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assaily · 3 years

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I thought about saving this one, but i’ve been sharing it around for a while, so i may as well share it here, too.

Context: Allison and Diego borrow some empathy powers and use them to try and gain some insight on Five

Allison sipped her coffee for lack of anything better to do. She dallied for a time, unsure how to proceed, suddenly aware of the heavy weight that clung to them, and wondered if this was normal. It could have been exhaustion, considering the dark shadows beneath Five’s eyes. It felt deeper than just a bad night of sleep. This was what she’d been afraid of, what she was fully expecting to find and now found herself feeling diminished beneath.

“You hungry?” she asked when Five finished his coffee.

“No,” Five answered, the question hardly a blip on his radar.

“I could eat,” Diego said. Five usually said no to the offer of food unless it was put in front of him. He couldn’t resist once it was there, thankfully, so this little dance of two siblings pretending to cook for each other and secretly cooking for Five was not new. If Five himself noticed, he never said anything about it.

Allison got up from the table, snatching Five’s mug from beneath his fingers. He had been mindlessly tracing the rim and was genuinely startled from his thoughts when Allison took it from him. He said nothing, attention suddenly on her like a scalpel. She wasn’t sure if it was the power or her own imagination that made his scrutiny feel sharper than usual. She set a skillet to heat and refilled Five’s cup before taking it back to the table for him.

Suspicion burned at the hairs on her arms and she took a step back to meet Five’s piercing gaze. “What?” she asked.

“You’re being nice,” he muttered, an observation and a question rolled into one. He wanted to know why, he wanted to know what she wanted.

“Nothing,” she reassured without thinking. “I mean,” she corrected quickly when Diego gave her a sharp look. “I’m just feeling weird and you look tired. I miss my daughter,” she admitted, feeling suddenly vulnerable.

Five blinked, something swirling around them at her admittance, a little like irritation, a lot like muted affection. “I’m not your kid, Allison, you don’t need to dote on me.”

She smiled around the confusing mix dusting the room. “Refilling your coffee is hardly doting,” she replied in a daze.

He shrugged, eyes falling down from her, the sharp focus softening at last. He took a sip of the coffee and it tasted like acceptance. She turned back to the fridge, fighting a smile as she pulled the sausages from the top shelf and added them to the pan. Soon the kitchen was filled with the sounds of sizzling and the smell of food; the anxiety had eased into something quiet and tired and easy to ignore.

She whisked eggs in a bowl, added milk and cheese and cooked it in the same pan as the sausage drippings once they’d finished. She divvied the food up on three plates and set them on the table. The whole meal took her less than twenty minutes, hardly any trouble at all but it felt good to do something for them. It soured when a flood of dread and disgust spilled across the table the moment she put the plate in front of Five. Her movements stuttered, taken by surprise, hesitating to watch him spear a sausage with the fork and nibble on one end like he hadn’t felt anything.

She exchanged a look with Diego, who’d paused mid-bite to watch Five as well.

Irritation suddenly simmered between them, a striking indecisiveness between anger and the urge to flee, anxiety washing over them again. It happened so fast, her and Diego nearly drowned in it. She put her own plate down before she dropped it, and moved to sit. The scrape of the chair on the floor was like someone physically hitting her.

“Five,” she said, her voice swimming.

Diego put down his fork, food untouched, and reached across the table to put a hand on Five’s shoulder. The old man vanished in a pop of light and reappeared by the counter next to the coffee pot. He poured himself another cup, his body lax and his movements smooth in sharp contrast to swirl of indignant rage pounding at the walls.

“I don’t know what the hell is going on with you too, but I don’t want to be involved.” He took a long slurp from the coffee, turning to regard them over the rim of it. “Play your games with someone else.” And with that he disappeared in a pop of light, leaving behind the traces of bitter irritation.

“Maybe it was breakfast?”

“What was wrong with eggs and sausage?” Diego asked.

Allison had no idea. Five was a bit weird about food, but she supposed surviving a few decades in an apocalypse could mess with someone’s ability to have a healthy relationship with eating. He was so skinny, and seemed to get skinnier every day. It was a challenge getting him to eat.

“Maybe he doesn’t like them.”

“Does Five like anything?” Diego asked. “Besides coffee.”

“Fluffernutters,” Allison said. It was the only thing she’d ever seen him choose for himself, besides the time he pilfered all the canned peaches from the cupboards and Klaus found them stashed under his bed. “Fruit?”

For lunch Allison asked Mom to chop up a fruit salad. Five emerged from his room around eleven a.m. like clockwork, usually for coffee. He arrived in the kitchen through one his rips, immediately splashing the room with an emotion that tasted like gunmetal. Allison couldn’t describe it other than dark, sardonic, and irritable. It twisted with the bleeding rawness she had felt earlier.

Five stopped in the doorway, dread spilling forth when he saw her and Diego waiting for him. And he knew they’d been waiting, she could feel him realize it, suspicion mixing with the dread. He scowled at them, a classically abrasive Five expression that she wouldn’t have blinked twice at yesterday.

It was surreal feeling the tumult underneath it.

Five went for the coffee. “Is there a reason you two are still here?”

“We live here,” Diego said.

“Don’t you have a job?” He said to Diego, voice and intonation both sharp and accusing.

“It’s my day off.”

“So you spend it sitting around the kitchen? What a productive use of your time.”

“Oh yeah?” Diego asked, temper flaring predictably. “What do you do around here all day? Huh?”

A bitterness, dark and sharp, encased the room like tar, bubbling with frustration and a delicately muted rage that felt utterly ancient. There was something there Allison wasn’t quite seeing, something deeper than whatever foul mood he was in.

“Why are you mad, Five?” Allison cut the tension like a knife, going against the grain.

“I’m not angry,” Five said, most definitely defending himself.

“You came down here and immediately started picking a fight,” she pointed out, watching his eyes dart from her to Diego and back again, caught out.

He scoffed, glancing down at the coffee cup in his hand, and she felt him switch at the realization. “Oh,” he said, folding inward on himself. Anger still shimmered off him, but it felt like he was trying to pull it back in, drink it down with the bitter burn of coffee in his throat. “The math is being uncooperative,” he gestured above his head in the general direction of his room several floors above them.

“Well you don’t have to take it out on us, you ass,” Diego said, his voice forgiving despite his words.

Shame descended like a fog, settling like an ache against her breast bone. She gestured at the table, desperate to dissipate that cloud. “Mom made fruit.”

Five glanced at her from beneath his bangs but latched onto the change in subject. “Made, huh?”

“She didn’t ‘make’ the fruit, she cut it up though. Do you want some?”

There was a bubble of emotions that came up in the form of hesitation, it was old and complicated and Allison didn’t know how to sift through it fast enough to make any sense of it. Five pursed his lips, shrugged one shoulder and stepped over, holding his coffee in one hand casually. He considered the medley, genuinely perusing the selection, which was more than she could say for breakfast. He chose a pitted peach, cut in half, pulling it from the mix with slender fingers.

“That’s all?”

“Hmm?” he paused, dropping the peach-half back into the salad.

“You can take more,” she felt compelled to inform him.

“I know,” he said, which struck her for the lie it was. She had to swallow that quickly lest it show on her face.

“Get a bowl, take as much as you want.” He could take the whole damn thing, if it pleased him, and none of them would stop him or even admonish him.

The prickle of suspicion resurfaced, and he withdrew his hand away from the bowl, staring at her. His eyes flicked to Diego, mistrust wafting up like a foul smell. He leaned back, straightening to his full height and it was like a veil descended over him, and him alone. A muting of everything, like a layer of cloud, fog, or smoke that socked him in, pushing them out. He took a sip of his coffee, still watching them, before vanishing again in a pop of light.

Diego sighed, deflating next to her. “You can’t push directly, you keep spooking him.”

She groaned in frustration, pillowing her face on her arms on the table. “And here I thought this would be easier than trying to guess.”

She startled up when a returning pop announced Five’s re-arrival. He landed inches from the table wielding a knife from god knows where, which he used to spear several large pieces of fruit. He vanished again without pretense, leaving her stunned and blinking.

From somewhere upstairs, peach flavored delight bloomed on her tongue.

#tua fic #tua #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #allison hargreeves #diego hargreeves #number five #fanfic #this one wanted to be so much more #and i had more ideas for it #please enjoy it in its tragically incomplete form

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magpiemorality · 4 years

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Of Princes and the Pure Of Heart

Fantasy AU. Prince!Kid!Roman & Woodsman!Adult!Virgil.

Part 1/3.

3750 words. Who wants some sweet family Sides being all found family vibes and making the hurt better again?? Anybody? Just me then!

Sometimes family is a loner in the woods; the young prince he rescues from near death; and a soppy dog.

Warnings: off-screen violence, death mention, near death experiences, angst, swearing.

AO3

***

Roman ran through the trees, breath ragged and hot in his throat, making his chest ache as he wheezed and kept going. His legs shook under him but he couldn’t stop he mustn’t stop he had to get away get away to safety-

It felt like he’d been running for hours by now, and he wasn’t even sure he was being chased anymore because he couldn’t hear anything over his gasping breaths and the rushing of his heartbeat pumping in his ears. The snow made it hard to move as he got further and further through the forest, but the way it fell hid his tracks so he couldn’t be ungrateful. It cooled his panic-hot body and cushioned his fall when he slipped over time and time again, but it also made him stand out like a sore thumb in his bright regalia, and highlighted the drop of red from his split lip in a way that made him feel ill and dizzy and captivated all at once, like he was looking at a rose bush in full bloom as he fell towards the thorns that awaited.

Time dragged on, the sounds all faded behind a rising static whine in his head that he was sure wasn’t actually there. And then, just as his legs crumbled for the last time, he saw it; through the trees there was a neatly stacked wood pile.

Someone had to be living nearby!

With all the energy and air he had left, Roman started to cry out, unable to get up or move beyond a very slow crawl towards the wood. He started to shiver after barely a minute, clothes soaking through and chilling him to the bone, but still he kept up his desperate, piercing call of “help!“

Closer and closer to the wood pile he got, until he was almost close enough to touch it. His cries had dwindled down to a thin, reedy wail, and the world around him seemed to be growing darker, darker…

And as his vision finally faded to black and his voice gave out with a feeble croak, Roman thought he imagined the sound of a dog barking. ***

Virgil wasn’t expecting to find a boy out in the snow, half frozen and unresponsive. Virgil wasn’t expecting to find anyone at all but he had, so now he had to just deal with it.

"Well pooch, guess we’ve got ourselves a foundling, eh?” He said to the dog sniffing at the boy’s hair, voice gruff from lack of use. There was no time to waste, not with the way the boy’s nose and lips were turning white and starting to tinge with blue, so he hefted him quickly up over his shoulder and made for the house.

The boy didn’t stir when he got him inside and laid him gently on the bed, and Virgil inwardly steeled himself for the worst. There were some things there was no coming back from, he knew, and the boy looked pretty badly off. But then the dog whined by his side, leaning forwards to snuffle over that pale face, and turned her big brown doe eyes on him as if pleading for him to help. “Fuck it,” he muttered, hurrying to stoke the fire up and silently offering an apology to the poor kid before dispensing with his wet clothes with a few careful cuts from his hunting knife. He grabbed as many blankets as he could to add to the ones on his bed- not that there were many left not already on it, this time of year- and stripped down to his thermals. It wasn’t quite skin to skin but it would do- if the boy was going to live then this ought to be more than enough.

“On the bed, pooch,” he clicked his fingers, bundling the ice-cold body into the nest with him and curling around the boy as tightly and completely as he could. It didn’t feel like enough, even with the weight and warmth of the dog on the other side to help out, so he sighed again and pulled his shirt over the kid’s head, tucking him close to his chest and rubbing his back gently to try and massage some life back into his bloodstream.

It was hard not to shiver with the frozen skin against his own, the ends of his snow-wet hair tickling his neck as they melted. At least the boy was breathing, and still limp and alive rather than stiff and dead. There was still hope.

Hope that took a real boost when only an hour later the boy started to wheeze softly, body easing out into a more restful unconsciousness that signified to a relieved Virgil that, although danger was undeniably still present, the threat of losing the boy to the cold had just lessened enough for him to relax. He dozed off soon after, lulled by the warmth and the oddly comforting weight of the body in his arms, wheezing steadily and softly on over the crackle of the fire. ***

It was growing dark when he woke, alerted by the shifting of the boy in his arms. Virgil looked down to see the boy staring up at him warily from his warm hidey-hole under Virgil’s shirt, eyes still a little foggy but focusing well enough.

The woodsman gave him a small nod and very deliberately didn’t move, letting the boy gather awareness and work out how he was going to react.

Not at all, it turned out, as the dark eyes blinked once, twice, heavily drooping until he was right back to sleeping. Virgil adjusted his grip a bit and settled in for a long wait, congratulating himself on a job well done. ***

When the boy next came round Virgil was mid-yawn. He felt him stiffen and start to tremble, not terribly surprised by the distress the boy felt on waking up in a stranger’s bed being rather firmly cuddled. It was enough to distress any right-thinking folk, really.

“Take a few breaths now, kid. You’re safe here, I don’t intend to harm you. There’d be no sense in saving your life just to undo all that hard work now, would there?” Virgil said in what he hoped was a low, comforting voice. “You’re in my house, how you got here is something I’d sore like to know, but you just concentrate on warming yourself up and feeling better now, y'hear me? Rest."

Apparently it was the right thing to say, because the boy relaxed against him and actually pressed closer in response. He did jump when the dog huffed behind him, but with a quiet word from Virgil explaining what it was he settled again.

***

The third time the boy woke up he seemed to be almost right as rain. He yawned and stretched, allowing Virgil to move a bit himself at last. It was mid-morning the day after he’d found him, and there was no sign of the lifelessness from the day before, nor the haze in his eyes. He still didn’t say a word or smile as he stared up at Virgil, but all things considered it was a resounding success.

The dog barked softly from the main room and they both looked over to see her sat in the doorway looking pitiful. The sight made the boy huff softly through his nose, a sound that was almost amusement. Virgil ruffled his hair carefully. "You gonna be okay here if I go feed her?” He asked, keeping his voice quiet and his tone calm so as not to spook the boy. He got a slow nod in reply and helped the boy untangle himself from his shirt, showing him a pile of clothes on the chair he could choose from to wear if he needed to- long sleeve shirts and sweaters and some thermal leggings and socks. He diverted that way himself to pull on an extra layer before braving the cold of the rest of the house.

The dog pranced around him as the food was being sorted, wolfing it down as soon as the bowl hit the floor. Virgil felt a tiny bit guilty because he hadn’t been able to feed her the night before, so he tossed her a bone as a treat to gnaw on while he went to sort out the fire. It was good to move around again, and his hand brushed the wood of the fireplace in apology for letting the cold seep into the bones of the house overnight. It would take a little while to heat everything up again, and it didn’t do anything any good to be changing temperature too much.

A creak from the direction of the bedroom had Virgil looking up in surprise. The boy stood there, braced heavily on the door frame, wrapped in a satisfactory amount of layers and trying to stay up on unsteady feet. Virgil clicked his tongue, holding back the scolding he wanted to give the boy for pushing himself too far too soon in favour of just getting up and helping him back to the bed, pushing him down with a firm hand. “Just you stay there now, kid. There’s no sense making yourself worse now you’re starting to feel better. No way you get through this without getting ill somehow, so we’re gonna try and make it as easy on you as we can, alright?"

The boy nodded, casting his eyes down. Virgil thought at first it was shame but the stubborn pout of his lips marked it as petulance instead, and he chuckled at the sight. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Big mean old Virgil, making you stay still and bored, right? You’ll thank me later, kid, trust me.” The woodsman stood up, stretching his back. His stomach rumbled abruptly, and he glanced at the boy at the reminder that yeah, food was a thing. “You eat soup? What am I saying, ‘course you eat soup. We’ll have some of what I’ve got leftover in the pot, should warm you up a bit more. Get some nourishment back in you to fight the chills."

Virgil took stock of the situation as he stood by the stove and waited for the soup to heat up. The boy had been very well dressed, and was in great health- near freezing to death aside. He wasn’t saying a damn word, which kinda sucked because Virgil hadn’t spoken this much in years, mostly by choice, and his throat was already beginning to hurt. Still, it did feel good to have someone in the house and Virgil was reminded how much he not-so-secretly enjoyed caring for others. Usually the dog was enough, but with the boy he suddenly felt warm and fuzzy in a much bigger way.

The boy, he was pleased to note, was sat up but bundled under the covers when he got back to the bedroom, and the dog was lying on the bed beside him enjoying some tentative pets. Both of them perked up when Virgil appeared with the food, and he snorted as he clicked the dog back onto the floor so he could sit with the boy and eat. There was a bowl of soup with some chunks of hearty bread, a few good bits of cheese and a cup of hot apple juice that he placed carefully on the table beside the bed.

It was interesting to see that the boy- rightfully and smartly- watched Virgil until he’d taken his first spoonful, before testing the flavour carefully and then digging in ravenously, finishing half the soup and bread in a truly stunningly short time while Virgil plodded along and kept a careful eye on him. He slowed down but kept nibbling, and finished every crumb and drop he’d been given before taking hold of the hot juice, cupping the mug in his hands close to his chest and breathing in the hot steam.

Quiet fell in the house, interrupted only by the occasional soft pops and crackles of the fire, and the sounds of three different sets of breathing. Virgil was loathe to push the boy into giving answers, and wasn’t entirely sure he wanted or needed them yet either, so he just silently took the bowls and went to wash up. The boy was dozing again when he returned to the bedroom, curled half sat up against the pillows, and the damn dog was back up on the bed sprawled out against his front, but Virgil didn’t have the heart to disturb them.

He went to collect bring more firewood in from the side of the house instead, and made himself comfortable on the couch for a bit, doing some woodcarving while he had the time.

The peace was shattered by the sound of movement outside, and Virgil crossed to look out the window. There were figures flitting through the trees, getting gradually closer. He heard the boy gasp in the bedroom and hurried in to him, catching him by the shoulders. "Tell me quickly, yes or no. Were you being followed?” The boy nodded quickly. Shit. “Do you want to go with them?” The boy shook his head emphatically. Double shit. Virgil raked a hand through his hair. “Okay last question. Do they want to hurt you?” The boy hesitated, eyes shining, and then he nodded one last time. Upgrade that shit to a full on fuck.

Flying into action, Virgil pressed a finger to his lips and waved for the boy to hide, and was pleased to see him quickly slip off the bed and underneath it out of sight as he himself hurried out into the main room to the window to keep an eye on the goings on outside. The noise outside resolved itself into shouts and the jangling of horse tack, and several men wearing black cloaks and scowls appeared from the trees and came toward the house.

Virgil cast a glance around and whistled for the dog, pleased to note it wasn’t possible to see there had been a second human inside recently. The two of them- no doubt three with the boy under the bed- flinched when there was a knock at the door, and a too-pleasant voice floated through.

“Hello? I’m with the Royal Guard, we’re looking for a… missing person. Can you open the door?” They called. Virgil steeled himself with a breath and grabbed the dog by the scruff, inwardly proud of how she growled as he opened the door to face the intruder.

“What do you want all the way out here?” Virgil asked before the man could say anything else. “Don’t even know about no royals. I keep an eye on my business and the world keeps away. S'how we like it."

The man’s expression was already starting to pinch. Good, Virgil thought. Go away. "Sorry to interrupt, unfortunately there’s been a disaster. The family were on holiday nearby and were attacked, we believe on the road before they arrived. We’re looking for their son, the Prince Roman. Have you seen-”

“Haven’t seen hair nor hide of nobody in weeks. It’s winter- people don’t pass this way, ‘less you count the wolves."

"Right, well.” The guard cleared his throat and attempted to keep his smile fixed. “There’s a reward, see, because we-”

“Reward?” Virgil made a show of squinting at him in interest. “A reward you say?"

"Yes and-”

“Damn, I’ll start lookin’ round a bit more in that case then, eh. Make a quick bit'a cash. Say, you need him alive?” The guard gave him a look of distaste, but he carried on. “Only, anyone running around out here in weather like this is only gonna last so long. Wanna know if it’s worth bringing you a body or not, see."

They stared at each other, and the guard finally gave up. "Yes, sure. Bring the body- we do need to know he’s been found. Well, thank you anyway. We shall keep on with our search."

Virgil nodded. "Best hurry back down the pass though, snowfall’s coming in soon. You’ll get trapped up here with nought but old me if you’re not careful,” he warned, satisfied to see the guard glance nervously at the sky.

“Very well. Good day,” he grimaced, hurrying back to his horse. Virgil watched them go, eyes narrowing as he counted them. He heard a movement in the bedroom but didn’t turn to look until they’d disappeared into the trees. He frowned and counted again, closing the door, and as he passed the bedroom he made sure to give a tiny shake of his head and click for the dog to stay by the door, hoping that would be enough.

For a solid five minutes Virgil puttered around, not doing much and definitely not talking to the boy, before at last there was a whisper of sound and another figure sped away from the house and off into the woods to follow their companions. “Sly bastards. You can come out now, get back into bed alright?” He called, setting the kettle on. He brought another mug of hot juice for the boy and sat on the bed while he sipped at it, big wary eyes watching him carefully. They sat in silence for a while, just looking at each other, before Virgil had to speak. “So you’re the Prince, huh?"

"A."

”… What?“ Virgil was doubly confused- firstly because the boy had just spoken, and secondly because what he’d said didn’t make much sense. ”'A’? A what?“

“A prince. Not the Prince,” came the whisper, and oh, yeah that would make sense. Virgil sucked in air through his teeth and leaned back.

“I see. But you are Prince Roman then, yeah?” The boy nodded. Guess that fuck was still firmly in effect then. ***

Roman was still not entirely sure how much he could trust this strange, gruff man. He looked nice enough, and he’d both saved and protected Roman in the last twenty-four hours, but since he knew Roman was a prince he’d been acting weird.

Roman was pretty sure the man was called Virgil, but there was some kind of comfort in not speaking, so he hadn’t managed to confirm that yet and was just resigned to sticking to thinking of him that way until given alternative proof. As if summoned Virgil poked his head into the bedroom again to check on him, and Roman scowled at him from where he was curled up, stroking the dog absently. Virgil disappeared again quickly, and Roman sighed. This wouldn’t do- who knew how long he’d have to stay here until he could get somewhere safer?

With a squaring of his shoulders Roman made his decision, and scrambled clumsily out of the bed and over to the door. He took a moment there to catch his breath, still weak from the fatigue and- damn the man for being right- impending sickness. Virgil noticed him almost immediately but Roman lifted a hand before the woodsman could scold him for being up. He struggled over to the couch Virgil was sat on and flopped down with an exhausted but satisfied huff, closing his eyes for a moment.

Just a moment…

When he woke from his unexpected doze disorientated, wondering what that nice feeling was and why he was waking up at all, there was a strange sound, that slowly resolved itself into- humming. Virgil was humming, and also stroking his hair, and it felt really nice and gentle and it reminded him of his father and-

“Oh, kid, it’s okay,” Virgil soothed, brushing his thumb under Roman’s eyes to wipe away the tears there. “It’s been a bit of a wild day or so for you, hasn’t it?” His voice was just so full of sympathy that Roman couldn’t stop himself from letting out a soft sob, opening his eyes to look at Virgil miserably, silently begging for something, anything, to make him feel better.

Thankfully Virgil seemed to understand, and he was swept up into strong arms and carried to the bedroom to the sound of Virgil’s constant stream of reassurances.

The bed was just as warm as ever when they got in, and Roman shamelessly stuck to Virgil’s side as the man got comfortable, snuffing the candles out and hugging Roman tightly while he cried.

“You let that out, kid. There’s no hurt in tears, not with what I’m willing to bet you’ve been through. Bet you’re missing your family huh?” He waited and Roman nodded with a morose sniff, burying his face in Virgil’s shirt and probably soaking it through, but the woodsman didn’t complain and only held him tighter. “Yeah, I get that. I wasn’t always the person living in this house either. I was once a, too. But that was long ago now.

"It’s not so bad, once you get used to it. It’s safe, and it’s peaceful, but it can be sad too. You’ll be sad for a while actually, kid, I’m sorry. But one day that’ll pass too and you’ll breathe easier again. I’ll keep you safe and warm while until you’re through with that bit, if you want to stay with me?

If you say no that’s okay too, remember. You might have to just stay until the snow melts on the passes though- it’s a bit too late to make the trip to the towns. I don’t know how you made it up here at all, but maybe one day you can tell me that story. If you stay.” Virgil groaned under his breath, probably worrying about his rambling incoherence, but Roman found himself hanging onto every word, clinging to them like little delicate spiderweb lifelines.

What else could he do? He had no family left, as far as he knew. He couldn’t run away because there was nowhere to go to that would be any safer than here. It would be just as risky going to a random village, except that at least here he had fairly good evidence that Virgil wasn’t going to hurt him or give him up for money. What else could a boy, a very recognisable Prince like Roman, do but stay safe where he was?

“Roman?” Virgil nudged him, feeling around Roman’s shoulders until he found his head and cupped the back of it with his warm, work-rough hand. Roman, still hiccuping with the tail end of tears, flung his arms around the man in the dark, squeezing him tight. “Woah, hey there. Is that a yes?”

“Yes,” Roman whispered. “I’d like to stay."

#writepie #ts roman #ts virgil #ts sanders sides #ts writing #ts sanders sides aus #ts sanders sides fic #sanders sides #prince roman #princey sanders #fantasy au #another one of those stories that just popped out fully formed #tw death #tw violence #tw angst #tw near death #roman sanders #virgil sanders

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lov3nerdstuff · 5 years

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Eye of the storm

*Jonathan Pine x reader*

Imagine: You get lost and injured alone on a hike in the forest. But in the darkness, you find help in form of a mysterious stranger. What if the ruthless nature isn't the most dangerous thing out there?

A.N.: This is not a request, but I hope y'all will like this! First time writing for Pine...

It was a gloomy afternoon, the clouds hung deep and black in the sky as if watching your every move. You pulled your jacket tighter around your frame, crossing your arms in front of your chest in hope of keeping the remaining warmth inside your body. It hadn't been a good idea to come out here this late in the afternoon on such a cold autumn day.

You were deep in the woods, having left the campsite you and your friends were staying at.

Just as heavy raindrops started hitting your face, you finally admitted to yourself that you were lost. Another shiver ran down your spine, but this time from unease instead of cold. It had been a stupid idea running off without telling anyone where you'd go. On the other hand, there was no way you would've been able to set foot into the tent with your two snogging friends in it just one more time.

The three of you had come here, into the biggest and most desolate forest during the last weeks where its campsites were still open for use, as nothing more than three best friends. Because of the long hike you had decided to share a large family sized tent. Unfortunately for you, your two friends had realized on your second day as the only ones at the campsite that they were heavily crushing on each other. Ever since then, you had been fifth-wheeling. They had mostly tried to hold themselves back for your sake, but today in the early morning you had decided to give them a much needed day alone with each other and therefore solo hike through the forest. It had been barely sunrise when you had left, a bright but cold day. Now the raindrops hitting you were getting bigger and more frequent by the second, while the forest was getting darker and darker.

You hadn't seen one of the hiking tail signs in a long time, leaving you to assume that you were utterly lost.

You pulled your phone out of the large pockets of your jacket. Of course, no reception. You rolled your eyes at your own stupidity. But you weren't one to cry and hide when things went pearshaped. The jacket you wore was supposed to be waterproof, but after half an hour in the rain you had to realize that the advertisement had been lying. The cold wetness slowly crept through its fabric, then a little while later also through your sweater and shirt. Biting your lower lip to keep it from shivering, you dug through your backpack to find the small flashlight you had packed, just in case. Other than that, there was absolutely nothing you could make use of in this situation. At least the flashlight kept your from falling over roots and bushes once almost all light had left the forest.

Your whole body shivered, every single piece of clothing you wore was drenched and your skin felt increasingly numb. Only then did you spot a faint light in the distance. You could barely see it as rain kept running into your eyes and made it nearly impossible to navigate towards it. There must be something, a street, another campsite, anything…

Suddenly your foot slipped on a wet stone and you fell face forward into the mud.

You let out a pained scream when your body connected with the hard ground and also something sharp and spiky. You heard a few birds rustling through the leaves, scared away by the sudden noise of your yell. You pulled yourself up a little and felt something leave your body, trying your best to ignore the sudden and piercing pain in your left hip. It felt as if someone had taken a blunt knife and stabbed you right through your hip bone. Even if that's not entirely possible, it felt just like it.

It was all dark around you once more, the flashlight out and probably already sunken into the muddy ground. The light in the distance had gone out as well. Great, just great.

With a pained groan you rose to your feet and more or less blindly wobbled towards where the light had been. It took you a good twenty minutes and a couple more falls to finally reach a small opening in the trees.

A huge house stood right in the middle, but it looked rather abandoned for as much as you could tell in the dark. It didn't matter to you though, you only needed to get out of the rain and hopefully get rid of your pain somehow.

Panting slightly, you reached the porch and slumped down against the wooden door, not daring to knock or even break in. At least it was dry and not muddy under the small end of the roof. Maybe you could close your eyes for just a few minutes and let your tired body rest…

Suddenly the door behind you opened and you fell onto your back with a partially surprised, partially pained groan.

When you opened your eyes and looked up from your position on the floor, all you could see was darkness. At first at least, but then, slowly, the contours of a person became visible to you. But more importantly, also the contours of a gun pointed at your head.

You squeezed your eyes shut, whimpering and hoping that it wouldn't hurt you even more than you were hurting already. You didn't want your life to end here, alone in a dark forest where no one would ever find you. But there was nothing, no sound, except for the increasingly loud silence.

You opened your eyes again. The gun had disappeared and instead you could see the frowning face of a man.

"Hello there." He said quietly. You still stared up at him from the floor, when he held out a hand to help you up. Cautiously you accepted the help and slowly got up, hissing a little.

"Are you hurt?" He asked immediately and you weren't sure if it was concern in his voice or anger.

"I don't know really, I fell in the dark… I honestly just wanted to get out of the rain, I'm so sorry if I intruded or something…" You breathed, still afraid he might shoot you if you said the wrong thing.

"You don't have to be afraid of me. I'm sorry about the gun, I'm just… being careful." He said as if reading your thoughts, which probably wasn't even necessary as fear seemed printed all over you face.

The stranger grabbed your backpack from the porch and guided you inside, into the dark hallway. You weren't sure if you liked the prospect of being alone with this man in who knows where, but it was better than the rain and the lonely darkness. Somehow, his presence had a rather calming effect on you, despite the previous fear. So you let him guide you into what seemed like a sparsely furnished living room.

You felt bad for being dripping wet and leaving drops and muddy footprints wherever you went, but he didn't seem to mind.

He sat down your bag against a wall close by and turned to light a fire in the stone fireplace, while you simply stood dripping in the middle of the room.

"You might want to take your clothes off." He suggested, but it sounded more like an order spoken with gentle words. You blushed a little and frowned, before he added "...to hang them up to dry. You'll get sick if you stay in the wet things for much longer."

You felt like an idiot. Of course he didn't mean it like that.

Once the fire was lit, he turned around to face you. For the first time you could really see him in the dim light and it would be an understatement to say you were surprised. His blonde brown curls and the barely-even-there beard covering his sharp jawline were quite something, but nothing compared to the incredibly light blue of his eyes. With those eyes, he watched you intently.

"Are you alright?" He asked carefully and you snapped out of your staring.

"Yeah, I… uhm… I'm going to get rid of the wet clothes now." You muttered and started peeling off your jacket first, then also your sweatshirt. Your shoes and socks had to go next. Then you stopped and awkwardly stared at your naked toes on the wooden floor. But before you could say anything, the man stepped closer to you and grabbed your wrists to carefully lift your arms away from your body. First you tried to pull away, but when you noticed what he was looking at you stopped.

Besides being drenched in rainwater, there was a large dark spot on your shirt, covering your whole left side.

He let go of your hands and looked at your face once again. "May I?" He asked quietly.

You didn't really know what he wanted to do, but you grew more light-headed by the second and the pain in your side only grew worse, so you nodded.

He helped you lay down on the rug next to the fireplace and you had to fight to keep your eyes open. The warmth of the fire was wonderful on your chilled skin and your head swam with images of the nightly forest. The last thing you saw were his incredibly blue eyes as he hovered above you with the most concerned gaze you had ever been given. Those eyes… a swirling storm of passion in a cold desert of deep water.

When you opened your eyes, you felt confused at first. What happened and where were you? The house! In the forest… the man and his stunning eyes. With a quiet groan you sat up, taking in your surroundings. It was still dark, the fire crackling peacefully next to you. You couldn't have been out for long… at least you hoped so.

Looking around, you spotted your clothes, placed over a single chair next to the fireplace. Shock hit you like a lightning and you looked down at yourself, only to find that your clothes had been replaced. The wet ones gone, you now wore a larger t-shirt and some mid-length sweatpants. Heat rose to your cheeks as you realized what that meant. You tried to stand up, but slumped back down immediately as a sharp pain rippled through your side. Carefully you lifted the shirt, only to find a large bandage going all around your lower middle section. Damn, it hurt…

Letting out a shivering breath, you scanned the room for your backpack and found it leaning against the wall closest to you. Your phone was placed on top of it, plugged in to charge.

At least he hadn't taken it from you. But if he really meant harm to you, would he have bandaged your wound and given you dry clothing? It was all a big question mark in your brain.

"Hey there." His voice sounded from the doorway.

You turned around quickly and hissed once more.

"You probably shouldn't move all that much…" He smiled and came walking towards you, but stopped before he got too close. "Is it okay if I come closer?"

You frowned. "Well, looks like you already did…" You pointed at your injured side. "Thanks for, uhm… patching me up, I guess."

With a small smile he walked the remaining steps and sat down opposite to you on the rug. "I'm sorry for removing your clothes without permission, but you were very much unconscious and very much bleeding… I needed to do something. I just wanted to help..."

"And I'm very thankful you did. Seems like it wasn't just a scratch then…" You mused.

"I have no idea what happened to you out there, but it left you with a pretty deep gash. I had to sew it." He was sitting only a few feet away from you and you could see his eyes twinkle in the light of the flames.

"I… It really hurts." You laughed nervously, trying to ignore the burning wound and your too fast heartbeat. He was being so nice to you and all you could think about was how he must have undressed you.

"I'm Jonathan, by the way. Jonathan Pine." He said in such a calm tone that it made your heart beat even faster.

"I'm Y/N. I believe I was lucky to run into you, Jonathan, instead of some creepy stranger." You chuckled.

"So you don't think I'm a creepy stranger?" He smirked at you, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Well, do you think I am a creepy stranger?" You shot right back, finding your courage in the knowledge that he couldn't possibly see you blush in the dim light.

Jonathan let out a laugh and ran a hand through his hair, messing it up ever so slightly. "I think I was lucky indeed to find you before you died of blood loss right on my porch. Would've been a mess to explain." He winked at you, making you chuckle. For some reason you trusted him. He seemed so confident and at ease out here. Another thought made you frown.

"Is this your house?" You asked out of the blue.

He seemed to be taken aback by the question and didn't answer right away, so you quickly added "Sorry, that must've sounded so rude… I was just curious why someone would build a house right in the middle of some godforsaken forest and then not take the time to furnish it. Are you living here?"

"Woah, that's a lot of questions…" He laughed slightly and looked down to the rug beneath you. It had a few bloodstains on it now, and even more holes, but it was better than sitting on the floor. "It's not my house, no. It belongs to the people I work for, they sent me here."

You frowned, but still smiled at him. "Seems a bit suspicious, if you ask me. Maybe you are indeed a creepy stranger." You joked and winked at him.

He chuckled deeply and then let his head fall back with a sigh. You watched him for a short while, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the comfort of your unusual company.

Then you remembered your two friends at the campground and let out a quiet groan. You had forgotten all about them, they must be so worried!

"Are you alright, Y/N?" He asked and lifted his head to look at you.

"Yeah, sorry… I just remembered that my friends must be worrying about me already. They're at a campsite somewhere over… I don't even know. I was hiking through the forest and…"

"All alone?" He asked, his frown creating soft creases on his forehead. It looked sexier than you cared to admit.

"Yeah, well, they were rather busy… doing something else." You shrugged, trying to get up to grab your phone. Before you could move to grab it however, Jonathan had already reached over and held it out to you. With a thankful smile you took it from him and were glad to see that you had ever so little reception. You sent an SMS to your friends, saying that you were safe and that they shouldn't worry. Then you let Jonathan place the phone back on your bag.

"Must be terrible friends if they just let you go out there all alone." He mused quietly.

"Nah, they're alright. It was my decision. I'm used to being on my own and can care for myself, thank you very much." You laughed.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to belittle you. I'm most certain that you are very much capable of handling yourself."

You frowned at him in amusement. He let out a breathy laugh. "Gosh, I meant that I didn't doubt you were doing great on your own." The slight note of embarrassment in his voice made you smirk.

"What are you doing to me, Y/N…" He chuckled and shook his head to himself, making your heart flutter in excitement.

This man in front of you, he was dangerous. You could feel it in every fiber of your body. But you also knew that he wouldn't hurt you. Maybe it was naive of you to believe such a thing, but you felt safe with him.

"Who are you, Jonathan Pine…" You finally asked in a quiet voice and leaned your head to the side.

"I'm just the man who will get you something to eat!" He announced and jumped to his feet, adding "...for now." while making his way out of the room. "Do you fancy some wine?"

You smiled to yourself. Maybe this wasn't all that bad. You were hurt, sure, maybe even lost, but you had also found Jonathan. And for some reason, you felt like it was the best thing that could've happened to you.

A.N.: Pls feel free to send more requests to my ask! I currently have no more requests, so if you have a wish and like my style of writing I'd be happy to write whatever you wish for. Hugs 💗

@its-remy-not-ratatouille (dunno if you still wanna be tagged lol)

#jonathan pine imagine #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston x reader #jonathan pine x reader #jonathan pine #loki fanfic #loki odinson #loki (marvel)#loki x oc #james conrad x reader #james conrad #plssendrequests #loki

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angrylizardjacket · 5 years

Text

Run to Paradise {Nikki Sixx} Part 20

20. i’ve seen america with no clothes on

Summary: The tour is coming to an end. Lola and Tommy cause trouble, Mick finds out why Lola reacts the way she does to fire, and everyone decides it’s for the best if they move out of their shitty apartment.

Warnings: NSFW-ish. Mentions of parental abuse (physical and psychological), drinking, drugs, and PTSD triggered by fire.

ragtag bunch of misfits: @starlalove @toofasttofallinlove @xrosegoldwolfx @obsessivesky @trpwthme @lovehelpmewrite @colsons-crue @marvelismylifffe @lilytalebi @glitterdreamsz @freddiessmallnipples @crazysaladchopshop @inthebackofmycarlaytheirbodies @dramatique-moi @missqueeniewrites @calspixie @aryssav @catsoo12 @sweetshutter @silvertonguedserpent @shamelessobsessions @lavenderbones22 @keepcalm-and-beyou @scarecrowmax @nicholeh7 @unknownoblivion

{masterlist}

Lola's got her savings in a set of ziplocked bags, in a dufflebag, also stuffed with underwear and socks, that she keeps at the bottom of her suitcase. Thousands in cash that the others still don't seem to be aware of. And she still doesn't know what to do with it. The others have no such trouble; Vince buys the fastest car he can get his hands on, a cute little red thing with an uncomfortably small back seat, and all four of band members are looking at moving out of their shitty, shared apartment once the tour ends. They spend more on drugs and booze and girls than Lola's collectively ever had in her life, and she revels in being a part of it.

She can't remember half the shit she gets up to with the boys, just flashes;

"I'm bored." / "Where's my bass?" / "Dude, someone called the fucking cops!" / "Come help me throw this TV out the window!" / "You're on my hair!" / "That's so cool! Write that down, it could be a song!"

And maybe, just maybe, she considers Ozzy might be right, that the drinking and drugs might be fucking her up; in the moments between waking and sleeping, in the mid-morning light with blurry eyes she thinks there's people watching her. She can ignore it, she can ignore it all her life if she has to, people have always been watching over her. Maybe if she opens her eyes again, it'll be Doc, here to pull her to her feet, into the next day, or it'll be whoever she was with the night before, trying to move around the room without disturbing her. Maybe it'll just be nothing. A figment of her imagination.

But if she closes her eyes and goes back to sleep, she doesn't have to worry either way.

Sometimes she misses their grubby, gutter punk roots, but she's content enough replacing one brand of reckless hedonism for another, and she's never at a loss for a good fight. The band fought each other when things got boring and the drugs were running low, or they fought with Doc when they were feeling particularly rebellious. Mostly they fought with people in bars, or clubs, or people who looked at them funny, and Lola was right there beside them.

They had their fair share of assholes who consider the band to be a bunch of posers, and more than a few times during the tour, Lola found herself more than a little bruised. Once she disappeared for a whole night, and came back the next morning with a broken nose and a shit eating grin.

"You should see the other guy."

To Doc, more often than not it was like herding cats, and for all the good Lola did for the band, she was also right alongside them when Nikki was smashing lights in the upscale hotel they were staying in, all but cackling with laughter as Tommy sprints down the halls, terrorizing the other guests in his underwear.

"Lola! Lo-" Vince and Nikki had swerved into Doc's room, and tried calling her over to take refuge. Lola, wearing only her spiked, black bra and leather pants, grins, shaking her head and breathing hard. There comes another crash from the hall behind them.

"What did you idiots do now?" Doc groaned, as Lola took off down the hall, bottle of jack in hand, baggie of cocaine tucked haphazardly into her bra. The manager took off down the hall as Tommy came into view, tailed by two police officers.

Lola leads Tommy into a dingy stairwell, where the cops don't seem to follow. Later they'll find out that Mick had taken the fall since he managed to fit Tommy's description - pale as all fuck with long black hair - and was none too happy about it, but for now, they don't worry about it. The stairwell leads to the roof and they get fucked up and fuck under the stars until Doc finally finds them with Nikki and Vince in tow.

"Jesus, put some fucking clothes on - the other guests are complaining about the noise you were making," Doc's whole face is wrinkled in discomfort, while Nikki and Vince are practically falling all over themselves with laughter. Lola's stretched out, stark naked, looking like she's taking a nap, while Tommy's pissing off the side of the building.

"It's European," Lola replied breezily.

"It's night, you're not sunbathing, put on your fucking pants," Doc snapped in response, before his voice softened ever so slightly, "should you see a doctor?" He's seen Lola naked more times than he can count, but he always tries to avert his gaze, but here, under the moonlight, the bruises that litter her body stand out in the places that aren't tattooed.

"I'm alright, dude, it's fine," Lola snorted. She stood, stretched, comfortable in her own skin. She moved towards the pile of clothes by the door. "These two are from Tommy," she pointed to the ones on her collar, before identifying the rest, "I can't remember which are Nikki and which are from that bar fight in Cleveland," she shrugged, pulling on her underwear, "cards on the table, I don't remember getting the ones on my legs, but I think it was when I ran into the drum riser during setup yesterday-"

"But you don't know?" Doc asks, eyes wide.

"I was drunk! Sue me!"

"I could."

"But you won't," she grinned, before picking up her pants, though she paused with a Cheshire cat smile, "and these ones are probably Nikki or Vince," she kicked up a leg, drawing attention to the hickeys on her thighs. Doc looked like he'd rather be anywhere else right now; Lola felt absolutely no sympathy for him, he asked after all.

"I know it's idiotic of me to ask," the manager asked, as Lola pulled on her pants, "but can you try and keep these assholes in line for the night? I'd recommend somewhere childproofed, but I'm gonna set the bar low and beg that nothing gets set on fire." Casting his gaze to where Nikki and Vince had joined Tommy, starting a literal pissing contest off the building, it felt as if he was fighting a losing battle.

"Listen, you know I'm not good with fire, so I'll try my best," Lola nods as sincerely as she can manage, "but no promises." And with that, she went to collect her boys.

"And Lola?" Doc called out after her, and the dark haired girl turned with a chipper smile.

"Yes?"

"Don't forget your bra."

And with that, Doc headed off to do something about the headache that had come on very suddenly.

The only thing Doc can count on with Lola is that she'll do everything in her power to keep fires from being set. That was a precedent that had been set when she'd accompanied the boys when they'd set of a bottle rocket in a sleeping Mick's room, catching the curtains on fire. She'd watches with wide-eyed horror as the flames licked up the walls, and though the rest of the boys had left in a flurry of laughter, she'd been frozen, terror written all over her face. Mick had to pull her out of the doorway and down the hall as the fire alarms had been going off.

"Don't touch me! Don't fucking touch me!" Was the first thing she'd shouted once she'd been able to move again, trembling like a leaf. "Fuck you! Fuck off!" And Mick, who still had adrenaline pumping through his veins from waking up to his room on fire, doesn't know what to do as the woman is shedding her jacket and shirt quicker than he thought possible.

"Girlie, it's me, it's okay, we need to head outside-"

"Get away from me! Don't touch me!" And it's like she's not even seeing him, pulling the switchblade from her boot and holding it out with shaking hands. She doesn't even sound like her, voice angry and desperate and so painfully young. They can both still hear the fire raging in the other room, and people barrel past holding fire extinguishers.

"Lola!" It's Doc, voice firm, but the way he says her name has the skittish Lola reacting badly. He dodges where she throws her knife at him.

"Fuck you! I'm not staying here!" She hissed, voice flighty and panicked, before bolting.

Mick finds her sitting in the shallow end of the pool, arms crossed, still wearing her jeans and boots.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Mick asks, pulling over a chair and sitting by the edge of the pool, making no move to get her out.

"No. Fuck off." But it's her, it's all her, Lola who fights and fucks and not the Lola who panics and runs from fire. "Did I throw a knife at Doc?" Mick hums in confirmation. "Why the fuck do you even put up with me?" She snorts, smirking, though it's humorless.

"Don't have a choice," Mick answers bluntly, and Lola appreciates his honesty, but it stings a little. Mick sighs for a moment before conceding, "and I do actually like you, girlie, Doc may not see it, but you do those boys a world of good."

"They're gonna be the death of me." Lola sighed, sinking a little further into the water.

"Probably."

A long silence stretches between them, and eventually Mick clears his throat, trying again.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" He asks. Lola's quiet, but it's not hostile this time.

"Do you really wanna hear about it?" She asks. Mick is quiet when he tells her that anything that he'd like to know what had fucked her up enough to throw a knife at their manager, and she can't help but laugh at that.

"When I was seven, my dad left without telling anyone, left mom to clean up the paperwork for his restaurant, for his whole fucking life with us, and she never forgave me." At this she gives pause, and as Mick processes what she's saying, his expression turns uncharacteristically shocked, "She always said it was my fault, you know? I was kind of a shitty kid, sort of lazy, a shit piano player, even though she spent so much money on lessons. I never blamed dad, I just... I knew I needed to be better; there was always this thought of 'if I was a better kid, he'd come back'. That's what mom used to say."

"That's fucked, Lola, a seven-year-old isn't responsible for a parent leaving; all kids are a bit shitty and lazy and-"

"Yeah well, mom kept this sort of shrine for him, like candles and shit that she always kept lit, photos and stuff, to show him we didn't forget about him if he ever came back," Lola sniffles a little, rubbing angrily at her eyes, "and it took me years to realise that the only reason he never came back was probably because of me, I was a shitty kid, then a shitty teenager, and I kept sneaking out and mom hated that, and she was really strict, but it's only because she wanted me to be my best, but- fuck, I don't know. I know she's crazy. Looking back I can see she was controlling as shit, but at the time it- it made sense. She just thought she was doing what was best. And I was never good enough. So I tried to leave, make it easier for everyone." She's crying now, tears streaming down her cheeks as she speaks, "but I was my mother's biggest mistake, and she couldn't let me go. I didn't mean to knock the candles, she shoved me into the shrine, and my backpack- I didn't mean to."

"Lola..."

"And she held me there, yelling 'How could you? How could you try and run like he did? How dare you ruin his memory like this?'" Her accent was thick, as she relived the moment and her mother's anger. The moment broke, and she sobbed, burying her face in her hands, "I was on fire, Mick, I was burning and she- she-"

Mick, despite his age and the pain that sits heavy in his bones, climbs fully-dressed into the pool beside Lola, wrapping her up in a hug. He's never been good at feelings, never been good at comfort, had always been adamant that people should work through their own shit in their own time, but somehow Lola had started to make more sense from this one story alone; her aversion to fire, her irritation when Doc gave her orders. Sometimes he'd questioned her work ethic, why she'd work so hard for so little recognition, but from the sounds of it, she'd really taken her mother's words to heart, and despite everything she'd gone through, she still loved her father and wanted to make him proud. The guitarist's heart ached for her, just a little.

"I'm sorry," Lola's voice is quiet.

"Don't apologise, girlie," Mick said, his voice gruff but soft, rubbing her back gently. She rested her head on his shoulder, still sniffling, letting herself find peace in the moment. Mick wonders if he should get one of the others, probably Nikki since he'd known her the longest, though all of them knew Lola's aversion to fire, yet they'd still had her tag along. It didn't take him long to realise that none of them knew why she was so adverse to fire.

From then, whenever Lola was in charge, no fires were to be set; because Lola would freak out, Mick would knock out whoever's fault it was on her behalf, and Doc didn't enjoy having knives thrown at him in general. That being said, Mick gave him a bullet-point summary of why Lola had reacted the way she did, and Doc was gracious enough to forgive her.

Back in the present, on the roof, Tommy was pulling on his underwear, and the others were arguing about which strip club to go to, and Lola was drinking whiskey from the bottle with a grin.

"Vince, my man, what are we gonna do with Miss Gone here? Running off and making noise complaints with our drummer," Nikki slung an around around her as they walked through the halls of the hotel to Tommy's room so he could at least find some pants before they hit the town. Nikki pinches her cheek when she laughs, and Vince's arm wraps around her waist as he falls into step beside the two of them.

"Really, she's a terrible influence," he grins, pinching at her hip, and Lola seems a little giddy from all the attention, "but the way I see it, we can do whatever we want with her."

"Is that a promise?" Lola grins sharply, and it's all Nikki can do to laugh.

Lola's always just sort of gone along with whatever the others were doing, at least at night. She's found herself at home in countless sleazy strip joints, B-list celebrities thrilled to have a rock band partying with them, and shitty motel rooms getting high with groupies and dealers alike. During the day she's usually either trying to work off her hangover by exercising in whatever the nearest gym is, or stealing whatever's not nailed down wherever the band is required. She doesn't think much about her future in LA until Vince brings up that he'd bought a house.

The tour had been going well enough that the label was practically funneling them money, and Doc keeps handing Lola checks that she keeps putting in the ziploc bag with the rest of them, which she still carries around with her. She's aware that she should probably open a bank account at some stage, but she's not exactly sure how.

"A house? Like a whole fucking house?" Lola's incredulous where she's sitting in Nikki's lap at a bar after a show. Her hair's a mess and her makeup's streaking a little, but she's beaming with pride.

"Not just a house, a whole fucking mansion," Vince grins, his arm around two different groupies. Tommy's somewhere in the crowd, sans shirt probably, but he can take care of himself.

"Holy shit; you're really moving up in the world," Lola mused, gaze a little glassy, "god, I haven't even really thought about our shithole apartment in ages."

"Tommy's been talking about getting his own place too, you should get a house or something, babe, move out of that cockroach infested hell hole." Vince grins, and Lola pouts, playing at being put out by the suggestion.

"Oi, I like our hell hole," but she breaks out into a grin, "I dunno, I hadn't thought about it, I guess. It's probably a good idea." Instead of looking to Vince, she finds herself turning to Nikki, who's zoned out, his hand on her thigh, the other holding a bottle of whiskey.

She brings it up on the tour bus the next day; Nikki's sitting at the back with his notebook, poring over some lyrics for a song he's working on, and Lola had been laying with her head in his lap. The tour only has a few stops to go, and when she considers what happens next, all she knows is that at the very least, Nikki is there with her. The other boys are of course there too, but they're getting places of their own, and she and Nikki have lived together for years before they even came into the equation.

"Do you think we should get, like, a fancy Hollywood mansion or something?" Lola asks, and Nikki's eyebrows raise in surprise, moving his notebook so he could see her face, see her looking thoughtfully up at him.

"What?"

"When we get back to LA, we should move into a place that's less, ah," Lola pauses for a moment, smile turning amused, "less condemned, probably."

"I figured you'd get your own place," Nikki admits, and Lola frowns a little, bright mood dampening, "we don't need to keep living together, you don't have to keep paying the rent for me."

"I figured we'd buy a place, you dumbass," Lola laughed, "between us we've got enough to buy a small country, I thought a house wouldn't be off the table." But her smile fades, "but if you don't wanna live with me anymore that's fine too, we've spent more than enough time in close proximity, I get it if you want space or-"

"You know," Nikki says with a slight smirk, reaching down to card his fingers through Lola's hair, "when we ran away to LA together, I honestly never in a million years thought it would come to us talking about buying a house together." He admits. Something in Lola's chest grew warm at his words, and she smiles softly up at him.

"So that's a yes? We're cool to keep living together after the tour?"

"Lo, it's a 'yes, we'll start looking at houses and shit when we get back to LA'."

#nikki sixx #nikki sixx imagine #nikki sixx x oc #Vince Neil #Tommy Lee #tommy lee imagine #vince neil imagine #the dirt #the dirt imagine #motley crue #motley crue imagine #the angry lizard writes

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