the binoculars again, holding them so they had an eyepiece each, and finally he could see what she was talking about.

“Right, so it’s a fuzzy star?” he muttered from trying to keep his head still. There’d be hell to pay if he didn’t.

“Look again. See the ellipse shape?”

“Yeah, the fuzzy one. What about it?”

“Oh, there might be a couple more than just that one fuzzy little star.” She pulled away and handed him the binoculars, tired, but beaming. “More like a trillion of them, a couple of million light years away. That is the Andromeda Galaxy.”

“No shit- oop.”

MacCready clamped a hand across his mouth in a poor attempt to catch the curse that had slipped past his lips.

“Does that count as something you didn’t know?” Ivy giggled softly, stifling a yawn as she lay back down and pulled the blanket tighter around her. “Damn. I should’ve put some caps on it.”

“Yeah, I’d say it counts,” he grinned. “But trust me, I’ve learned not to make bets against you.”

MacCready lay back, staring at the sky, eyes fixed on that blurry star that turned out to be much more than it appeared. He opened his mouth to quiz Ivy some more, but in the quiet he could hear that her breathing had become soft and even. A glance confirmed it, she was fast asleep.

“Well, I don’t know how I’m going to get you down off this roof,” he whispered, reaching over to tuck an errant curl back behind her ear. “So it looks like we’re here for the night.”

He settled back again, pulling the brim of his cap down over his eyes before resting his head on his hands. This time sleep found him easily, a smile on his face, thinking of a little boy back home who would love to hear all about the stars.

#fluff prompt #mac x ivy #then i met you #ivy kendrick #maccready #robert joseph maccready #maccready x f!solesurvivor #maccready x sole survivor #in this house we love preston garvey - mac is just being a grump and he'll get over it #my writing

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lesetoilesfous · 4 years

Note

if you're still taking prompts, fenders b8 + b2 from the nsfw prompt list pls :3 (preferably anders giving fenris a full-body massage, with lots of fluff that maybe turns into smut?)

Helloooo! Thank you for a lovely prompt, I hope this is something like what you wanted!!

(If you want me to write you a dragon age ficlet, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Fenders

Characters: Fenris, Anders

Tags: established relationship, self-esteem issues, past abuse, justice is here in theory but Anders has put a sock on the door of their combined consciousness, so he doesn’t make an appearance, angst and fluff, ended up being way more angst than I intended, apologies!

“This is ridiculous, mage.” Fenris does not seem capable of keeping the smile from his voice, and he blushes as he says it, dark cheeks tickled red in the candlelight as he lies back on the bed. Anders takes a self-indulgent moment to ogle him, openly, as the muscles of his abdomen flex and he falls with the same perfect control that he brings to everything he does onto his back on the blankets. Fenris’ flush deepens, and he hits him gently with a pillow. “You are ridiculous. No one is as beautiful as you pretend to find me.”

Which brought them to the topic at hand. Anders catches the pillow and gently tugs it out of Fenris’ grip, tossing it onto the ground, careful to avoid the candles he’s set up around the bed. The sweet smell of sandalwood and jasmine is warm in the air around them, and the light is gold and flickering as it paints the wooden walls of their bedroom. Outside, in the forest, the trees sigh like the ocean, shivering in the wind. Anders gets up onto the mattress, kneeling at the end of the bed on the thick, white woven wool blanket, running one hand up the strong, sculpted line of Fenris’ leg. “Still don’t believe me, then?”

Fenris looks away from him, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth that he tries to hide as his hair splays against the pillow behind his head like starlight. He stares up at the rough, dark wooden rafters. “I believe that you find me attractive. I do not believe anyone is as attractive as you say I am. And if such a person did exist, that person would not be me.”

Anders hums, and presses a very soft kiss to a small scar on Fenris’ knee. Tal Vashoth, if he remembered correctly. A stray arrow that would have felled an ordinary warrior. Fenris had fought on anyway. He hadn’t even made a sound when Anders removed the thing. Just squeezed his hand, and thanked him roughly when it was done.

Anders shuffles back down the bed, all but prostrating himself to press a soft kiss to the top of Fenris’ foot and the lines of lyrium there. Fenris’ breath shudders out of him, and Anders moves between his legs, waiting until Fenris lifts himself up onto his elbows to look down at him.

“I beg to disagree.” Anders kisses Fenris’ left ankle, then, gently stroking his calf before moving to kiss his right. Then he sits up and picks up the small, brown glass bottle of oil he’d left beside their bed. In the eaves, pigeons coo low and soft as they settle for the evening.

“Must you make everything such a production?” Fenris’ fingers trail softly along the lyrium on his chest as he asks the question, and he doesn’t look at Anders, cheeks and chest dark with his blush.

“I must.” Anders answers, with a grin, rubbing the smoky, spiced oil between his palms until it’s warm. Gently, he picks up Fenris’ foot, pressing a firm kiss to the heel of it, and the ball, before sucking lightly on each of his toes. Anders bends to kiss Fenris’ ankle again as he begins to gently, firmly massage his foot. Fenris sighs, and Anders grins down at him from where he’s kneeling at the end of the bed.

“You are the most impossibly beautiful person I’ve ever met. And considering that I’m including the Hero of Ferelden, King Theirin, Zevran Arainai, Isabela, Varric Tethras and Marian Hawke in that assessment, you should be very flattered.”

On his back, painted gold by the candlelight, Fenris laughs and presses his hands against his face. “I am flattered, mage. I am also - ah,” Anders grins, and gently rubs the same circle he’d massaged before on the back of Fenris’ calf. Fenris’ chest heaves, his hands falling from his face to curl into the white cotton sheets further up the bed, squeezing them tightly. After a moment, he finishes, breathless, “Skeptical.”

Anders hums, thoughtfully, and presses a series of kisses to the curve of Fenris calf, ducking to press a long kiss to the soft skin at the back of his knee, before returning to the small silver line of the arrow scar. As he moves to give the same treatment to Fenris other leg, pouring a little more oil onto his hands, he asks conversationally, “Do you think I’m lying to you?”

Fenris frowns, though the expression eases as Anders’ presses a long kiss to his toe. “N-no. I think. You are telling me what I want to hear.”

Anders huffs, and Fenris pulls his foot back for a moment, laughing light and high as a child. Anders’ heart stutters, and he stops, catching Fenris’ foot firmly between his hands. “Wait. Are you ticklish?” Fenris tries to glare at him, but there’s still a smile lingering around the corner of his lips.

“No.”

Anders’ grin widens, and he squeezes Fenris foot gently. “You are. Well. We’ll have to return to that later.” He waggles his eyebrows, and Fenris snorts, grinning as he turns his head away from him and Anders begins to massage his other foot. “Seriously though,” Anders murmurs, kissing up the line of Fenris’ calf, brushing his nose against the thick coarse hair on his leg, “You’re gorgeous. And before you say it, it’s not the lyrium.” He kisses Fenris’ knee, and begins to massage his calf, gently bending his leg. “It’s like….A sculptor couldn’t make you this perfect. Your skin is so,” Anders bends to nuzzle at Fenris’ calf and kiss him again, “so soft, and warm, and you smell like….I don’t have words for it. Like lyrium but also like, dust and sweat and leather.”

“Most of those are not good things.” Fenris murmurs and Anders shakes his head, moving up the bed to kneel between Fenris’ legs. Far off in the woods, a distant wolf howls at the moon.

“No, but they are when it’s you. And even if it wasn’t, trust me, I’ve never had a lover who smells this good.” Anders runs his hand up Fenris’ thigh, and presses a firm kiss into the soft give of it. “You’re just. You’re beautiful. You’re gorgeous. You’re perfect. I feel like I’m dreaming, every time I kiss you.”

Anders sets down the oil and dips to lower himself over Fenris’ hips, kissing along the v of muscle that leads up to his side. Tentatively, Fenris’ hand falls to stroke his hair, and Anders sighs and tilts his head into his touch. “If I shut my eyes and try to imagine the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, all I see is you. You’re like...music.”

“Music.” Fenris repeats, flatly, and Anders’ face burns, but he presses a long kiss to the wide, ragged pink skin of a burn on Fenris’ side before he sits up to meet his eyes.

“Yes, music.” Anders runs his hand up over the planes of Fenris’ belly, splaying his fingers against his chest, and pressing gently into the soft tissue of his breast. His fingertips trail through soft, dark hair, and his thumbs run over Fenris dark, soft nipples. Fenris breath catches, and Anders grins and bends to kiss one nipple, tenderly catching it between his teeth before kissing it again and doing the same to the other. Fenris’ hand tightens and relaxes in his hair as he does it, and Anders moves to press a line of kisses down from Fenris’ sternum to his belly button. Fenris’ legs fall loose and relaxed either side of him against the bed, and the air is rich and faintly hazy with candle-smoke and oil.

Anders sits up, and catches Fenris’ hand when it falls from his head. Gently, he kisses the heel of his palm, and the inside of his wrist, and each of his fingers, before pouring a little more oil into his hand and beginning to massage Fenris’ palm. Fenris sighs, and lets his head fall back against the pillow, eyes fluttering shut. Anders speaks softly as his hand slips up Fenris’ arm, gently massaging the muscle of his forearm and bicep. “You’re like music. Every line of you falls into every other. It’s like you’re...a symphony. You’re all balance, and harmony. Every part of you is meant to be what it is, shaped the way that it is. Looking at you feels like listening to the most beautiful song you’ve ever heard.” Anders ducks, and presses a kiss to the inside of Fenris’ elbow, feeling the massage oil stick to his lips before he brushes up to the warm, generous curve of Fenris’ bicep. He shuts his eyes, and presses his nose against the firm warmth of Fenris’ arm. “A song so beautiful it makes you want to weep.”

Fenris is quiet, then. Far off, there’s the high call of some strange Rivaini bird Anders doesn’t recognise. Night has fallen truly now, and the shadows between the candles are long and deep. Anders presses a kiss to Fenris’ shoulder before moving to his other arm. Fenris’ thumb gently strokes his hand and Anders pauses, looking down at his lover. The light of a candle glitters gold against the tears on Fenris’ cheeks. Anders stops, pressing Fenris’ hand between his.

“Love? Are you alright?”

Fenris shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut and heaving a great breath into his chest before letting it go in a noisy rush. Anders moves, brushing his hair out of his eyes and waiting for an answer. Fenris’ hand squeezes his, tightly, and Anders watches in distress as more tears run down Fenris’ cheeks.

After a moment, Fenris blinks away the tears and looks up at Anders. His eyelashes are damp and dark and long around the summer green of his eyes. “It’s fine, amatus. It is only -” Fenris stops, and swallows, and his hand tightens around Anders’ as he looks away from him. Fenris breathes again, and Anders waits and watches him, anxiously. After a moment he speaks, roughly. “I cannot remember anyone ever saying such a thing to me and meaning it, before.” Fenris frowns, and Anders runs his thumb over the back of his hand. “People have wanted me, certainly. Used me. Spoken in great detail about the ways in which I was ‘made’ to be used.”

Fenris’ expression twists, and Anders sits back on the bed, giving him space as he sits up. Fenris bends his legs and rests his arms against them, still holding Anders’ hand. Around their house, the wind rushes through the night and runs howling into the trees. Fenris breathes, and sobs, pressing his face into his arm for a moment before he turns to Anders and offers him a small smile, cheeks wet with tears. “But no one has ever said it as if I were a person. As if they loved me. As if they thought I could be loved.” Fenris’ voice breaks.

Anders swallows down his own heartache, and squeezes his lover’s hand, raising their joined hands and his other in a gesture of surrender. “You caught me. Guilty as charged.” Anders stops, then, and feels something heavy and painful pressing up against his lungs with the force of everything he feels when he speaks. “I can’t imagine a world in which you couldn’t be loved, Fenris. I don’t think it exists.”

Fenris starts to smile, then, and it breaks into another sob, and Anders gives in at last to the urge to pull him into his arms and hold him, tightly, cupping the back of his head as he cries. Gently, Anders presses a kiss to the corner of Fenris’ temple, lips tickled by the soft strands of his hair. “I love you, Fenris. Please believe that.” Anders laughs a little, even as he feels his own tears spill over and begin to fall down his cheeks. “I love you so much it hurts. I can’t do anything else.”

Fenris pulls back, then, and presses a kiss to Anders cheek, before giving another to his lips and pressing their foreheads together. “I know, amatus. I love you, too.”

The candles around them flicker in light and shadow against the walls, painting them red and yellow as if the wood is burning. Far off, a distant wolf calls into the night.

After a moment, another answers it.

#dadwc #fenders #da2 #fenris #anders #anon #my fic

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idlecreature · 4 years

Text

a mountain is a lovely, cold thing to surround one

Barnabas Bennett and Mordechai Lukas have an... unorthodox relationship.

Barnabas has debts, and Mordechai makes sure he pays them.

Vampire!Mordechai for Jonah Magnus Week! Part 1/Part 2/Part 3

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Mordechai Lukas/Barnabas Bennett, Jonah Magnus/Barnabas Bennett

Content warnings: Dubcon, Unhealthy relationships, heavy on the internalized homophobia, the Lonely, manipulation (hence the dubcon warning), Barnabas does NOT die in this fic, happy ending for Barnabas because he deserves it rrrr

Fragments from a letter written circa Christmas 1814

—and I am looking forward to fainting at the sight of his sweet little face, Jonah! The splendid mane around his neck! Your little tiger, king of his jungle, king Ceasar, his croaky battle-roar as he runs down the hallway for his cream—

Barnabas has a sixth sense for earthquakes. In the hours leading up to one, he feels odd jolts in his bones, like someone is reaching through his skin and rattling him. He feels them where he broke his zygomatic process when his mother dropped him as a toddler, just to the side of his left eye. If he had a soul, he thinks that’s where it would live: in the part of him that was first broken.

When he and Jonah are thirteen and eleven respectively, he feels his skull itching and watches the trembling of their school’s pet rabbit and the anxious pattern of birds wheeling, and on their tea break, he leads Jonah outside and takes the other boy’s hand and presses it to a patch of bare dirt beside the rugby field.

“Do you feel that?” Barnabas asks.

Jonah’s eyes narrow in concentration. His hand scrapes nonsense patterns in the dirt. “Describe what I’m supposed to be feeling?”

Barnabas shakes his head. How does a thirteen-year-old describe a sense of inescapable doom? It feels like standing outside his mother’s room unbreathing and counting down from twenty before knocking. It feels like being sucked under a wave and not fighting as hard as he knows he should to resurface. It feels like waking up on a grey morning crying.

The quake, when it hits that evening, lasts for six minutes. An entire epoch for a child. And Barnabas understands it’s no use knowing about an oncoming earthquake if you are powerless to stop it coming on.

At least he has Jonah, whose dirty hand wraps tightly around his own.

Despite what Jonah believes, there are some things that just can’t be explained in words.

His skull’s been prickling in recent months.

It’s gonna be a bad one.

—It’s freezing cold, and, oh, you know I feel the cold most cruelly. I cannot make myself warm with double-socking, or blankets over my knees, or hot bread and soup... nothing warms me, only the morning sun as she shakes her fiery head. I cannot wait for summer-time—

Isabel Blackwood is a saint.

“Another slice of Three-kings-cake, B....Barny?” Isabel asks, her knife poised in the air. There are two slices left, and James has already found the bean. Her four children stand at her elbows, eyeing the cake with hungry, dark eyes, but they, too, cede to Barnabas. Even the little king bows.

“Mr. Bennett, if you please,” Barnabas replies, aiming for a terse-but-gentle tone. “And I couldn’t eat another bite!” He pats his stomach in emphasis.

“Come on, Mr. Bennett, it’s Christmas!”

“Leave off, Mr. Blackwood,” Isabel says to her husband. She smiles at Barnabas as she cuts the two slices into four and divides them amongst her children.

“Don’t wolf it down or you’ll make yourselves sick,” Isabel warns the two girls, Frances and Annie.

The Blackwoods are decent folk, letting him come over for cake on Christmas. They were the first to sign up for Barnabas’ family charity earlier in the year; he has since taken on half a dozen more, but his closest working relationship is still the Blackwoods. The charity pulled the eldest, James, out of the workhouse and into an apprenticeship, made co-payments on lodgings that are just a step above their old squalid tenement, provided them with new ill-fitting clothes. It seems pitifully little to Barnabas, but the Blackwoods seem to worship the ground he walks on.

You can’t be too friendly with people like that. It’s unfair to you both. It’s awkward enough sitting in their smoky central room, the air smelling like damp and soap and sweat and charcoal, in a tailored suit that may as well have been spun from gold, hands soft from white-collar work, clear-eyed and ruddy-cheeked. Look, his appearance mocks, how the world could be if it were not so cruel.

Before Barnabas leaves the Blackwoods, the littlest one, Henry, gives him a tight hug. Henry tries to wrap his entire body around Barnabas’ middle, constricting him like a snake, and when he doesn’t seem to want to let go Isabel has to pry him off.

“Don’t be so clingy,” she chides her son. She looks at Barnabas nervously. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Bennett. He’s somehow got it in his silly noggin that you’re his Uncle.”

Barnabas looks at her in mute horror. “I - I - I should go,” he says, and makes a hasty exit.

Barnabas runs a finger down the perfectly neat columns of his ledger again, double-checking every minutia of his expenses. He’s made a mistake, he must have missed something. He’s fifty pounds short of where he should be.

His hands curl into fists. The absence of fifty pounds shouldn’t be a big issue, not for him and his big house and servants and nice things. But the charity is obviously chewing through more of this month’s allowance than he’s anticipated, and he needs to make some adjustments if he wants to be able to keep all the nice things and pay the servants and keep the debt collector from his door.

This is why he shouldn’t let people become attached to him. Because he ends up disappointing or hurting them. People could starve and it would be his fault.

A thick splat of water lands on his ledger, making the perfect lines run, and that’s just great, isn’t it? What are tears ever good for, when are they ever useful? He is just a very small cog in a very big machine, and now he’s getting ground up in it like the rest of them.

But what else can he do? He must participate in the world if he wants it to change for the better, even if it’s a marginal improvement. He could live in the margins.

He’ll find the money somewhere.

—did you get my copy of Queen Mab? The Vice Society has declared it OBSCENE MATERIAL, and I mustn't be seen with a copy of it in my house, but you do not rely so much upon a good reputation. I hope you keep it safe. I hope you read it and I hope you side with P.B.S. and I. A good world starts with a good person and a few choices that are made with the heart—

Barnabas’s game of solitaire lies forgotten as he stares at Jonah.

They are more different now than ever. Barnabas keeps the company of bankers and lawyers and politicians, and Jonah runs with crackpots and devils and the insane. Jonah has fourteen powers; Barnabas has a list of names in his address book. People he barely knows, who remain in his orbit because of his good breeding, his impeccable reputation, and they still only half-listen to his pleading and his petitioning and his politicking. The people with the power to actually change the world; people he wants at arm’s length.

But there’s just something about Jonah that makes Barnabas want to touch. He flares to gold with an audience; but, even now, curled up on his couch idly scratching between Julius Ceasar’s whiskers, he is a dim and majestic copper. There’s something undeniably old testament about Jonah; the fire and fury of creation, the self-annihilating stare of Lot’s wife.

Jonah’s close to buried under the Millbank proofs spread over his lap, sucking gently on the tip of his pen, occasionally darting down to make some arcane adjustment on the design—just a penstroke or puzzling scribble. Mostly he just stares at the paper, eyes wide enough to look like holes in his face. When he gets like this, Barnabas can balance teacups on Jonah’s head without him noticing. The record is three.

“Still keeping the elevator?” Barnabas asks. It’s just one of the many strange embellishments that Jonah’s insisted upon, putting it far outside the budget of any public works project. The price of Jonah’s fancies must run into the tens of thousands of pounds.

“In my dreams, there’s a glass elevator to the top of my tower, from which I look down upon the imprisoned and the powerless,” Jonah says.

“Taking cues from your dreams?” Barnabas replies. “You know only the desperately mad do that?”

“Or desperately inspired—savants and prophets and visionaries.”

“And prison wardens, apparently,” Barnabas mutters. He bites his teeth together, unwilling to work through this old argument. “Who’s paying for your dream towers, again? Think they might lend me fifty pounds for a project that actually is for the public good?”

Jonah finally unpeels his eyes from his proofs, and Barnabas’s throat runs dry. Jonah stares until he’s got Barnabas squirming in his seat, and then he says, brightly, “Oh, I’m sure he would. I’m sure I could tell you. But I don’t think I will.”

“Jonah,” Barnabas says irritably. “That’s very unfair.”

“Oh, pish posh, life’s unfair, Barny, and I can’t believe that you in your infinite wisdom and your even more infinite disposition to share it can pretend that it isn’t. That the evil in man has made life unfair, that it’s just not the natural order to put some creatures above others.”

Barnabas counters him an instant later. “Obviously, you stupid little man, not everyone was created equal, but it’s the good in man to want to put things to rights, to create a system where unequal creatures can be equal. Are you trying to make me angry with you by playing the devil’s advocate?”

“Just testing you,” Jonah says in his alloyed voice, silver-and-honey-gold.

“Well? Who’s this rich man then?”

Jonah sticks his tongue out at him.

“Alright, it’s getting late,” Barnabas says. He tidies his long-forgotten card game and makes ready to leave.

“Wait,” Jonah says.

“It really is getting on, Jonah, I promise you can tease me about secret benefactors some other day.” Barnabas stands up and stretches on his stiff legs.

“No.” Jonah shuts his eyes briefly. “It’s very late. You should stay.”

Barnabas shakes his head and makes his way out of the fire-warm lounge and into the cold front room. Jonah springs up, sending the proofs flying and Julius Ceasar yowling in annoyance and surprise, and Jonah follows close on his heels.

“It’s raining,” Jonah says more softly.

“It is Edinburgh,” Barnabas replies, but cold apprehension curdles in his belly. “I - I need to leave. I - I already visit you too often, Jonah, and you know what people say about you, and they might think that I’m.... I’m some kind of...”

Jonah steps closer. “Aren’t you, though? ‘Some kind of’?” He reaches for Barnabas’s hand where it is clumsily buttoning his coat. “I know you, Barnabas. Your morality has only ever been a thin cover for your shame.”

The blood drains from Barnabas’ face. “That’s very cruel,” he whispers.

“It’s true,” Jonah says. He cants his head. “Haven’t you thought about why your morals don’t ever make you happy? It’s because you wield them like a sword, to keep yourself away from the world. A world that won’t ever accept you for who you are. A world that wants you to keep waving that heavy, sharp thing until you give up and throw yourself upon it. That’s your pain, Barnabas, that’s your fear. Whenever I look at you I can see it as easily as I see your face.”

Jonah steps closer again. His chin touches Barnabas’s chest, and Barnabas can see the pulse fluttering in his friend’s throat. “It doesn’t have to be that way,” Jonah says.

“It does,” Barnabas says, stepping out of his reach. “Because - because I’m still afraid, and I still love the world, even - even if to live in it I must throw myself upon my sword and die and haunt my own life, all at the same time.”

Jonah remains silent. If he is stung by the rejection, his expression doesn’t show it. He’s got that crinkle between his brow he gets when he has to solve two maths problems simultaneously.

“Mordechai Lukas,” Jonah says, eventually. “That’s my moneyed friend. Tread carefully with him.”

Jonah wishes him no goodbye when he shuts the door. That’s fine with Barnabas. He’s not the only one nursing fresh wounds.

—I confess since I’ve been away this time my need or my wish for people has absolutely fled. I have learned to love solitude, and I forget what it means to be lonely.—

Mordechai looms as large as a mountain and is beautiful in the way a portrait is beautiful—two steps removed from humanity.

He tilts Barnabas’s head to the side, impervious to the muscles in Barnabas’s neck straining against him.

“Hm,” Mordechai says.

“I take it you’re not convinced by the moral position, then,” Barnabas spits out. His cheeks are burning, but Mordechai’s other hand is wrapped around Barnabas’s hip, stopping him from stepping away.

Mordechai laughs; a strange thing, guttering as it starts, in contrast with his unmoving, lifeless, beautiful face. His thumb strokes Barnabas’s cheek despite Barnabas trying to shake it off. “No. But there are certainly other positions to consider.”

“We’re in public,” Barnabas hisses. He looks pointedly at two women walking down the other side of the street.

“Are we?” Mordechai murmurs. He’s still circling his thumb on Barnabas’s cheek, but his fingers press down on Barnabas’s carotid artery, taking its measure, making Barnabas’s vision swim with silver fish.

“What - what vile magic -”

“Just a glamour.”

Barnabas processes this new information rapidly. “They can’t see us?”

“Would you like them to?”

Barnabas tries to shake his head, but it is locked in place, pulled as taut as a bowstring. The pressure is starting to hurt, and he rests against Mordechai’s hand for a moment to ease it.

“Good,” Mordechai says, and releases him. Barnabas takes several staggering steps backward, massaging his sore neck. “Spirited, aren’t you?”

“I can - I can work up a repayment plan, we can sign it at the -”

“No,” Mordechai replies, his voice heavy with finality. “I decide how I am repaid.”

Desperation is a harsh master, and Barnabas nods. He’d prefer to keep it off the books, anyway. An agreement between Gentlemen.

“You will find my terms very agreeable,” Mordechai says.

Barnabas swallows and feels the heat of his blush creep under his hair. There’s something in the way Mordechai looks at him that promises danger, but Barnabas only feels the anticipation of a fight, so strong he can barely keep it down. He takes his time to make sure he doesn’t sound too eager when he replies.

In the dark of his bedroom when Barnabas finally wraps a hand around himself, he isn’t thinking about Jonah, his many dog-eared fantasies, tired and sad Frankensteinian conjurations of the few ginger kisses they’ve shared, memories of Jonah flushed, excited, exerted stitched together and his own imagination filling in the rest—they’ve been friends for so long it’s completely understandable if Barnabas’ thoughts occasionally (privately, every night) run to intimacy. He’s trying very hard not to think about Jonah.

He’s thinking about that strange, death-pale, flat-edged face, the terrible pressure on Barnabas’s jaw, the feeling of compression on his artery, the voice both mocking and stern in turns. Its appearance in Barnabas’s thoughts elicits a new and fierce shame.

Barnabas rubs his chin, trying to chase the feeling of Mordechai’s hand.

It’s almost comical, how quickly Barnabas’s shame runs to pleasure.

His fifty pounds arrives with an invitation.

The first time Barnabas visits Moorland house, he expects Mordechai to be waiting for him. But Mordechai is not there, and Barnabas is expected to wait.

Moorland is certainly a large and imposing estate, perhaps once opulent, but it has been left to ruin. The building’s beams sag with damp; its tapestries are delicately laced with powder-white fungus; there is an atrocious stuffed albatross over the mantlepiece with half of its feathers snowed around the room. The grounds are pale and bare; an empty wind roils through.

Barnabas is fairly certain that Moorland has three servants, but they whip around or disappear through doors when he tries to approach them. Barnabas’s own house is much smaller, but he has just as many in his staff; he suspects that Mordechai is not a rich man at all, just someone with a once-impressive but dead family name and an estate too large to be managed on a pittance. He wonders why Mordechai pretends otherwise.

These thoughts slip through his mind like freshwater fish down a stream, but Barnabas wanders through the house contentedly enough. After a week he barely even notices the servants’ presence, save for his changing sheets and pressed clothes and the serviceable meals prepared set and left for him in at the kitchen table, in front of the unlit hearth. He eats with blackened silverware and tastes the neglect.

After two weeks, Barnabas sails through the house in fraying silk undergarments and dusty, pink-tinged mink he’s pulled out of a room he can’t remember, his days blurring together in their monotony. He stops to wipe a sleeve at one of the many ancient, spotted mirrors and squints through the smear of dust at his reflection, trying to reconcile the person standing in front of him with the person he thought he was. Wasn’t he supposed to have a purpose here? Wasn’t he needed in London? There is poverty, suffering; but it is far, far away, and he is in a place it would never touch him.

There are as many mirrors as there are portraits of Mordechai’s family, all exactly alike, his haunting beauty and domineering presence. Barnabas drags a finger down the paint of one of them, leaving behind a thin white line. A tally mark to as many days he thinks he’s spent in this place.

He’s sitting at the kitchen table, clipping pearlescent roses from the garden for a floral arrangement when he thinks about all those mirrors, and how a ghost could wander this house trapped forever. If he covers up the mirrors, then he could leave.

Mordechai returns when Barnabas no longer keeps track of days and nights; when the mirrors don’t make him think of anything in particular, although he wonders why half of them are shrouded or turned to the wall.

Barnabas drifts down to the coatroom and threads his arms through Mordechai’s.

“Welcome home,” he says dreamily.

“Hello,” Mordechai says. Barnabas makes a small, disappointed sound when Mordechai disengages himself to unwind his scarf. He scratches his beard. “You’re in a biddable mood.”

“‘Course I am. I’m lovely,” Barnabas replies. He presses himself to Mordechai, enjoying the whole, solid block of him. Mordechai’s hands are worryingly chilly, and Barnabas gathers them and blows on them gently. Once he finishes the task he settles against Mordechai again, pleased with himself.

Mordechai forgoes a response but for tipping Barnabas’s head back and sucking an open-mouthed kiss against his neck, working the skin with his tongue and the slick coldness of his teeth, and, oh, this is the touch that Barnabas has craved these past days. He’s felt so forlorn without it, only he never realized.

He’s gasping and moaning by the time Mordechai splits his skin open and drinks his blood. It’s only then, with his blood being pulled out of him in long, deep strokes, that Barnabas remembers with ice-cold clarity why he’s here; to repay a debt; and that he should be feeling rather a lot of either shame, or anger, pain, or worry, but instead he’s trying to rut his puffed-up prick against the vampire’s body.

Mordechai licks the wound closed and kisses Barnabas, sharing with him the taste of his own blood.

“Happy new year,” Mordechai says.

#the magnus archives #jonah magnus week #mordechai lukas #barnabas bennett #jonah magnus #second part up tomorrow it's just another 3k and my wrists are sore

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kangaracha · 4 years

Note

Write me some goddamn *whips* motherfucking *woahs* zeddison fluff *dabs*

It’s bad weather to be out in the middle of the night, the wind blustering down the streets and the air hanging hot and heavy with the oncoming storm – but her hand is wrapped tight around his, their fingers intertwined, and he’s never known how to say no to her even if he tries.

She doesn’t tell him where they’re going. It’s like the wind has caught her in thrall, pushing her down and down towards the eastern side of town. She refuses to explain why she’s keeping to the dark backstreets, now that his curfew is banished to the history books, or why she’s wrapped his arm in plastic and wads of tape from her mother’s office drawers, his Z-band glowing an unhappy, fractured green beneath it all. It’s a surprise, she insists, and tugs him onward, like they don’t have the time to spare.

He baulks at the first No Zombies Allowed sign, mounted high and proud above a pale blue fence. It’s even afforded its own spotlight, so that even now, in the middle of the night, he cannot claim to have missed it. “Addison…” he begins as he pulls her to a sharp stop, and points to the sign, the beacon of light in the black.

She barely glances at it. “It’s the middle of the night,” she says, like it’s nothing. “Come on.”

He’s still hesitant, though she manages to coax him one step closer to this line he shouldn’t cross. “Are you sure?” he asks.

She laughs, bright and brilliant, the light reflecting like stars in her eyes. “What, you’re scared of breaking the rules now?” she challenges him. “Like Zombie Mash isn’t totally illegal.”

“Zombie Mash is legal now, thank you,” Zed shoots back, but takes another step in her favour anyway. “As of last week, zombies can gather wherever they want, whenever they want.” He stops, and then adds pointedly. “Except human-only spaces.”

“It’s still just like Mash,” she insists. “And there’s no lights or anything. There’s no way anyone will see us.”

“Mash is in Zombietown. This is like, the furthest you can get from Zombietown…I don’t even know where we are.” He looks around, like he might be able to figure it out; predictably, nothing looks familiar.

“Well, if you come with me, you’ll find out.” Addison tugs on his arm again, harder this time, and grins when he follows her, albeit hesitantly.

“I’m starting to feel like I’ve been a bad influence on you,” he says, even as he follows her down a set of dark stairs, only staying on his feet out of pure luck.

“Careful at the bottom,” is all she says in reply, although he can hear the laughter in her voice. “It’s really-”

He reaches the bottom of the steps as she speaks, and gasps as his feet sink into the soft ground, his boots suddenly sucking him down into the clutches of the earth. It shifts and turns with every move he makes, unlike anything he’s ever walked on before.

Addison laughs. “You should take your shoes off,” she says, and then she follows her own advice, toeing off her runners and stuffing her socks inside them.

He does the same, sitting down to pull his boots off and leaving them on the steps next to hers. The ground is just as deep under his bare feet, but steadier, and warm as it falls over his toes. He walks a few steps, staring down at it in wonder; and then, just at the edge of his hearing range, he hears the dull roar of something massive and wild and stops short again, staring into the darkness.

“Addison,” he whispers, his feet shifting in the sand. “Are we…is this a beach?”

Her face lights up, silhouetted by the glow of Seabrook behind them. “You haven’t even seen the best part yet!” she tells him and reaches for his hand, pulling him out into the darkness. He follows her blindly, his eyes slow to adjust (it is painfully obvious this is not a place for zombies; they can’t see in the dark, they need light, he is blind…but she leads with such confidence, he’d be a fool not to follow).

The sand turns from deep and loose to hard-packed under his feet, and then to damp and soft, clinging to his hot, sticky skin, his heels sinking slowly into the muck.

“Addison, the water-” he begins, unsure where exactly on the beach they are – and then something cold and bubbling rushes past his ankles, glinting like liquid silver in the moonlight.

He yelps, jumping backwards and almost losing his balance in the tug of water that follows, as it turns and rushes back out to sea. Only Addison keeps him on his feet, clinging to his arm even as she laughs at him, the sound as wild as the wind that whips cheerfully around them, creating eddies in the surface of the water.

“Are you okay?” she asks when she is sure he is on his feet again. He doesn’t answer, just heaves a breath and stares at the light that catches on the crests of waves rolling in towards the shore.

“Here comes another one,” Addison warns him, and then the cold shock of the water pushes past him again, splashing almost to his knees. He braces against the back tow this time, only clinging to Addison for moral support.

“Do you want to go deeper?” she asks as the next wave washes in, calmer than the first two.

Zed hesitates – he doesn’t want to disappoint her, or suggest it’s a bad idea, and he doesn’t want to admit to himself that, now that he is here on the edge of it, this raging, limitless ocean he can’t see is the most terrifying thing he has ever encountered. He wants to indulge her, wants to do whatever she suggests. But for possibly the first time in his life, he is afraid of going any further than he has already gone.

Addison must see it in his face, the uncertainty, the rock and the ocean she’s placed him between. “It’s okay,” she says as she steps towards him, close enough that he can feel the heat of her body. “We don’t have to. It’s probably kind of scary, if you’ve never seen it before, right?”

“I can’t swim,” he blurts out, the excuses pouring hard and fast from his mouth before he can stop them. “And my Z-band – if I fall over – and it’s so dark, if there was a little bit more light-”

“Oh!” She looks crestfallen, her lips turning downwards and her brows furrowing in disappointment at herself. “I’m so sorry, Zed, I didn’t even think-”

“No, no.” He squeezes her hand, brushes his fingers through the windswept locks of her hair. “This is amazing, I can’t believe we’re even…I would never have come here if it weren’t for you. Thank you.”

He kisses her before she can try to apologise again, sweet and slow and meaningful, even if all he can taste is the brine of the air and the moment is cut short by a wave that crashes against their legs so hard that they both stagger sideways, laughing and clinging to one another to stay upright.

“We have to bring Eliza and Bonzo here,” he says when they are sure they are right. “Maybe some of the others too. It’s not fair that they don’t get to see this.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” she informs him, and pulls him into a stroll along the very edge of the water. “I just wanted it to be just us first, just to enjoy…this.”

Zed grins. “This is perfect,” he tells her, kicking at the water and admiring how the light from Seabrook glitters in the spray of water that rises from the movement. “Though next time we should bring torches. Or glowsticks.”

Her laughter peels into the open air, clear as a bell and bright against the low roar of the ocean he can’t quite see.

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purplesurveys · 3 years

Text

1055

surveys by lets-make-surveys

1 - Surveys aside, do you use Tumblr for any other reason? Not anymore. I used to have a main blog, but it’s been years since I opened it; this is it (excuse the bad word in the URL lol, I thought it made me look like an edgy teen) but as I got older I used it less and less frequently until I no longer remember the password to log back in. These days I stay on Tumblr precisely because no one really uses it anymore, so it’s the perfect spot to hide this blog in.

2 - Do you have a lot of social media accounts? Do you update them all regularly? Depends on what you mean by a lot; I have all the basic ones - Twitter, IG, Facebook, YouTube, hell I still even have my Snapchat alive lol but I haven’t used it in like three years. I use YouTube the most but I don’t update it per se, like I just use it to watch videos. Facebook I’ve used a lot less often since the breakup, but I’ve shared a handful of posts since September. I’m probably on Twitter the most, but even then my usage hasn’t been the same.

3 - Does it bother you when your socks don’t match? What about your underwear? I don’t care for either situation, especially for underwear. Why would I care about something no one is ever going to see and even think about?

4 - How many times a year do you go on vacation? Do you tend to go to the same places each time? My family plans at least two trips, at least in non-Covid circumstances. We will sometimes repeat provinces but we never repeat hotels or sites, and we seldom repeat cities. The only places I remember visiting more than once are Baguio, Tagaytay, Albay, Subic, and Baler.

5 - How many times did it take you to pass your driving test? Just one. I could not afford to fuck it up; I was at the LTO for 8 hours and was not willing to go through that shitty long wait, so I absolutely had to pass that exam and do my best with the shitty car I had to work with.

6 - When you’re in trouble, do your parents ever “middle name” you? Nah they never used my whole name. My mom’s trademark is to add an -ah sound to my name when I’ve done something wrong though, as in Robina lol. That’s a sign I should know I shouldn’t have done what I did, whatever it is.

7 - Which family member do you look like the most? Which one do you resemble the most in terms of personality? People are always shocked to hear my mom is actually my mom and not my sister, because 1) we look very much alike, and 2) she looks young for her age. As for my personality, I’d say I’m a perfect split of my mom and dad. I exhibit an equal amount of traits they both have and I can’t tell which one I act like more.

8 - Have you ever been arrested? Never.

9 - Do you prefer Apple or Android? Apple. Would rather pay more than be stuck with an interface, camera, and emojis that I personally don’t like.

10 - Does getting sweaty or dirty bother you at all? If so, has it ever put you off doing exercise? I don’t sweat a lot, so I really do hate it when I feel beads of sweat on my temples or when the back of my shirt starts to feel damp. It doesn’t have anything to do with my feelings about exercising; I don’t like working out, period.

11 - Have you ever broken a bone? What were the circumstances that led to this happening? Never happened, hope it never happens.

12 - If you could change one thing about your appearance, what would it be? I wish I didn’t get the hairy gene so that I didn’t have to shave too much; my hair to be a little livelier and bouncier; and my front teeth to be straighter.

13 - When was the last time your computer crashed or froze? is this something that happens often? It must’ve been around a month ago. It just got too busy, so it froze for a few seconds. My laptop’s a trooper and doesn’t crash/freeze a lot.

14 - Do you ever have problems with your sleep? It’s mid-sleep I’ve been having issues with; I get nightmares almost every night. I don’t have a problem falling asleep as I’m able to do so pretty quickly.

15 - What was the last thing you ate for breakfast? Is this a normal breakfast meal for you? Angel sent over a small box of chocolate chip cookies as a Christmas gift so I’ve been enjoying that :) I’m currently having it with warm coffee. My normal breakfast is no breakfast, so this is a treat for me. Before this I also had to eat my leftover Chapaghetti that I couldn’t finish last night.

16 - Have you ever thought about how you want to spend your retirement? That has not come to mind a lot, actually. I think more about death than I do my retirement...but this question tells me I should probably take a few steps back. I’d simply love to live in comfort with the person I end up growing old with. For now, that’s all I see myself wanting.

17 - When was the last time you got a new tattoo or piercing? Do you have any plans to get either in the future? A little less than 22 years ago; my mom had my ears pierced when I was a few months old. Haven’t gotten any new ones, nor tattoos, since. I’d love to have a couple of tattoos. Some of my ideas are two pawprints for each of my dogs, a plate of nachos, and lyrics that are personally meaningful.

18 - How would you describe your personality? Oof, what a loaded question. Hmm, I guess I’d generally label myself as hardened until I get close with someone? I’ve always kept a wall up and as friendly and extroverted as I can be, I don’t enjoy letting just anyone in. I value my personal and private space, and it’s important that I don’t lose it.

From another angle, I also like to keep doing nice things for other people, even at the expense of my own happiness and comfort. I have to keep making people happy to keep me pleased with myself and the world. Maybe it’s rooted in the fact that I’m the eldest daughter in an Asian family? Idrk, but all I know is that I’ve never had a problem putting other people first.

19 - Have you ever heard of “hygge”? is this something you enjoy or participate in at all? I have no idea what this is and I’ve never come across this word before.

20 - What colour was the last vehicle you travelled in? Does this vehicle belong to you or someone else? White. It’s the car that was given to me for college, but when all is said and done it’s not mine.

21 - Would you describe yourself as healthy? Why or why not? In some senses yes, in other senses no. I don’t exercise or actively watch my diet, and I certainly eat too much junk; so proactively speaking, I’m not super healthy. But generally, my gene pool has been pretty fortunate with health. Other than heart conditions that run in certain branches of the family, we’re relatively a healthy bunch.

22 - Would you describe yourself as messy or organised? Is this something you would like to change? It’s a balance of both. I’m very organized at work so I allow myself to let go in my personal space, like my closet and car. I do clean up from time to time and I still like my space to be neat, but I’m not as neurotic as I normally would be with my workspace.

23 - Do you miss anything about being a teenager? If you are a teenager, what’s your favourite thing about it? The innocence. It was a period of being ideal, being a dreamer, being as romantic about life as I wanted to be. It was also a period where you were allowed to make mistakes, because fucking up when you’re younger lets you off the hook. These are the biggest things I miss, but I don’t really find myself pining for my teenage days. I still like where I am, even if things are realistically a little duller in adulthood.

24 - Are you patriotic at all? Why/why not? No. It’s hard to be when your country is shit.

25 - Have you ever had to wear a white lab coat before? Was this in school or for a job? Yeah we had lab coats in Lab class in high school, but they were green. We also needed safety goggles, and if I remember correctly if we had neither of these things we had to sit outside and skip out on the session.

26 - Would you ever want to do the same career(s) as your parents? I can see myself going down somewhere in the secretarial path like my mom as I’m good at organizing things and keeping internal affairs in order, but I don’t know if I would find it fulfilling. But in general, I wouldn’t want to be in the hotel and restaurant industry. I don’t have any attachments to it and I’ve always felt like I belonged in media and communications.

27 - Do you believe in aliens? Is there a reason why (or why not)? Yes. For the most part, it’s more comforting to think and believe that we’re not the only beings around.

28 - Which animated film would you most like to live in? Does it have to be a film? I’d love to be in the Fairly OddParents universe and have fairy godparents of my own.

29 - When was the last time you got into an argument? Have you made up with that person yet? Gab. I don’t know. She’s ignoring me.

30 - What are you going to do now this survey is over? Take another one.

1 - Have you ever had your computer or e-mail hacked? Did anything bad happen as a result? No but I had bad viruses on all of my Windows laptops before. The worst virus I got involved my laptop typing out some long-ass Vietnamese paragraphs for me at the most random times. It was like a horror movie lmao. Every time I Googled the text I never got any leads from it, so I never knew what it meant or what the virus was.

2 - Do you prefer the company of people or animals? I don’t really have a preference when it comes to these two because their companionships are individually different. I like that animals can be playful and sweet; but I also like cracking jokes and having meaningful conversations with people.

3 - Are you a religious person? Were you raised in that faith or did you discover it a later date in life? I was born and raised Catholic, and still legally am. I never saw the appeal of the idea of being saved or of reading the Bible or anything that has to do with Christianity; and the idea of praying was weird to me even from childhood. A lot of Christians/Catholics I know are hypocrites anyway, and to me that says a lot about their mindset when it comes to religion.

4 - When was the last time you went to the beach? What did you do there? August 2019. My friends and I had a day trip to Nasugbu so we could have some fun before the semester started; we mostly swam and caught up with one another. August is a low season so we literally had the beach, the pool, and the poolside bar to ourselves.

5 - With all the COVID restrictions in place, would you feel happy/comfortable travelling abroad right now? Why/why not? I’d be happy, but not comfortable because of the swab test I would have to take hahaha. The selfish part of me is itching to go to other places already. I know my parents would put a million roadblocks to keep me from getting on a plane though, so me traveling is purely theoretical.

6 - How would you describe your dress sense? I like wearing flattering pieces but nothing too flashy or bright. I get items that are currently in style and make sure they match with the rest of my wardrobe, but at the end of the day I still like to blend in with the crowd and avoid neon colors, flashy labels, or whatever it is that would make me stand out.

7 - Do you wait until the sales start before you buy non-essential items? I never really pay attention to sales. It’s led to some pleasant surprises, like the other day when I was looking for a gift for my aunt. There was an H&M purse that caught my eye and it was so pretty, but way above my budget. I decided to get it anyway because that aunt throws amazing Christmas parties over the years and gives us lots of money, so I thought it could would be my way of giving back (especially since her company got hit hard by Covid). Once I got to the cashier the register showed it was like 60% off, even though there were no stickers on it and there was zero promotion anywhere in the store.

8 - What kind of milk do you prefer to drink (if you drink it at all)? I don’t drink milk, but I’m able to consume it in other dishes. I haven’t tried any types other than whole milk.

9 - Do you prefer blonde hair or brunette hair on your preferred sex? I don’t have preferences when it comes to hair color. We’re not really conditioned to consider this factor, since Filipinos have black hair.

10 - Would you be embarrassed to own the same clothing as one of your parents? No. I borrow stuff from my mom all the time. My sister also borrows some of my dad’s t-shirts, at least the ones that can fit her.

11 - When was the last time you wore some kind of fancy dress? Like...a gown? I’m not too sure. It must’ve been Alena’s debut three years ago since that’s the last fancy party I went to.

12 - Do you enjoy dressing up (ie. in suits or smart clothing)? When was the last time you did so? I like dressing up and making myself look cute, but dressing up formally not so much.

13 - What’s worse - being overdressed or underdressed? Personally, underdressed. I’d rather look too prepared than looking as if I didn’t care to look decent for whatever event I’m headed to.

14 - What do you think would be the worst thing about being stuck in solitary confinement? Not having any options or activities to do.

15 - Have you ever owned an unusual or exotic pet? Would you want to? Nope. I would not want to have one. Unusual pet is just a euphemism for animals that shouldn’t be pets.

16 - How old were you when you learned to tie your shoelaces? I was 5 and had to learn it for a test in kindergarten.

17 - Do you enjoy decorating for the holidays? Sure, it makes me feel festive :)

18 - Would you rather go into a restaurant or just go via the drive-through? These days it’s more wise to use the drive-thru, but to be frank I’ve missed dining in. I would opt for the restaurant but make sure to follow safety protocols in the area.

19 - Do you like having your teeth cleaned at the dentist? I’ve actually always found trips to the dentist soothing, even as a kid. The only time I ever really freaked out was when I went last year to have a tooth removed and I was told that I needed an anaesthesia shot on my gums; even then, I didn’t even feel anything when it finally happened.

20 - Have you ever had a gun drawn on you before? Maybe? My cousins and friends and I doodled on each other a lot as kids.

21 - When was the last time you went to a petting zoo? I’ve never been to one and idk if I can go to one.

22 - Do you bite your nails? Could you physically bite your toenails if you stretched enough? Sometimes I’ll gnaw at my nails and then scrape them off. I’ve found it more satisfying than biting them all the way off. I could definitely bite my toenails, but I choose not to.

23 - How old were you when you first started using Tumblr? Have you had the same blog all that time? It wasssssss 2010, so I was 11 at the time. Nah, I deactivated that blog only after a year of using it and then I shifted to a wrestling blog.

24 - Are you a fan of practical jokes? If I’m watching celebrities pull it on another celebrities, yeah. Most of the time I get anxious that the recipient would react negatively, so I don’t watch a lot of pranks.

25 - How many years older and younger than you would you consider dating? Is this a concrete thing or would you make an exception for the right person? It will still depend on the latter condition, of course; but theoretically I would like to keep seeing people my exact age. No more and no less than the year 1998. Growing up with relatives in such close age to me makes me feel like I’d be dating an older cousin if it was someone a year older, and my sister if it was someone a year younger.

26 - Who did you vote for in the last US elections? If you’re not in the US, who would you have voted for? I don’t live in the US; I would have voted for Biden.

27 - Are you a fan of reddit? What are some of your favourite subreddits? Sure. I don’t visit it as much as I used to, but I still go on there when I’m bored and in need of entertaining or educational content. r/AskReddit is a classic fave of mine, but I also go on r/interestingasfuck, r/todayilearned, r/mildlyinteresting, r/dataisbeautiful, r/SquaredCircle, and r/goodmythicalmorning. Sometimes I’ll visit the r/AmItheAsshole sub as well to have some fun lol.

28 - Have you ever watched those YouTube videos of people popping their own spots or zits? Do you find them gross or fascinating? Not those, but I’ve looked up earwax extractions and blackhead removals before.

29 - What’s a food you hated as a kid but love now? How about vice versa? Chicken curry is probably my best example because I’m obsessed with all kinds of curry now, whether it’s Indian butter chicken, Thai green curry, or Japanese curry. I didn’t understand the complex flavors as a kid, but I’m got to appreciate more and more as I got older.

30 - Do you prefer socks, shoes or going bare foot? Idk, I feel like all these choices are useful and convenient in their own different situations? I’m barefoot when I’m at home but put on socks when it’s chilly, and I wear shoes when I’m outdoors.

#survey #surveys

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