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devendrasbeard · 3 years

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Only If For A Night

Prompt: They’ve had a few drinks Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier Rating: E Content Warnings: Drunkness, Drunk Kissing, Drunk Confessions Summary: Eskel is a private driver for a very famous and very successful fashion designer. Having seen the more private side of his boss, he eventually develops feelings for him. One night of drunken confessions can bring a massive change to their professional relationship.

Also on ao3!

"My dear friends, acquaintances, sponsors and clients!" Jaskier's happy voice, amplified by several speakers around the small stage, echoed across the hall. "Thank you for gathering here tonight, so that you'll be the first ones to see, admire, and buy the newest designs from my Dandelions collection!"

A round of applause and excited gasps was heard as a group of androgynous models dressed in wonderfully flowy gowns joined Jaskier on the stage. The clothes were kept in a gender neutral fashion, the fabrics thin as if made of morning mist, but at the same time vibrant with colors, their ethereal vibe contrasted with black hemming at the edges.

"In the next hour the models will be available for you, so that you can get a feel of the clothes, talk about how comfortable of a wear these are. You can even try something on, if the models let you!" Jaskier continued into the microphone. "Just remember - these are real people, not coat hangers! I expect respect towards them and no stepping over any boundaries!"

Eskel stood at the far end of the hall, leaning comfortably against a wall, now and then taking a sip from his glass of water. The day was very hot as for late May, so he was wearing a simple white buttoned up shirt with short sleeves and some black slacks instead of his usual suit ensemble. He loosened the knot in his thin black tie, as he watched Jaskier walk down from the stage and fall into the embrace of his enthusiastic friends.

He liked watching Jaskier, his boss, from afar. Jaskier was fierce, flamboyant and bubbly around his friends, at events, and in front of the media people, but when he thought nobody was looking, his face turned pensive, sometimes even sad. That melancholic, brooding side of Jaskier showed up mostly in the evenings, when the lights went out, his friends went home and it was just him and Eskel driving him home. Eskel liked that side of him.

A few hours into the after party Jaskier approached him, hugging a whole bottle of bourbon to his chest. His cheeks were flushed, blue eyes glistening, his elaborate hairstyle already mussed a little. "Fuck me if this isn't the best collection I've made so far."

Eskel nodded, trying to suppress a chuckle. Whenever Jaskier was tipsy, he forgot about any conventionalities and talked to Eskel as if he was his long time buddy, not his private driver. "It's really good." Eskel admitted. "Need my assistance with anything?"

Jaskier placed a warm palm on Eskel's chest, his bright blue eyes looking up at him. "I wanna go home, my head feels dizzy from all the hugs, fake kisses and congratulations."

"You're sure it's the congratulations and not the bourbon?" Eskel cocked his head, raising a brow in amusement.

"Hey!" Jaskier's long finger was now poking at Eskel's chest. "I pay you to drive me around, not to judge my life's choices."

"Let's go then, I'll drive you home," Eskel nodded and led Jaskier to the door, desperately trying not to wrap a protective arm around his boss' frame.

****

Jaskier ducked his head through the partition divider, resting his chin on his hands. The strong smell of alcohol mixed with Jaskier's flowery cologne hit Eskel's nose. "Do you like me, Eskel?" He whispered, too close to Eskel's ear.

Eskel shot him a quick glance through the rearview mirror, clearing his throat. "How do you mean?"

"Am I likeable?" Jaskier pouted and cocked his head to the side, to lay it on the cold metal frame of the divider. "Do you like me as a person? I know I am trying to be a good boss and I hope you're satisfied with the work you're doing here for me and that I'm not a pain in the ass for making you drive me around... But am I likeable as a person? Can you even look at me as a person and not your boss, slash famous designer?"

Eskel huffed, feeling goosebumps creeping up his neck. So today's drunk Jaskier's mood was philosophical. Through his last year of driving Jaskier around he's seen him in every sorry state - from being awkwardly horny after a hook up gone wrong, through being insanely euphorical and singing at the top of his lungs in the back seat, to being absolutely shit-faced, making Eskel stop the car every five minutes, so that he could get out and barf on the sidewalk.

But Jaskier asking him if Eskel liked him caught him off guard. What was he supposed to say to that? That ever since he started working for him, he wanted to wrap his arms around Jaskier and kiss him so hard he'd forget his own name? That his heart fluttered everytime Jaskier sent him that deep look and loving smile when they accidentally locked eyes in the rearview mirror? That he's been yearning to spend every second of his life with him? That he loved everything about him - his generosity, his laugh, his creative mind? This wasn't Eskel's place, he was just Jaskier's employee, yet he felt compelled to say something. "You're a good person, Jaskier." He tried.

"Then how come that on the day my newest collection premieres..." He stopped, interrupted by a series of hiccups. "Why is that, that people hug me and kiss me and yet..." He plopped dramatically onto the back seat and sighed. "Why am I yet again going home alone?"

Eskel sighed, a feeling of a thousand needles prickling on his skin. He wanted to pull Jaskier up and wrap him in a tight embrace and scream at the top of his lungs that he was there for him, always, forever! Instead he sighed again, turned to Jaskier for a second and asked, "Should I put your fave music on?"

"Yes, please," Jaskier mumbled. "Thank you, Esk."

****

"We're here," Eskel turned to Jaskier after he parked the limo outside of Jaskier's apartment building. "Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?"

Jaskier smiled at him, sitting splayed all over the backseat, his hair a mess and his shirt already halfway open, giving Eskel more than a sneak peek of his thick chest hair and the several necklaces dangling on his torso. Eskel swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly dry, and then Jaskier leaned forward and whispered, "You can come upstairs with me."

Eskel's eyes widened, a hotness creeping up his neck. It was all he ever wanted, but he felt he shouldn't do it tonight, not with Jaskier in this state of mind. He had to think and be reasonable for them both. "Jaskier... You're drunk and tired, I don't think that's a-" A warm finger on his lips shut him up.

"That bottle of bourbon won't empty itself," Jaskier tried for a seductive smile which turned out pretty wonky, but still managed to tug at Eskel's heartstrings. "C'mon, just one drink? You can probably drive after one drink?"

Eskel huffed, his mind racing and trying to weigh all the pros and cons of the situation he's gotten himself into. Jaskier looked at him with pleading eyes, not saying anything, waiting for Eskel's move. "Okay, one drink."

They got out of the car, Jaskier propping himself up on Eskel's shoulder as they entered the building. "Good morning, Jerome," Jaskier addressed the concierge with a wide smile.

"It's midnight, Mr. Pankratz," the concierge rolled his eyes, the look on his face indicating he's seen Jaskier in this state more than once.

As soon as they got into Jaskier's penthouse, Jaskier moved straight to the alcohol cabinet, leaving Eskel in the middle of the spacious living room. Eskel looked around the place, admiring all the art pieces on the walls and various trinkets scattered around the furniture. But the view from the vast windows was what truly mesmerized him - he moved towards the glass walls, gazing down at the night city, so calm and otherworldly from here.

"Thank you for joining me," Jaskier's voice next to him startled him a little. "I really didn't want to be home alone tonight," he added quietly.

"No problem," Eskel smiled at him, noticing that now besides the bourbon bottle, Jaskier was also nursing a flask of red wine. He held both up for Eskel to choose his drink from. Eskel took the wine bottle and asked, "Should I fetch us some glasses, or do I just chug straight from the bottle?"

Jaskier patted his shoulder lightly, laughing too loud, as if Eskel told a joke, then hiccuped a little. "I'll get us some glasses, you..." he waved towards the sofas and armchairs, "you make yourself comfortable."

Eskel didn't get to sit yet when he heard the sound of breaking glass and a sharp hiss coming from the kitchen. He jumped up, leaving the wine bottle on the table and moved towards Jaskier.

"It's nothing, it's nothing," Jaskier was already kneeling on the floor, clumsily collecting the broken pieces of a wine glass. "Guess everything went too smoothly for me today."

The sigh that left Jaskier's lips sounded more like a broken whimper and Eskel's heart physically hurt at the sight of his famous and successful boss looking so small and pitiful in the middle of his kitchen. He felt like crying. "Leave it, I'll clean it up," he offered. "Maybe you should go to bed, lay down a little?"

Jaskier looked up at him, the gaze of his blue eyes unfocused. He pointed at Eskel with his index finger while standing up. "No, you-... You've promised me that one drink!"

"Fine."

****

Two hours later Eskel knew he wasn't going to make it home that night. The wine bottle in his hands was almost empty, and he felt slightly light-headed and dizzy, but not drunk. Jaskier, on the other hand, was already edging on wasted, his shirt now unbuttoned, cheeks red, his words incoherent and slurry.

"Y'know, I'm fully aware of my... My pre... my pry... My privilege," he blurted out, "but yet I give myself permission to feel miserable from time to time... And now is the day!" he gestured with his hand, in which he held the bourbon bottle, spilling a little on the table.

"Okay, I'll take this," Eskel grabbed the bottle from him as Jaskier plopped back onto the sofa.

"How do you know who's your friend?" Jaskier asked, his gaze focused on the ceiling as if he was trying to find an answer there. "People hug me and kiss me and invite themselves into... Into my life and then what? They want free stuff, they want contacts with my famous friends, they want..." He stopped and looked over at Eskel, his blue eyes sad and pleading, as if he waited for Eskel to give him a solution.

"Look for those who stick around when the lights go out, when the party's over... For-for those who ask you how you feel and not what you can give to them." He felt the hotness of embarrassment creep up his neck, his ears turning red. He was talking about himself and he only gave himself permission to do so because Jaskier was drunk and wouldn't remember it the next day.

"That's... wise," Jaskier nodded and reached out with his hand to pat Eskel's cheek. Then his eyes narrowed as if he was trying to remember something important. "You never asked me for anything."

Eskel cleared his throat, and turned his face away from Jaskier, to hide his unease. "I'm... I'm fine. I'm happy with my job."

"Yeah? What do you do for a living?" Jaskier asked.

That caused Eskel to chuckle, and Jaskier followed with his pearly laugh, although he didn't know what was going on, and in a moment they were both laughing loudly and snickering like children. Jaskier patted Eskel's knee several times before leaning back onto the sofa.

"Jaskier, I work for you. I drive you around, remember?" Eskel said, wiping tears of mirth from the corner of his eye.

"Right." Jaskier nodded. "I hope I pay you well."

"You're a good boss," Eskel smiled. They locked eyes for a long moment, not saying anything. Jaskier licked his lips subconsciously and Eskel had to look away, the sight causing a warm feeling to coil in his stomach. "Alright, boss, time to get you to bed," he cleared his throat. "I'll crash on the couch if you don't mind, can't really drive now."

"Oh no no, no sleepin' on couches in my house! I have guest rooms for guests!" Jaskier stood up abruptly, too quickly for the drunken state he was in. His foot kicked the table leg and he wobbled a little, losing his balance.

He landed in Eskel's lap, Eskel instinctively putting a protective arm over him to save him from falling over and onto his back. Jaskier grabbed Eskel's shoulder for balance and suddenly their faces were incredibly close. So close Eskel could smell Jaskier's cologne, now suppressed by the tangy scent of bourbon. He was so close that Eskel could see those tiny crows feet forming at the corners of Jaskier's eyes, he could notice his flared nostrils and the wet shimmer on his lips. He swallowed audibly.

"Whoo, that was close. Thank-... Thank you," Jaskier laughed lightly and squeezed his shoulder. In a silent reply, Eskel caressed Jaskier's back gently, so delicately as if he didn't want Jaskier to feel it. But apparently Jaskier did, because he leaned forward and pressed a soft butterfly kiss to Eskel's lips. He pulled away and looked Eskel deep in the eyes, while undoing his tie. "Could you... Can you, just for tonight, forget that I'm your boss?" he asked quietly.

Eskel looked at him wide eyed, frozen in place and unable to speak. But when Jaskier gave his tie one last slight tug, he was lost. He's been waiting for that little sign, for a nod of permission, and as soon as he got it, he launched forward, pushing Jaskier off his knees and pressing him down onto the sofa with his weight.

He kissed him, reluctantly at first, but when Jaskier let out the first quiet whimper of pleasure, Eskel was all lost on him. He pressed his lips to Jaskier's, with his eyes closed, trying to put into that kiss all that yearning and longing he'd felt for Jaskier for months.

Jaskier was under him, sighing and panting, arching into Eskel’s touch. Responding to every kiss with passion. Eskel moaned into Jaskier's mouth as his hands roamed under his already open shirt, caressing the soft skin on Jaskier's sides, skimming over his chest hair and slightly tugging at the multiple necklaces on his neck.

Jaskier sat up and fumbled with the buttons on Eskel's shirt, his now clumsy fingers too uncoordinated to undo them. He tugged desperately at the shirt, causing two buttons to pop off and fall to the floor. They both looked at them, Jaskier with a hint of embarrassment, Eskel amazed with Jaskier's strength. Jaskier pulled at Eskel's shirt and dragged him into another heated kiss. "Off! Just take that shirt off," he demanded between kisses.

As he stripped off of his shirt, Eskel noticed how Jaskier's eyes glistened and how he licked his lips lusciously, before launching himself at Eskel. He peppered his face, neck and chest with kisses, murmuring "You're beautiful" and "I love you so much" between kisses, making Eskel writhe with pleasure and whine with emotions, because he so wanted Jaskier to mean it.

"Can I take you to the bedroom?" Jaskier asked while tugging at the waistband of Eskel's slacks. "God, why is the belt so complicated?" He threw his hands up losing his balance and landing on the floor. Eskel reached out to help him up, only to be dragged down to the floor right next to Jaskier.

"Okay, bedroom it is," he laughed into Jaskier's mouth, who already managed to slot their lips in another heated kiss.

****

Eskel woke up with his head feeling very heavy, his mouth dry as if he'd eaten sand. He sat up, rubbing at his eyes, taking in the situation. He was naked, with only the bedsheets tangled around his legs. Jaskier was sleeping next to him, lying on his stomach, one hand draped comfortably around Eskel's waist. He was equally naked, his perky ass sticking out from under the covers.

Eskel watched him mesmerized, noticed how beautifully lean and supple Jaskier's body was, he watched how he moved slightly with every breath... And then tiny bits of memories of last night hit him like a wave. He remembered the passionate kisses Jaskier showered him with, how unbelievably soft and pliant Jaskier's body was under his touch, he recalled the weight of Jaskier's cock on his tongue and how wonderfully he moaned Eskel's name with his hand tangled in Eskel's hair...

One part of him wanted to leave before Jaskier would wake up, spare him the awkwardness of a morning after. They never planned on something like that, after all they were boss and employee, they just let alcohol get the best of them. The other part of Eskel wanted to stay, to savour the moment of absolute intimacy and vulnerability between them. That other part wanted all this drunken mishap to turn into something more than just a one night stand.

Then Jaskier stirred next to him, waking up, pulled himself closer to Eskel's chest and murmured a soft "Good morning." He sat up, dragging one hand through his disheveled hair, taking in the sight of their naked bodies. "So... I guess last night ended up better than expected?" He shot Eskel an embarrassed smile. "Did we... You know. Go all the way?"

"I honestly don't know," Eskel admitted sheepishly, pulling the bedsheets up to cover the both of them. "Are you okay, Jaskier? You didn't go easy on the bourbon last night."

"I'm fine," Jaskier waved him off, but his eyes narrowed and he worried his lower lip and Eskel knew he was trying to recall what happened last night. "I hope I didn't take advantage of you?"

"Everything I did, I did because I wanted to," Eskel said firmly, though he felt the hotness on his cheeks and ears at the memory of their naked bodies tangled together and Jaskier moaning so sweetly into his ear.

"Yeah?" Jaskier scooted even closer to him under the bedsheets. "Care to remind me what did you actually do?"

Eskel exhaled deeply, feeling Jaskier's hot breath on his neck, making his own skin feel too tight. The memory of Jaskier's body arched beautifully under Eskel's touch flashed before his eyes, and he cleared his throat. "I'm... I'm pretty sure I sucked you off."

"Oh." Jaskier's face was painted with astonishment, but only for a moment. In the next he was already straddling Eskel's lap, braiding his fingers in his dark hair, looking him deep in the eye. "I think it's only fair if I return the favour now?"

Before Jaskier moved down on him, Eskel grabbed his hands and made Jaskier face him. "Listen..." he started, mouth extremely dry, more of nervousness than hangover. "You said some very weighty things to me yesterday, that I really wished were true... But I know this could be just the alcohol's doing." He huffed, pressing his eyes shut. "If it's not what you meant, or how you feel about me, I'd rather leave now."

Jaskier sighed, deeply, but he didn't lower his gaze. He intertwined their fingers and placed a kiss on the top of Eskel's palm. "I remember one thing vividly from last night," he said. "And that is feeling loved and wanting to give as much love as possible back." He kissed the fingers on Eskel's hand. "If you felt the same, I'd rather you stayed. Forever, if possible?"

------

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

#witcher rarepair summer bingo #eskel x jaskier #jaskel #eskel/jaskier #it was supposed to be a lighthearted fic about drunken shenanigans #what went wrong idek #hope you're ready for the FEELS #the pining and yearning #and pining #and yearning #and drunk jaskier

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problematicfavesareproblematic · 3 years

Text

On Days Like This (part 5)

Carwood Lipton x Reader

Warnings: survivors guilt, comfort, a disgusting amount of fluff, a sick and sad mother of Easy Company doing his very best, some random dialogue, a lack of forward progression but I’m still proud of it for some reason

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You wake up to the smell of cigarette smoke and for a few moments you think you are back in the makeshift hospital you’d been taken to in Foy.

It’s the feeling of Carwood’s heartbeat against your cheek that brings it all back for you- how you’d snuck out from under the aggressive nurse’s nose during her shift change and managed to bully your way onto a supply truck headed to Hagenau, dressed in a combination of pilfered wool sweaters and a set of fatigues you’d collected from the bodies of fallen soldiers.

You’d stolen some boots from the supply truck, and when they’d threatened to tell your superior officer you’d informed them that they were more than welcome to do so, as long as they were prepared for your SO to also be told that the supply truck had been delayed a day because it’s drivers wanted to engage in one last sexual encounter with the nurses who’d welcomed them into their beds.

The two men hadn’t bothered you after that.

The moment after you’d reconnected with Nix and Sink, you’d gone to find Car.

Just from the way he’d broken down upon seeing you again, you knew that he’d lost some sense of himself in the time you’d been apart. It broke your heart. It had taken everything in you not to cry as well.

But Carwood had needed you to be strong, and you had decided long ago that you would do anything for him.

If that meant holding him as he cried himself back to sleep in the first mattress you’d shared since your time in Georgia, then so be it.

When you allowed one eye to peek open, you found that the smell of smoke wasn’t coming from somewhere outside the room- but rather from Carwood himself.

You watched for a moment as he lifted the white stick he’d once called a cancer tube to his lips and pull from it like he’d been doing it for years, a memory of him chastising you for lighting one up beside his cot after he’d been wounded in Carentan flickering in your mind’s eye.

Taking a deep breath, you allow your ribs to expand as you arch your back in a creaking stretch, the movement alerting Carwood of your wakefulness.

“Hm, never thought I’d see the day Clifford Carwood Lipton would willingly smoke a cigarette…”

His light chuckle is warm against your ear, the arm that he’d wrapped around you pulling you close into him and his fingers prodding your ribs playfully until you yelp and attempt to roll away from it.

Car leans over the side of the bed to stamp out the cigarette and set it down, shaking his head slightly as he exhales the remaining smoke in his lungs through pursed lips.

Before he can reply to your teasing, a body-racking cough has him sitting up and trying to catch his breath, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and bracing his elbows on his knees to combat the force of the hacking.

You frown, pushing yourself up to sit behind him and wrap yourself around his back, pressing a kiss between his shoulders once his coughing subsides before resting your cheek there.

“Got the black lung already?”

He sniffs, clearing his throat a few more times before sighing deeply.

“Doc says it’s pneumonia. Not much he can do.”

You hum at that, closing your eyes as you listen to the strong thud of his heart again.

“You should’ve told me you were hurt.”

Opening your eyes, you lift your head from his back, furrowing your brows at his admonishment.

“Huh?”

Lip turns enough that he can face you side-on, his tired eyes looking even more exhausted as he nods his head guilty at your arm.

Looking at your right arm, you take in the large lump of bandages wrapped around your bicep, the gauze beneath the sleeve of your sweater making it look almost comically swollen. The three bullets they’d pulled from your arm still remain in a pouch, buried near the body of your knapsack.

“Car,” you sigh, ready to assure him that you’re perfectly fine and that it’s nothing and that he doesn’t need to worry about you. But, judging by the way he narrows his dark eyes at you, you decide it’s best not to argue the point any further.

“I could’ve hurt you, Y/N! You should’ve said something, shouldn’t of let me grab at you like that—”

“Well, sorry that I was so excited to see the man I love that I didn’t think to give you a full medical report.” you snap, shaking your head and rubbing a hand over your face. “I’ll be sure to remember that from now on….”

Lip clenches his jaw and curses under his breath, raking a hand through his mussed hair before mumbling your name softly and taking your hand from your face to hold it between his.

“I didn’t mean it like that, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

When you continue to stare at a point over his shoulder Car sighs and turns to face you further.

You allow his hands to come up and hold your face, eyes flickering to meet his remorseful ones and biting the inside of your cheek.

“You’re right, I’m sorry...Hey, c’mon.”

The press of his forehead against yours is sweet, despite the fact that you can feel the fever radiating from his skin.

“I just get worried, you know. I missed you so much—”

You shake your head, pulling your forehead back from his so you can press a kiss to his hairline.

“I do. I know. I’m sorry, too.”

With your uninjured arm, you brush your cooler fingers across his cheek, feeling a bit guilty for snapping at him.

You wondered if a day would come when the two of you would stop having to worry about each other. These days, it was hard to imagine a life consisting of anything other than loss and pain and heavy exhaustion.

At the feeling of tears rolling over your fingers, you pull back to look at him with concern.

“Lip?”

“I’m so glad that you weren’t there.”

Your throat feels tight, immediately knowing what he’s referring to.

Your torment at the hands of the German army was nothing compared to the horrors you’d heard occurring in the forest Lip had been in. whatever earth-shaking fear you had experienced second hand couldn’t ever hold a candle to what it must’ve felt like to Easy and Dog Companies.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, ignoring the slight twinge of discomfort in your other arm and bringing your other hand to his face to wipe the tears from his eyes. “I’m just….I’m so fucking sorry, Sweetheart—”

He’s apologizing again, and you know that he’s not simply apologizing to you for crying in your arms.

With devastating sobs, he tells you about all of it- of Buck and Toye and WIld Bill. you pull him to lean against you when he cries for Muck and Penkala, the other eighty-two lives that had been snatched away from this world while he’d ‘cowardly hid in a hole’ the whole time.

You don’t interrupt him, tears of your own welling in your eyes but unwilling to let them fall.

He needs this, he needs this, I can be strong for him

When he does pull away from you, he’s red-faced and his eyes are swollen, weakly repeating how sorry he is. You kiss him as softly as he had kissed you for the first time in Toccoa, inhaling sharply when he pulls your face closer and smashes your lips to his almost painfully.

You stroke at his face when he pulls away, letting him catch his breath in his own time.

When he starts coughing again you reach blindly around his feet until you find his canteen, giving him an appreciative smile when he helps you sit back up again.

He drinks dutifully, closing his eyes and letting his head roll from side to side as he swallows.

As you bring his once abandoned cigarette to your lips and relight it with the lighter you’d also managed to find, Lip looks over at you and sighs a weak laugh.

“You shouldn’t do that, young lady,” he jokes hollowly, taking the cigarette from between your fingers and taking a puff before putting it out again. “It isn’t good for you.”

Smiling at the ridiculousness of it, you blow the little smoke you’d managed to get into his face.

“You’re lucky I like you, otherwise I’d hit you, you handsome hypocrite.”

With a soft groan, you swing your legs around so you’re sitting beside him, your thigh pressed against his as you mirror his pose. Car brings your hand into his and laces your fingers together.

“In the interest of being candid, I should probably tell you that I’ve lost three toes since we’ve last seen each other—”

“What?”

His head whips to the side to look at you in surprise, gaping at the casual shrug you offer in explanation.

“Frostbite is a bitch….”

Carwood opens his mouth to protest your nonchalance, before seeming to think better of it and shooting you a glare.

“Well, as long as we’re being honest, I might as well tell you that I’ve been promoted.”

You feel your face drop in surprise for a moment before you grin like an idiot, bringing his hand to your lips and kissing it excitedly.

“Lieutenant Clifford Carwood Lipton,” you murmur, liking the way the title tastes on your tongue.

“Just wait till my mother hears that I’ve snagged myself a Lieutenant—!”

When Car rolls his eyes you press a quick kiss to his cheek.

The dead may always hang over your heads, and maybe they’re meant to.

But, for right now, the two of you have never felt more alive.

And that was more than enough.

~ ~ ~

( ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ here we be, kids. I love you bbs and will fight for your honor any day of the week (just not Mondays at 11am, bc Mama has therapy)

Taglist: @mrseasycompany @itswormtrain @mrsalwayswrite @happyveday @sunsetmando @teenmagazines @liebgotttme

#band of brothers imagines #band of brothers x reader #carwood lipton x reader #carwood lipton imagines

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marvelousstevetony · 3 years

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Hi!! i loved that Steve and Natasha sickfic you wrote a few days ago 🥰 Would u consider writing a sequel where Natasha gets steve home and comforts him when he’s too sick to sleep i. the middle of the night?? steve/Nat is one of my Favorite ships !

Hi, anon! I’m so glad you liked that small fic. I love Steve/Nat too, so of course I had to write a little follow-up for this fic. I know this prompt is basically ancient, but I hope you see this and enjoy it <3

“I wasn’t sure if you were ever gonna get off that couch,” Natasha says, a smirk playing on her lips as she hands Steve two steaming mugs of tea, one for each of them, and slips under the sheets next to Steve.

Rolling his eyes fondly, Steve chuckles a bit and gives Nat her mug back when she has gotten comfortable. “What can I say,” Steve says, peering over the edge of the mug, then takes a careful sip. “It’s a nice couch. Good for napping… And cuddling,” he adds.

“It is,” Nat agrees easily and brings her mug to her lips.

Somehow, she had convinced Steve to cancel the rest of his meetings for the day and go home instead of sleeping on the couch in his office at the compound. Yes, it was a nice couch and all, but nothing beats their soft bed and blankets, which seems to be exactly what Steve needs tonight.

They put on some random reality show that they agree is so stupid it’s entertaining while drinking their tea. The steam and warmth from the tea makes Steve’s nose run, though, and he has to push the cuff of his long-sleeved t-shirt to his nose a few times when he sniffles become too insistent to ignore.

Nat passes him a couple of tissues and takes the now empty mug from his hand and puts it on the bedside table. She’s starting to get tired, too, after coming home from the mission earlier, and she yawns into the fabric of Steve’s shirt as she nuzzles her face into his shoulder.

“Tired?” Steve asks, raising a knowing eyebrow.

“Mhmm,” she hums, closing her eyes and sighs deeply.

“Let’s get some sleep then, hm?”

Nat just nods, scooting closer to Steve and drapes her arm across his waist, head resting on Steve’s shoulder. She faintly remembers the feeling of Steve’s lips on her forehead, a few sniffly kisses placed right above her eyebrow, before everything goes quiet.

——

Most of the team would probably think that Nat’s a light sleeper, that she can sense whenever something’s up, even in her sleep. And she can, when they’re on missions and stuff like that. But here, at home with Steve, she feels safe and comfortable enough to let herself fully relax.

However, she does stir when she feels the foundation beneath her head begins to shift, and then suddenly there’s a lack of warmth and contact and what is that sound?

She blinks her eyes open, squinting slightly, to see Steve sit on edge of bed, ready to push himself into a standing position.

“Hey,” she croaks before Steve can get to his feet, propping herself up on her elbow. She’s a little more awake now, and more concerned, too. She casts a glance at the digital clock on Steve’s bedside table and frowns when she sees that it’s only just past 2 a.m. ��Where you going?”

Steve flinches almost imperceptibly when he hears her voice, then turns to face her. He looks tired, Natasha notices, even more than when they went to sleep just a few hours earlier. He looks a little frustrated, too, now that she thinks of it. Not like he’s angry or anything, but he’s wearing that frown that tells her something’s not right.

“I’m s-sorry, I was—“ Steve breaks off to cough harshly into the crook of his elbow, his other hand clenching the sheets tightly. The coughs sound terrible, throat-scraping and taxing, leaving Steve gasping for air.

Nat sits up a little straighter and turns on the small beside lamp that emits a weak, warm light that isn’t too harsh on their eyes. Then she rubs Steve’s back through his shirt, and it’s clammy and sticky, clinging to his skin. She can feel the heat coming off of him, too, and it’s really no wonder why he has sweat through his shirt.

“I was t-trying snf! trying not to wake you,” he finishes when his breathing has become somewhat stable. “Couldn’t sleep,” he explains when Natasha asks why he’s even up in the first place. “Can’t,” he amends and rubs a hand over his face.

His hair is all disheveled, probably from tossing and turning his head around his pillow, trying to get into a comfortable position without waking Nat. His eyes are watery, too, like they’re too tired to not tear up. He gives her a small smile, though, looking both apologetic and grateful.

“I’m sorry you’re feeling this bad, honey,” Nat says earnestly. “You should’ve woken me up…”

Steve shakes his head lightly, then pushes a bent index finger under his nose and sniffles a couple times. “N-no, you juuh! snf! you just got home… huh! uhhEISH’oo! heh? h! hH! huhh—TCHshh! ISH!”

The second of the triple teases him for a few seconds, making his shoulders hitch with each wavering breath until he finally gasps. He curls in on himself with the sneezes, too, aiming them down at his chest as he doesn’t really have the energy to do anything more than that.

“Sorry…” he mumbles, his voice low and rough sounding.

“Bless you, Steve,” Nat says and leans up to kiss his shoulder. “I’m gonna get you some medicine, okay? To get your fever down and hopefully knock you out, too. Oh, and a new shirt, this one’s all damp,” she adds and smooths a hand over his back to feel the sticky material again.

“Okay, yeah… it’s probably all germy, too, since I… y’know.” Steve gestures vaguely to his face and then to his chest where he had directed the sneezes at. He smiles a little self-deprecatingly and Nat returns it with one of her own, gentle and fond.

“Right.” She starts sliding her hands underneath the shirt, then pulls it over his shoulders and head, mussing his hair even more. He helps with getting the last bit of his head through the hole and crumples the shirt into a ball in his hand.

Steve shivers as the cool air hits his bare skin, hairs rising on his arms, goosebumps all over. Then he tenses, the muscles on his back flexing and becoming even more visible than through the tight fitting tee. His breath comes in small shallow puffs of air before smothering his face into the fabric in his hand and succumbing to the ticklish itch in his nose.

“Huhh! huhUSHmphh! heh, eh! eptCHmffhh! Ugh…”

He muffles the sneezes into the the shirt, though Nat can still hear how forceful they are, see it, too, in the way Steve jerks and his shoulders hunch.

“God bless,” she whispers and nuzzles a kiss into the crook of Steve’s neck. “I’ll be right back,” she promises and slips out of bed to fetch the medicine, a new shirt and some more tissues.

When she comes back, Steve doesn’t argue with her, even though he hates the medicine. He’s tired and groggy enough that it couldn’t really make him feel a lot worse, and it might even knock him out like Nat had said. While they wait for the meds to kick in, they snuggle up in bed again, good and close. There’s a couple soft, strong sneezes, too, that he catches against the tissues Nat passes him or against his shoulder, into the clean shirt that’ll probably also need washing in the morning.

During it all, Nat is rubbing a soothing hand over Steve’s chest and kissing his cheek or forehead while murmuring soft endearments into his ear. It doesn’t take very long before she hears the quiet snores from the (finally) sleeping man next to her, smiling to herself as she closes her own eyes.

#my fic #anon #ask box #natsteve #I’m sorry this is so late #I wrote this is the middle of the night so I apologise for how... probably not great it is but #oh well #I love them

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eeveevie · 4 years

Text

naughty streak

From this prompt list: “What, you’ve never thought about us?”

Thank you @glowstickia ; I may have gone and given Rosie a much needed happy hickey fun time. 👀

Butch Deloria x Rosie Sheridan (Lone Wanderer)

1481 words | [read on Ao3]

Rosie was in a blissful haze.

She wasn’t sure exactly how she ended up sprawled across the couch in her Megaton home with Butch perched above her, the two lip-locked in a passionate kiss, but now that she was there, she didn’t feel like connecting the dots. All she could focus on was the slide of his tongue in her mouth while a few teasing fingers toyed with the hem of her t-shirt. Rosie clung to him, overwhelmed by the sensations she was experiencing—every time they kissed, there was a brand-new intensity that excited her, and this moment was no different.

Her hand found purchase in his hair, prompting a soft groan that reverberated through her lips. Butch pulled away and Rosie thought he was going to complain about her mussing up his styling when he kissed away from her lips, down along her chin to her cheek then her ear before breathing across the column of her throat. A new kind of excitement washed over her, and she eagerly craned her head to the side to give him greater access, feeling her entire body go hot at his soft chuckle. Almost immediately his lips were wrapped around her neck, gentle kisses slowly morphing into something more enthusiastic, little nips of teeth pinching her skin, ensuring she’d be marked.

All the while, Rosie panted deliriously, one hand threaded in his hair while the other clutched the sleeve of his jacket. It felt like she was drowning—surrounded by the smell of his too-strong cologne and hair pomade, the stench of stale cigarettes he couldn’t wash out of his clothes—but it was so characteristically Butch, she wouldn’t have it any other way. His lips traveled further, trailing along her collarbone and she whimpered, fluttering her eyes shut—if she had any idea how wonderful it would feel to have him kiss anywhere but her lips, she would’ve had him do so weeks ago.

Rosie wished she didn’t have to be such a prude and could just…let go.

One of Butch’s hands at her waist sneaked up and barely ghosted across her clothed breast, causing her to blink open her eyes. His free hand was still teasing up her shirt, warm fingers tickling the skin at her side causing her to flinch. Though it all, he continued his trail of kisses on her neck, pausing for a sharp inhale of breath before resuming on the opposite side. Rosie was still in a daze. A part of her was curious to see what would happen if he continued touching her, if his lips traveled any further down her body. The more rational part of her mind told her that was all too soon—they hadn’t even pinned down a label on what to call each other yet. Boyfriend and girlfriend? Lovers? A passing fling? Her mind clouded.

Butch relaxed his body against hers almost at the same time that Rosie made to gently push him away. In that brief moment of contact, she had felt delightful weight of him atop her—including the arousal at the front of his jeans. He had pulled away immediately with a sharp gasp, the two staring at each other with surprised, breathless expressions. They stayed like that as the minutes stretched on until their breathing evened out.

“Sorry, Rosie, I uh—” Butch gulped, lips swollen red from his assault on her neck. He adjusted so he was still hovering above her but was giving her as much space as possible on the cushions. “Got pretty carried away there.”

She was speechless. “I—yes.”

He smirked. “Something tells me you liked it.”

“Maybe,” she answered in a barely-there whisper, flicking her gaze away. Something told her he did too.

Butch snickered, maneuvering one hand so he could tuck the flyaway hairs out of her face. His fingers trailed down the side of her face and lightly down the path of kisses he had left on her throat and collarbone. His voice was low. “Can’t blame me for wanting you.”

If Rosie was hot before, she was now on fire. She widened her eyes and felt her lips part in a soft gasp—what did he just—did Butch DeLoria just say he wanted her? She wanted to inspect his head for a concussion. Sure, she could just barely believe that maybe he wanted to kiss and make-out and get a little groping action in (if she allowed it) but sex? Did he remember who she was? Rosie Sheridan—Stitches—that girl he used to tease from Vault 101. Certainly not somebody worth his time in the bedroom department. The entire idea made her brain short circuit.

He raised an eyebrow, catching on to her stunned silence. “What? You’ve never thought about us?”

“Huh?” she meekly responded, darting her eyes back to his face if only to remind herself that she was beneath him in a very compromising position—with probably half a dozen hickeys dotted across her neck.

“I mean…” Butch’s fingers tickled against her skin as he tugged at the collar of her shirt, daring to expose more flesh. “’Bout the two of us…ya know, rolling around in your bed with a lot less clothes on.”

Rosie wanted to sink into the couch and disappear into the floorboards—fade away into the surface of the earth. He had no right—of all the times to taunt her, of all the topics to tease her about—the focus of her thoughts and dreams were off limits. Not that she had been daydreaming about him. Naked. In her bed. That much…

Butch seemed to figure she’d remain silent under this line of persistent flirtation, but that didn’t stop him.

“So, I might have snuck a peek at those books you’ve been reading,” he grinned, eyebrows wiggling at her sudden gasp. “Ooh yeah, Stitches, who would’ve known you’d have such a naughty streak?”

She wriggled beneath him, frowning slightly. “Butch, those are priv—fictional—” she corrected, cheeks ablaze. She couldn’t believe how embarrassed she felt at him finding the stash of boudoir novellas Moira had given her—she would’ve much rather him be snooping through her handwritten journals. At least those were far less racy, less likely to give him any explicit ideas. “I’m—I do not—”

“Hmm?” he hummed, clearly amused by her flustered state. This was an entirely brand-new form of torture. “I’d say you’d have to be having some pretty interesting dreams after staying up all night with your nose in those kinds of books.”

Clearly he had forgotten that she could control her dreams on most nights. Rosie puffed out a sigh, blowing some of her hair out of her face. How could Butch be so annoying and yet so attractive at the same time? It wasn’t fair that he always seemed to have the upper hand just because she was too damn shy to do anything about it. For once, she wanted to have the advantage—but where to start?

“Maybe—maybe a few,” she finally answered, sliding her hands to rest on his shoulders.

That certainly seemed to shock Butch, his eyebrows shooting up before he relaxed, angling his chin down so it would be easy to capture her lips in a kiss. “Oh yeah?”

Rosie felt a surge of unknown bravery flow through her as she smiled. “I could tell you about them.”

When Butch faltered, clearly flabbergasted, that’s when she made her move, gripping the lapels of his leather jacket as she brought him to her body. She kissed him but underestimated just how alarmed he was. Butch’s arm slid out from under him which caused him to slip off the couch, and with his arm still tucked around her waist, she went right with him. The two tumbled to the hard floor, barely buffered by the rug she had laid out while redecorating a month ago. Rosie landed on top of him, legs tangled and torsos pressed together. He shifted his arm so he could scoop back her dark hair that curtained them both, laughing softly at the way her glasses awkwardly balanced on the tip of her nose.

“Jesus, Rosie—where’d that come from?” he breathed, bright blue eyes darting across her face. His ears were burning red. “Not that—hey, I mean, I liked it.”

She shrugged. “It was the only way to shut you up.”

“It worked,” Butch replied, arms tightening around her torso, so she stayed put. “It can keep working.”

That little wave of boldness came over her again as she straddled his waist properly, leaning down so she could frame the sides of his face with her hands. Before he could say anything, she swallowed his surprised gasp in a searing kiss, breaking away if only to check for his dazed expression and delirious grin. Good.

Now it was her turn.

#fallout 3 #butch deloria x f!lone wanderer #butch deloria #rosie sheridan #otp: it's just a flesh wound #very spicy #rosie bby we all know what you are doing with those books #brave rosie FTW #[good for her meme]

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lemonietrinket · 4 years

Text

Loved ||| WayV x Reader

Summary: Everyone needs to be taken care of sometimes, no matter how strong they are. And so when you come home from an awful day in the outside world, you are blessed to have several people come and pick you up again, setting you back on your feet. Genre: Angst, but then lots of Fluff to make up for it!! And humour too bc i think im funny Warning(s): Detailed description of hardcore crying, no mention of reasons why, just left as a very bad day Word Count: 12k how the hell- Theme Song: The Flower (feat. Maximilian Hecker) - Leo; Heart Flutter - W24 AN: Request from @idont-knowabrian, I’m sorry I am depresso and thus have to make it so depresso by extension. I hope it wasn’t too angsty for you, I added lots and lots of fluff after to make up for it!! Aaaaaannd sorry for the real big wait.

EDIT: Check out the updated version here!

~~~

It had taken all of your strength to not cry on the way home on the bus. There were too many people around for you to let the tears fall, but you’d bitten your lip so hard it bled and had held your breath until you were heaving. You tried your best, turning your head into the glass and staring into the darkness outside, praying that no one turned to look back at you or your reflection.

As soon as you got off at your stop, unable to utter a ‘thank you’ to the driver which made you feel even worse (if that were even possible) your defences began to break down.

Tears streamed down your face in the frozen evening air, slipping between your trembling lips and the salt tingling on the tip of your tongue. Your nose ran viciously because of the wind, which also mussed up your hair causing you even more frustration as you tried to hold it out of your face, only for it to cover eyes uncomfortably again.

Your voice seeped into your breath as you tried to remain silent, strained whines at the effort it took to not openly weep as you needed to, whilst you prayed endlessly that no one would pass you by on the street and see the mess you were in.

Fumbling with your keys, just inches from being inside and away from the world, almost sent you over the edge. The key had got caught in one of the keyrings and with your shivering fingers and blurry vision, it seemed the world was kicking you while you were down.

A sob rose in your throat, and you forced it down as best you could, until finally you crashed into the house, bags toppled by the oven. Slamming the backdoor behind you with a strength you didn’t realise you had left, you slipped to the floor and sobbed so hard no noise came from your body.

Your chest constricted upon itself, ribs very nearly bruising your lungs and heart, until you finally caught some air and howled.

You were ashamed of how you must have looked, sprawled on the kitchen floor, weeping hysterically, no doubt with a muddied skirt and torn tights and hands pressed into wet footprints upon the linoleum floor.

If you’d been told to write the worst day you could have, today took that itinerary and then dragged it through hell.

You didn’t have the energy to stand, even if the puddles from outside that your shoes had dragged inside were being soaked up by your shirt, barely tucked in beneath your belt anymore.

You wished that no one would see you in this state. But the world wasn’t particularly on your side.

You just about heard the footsteps outside, before the door opened. You didn’t bother to look up. You didn’t want to know who it was, you just wanted them to go away.

The sharp inhale that pricked at your ears only made you cry harder, the tears dripping from your cheeks and dappling the woollen sleeves over your arms.

The door closed, and the person knelt down beside your head.

The voice was hushed and filled with concern, “Y/N...!”

The man’s palms hovered above you, unsure of what the situation was and what to do about it.

It was Kun. Soft, caring, and extremely worried.

You opened your mouth to speak, but a broken cry was the only sound you could make.

“Y/N, are you...?! Ar you hurt?! Sick?!” he exclaimed, lightly brushing your hair from your face to try and understand what was wrong. “What’s wrong love? P-please, I don’t...”

You shook your head as best you could, and as soon as he felt the wet streams upon your cheeks he seemed to understand.

“Oh, love, oh...” he trailed off, unable to find the words. Seeing you like this hurt him beyond explanation. Slipping off his shoes as quickly as he could and discarding them by the door, he reached his arms under your shoulders. “Come on, love, let’s get you up.”

He scooped you up nearly effortlessly, as you became a rag doll in his hands, limp as you head span, your weeping having constricted most of the air out of you, abandoning you to feel the consequences.

Your feet dragged as the two of you slowly made your way through the house and up the stairs. You were barely putting in any effort, too ebbed with melancholy to do so, and you quickly realised Kun was practically carrying you, doing all the heavily lifting.

It almost made you break into fresh tears at the thought, when Kun murmured in your ear softly, “It’s ok, love, it’s going to be ok.”

It seemed that he was unfazed by your lack of input, continuing to hold you close as he whispered tiny instructions and words of support while helping you stumble into your bedroom.

He set you down on your bed with a gentle sigh, folding some of the clothes you’d discarded on the covers that morning and moving them out of the way. “There you go, we made it upstairs.”

He came back to push the hair from your face, wiping your eyes firmly with his hand as he held it at your cheeks. “Though those clothes need a wash, love, they’re a little bit mucky.”

You felt your eyes prickle up once again, as you choked on an apology. “I... it’s m-my... fault I—the floor, I’m such... such an—”

He shushed you, stroking your hair desperately, instantly kneeling to the floor so he was closer to your head height. “Love, sweetheart, it’s ok! It’s ok, it’s not your fault!”

He cursed at the carelessness of his words.

“The only thing is that we’ll need to get you out of these and into new ones, is what I mean, love,” he explained delicately, “I’ll go and get a new set out for you so you don’t have to do as much, and don’t worry about all the washing and drying, I’ll do all of that for you too.”

His kindness was tugging at your heart, smashing it to pieces in your vulnerable state, only to pull it all back together again. You didn’t feel worthy of his care, but on the other hand all you wanted was him to stay and never leave you.

He stood with a final rub of your temple, enquiring which drawer had your pyjamas in them.

You shivered as you tried to work up the energy to answer him, instead barely raising a finger to the drawer second from the top of the case.

It dropped to the mattress as soon as he nodded, pulling out the warmest set he could find and placing it at your side. “You going to be alright?”

You lifted your hand to try and pick them up, only to discover it was so heavy you couldn’t lift it. You whined in frustration, which led him to immediately kneel on the carpet again.

“What’s wrong, love, do you have the energy?” he asked. “Are you too tired?”

You nodded once, which was all you could really manage. If you’d been more awake you would have questioned where all your energy had gone to specifically, never having been this lethargic before, but—and quite fairly—that would be a question for later.

You didn’t want to cause Kun anymore stress, but once again he understood. “That’s alright, love. I’ll help you then, ok?”

He didn’t move until you explicitly agreed. In this case, it came out as another bow of the head, and another apology. “T... thank you... I’m s-so sorry, Kun...! I just-t...!”

“It’s ok, Angel, you don’t need to apologise. I’ve got you,” he assured, hushing your babbling and helping you to your feet again.

You went limp again at his words, leaning into his shoulder and focusing only on the warmth you found there. He swiftly unzipped your skirt and, after setting you back on the bed, retrieved it from your feet, throwing it surprisingly haphazardly over the back of your desk-chair.

Raising the hem of your shirt, now freed and hanging loose, he gently dipped his fingers under the seam and began to roll them down your hips and legs, lifting you slightly whenever necessary. The ripped tights were discarded just as the skirt was, whilst you pulled your legs up and together, desperately trying to retain heat. Your room had always been cold, though you hadn’t felt the full brunt of it until now.

As the goosebumps rose upon your skin, Kun returned. Instinctively, he placed a hand on one of your thighs, rubbing along to try and restore some heat, as his other hand unfolded the baggy trousers of your pyjamas.

Slipping them over your feet and up to your hips, he moved onto your blouse, undoing several buttons and pulling it over your head. Stroking some strands of hair that had become dishevelled out of your eyes, he shifted to retrieve the pyjama shirt and place it over your hunched torso.

Once your head had appeared from the collar, he sent you a small, sweet smile, guiding your arms into the sleeves and pulling it finally the rest of the way.

All done.

“Feel a little more comfortable?” His hand was at your temple again, fingers tracing tiny circles into the skin there.

You tried to pull your eyes up to meet his gaze, but finding yourself lolling, you settled on another nod.

“Do you want to go downstairs?” he asked.

Lethargically, you managed to reach your hand to his shoulder, attempting to haul yourself up as an affirmation. He rolled with your action, aiding you up again, and back down the stairs.

Eventually you were on the centre of the sofa, all the remotes beside you, and Kun was stood to head to the kitchen. “I’ll make you some food? Ramyun will be good right?” he hesitated. “Or grab you some blankets, anything you need.”

You hummed sadly, trying to draw your lips together to speak.

“Yes, love?” He was so patient.

“I...” you swallowed, hands tiredly lifting away from your body and towards him, as outstretched as you could manage, “w-want a h...hug...”

His features softened even further, if that were even possible, his eyes regarding you carefully as his lips curled into a smile.

Before he could answer—and make no joke, his answer would have been to take a seat beside you and instantly take you into his arms—there was a clatter, as the door opened. Several voices swarmed over one another, littered with giggles and whoops as they bickered in the falling darkness.

Kun’s head turned to the backdoor, and he nodded as he saw the face of one of the members through the doorway. “I think you can get a really big one, now,” he remarked, a tinge of sadness in his voice.

Not quite understanding the situation, you merely pouted, feeling the burn in your heart as your mind spiralled. He’d said no. He didn’t want to hug you. He didn’t like you, really. You were merely a—

“Angel, I can’t leave them in charge of cooking can I?” Kun explained with a chuckle, thumb brushing a single stroke across your cheek. “Please don’t be sad, love, I’ll hug you later I promise.”

“Promise?” you asserted.

“With my whole heart.”

His words threw your own through a loop.

Kun meanwhile called out to the others, “Welcome home! You’re late, but I’ll let it slide if you come here and help me.”

There was a couple of confused ‘eh’s until a few familiar faces came into the room, shrugging of their coats.

You almost broke into a fresh tears as you saw Yukhei’s bright, sunny smile drop from his face when he laid eyes on you.

“Y/N?!” he exclaimed, glancing at Kun for an explanation.

At the sound of his deepset shout, Sicheng leant out from behind the giant puppy’s shoulders to see what Yukhei was so upset about. He too went from quietly happy to extremely concerned at the sight of your reddened cheeks.

You quickly became very embarrassed. You hadn’t been cute crying, exactly, and you figured you looked like a dazed, tear-stained mess.

That was when Ten slipped past the two of them abruptly, running over to you before you could even cry in surprise.

“No no, no...!” he cooed, perching very carefully on the edge of the sofa, body turned completely towards you as he extended his hands to your face. He dabbed at your mottled cheeks rather frantically, the coolness of his fingers making you shiver, as they were chilled the winter, whilst your skin had been made hot by tension and stress.

“No, baby, are you ok? What’s wrong? What happened?” He glanced back at Kun who was heading through into the kitchen. “Kun, is it just my hands or is she running a fever?” Before you could answer he continued, eyes shining, “Are you hurt? Sick? Did someone hurt you?”

“They better not have hurt you!” Yukhei interjected, leaning over the back of the sofa. “If they did then you tell me their names, Y/N,” he said diligently, “I’ll make sure they never even look at you again I swear—!”

Sicheng rolled his eyes, a light scoff drifting from his lips as he patted Yukhei’s shoulder once, before heading round to the chair opposite you. “It’s ok, Ten, she’s not dying.”

He’d said it with a joking lilt an a gentle tone, but Ten’s mouth hung open as he shot him a look. “I know she’s not, but she’s upset and I’m not having that!”

“Neither will I!” Yukhei emphasised, folding his arms proudly.

“Yukhei, you couldn’t hurt anyone even if you tried,” Ten sassed, turning his full attention back to you. “Now, if my girl is not sick, and not physically hurt, then I know exactly what she needs, don’t I?”

As soon as he grinned at you, you couldn’t help but let the corners of your own lips lift. And, much like a chain reaction, as soon as he saw you brighten, even if only slightly, his smile grew into a beam.

“My girl wants hugs, doesn’t she?” he murmured, giddily tapping his finger against the tip of your nose.

You couldn’t avoid emitting a squeak at the contact—his fingers were too cold—but rationale had also left you in some parts, perhaps, as you nodded eagerly, dragging your arms up and throwing them out to welcome him in.

Ten slipped back on the sofa, pulling you into his chest protectively. He was careful to place his hands where they wouldn’t touch your skin, but also where you would know he was there, and so he nestled one into your waist and the other upon the back of your head.

Adjusting your position only slightly to lessen the pressure off the bridge of your nose, you settled you face in the nook of his neck, fingers laced in his shirt, as you took in the scent of his cologne. He must have several varieties but this one was easily your favourite—whatever it was. It was light, but deep and welcoming, with the openness of a spring day but the independence of a lucid dream, which was kind of how you felt held so close to his heart. You could feel it beating against your arm, seeping through your sleeves and sinking into your skin, through to your own heart, which skipped as soon as the thought of it all struck your conscious mind.

You very nearly forgot about the others around you, though as soon as you’d been dipped into the waters of serenity, you’d been pulled out by your own awareness.

Ten was stroking your hair gently, though his touch was shallow to avoid both knots and making you shiver. Kun was instructing Yukhei about something, words just out of reach for you to piece together, but no sooner than he’d finished, the boy had yelled, “group hug!” and had bounded around the sofa. You couldn’t see Sicheng, so had no idea what he was doing, but you heard a chuckle that sounded like his. And a second after you’d questioned the reasoning behind his amusement, you felt a weight crash behind you, as Yukhei joined you two on the couch.

Ten snapped up out of surprise, indicating he perhaps hadn’t seen in coming either, and with his hand leaving your head, you pressed yourself up slightly to try and get a better look at what happened.

It was no use however, because you were knocked back against Ten with a yelp from both of you, as Yukhei practically slammed his weight against your back.

Ten hauled you up as best he could so you weren’t stuck in a folded position but what you had ended up in nonetheless was still not overly comfortable. As you glanced at him you could see his lips wavering, formulating a sentence to most likely scold Yukhei with. But there was no need, as you felt a pair of much longer arms encircle you and pull you more upright, a chin coming to rest surprisingly neatly on your shoulder.

“Hi, Y/N!” Yukhei sang, tapering off into a giggle as he gave you a tiny squeeze.

You laughed bemusedly, relieved to be alive, but also welcoming the warmth from the other side. Yukhei was in fact much warmer, to the point he could be described as an actual radiator, and with him smushed against your back you felt extremely secure.

And, after a few seconds of his eyes evaluating the sight he could see but you could not, it seemed that Ten appeared to accept it eventually too. Even with you practically stolen from his arms, he laughed it off, identifying that he could be perfectly comfortable laying into you rather the other way round.

With roles reversed, Ten slipped a hand up to your collarbone, resting his head just above the other, and seeking the opportunity to wrap one of his legs over yours, which was jutting out over the side of the sofa.

Now you could see the room more clearly, and, with a tired laugh, you waved at Sicheng who was watching the borderline catastrophe with a confused but delighted grin on his features. There was a shade to his eyes though, something that you couldn’t quite place.

Peering over Ten’s head, you could see Kun leaning against the doorway, smiling proudly, as if the whole thing had been his doing. Though thinking back to Yukhei’s sudden but most likely inevitable surprise attack, it maybe had been.

“Hi...!” You waved at him too, leading him to chuckle.

“Hello,” he replied, “you look better already.” And with a brief scrunch of his nose, he was pushing himself off the wall’s edge and heading into the kitchen.

You pressed you chin into the crown of Ten’s head, smiling tightly as quiet settled over the room.

You loved all of them, you honestly did, and you would never do without their bickering and yelling and screeching laughter. But it was relieving to hear peace every once in a while, with the only sound being the sound of steadied breaths—two pairs of which had become more-or-less synonymous with your own.

“You sure you don’t want to join us, Chengie?” It was Yukhei that spoke. You could have bet a million with certainty that it would be him that broke the silence. Man could never stay quiet for long, which was often one of the most endearing parts about him, as it often led him to some extraordinary lengths to find something, anything to say, crafting absolutely wonderful results. A lot of what Yukhei had to say ended up becoming in-jokes for all eight of you in the house, and at least a quarter of them were from situations like these.

Unfortunately, this one didn’t spark much interest.

Sicheng shook is head once, voice neither amused nor melancholic, answering, “No. But thank you.”

“Oh, ok!” Yukhei’s response was bright as usual. “More space for us!” He punctuated his words with another, tighter squeeze, which made you cry out in mildly strained laughter.

“Yukhei!”

“Dear lord...” Ten sighed, rolling his body-weight to allow his voice to carry into the kitchen. “Kun! When are the kids getting back? Yukhei’s getting boisterous again!”

You poked Ten’s side, making him jump. He flicked his head away from your neck to look you in the eye, immediately flipping into a pout complete with puppy eyes. “Hey...! What was that for...!”

“Play nice Ten,” you asserted gently, reaching out to pull him back down. He’d left your torso open to the cold with his retreat and you missed him within seconds. Luckily he wasn’t in a snarky mood, or had accurately read the situation and had worked out it wouldn’t be a good idea to get mischievous and tease you, and so he came straight back down. Though his grip was a little firmer once he’d reestablished it, with one now warmer hand finding its place upon the bare skin below the hem of your shirt, shielding it from the chill of the room while simultaneously making your heart beat just that little bit quicker.

The kids, as Ten had dubbed them, arrived not long after, just as the delicious scent of Kun’s famous cooking began to fill the whole room to the brim. They stepped into a delightfully warm house, their faces reddened from the cold outside, and immediately were stripping themselves free of their coats, as the temperature difference made them feel too warm to cope.

Ten and Yukhei had finished their tussle over you, leaving you to rest in peace between the two of them. Sicheng had taken out his phone a while ago, ocassionally showing you funny memes and pictures he found. You didn’t really understand some of them, and he had to explain them, but you enjoyed it nonetheless, even if that same shadow tinted his eyes again as he did it.

Xiaojun regarded the sight of the three of you piled on the sofa with curiosity, to say the least, brows furrowing as he let the two behind him pass. Yangyang barely scraped a glance at you, until he came back and saw it properly, smirking. “What is this?”

“Y/N was feeling sad, so we had to come and cheer her up!” Yukhei explained, knocking his head into yours like a puppy.

“By... piling on the sofa?”

“What’s wrong Yangyang?” Ten snickered, before cooing, “Do you feel left out that I’m not babying you too?”

Yangyang narrowed his eyes defiantly at the elder, who merely stuck his tongue out.

“Yangyang, you can join us if you want,” you interrupted cleanly, the wobble in your voice long gone.

“Can I?!” Hendery called from behind the two stood in the walkway, slipping through to poke his head around Xiaojun where you could see him. His lips were curved into a tiny little smile, eyes wide and clear and glimmering in hope for a ‘yes’.

“Of course!” you replied, hand leaving Ten’s back and beckoning both Yangyang and Hendery over.

“I don’t think there’s any room,” Xiaojun remarked, exhaling amusedly, “you might have to take it in turns.”

At this, you felt both pairs of hands’ grips tighten, as if in reflex.

“But!” Yukhei stuttered in defence. “But I’m—”

Ten whined, “No, I’m comfy. You’ll have to drag me off yourself.”

Sicheng looked up from his phone. “Not sure that’s a wise idea, Ten, you’re the lightest one here.”

As Yangyang and Hendery glanced at one another, grins affirming before snapping back to begin stepping over to the smaller link in the chain, Kun declared from the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready! Come get it! And someone can come and get Y/N’s for her—no complaining about that either, she’s had a tough day.”

But no one complained. In fact, it became more of a rush to get in the kitchen first, to collect their food because they were starving or because they wanted to be the one to grab your serving, you couldn’t tell.

Yukhei was swayed by food, which you had anticipated, and with a final, almost crushing squeeze, he slipped out from behind you, leaving you to adjust yourself to not fall over while supporting Ten upon your front.

This was because Ten was not affected as severely by the thought of dinner, and instead remained upon you, pressing himself against you as best he could.

“Can’t we stay here and eat dinner?” he mumbled into your shirt.

“I don’t think Kun would ever allow that.” You giggled. “Not after last time.”

Ten sighed, before shouting back, “Kun! Can Y/N eat her food on the sofa?!”

“No!” The man’s response was immediate. “Not after last time!”

“See,” you snorted, “told you.”

Ten rolled his eyes, sitting up reluctantly, then stretching his arms and back. “Fine. Come on, let’s go get dinner.”

Dinner was a ruckus, as usual. You cram eight people around a table and it will always be noisy, due to the sheer number of people. But then you make half of those people crackheads and the others happy to allow them to be crackheads Then you’ve got a table of chaos.

With the conversation flitting every few seconds, words bouncing from one side of the room to the other to a rhythm of laughter, many would probably have arranged to sit in their rooms to dine, but you would never dream of doing such a thing.

Hearing the banter, weekly in-jokes and teasing was necessary, as it always lifted your spirits. As long as you weren’t upset at the time they picked on you.

Luckily the previous cuddling had worked, and you were back to feeling ok, your problems not seeming so impossible anymore.

However, ‘ok’ was not good enough for the others, and you knew they wouldn’t leave you at just that. Besides, you had a promise to keep to the two youngest.

As soon as you spotted the natural lull in conversation, you jumped in, “Do you guys want to watch a film tonight?”

Your suggestion was met with a flourish of agreement, only that two faces also fell. One tried to hide it somewhat valiantly, no doubt to protect you from feeling bad. The other didn’t possess the finesse for this as such, and more-or-less openly sulked at the dining table. You looked to the two of them. “Ten? Yukhei?”

“SuperM,” Ten remarked, voice monotonous, “meeting on tour dates.”

You let out a small ‘ah’ in understanding. You attempted to look on the brighter side. “There’s always next week...!”

Yukhei nodded sadly, while Ten huffed earning him a side-eye from Kun.

“In my defence,” he began, “they’ve worked out all the dates that don’t clash for us. It’s 127 they’re having trouble with, and the managers there can’t seem to do basic maths, because they’ve confirmed two lots of dates that don’t actually work. It must be driving Taeyong mad over in Korea.”

“Why do you need to be there, then?” Yangyang asked.

“We don’t,” Yukhei emphasised.

Ten sighed. “No I think we do. Even if we’ve outlined our schedules a hundred times, we still need to be in the room while they set the dates, for legal reasons. It’s just that guy is driving me up the wall. He never lets us talk on these meetings, and I’m sick of subtly dropping hints to his boss about it.” He stood, offering to take the others’ empty bowls and plates. “Guess tonight won’t be very peaceful, but it’ll be worse if we don’t leave soon.” As he leant over the table to collect your bowl, he whispered, “I’ll be here pretty much all tomorrow though. You?”

You nodded, trying to still the beating of your heart picked up in tempo following the wink he sent you in response.

Yukhei collected the remaining utensils in one hand, giving everyone individually a big wave with the other.

“What are you going to do?” Xiaojun enquired. “About the ‘guy’, I mean?”

Ten shrugged. “Guess if he tries anything this time, he’ll face the pure wrath of this bad bitch.”

“Ten!” you cried in faux shock, a gasp quilting the air. “What have we said about swearing in front of the child!”

Laughter erupted as everyone synchronously looked at Yangyang, who was sending you an exaggerated scowling pout. “For the last time, I am not a child!”

“Oh yes that’s right, you’re not a child, Yangyang,” Kun interjected plainly, leading the table to hush as each person accepted his words as an instruction to quieten. Except everyone was wrong. Kun glanced at you with a suprisingly sly smile, and then at Ten, before looking Yangyang dead in the eye, and said, “You’re baby.”

There was a chorus of boisterous, teasing ‘OHHH!’s as Yangyang accepted his fate as ‘burned’.

You bid the two of them farewell, hearing them slip out of the backdoor, but you barely caught Kun as he seemed to follow them. You very nearly leapt into the kitchen, hearing a car door slam, eyes searching for the leader.

"Kun?”

The man jumped just outside, halting his motion to shut the door as you poked your head into sight. “Oh, Y/N. Is everything ok?”

You nodded, humming, though pulling your shirt further up to your chin to try and retain some heat in combat with the cold outside air. “Where are you going?”

“Oh, giving them a lift, so they don’t have to walk, since it’s cold out,” he sheepishly apologised, “I should have mentioned it, sorry. You can start the film without me, I don’t mind.”

“Oh, ok,” you mumbled. You had been about to say you’d make sure everyone waited for him, as you were aware the drive wouldn’t be long, but his words had stopped you in your tracks.

“I’ll see you in a bit, Y/N. I promise I won’t be long.”

You tried to lift your arms in time to request that hug he owed you, but the door had closed before he likely even saw you in the darkness of the kitchen.

There was a slosh of water that made your ears prick up, leading you to turn towards the sink. You’d barely noticed Xiaojun there, doing the washing up (as he’d been elected to by Kun as he left the table). Though it was no surprise, since he’d been practically silent the whole time. And he was doing it in the dark.

“You alright, Y/N?” he enquired, adding more hot water to the bowl.

“I could ask the same about you?” you glanced around the room, looking for the lightswitch. “Has the bulb gone again?”

“No, the light’s fine.”

“Oh, well...” You made your way over to the switch.

“Don’t turn it on,” he announced, tipping his head over his shoulder. The lights from the next room crystalised in his eyes, azure-gold and tracing a diamond upon his cheek. It illuminated the curve of his lips, as he spoke again, quieter this time, “Come here.”

You did what he asked, brushing his shoulder with yours as you came to his side. You tried to meet his gaze, looking up to his face and drawing across his features. You got distracted by the shine of his silver hair, tracing down his skin and curling round the shell of his ear so neatly. Plush lips parted as he spoke and you raised your eyes to meet his, only to have him turn away at the last second. You were left with no choice but to follow where he was looking.

“Look, out there,” he whispered, gently placing a plate at the bottom of the bowl.

You peered into the garden, dimly lit by the light from the living room dancing beyond you, next door’s garden light and nothing more—the sky starless and as dark and thick as ink. You couldn’t see anything, and it disheartened you to have to explain it to Xiaojun, who was clearly much more excited than you were.

“Jun? I can’t see anything,” you murmured, but he hushed you suddenly, leaving you to slam your lips shut, heart pinched.

After a few seconds he spoke again, voice barely above a whisper, “We have to be really quiet. And no sudden movements. She’ll appear very soon, I know she will.”

You frowned, glancing through the dark window, confronted by the hazy grass of the garden, and then your own musty reflection as your eyes switched focus. You couldn’t see much of Xiaojun in the glass, the shadow engulfing much of his mirrored-self. However, you could see one half of his face, shaded as if through clouds, his crown crudely lit like a halo from the light behind.

A sigh very nearly left your lips as you stole another glance at his real face, his brow furrowing while his eyes narrowed into the darkness outside, teeth ever-so-slightly teasing his bottom lip as he peacefully waited. It wasn’t fair how ethereal he was sometimes.

Suddenly he perked up, eyes widening, and leaning into you as he carefully pointed with a soap-sud painted finger into the black. “Look! There!”

You leant forward on the edge of the counter, eyes desperately scouring the garden until you spotted what he was waiting for.

A small bundle, tapered with jagged edges upon its top, snuffling through the shadowy green.

A tiny hedgehog, on the search for food.

As she came closer, you could just about make out the twitching of a nose, while she made a somewhat beeline for the fence on the left hand side of the garden. There you could see a weathered blue pet-bowl, filled with some food of sorts.

“There she is,” Xiaojun sighed, whispering a laugh sheepishly. “I was beginning to worry there for a bit, I’ll be honest.”

A wide smile rose to your face, overtaken by the purity of an animal that small shuffling through the cold to find food which had been placed in the back garden just for her.

“Did you...?”

“Yeah, the dog food was me,” he replied. “She only comes when it’s quiet here, which isn’t often but it does happen after dinner. As the others get quiet, retreating upstairs or sitting on their phones for a bit. That’s why I offer to do the work here, so I can check up on her.”

You couldn’t glance away from the hedgehog, especially when she finally reached the bowl and began to tuck in. Though it was in the shade and it was very hard to see anything besides the bowl by that point, made to stand out against the night by the brightness of its sides.

“She’ll eat it all no doubt, she didn’t come yesterday. Unless she has somewhere else and is just running rings around me,” he chuckled, picking up the plate.

“Why didn’t she come yesterday?” you asked, wrenching your eyes away to look at Xiaojun again.

The corners of his eyes rose as he wrinkled his nose briefly. “Yukhei’s euphoria last night?”

You stood confused for a second, trying to retrace your memory, until you finally struck gold. “Oh yea! We got a message from Jungwoo! I think it was everyone’s euphoria to be honest,” you sighed, “I’d been worried sick about him. No matter how many times anyone assured me he was ok, I knew I wouldn’t settle until I heard it from him himself.”

“It’s alright, I understand that. And I’m pretty sure the others do too.” As your eyes fell, remembering the anxiety you had about his condition, Xiaojun’s finally settled back on you. “You’re extremely kind Y/N, you almost care too much,” he said, “I know Jungwoo can’t wait to see you again, too.”

You finally met his gaze, letting a small smile rise to your lips as you did so. He was just so beautiful, you couldn’t actually look away even if by some bizarre curse you wanted to.

“Thank you, Junnie.”

“I mean it though, Y/N,” he insisted softly, “I worry sometimes you care too much about others, and though we appreciate it very much, I don’t...” His voice faltered, as if he’d spoken too much. “We don’t want you to hurt yourself in the process, and forget to care for yourself. We all love looking after you, but we also don’t want you to be hurt at all, if we can help it. So if something hurts you, let us know immediately, so we can support you... yeah?”

You nodded, swallowing as you felt your throat clench. Blinking quickly, you looked back into the garden, you spotted the hedgehog making her way back to the hedgerow.

At that moment, a voice rose from the living room. “Y/N! What film do you want to watch?”

Somewhat grateful for the distraction, you felt the urge to cry dissipate as you took another glance at Xiaojun. He hadn’t looked away from you this time, it seemed, but you didn’t focus upon that for your own sanity. “I’d better go,” you said, “thank you for showing me the hedgehog. She’s really cute, I’m glad you feed her.”

“No problem, I’ll let you do it tomorrow, if you have time and would like to?”

“That sounds great!” You sent him a grin, covering any sadness you had felt a few moments before. You lay your hand on his shoulder for a second before you passed, as a small farewell, making our way to the living room to go help Yangyang.

As you reached the archway, you turned round to ask one more thing. “Oh, Xiaojun?”

“Yes?” He finished washing a plate and placed it on the draining board, peering over his shoulder at you once again.

“Does she have a name? The hedgehog?”

In the shadows of the kitchen, you thought you saw him falter, in the silence, heard a stutter in his answer. “Actually, no, I didn’t think to do that. Maybe you could come up with one?”

You reasoned with the suggestion before nodding. “I’ll see what I can come up with. See you in a bit!”

After you left the room, however, he let out a sigh of relief. He was glad you’d fallen for that excuse, especially since it was far from the truth. The first thing he did, once he realised the hedgehog was a regular, was give her name. And since she was adorable, with her little nose and love for food, he decided to name her after the first adorable thing he thought of.

He hadn’t foreseen the issue that would occur if he showed her to the person of which he’d secretly named the hedgehog after.

As you spun round the door-frame, hands clapped against your cheeks, desperately willing them to cool down and lose their pinkish hue, Hendery spun round the corner and collided into you.

His sudden appearance made you jump, causing you to haphazardly step backwards and very nearly trip over a blanket draped half on the sofa and half on the floor.

Luckily Hendery’s reactions were faster than your falling, and with hands clasped at your shoulders he pulled you back into your centre of gravity. Holding you still there, watching you wobble until coming to rest, he exhaled in relief.

His face had been a picture, lips pursed into an ‘o’ of moderate horror as he’d almost knocked you to the ground, and then spread into a wide smile as he giggled sheepishly. His eyes were clear as glass, dark and glinting and rueful.

“Sorry Y/N!” he said, mischief lacing his words.

You scoffed, shaken and avoiding his clear stare. “Yeah, you will be!”

He laughed at your response, taking to your side. “We need to choose a film, what one do you want to watch?”

“I don’t...” you shrugged, “really know.” You were glad that you didn’t need to look at him now that he was at your side. You could feel his stare on you however, and it made you want to shiver.

He nodded, interlinking his arm with yours. “Shall we go have a look, my lady?”

Before you could let any words slip through your lips in bemused amusement, he pulled himself closer to you and then led you through to the corridor with the shelves stacked with movies.

Yangyang was already there, squinting up at the top row as you reached the rack, fingers running across each box like a small child reading their first book.

Hendery extended his free arm towards the shelving, bowing his head, “Your moving pictures, my lady.”

You snorted, taking in the sight of amass of films. They’d been ordered alphabetically by title, and you remember the day starkly that you’d sat down with Yukhei to organise them.

He wouldn’t have been your first choice to help order things, since his attention span normally lasted around that of a cocker spaniel with a new toy, but he’d been the only one in the house at the time, and he was the only one tall enough to reach the very top shelf regardless (you still didn’t understand why that top shelf had been installed and even being used, because if Yukhei wasn’t around—which did occur often due to his new schedules—then it was a real safety hazard to get a film down from there, seeing that no one else in the group managed to grow anywhere near 6″).

On this occasion though, he’d been uncharacteristically focused, listening to your instructions, and only making jokes about how short everyone else was a couple of times! He’d been a very big help, and it also proved useful in the sense that you weren’t the only one with a better idea of where all the movies were. Even if they were organised well, the two of you could still find them faster than the others usually could, simply due to the fact you could remember where you’d placed them on the shelves in the first place.

Kun had been extremely happy with the end result too, and Ten still didn’t believe you’d managed to get Yukhei to sit down and do it with you.

You did admonish the system you’d used now though. Perhaps taking the extra time to organise them into genres would have been better. After all, you rarely knew a specific movie you wanted to watch.

Scouring over the titles, you eventually straightened to join Yangyang in peering up at the very top row—the row of box-sets.

“What’re you looking at?” you asked Yangyang quizzically.

“Did we watch the final part of The Lord of the Rings?” he answered.

You and Hendery both nodded.

“Oh, well there goes that suggestion then,” he shifted down from tiptoe and came to lean against the table beside the shelving, sending you a sweet smile. “Y/N, what type of movie would you like?”

Eased, you smiled at him, glancing down at the films at the lower rungs. “I’m not sure, really. Nothing too heavy, and nothing that will make me cry.”

He hummed. “So, a comedy then?”

Hendery’s eyes went wide, a look of genuine fear playing on his features. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Our senses of humour in this house, when it comes to films can...” he paused, silk voice tentative, “...vary, a lot.”

You nodded in agreement. “Remember what happened over that Robin Hood film?” You shook your head very firmly. “Bad times, my dudes.”

Yangyang cocked is head to one side in thought, frowning at seemingly nothing. “Fair enough...” Suddenly, h perked up, showing a grin you knew well. “I’ve had an idea. What if we watch a really bad movie, one that’s so bad, it’s actually kind of good?”

You clicked your fingers, before shooting him finger-guns, “Now that is a good idea!”

The three of you turned towards the mountain of films. Hendery lent upon your shoulder, and once again you were convinced he wasn’t perhaps focused on the films.

“Ok... bad... films...” Yangyang murmured, pulling out a blue box to read its description on the back.

Meanwhile, you glanced over at Hendery, who was a lot closer than you had previously thought. You sent him a smile, pressing him back with a single finger before enquiring, “Do you have any ideas, Hendery?”

He smushed his lips together, as he usually did when he was thinking, something of which that always made your heart simper, and let his eyes wonder away from you and up to the penultimate top shelf.

“’Azure Shadow’?” he said, reaching up and grabbing the box. “I heard it was pretty bad—hey The CP Times gave it 4 stars!”

“My god,” you snickered, leaning over so your head almost brushed his, and peered at the back of the box, “what were they on?”

“No idea but maybe it’s not bad enough,” Yangyang remarked, earning a nod from the two of you, and leading Hendery to put it back on the shelf.

“What about ‘The Man of Blade’,” Yangyang measured, scoffing as he retrieved it, “this one doesn’t even show its ratings, it must be awful!”

You skipped over to him, placing your hand on his shoulder and leaning your head against it to see the description.

“’A man makes a wish to a genie’,” you began, the corners of your mouth twitching already as you attempted to keep your tone serious, “‘to become the most powerful man to ever live so he could face God in a one-to-one’—”

“I’m sorry what?” Hendery merely laughed.

You tried to hold it together. “—a-and restore not only his pride but his... his...”

“Oh no, what?”

Laughter bubbled in your throat as you forced the final sentence from your lips. “His valiant steed’s honour—yo, what the actual—?!”

Yangyang cackled as he began hastily opening the box. “It’s decided! We’re watching ‘The Man of Blade’! And we can all suffer together!”

Hendery wiped his eyes to free them from tears of laughter. “I’m sorry, but why on earth is that even here?! Who bought it?”

“It must be a present?” you insisted. “Surely! No one in this house would buy this in their right mind—”

“I bought it.”

Three heads simultaneously turned in the direction of the living room. There, standing in the archway, was Sicheng.

There was a moment of silence as you all stared at him, mouths agape and words faltering, until you exclaimed, “Chengie, no!”

“Look,” he projected, before the other two could add to the confusion, “it was supposed to be dumb gift for Ten, something that I could hide his actual present behind, and so I decided to hide it plain sight until his birthday.”

“Ohhh.”

“But, does that mean we can’t use it then?” Hendery questioned.

“Oh, yeah, damn,” Yangyang said, closing the box, “it’s ok Sicheng, we’ll put it back.”

“Actually,” you began, eyes flickering from each man, and finally resting on the box, “Ten isn’t here, so as long as no one tells…”

“We can still watch it!” Hendery finished, clapping his hands and motioning for the box. “Let’s start it up, I want to see the menu page!”

As the two fought over who got to put the disc in the player, you turned your attention to Sicheng.

His eyes, dark caramel and hidden from the light, were down-turned and avoiding your gaze. They seemed to graze across your cheeks instead, flickering up to your own only occasionally. You offered him a smile, small and soft, and then walked over to him. “Hey, thanks for the film! It sounds perfect for tonight.”

“It’s no problem, I’m curious to watch it too,” he grinned back, before easing you out of the way of the two bundles of energy that bounded through into the living room, “I really hope it’s as bad as it sounds.”

“Oh it’s got to be!” you cried, feeling warmth settle back into your system, slowly, but surely, as you laughed. “Come on, Chengie, help me get some snacks?”

“Of course.” He stepped backwards, letting you past to lead the way.

Back in the kitchen, you began to scavenge for all the food you could find, layering Sicheng’s arms with bags upon bags of snacks. You weren’t exactly paying attention to the number you’d piled, however, until you swung all the cupboards closed and aimed to place a final packet on top, only to find that you’d formed a tiny mountain, and Sicheng’s face was practically completely hidden.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry Chengie, I didn’t notice how much…”

“It’s alright,” he answered brightly, peeking carefully round the precarious pile, “I got it!”

He stepped forward careful to request the final snack be crowned upon the summit above his eyeline, and with caution, you obliged, balancing it on top as best you could.

“Alright! Now all we have to do is get you into the living room without dropping them—are you sure you don’t want me to take half? It’s not hard at all for me to do so…!”

He turned so he could see you. “It’s ok, you’re already doing too much by organising this. I can carry a pile of snacks don’t worry! Just, warn me if I get too close to a chair.”

You nodded, peering over his shoulder to see his way. “I can do that. You ready?”

He hummed in affirmation, and the two of you began your slow, careful trundle into the living room.

With snacks arranged on the coffee table, you slumped on the sofa, taking care to mind your feet as you went—you didn’t want to knock all your hard work on the carpet, as then you would have to vacuum it all up and unless you had someone to make the pain more bearable, it wasn’t fun in the slightest.

You watched as Hendery emerged victorious and scampered over to the TV, fiddling with the dvd player. Yangyang, pouting from the sidelines, perked up once he realised that he now had a crucial advantage.

He bounded over to you, barely choosing a side and instead practically flung himself onto the sofa too. He threw his arms open to encase you as he went, and once his back hit the cushions, he pulled you into him.

You shrieked in surprise and glee, shuffling yourself round so you could rest your head more comfortably on his chest.

“There,” he murmured proudly, “comfy?”

“Very.” Your voice was muffled against his hoodie.

Hendery glanced back over his shoulder at the sight, and hurried himself. Sicheng meanwhile took a seat where he had been previously, spinning the chair around so he would be able to see the screen.

“Hey,” you called softly to him, causing him to swivel a bit further round to see you, “you sure you don’t want to come sit over here? It’s comfier than that desk chair.”

“But it is a spinny ch—” You hushed Yangyang before he could finish.

Sicheng smiled, the dim in his eyes growing as he shook his head. “No, it’s ok, I’m good here.”

“You sure?”

Your response was a nod, and the very gradual spin as he pushed himself back to face the TV subtly.

You tried not to take it personally, but you couldn’t hide the falter in your smile.

Yangyang couldn’t quite see it at his angle, but Hendery did, pouting at you as he came over.

“Y/N?”

“I’m ok, don’t worry!” you declared. “Just tired, is all.” Your response had been too fast, and you knew both Yangyang and Hendery had noticed—Hendery had quickly settled down beside you, inclining into your sloped body as he held your hand tightly, whilst Yangyang had shifted his weight to bring you just a little bit closer.

You did wonder if it was slightly out of something else, but you didn’t have long to consider that thought, with the film menu loading up and sending you all into a bout of horrified laughter.

“What even is that?!” Yangyang yelled above you.

“That is an actual, colourised depiction of hell,” you countered, lips twisted in terror as you sat up instinctively. It was as if the atrocity had immediately set off fight-or-flight responses of every single person in the room.

Hendery snapped his head over to you. “In the shape of a horse?!”

“It’s never going to leave my head,” Sicheng murmured. “There it is. Emblazoned into the insides of my skull. Set me free from this torment—”

“What’s going on?” Xiaojun had come through from the kitchen, drying his hands on a tea towel and striding through into the living room as if he’d been summoned.

“That!” Everyone simultaneously pointed at the TV, the single shot menu screen of an abominable CGI horse crowding the entire screen.

“What’s wr—mother of sweet jesus—”

“I know right!” Yangyang exclaimed. “It’s horrifying, I hate it!”

“It’s actually cursed,” Xiaojun stated, unable to draw his eyes away from the savagery of art he’d been presented with. “Obscene!”

Winwin’s voice was still low, but you could just about hear it over the whoops and cries of the others; “My sleep paralysis demon.”

“Is this what we’re watching?” Xiaojun asked, deep eyes wide and begging for the answer to be any cognate of ‘no’.

“Yep.” You grinned.

“This crime to humanity?”

“One hundred percent.”

Xiaojun stared at the screen, eyes alight with the tacky flames of the anathema displayed before him. Eventually he snapped out of his cursed gaze and headed back into the kitchen. “Dear lord—don’t start without me!”

Eventually, as the laughter died down, you settled back into Yangyang’s embrace, ushering Hendery to come closer too so you could have him near too. He looked over to you, feeling the tug on his hand, and with only a momentary pause to check if you were sure, he flopped down onto your stomach, exhaling happily with an arm stretched.

“You feel happier now, right Y/N?” Yangyang suddenly asked, voice low, and just below a whisper.

You were surprised, but nodded. “Yeah, I’m feeling much better than I did before. Don’t worry.”

“Are you sure?” He cleared his throat, shifting his balance to support the extra wait Hendery brought to the table. “You’re certain we don’t need to enact special measures?”

You frowned, tilting your head up to come to look at his jaw, as he quickly looked back up to somewhere else in the room that seemingly wasn’t the TV for very rational reasons. You bemusedly asked about his supposed ‘special measures’, but won little response. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, before he glanced down at you, eyes flickering across each paradigm of your face with his lips pressed plush as he thought. He parted them eventually, ebbing with air and possible words, until you felt the rise of his chest as he inhaled and readied himself to speak.

Only then did Xiaojun enter the room and take the final spot at the end of the sofa, patting Hendery’s legs to get them to move.

“Ok, I’m back, we can start now!” he announced.

The ball of conversation was knocked from its ledge and rolled in a different direction to that you’d hoped.

“Who has the remotes?” Hendery piped up, feet replaced, but this time on top of Xiaojun’s legs. The elder of the two picked them off by flicking his soles.

“I do,” Sicheng replied, already frowning at the buttons. “Can someone get the lights?”

“Sure.” Yangyang stretched up behind him, hand awkwardly sliding up the wall as he sought for the switch. Eventually his fingers struck gold, and the room snapped dark.

And then the menu finally disappeared as the horror of a film began.

The movie was utter trash. But it lived up to expectations and it was absolutely hilarious. You’d spent the first hour shrieking with laughter, and then proceeded to tear each scene and every piece of dialogue apart as a five-piece. The entire film was cursed.

Hendery was slapping criticism on the plot left, right and centre to the pooint it made you wonder why he was here at all and not a movie critic. Meanwhile, Xiaojun just snorted at everything he said. The two had come to an unspoken truce, after squabbling over where Hendery could put his feet. They were now situated on Xiaojun’s thighs, and swinging every now and again.

You felt your heart burn at how adorable it was, though also suffered the pain of the jerks that Hendery made everyday he had the sole of his feet poked or tickled, which Xiaojun seemed to enjoy doing too much.

You stroked Hendery’s hair gently, lightly pressing his fringe out of his eyes where his head rested on your stomach, whilst you peered around to Sicheng to check if he was alright, having not heard a peep from him in half an hour or so.

What you found was that he seemed to be too engrossed in the movie. A grin was plastered on his face as the lights of the terrible CGI glowed in his irises and made him look like an evil mastermind in a fantasy movie of the same calibre. You hushed a chuckle behind your hand, as you leant back to turn your attention to Yangyang.

He’d been the forerunner of the jokes, cackling at every small thing and turning it into pure comedy gold for the rest of the people in the room, which you were very grateful for. The movie would have been brain-drivel without him.

He’d re-positioned himself slightly so you were higher up on his body, head much closer to be of an equal height to his. This way you could press your temple against his cheek, if you wanted. However, it was him that had his head nuzzled against you, his cheek resting in your hair.

He eventually quietened down as he grew more drowsy, instead taking in the scent of your hair, which only lulled him into more peace. With you in his arms he felt complete, in a way. As if he had a duty of sorts and when you were there he was completing it. But he wasn’t sure what this meant to him, and he didn’t want to think about it too much. A part of him deep down knew that it would cause some pain, somewhere along the line. And so he didn’t spare the thoughts a chance.

However, he couldn’t still the beating of his heart whenever you moved against him, whenever you looked to him and smiled.

As the credits rolled, there were several sighs of relief, but otherwise it was complete utter silence as the room tried to comprehend what you’d just witnessed.

You glanced over at everyone to see if they were just as confused as you were. Seeing you were in firm company in your bemusement, you announced, “The Oscars are clearly rigged for this not to win.”

Yangyang snorted. “Of course!”

“Best film ever! Y/N couldn’t make a better one even if she tried.”

Xiaojun flicked Hendery’s toe for that one.

“Oh of course, honey.” You leant over slightly, arms gently squeezing the boy in your lap, giving him a squeeze. “And you couldn’t make a worse one.”

Hendery seemed to take it as more of a compliment as he grinned, nose scrunching as he headbutted you softly. You tickled his sides briefly, seeking joy in the squeal that it earnt you, and let Xiaojun take the fall as he got kicked in the arm. You sent him an apologetic pout, not that you deep down meant it wholeheartedly.

“Ow!”

“Karma for all the headbutts I got in the stomach!” you asserted and Xiaojun shrugged.

“Yeah, that’s fair—”

It was Sicheng that interrupted. “Oh.” His voice was disappointed, and where his melancholy suddenly procured from confused you. He’d been so sunny during the movie.

You looked over to him. “Chengie?”

“The time,” he said, holding up his phone.

It was nearly midnight.

“How long was the movie?” Yangyang exclaimed.

Sicheng answered, “Longer than you’d expect.”

“Well over two hours?” Xiaojun suggested. “But that time included the credits.”

“Haven’t you guys got to be up like, stupid-early tomorrow?” you asked, voice timid, fearing the ‘yes’ that you knew would follow.

A hiss of irritation ricocheted across the room.

Xiaojun confirmed it for you. “Yeah, we do.”

“I don’t want to go...” Yangyang whined.

“I’m sorry but you gotta,” you encouraged sadly, “you need sleep.”

“And so do you,” Hendery added, kicking his legs off the sofa and stretching as he stood.

It was your day off tomorrow, though you couldn’t deny you were pretty tired. “I guess so.”

“Yeah, come on, otherwise Kun will be mad at us,” Xiaojun chuckled, “not sending you to bed at a responsible time, you know.”

You snickered, slowly shifting yourself out of Yangyang’s arms. His hands seemed resistant to the idea, catching on your shirt as you moved away.

Eventually though, he was freed from his constraints and ordered by you to head to his room. “Come on, Yangyang. You gotta go.”

He pouted at you, before reluctantly nodding his head. “Yeah, ok, I’m going.”

Hendery and Xiaojun followed, bidding you goodnight as they passed. You remained in the living room a bit after they went, opting to stretch out on the sofa instead of getting up.

“You need to head up too.” Sicheng’s voice was light and airy, like the shadows had engulfed it. You barely heard him.

“I know,” you assured just as quietly, “I’m just... taking my time.”

You could just about trace the lines of his smile in the dim light after he turned the TV off. His presence was faint, but what you could feel was warm and gentle.

He whispered something that this time you didn’t catch.

“Sicheng?”

“Don’t worry.” He sighed, getting to his feet. You heard the crinkling of wrappers and the clatter of bowls as he began to tidy up.

“Here, I’ll help,” you began.

But as you sat up, you felt an hand press firmly against your shoulder. “There’s no need, it’s ok.”

You frowned into the dark. He wasn’t looking at you, which was why his voice sounded distant. You could make out his silhouette, broad and proportioned as if he was drawn. He was like an artists unknown creation, stood in the background of their studio, overlooked by many but appreciated much more than any by the few that knew him.

You worked up the courage to enquire about the occurrences earlier. “Why wouldn’t you come over and sit with us? Like, during the movie or before.” Feeling intrusive, you hurriedly added: “I mean, I don’t mind of course, just... you know?”

That caused him to look at you, but he remained silent for the longest time. You were about to change the subject when he finally replied.

“I didn’t want to get in your way,” he cleared his throat, scooping up an unopened snack bag under an arm, “besides, you were already quite busy with the others, so... I didn’t want to overwhelm you with anything more.”

Your features softened at his words, a pang in your heart. “I appreciate that, Chengie. But please remember that you won’t overwhelm me or get in my way. I like hanging out with you just as much as the others.”

You could make out the smile on his face, small and sweet, before he ushered himself away towards the kitchen. “You need to head to bed, Y/N, you need some sleep.”

He was right, but you were convinced you weren’t going to leave until you got one thing.

You headed to the entrance into the kitchen and waited for Sicheng to come back. Upon his return, he almost bumped into you, but caught himself just in time. Your eyes met in the darkness, lit by the streetlamp from outside the window far behind you. His glimmered with the golden haze, as he wordlessly questioned why you were there.

“I know, I’m heading up I promise,” you answered for him. “But... can I have a hug first? Please?”

Lips pressed into a small ‘o’, he looked shocked by your request, before melting into another soft smile. “Of course.”

His hands brushed along the curves of your shoulders, as if to appear to find their way, and eventually travel down to wrap around you. The position wasn’t exactly the most conventional, as you found your arms bunched at his chest, but you made the most of it regardless.

He held you delicately, but firmly against him. It was reassuring, despite the lack of time you spent there pressed into his warmth, as you felt your breath slow, and your eyes close.

You didn’t want to let go, but Sicheng was more sensible than you, and drew himself away gradually.

“Come on,” he murmured, placing a thumb against your temple and massaging the skin there lightly in encouragement.

His palm barely touched your jaw, the contact was so brief it felt like the breath of a ghost, but it sent your heart-rate into a rapid drumbeat. You imagined he could hear it, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he merely continued, upping the tempo of his caress, and sending your thoughts into a spiral of sorts. You couldn’t work out what they were saying, but it was giddy to say the least. Eventually though, conscious reconnected to subconscious and allowed you to function again. You nodded, reluctantly leaving his touch that sparked your heart rate to spike, and began the long journey to your room, leaving Sicheng to finish up downstairs alone.

Something ebbed in your heart about it, but you didn’t know what it was, nor how to express it.

Eventually reaching your room, you left the door ajar as you clambered into bed, feeling a strange loss of peace.

You decided to watch Youtube for a while to calm yourself down a bit after... whatever had happened with Sicheng, and consequently ended up staying up long enough for the others to return.

That’s when it hit you, the reason why you’d been unable to settle. Or at least one of them.

Kun had promised to return quickly, but he had been gone all night. You wanted to ask about it, but it was late, and you were comfortable in your bed. Luckily, after a few minutes, once Ten and Yukhei had retired to their rooms, your prayers were answered as Kun knocked on your door, face peaking through the gap.

You stared up at him, eyes big and expectant with your lips pursed. He had explaining to do after all.

And he was aware of this fact, as the guilt was written over his face.

“Hey, Y/N, I’m sorry,” he began, “can I come in?”

You pretended to think about it for a few moments, even though you both knew the answer. He waited though, and it was only when you gave him a ‘yes’ did he come inside.

He sidled over to your bed, eyes sweeping the shapes formed by your bed covers, to eventually perch on the side without accidentally sitting on your feet beneath the blankets.

“I’m sorry, I promised I would come back but the other two swore it wouldn’t be long, and it would be more rational to stay,” he explained, “but then it took longer than they thought, but I couldn’t risk coming home only to then head out again and... I don’t know why I listened to Yukhei about it to be honest, it’s not an overly rational thing to do.”

“Did Ten tell you to stay?”

He nodded.

“Well, I’ll let you off then,” you let the scowl fall from your face and giggled instead, “we know how persuasive he can be.”

Kun paused, eyes flitting to yours. “So you’re not mad?”

You scoffed. “Kun, I wasn’t even that mad to begin with, I promise! I can’t be mad at you for long anyhow. You’re just too—”

You’d let your mouth talk without your brain, and it suddenly occurred to you what you were saying. As your voice faltered, you weren’t sure what was supposed to follow. Kind? Sweet? Cute? Handsome?

Kun was waiting for you to finish, and unfortunately, you panicked a bit.

“Kun.”

He frowned bemusedly. “I’m too ‘Kun’?”

You nodded awkwardly, while you interrogated your own intelligence in your head. “...To be mad at for long, yes.”

He cocked his head to one side. “Well, I mean, I prefer that to you being mad at me.” He exhaled, clearly relieved. “Did you enjoy the film?”

“Oh it was awful!” you exclaimed. As you saw his eyes widen again, you laughed. “We enjoyed it so much.”

He was clearly very confused, and his lips wavered as he didn’t know how to respond.

You took some delight in his confusion, you couldn’t deny. “Well,” you propositioned coyly, “you’d understand if you’d been there.”

“I’m sorry!” he reiterated, eyes wide and searching yours.

“Ok, I’m sorry, I’ll stop now,” you laughed, though felt a little bit guilty and sighed, sending him a small sweet smile. Although it occurred to you that he still owed you. “But… there would be something that would make it all up to me—”

To your surprise, Kun interrupted you, already one step ahead, “I know. Here.” He shuffled along the bed so he was much closer to your body, arms held out for you.

You didn’t hesitate, much to his gratitude, and levered yourself up and straight into his embrace. His hands held your back firmly, gently pulling you even closer as he nestled his nose into your neck, mimicking your own positioning. Tender and tranquil, Kun seeped solace. While his fingers drew art upon your back, his head tipped into yours, his voice a deep murmur, “I’ve been waiting hours to do this.”

Your heart skipped a beat, you couldn’t even help it, though you shook it off. You’d been all over the place that day, emotionally, so of course you were going to be reacting all fuzzily over kindness. Well, that’s what you told yourself. Besides, he was just stating facts.

“Me too,” you finally answered, barely able to work up the effort to speak anymore. The tiredness swept over you suddenly, but you didn’t fight it. Your body was crying for sleep, and your mind had finally agreed that it was time to give into that small, tired voice.

You pulled yourself away gradually, hands coming to rest on his shoulders as you peered up at him. He held you at arms length, studying your face as you did his. You’d never noticed how rouge his lips were naturally tinted, how they curved into a smile as they opened to speak. Or how soft his cheeks were, as a long, slender dimple appeared as he did.

“You really need to sleep,” he said, “your eyes are constantly closing.”

You acknowledged his remarks with a lethargic nod, before shifting your weight once again to allow yourself to lie down under your covers.

Kun stood to allow you more space, letting you curl up to conserve warmth.

“You got everything you need?” Voice as light as silk, he leant over to catch your eyes behind the bundled blanket.

“Yeah.”

He nodded, straightening up and heading for the lamp on your bedside table. As his fingers flipped the switch, his brain stuttered. He’d wanted to do something for a very long time, and this was the perfect opportunity to do it. You’d already been desperate for a hug from him and him specifically. But it was if something was stopping him.

The lights went out, and he felt his feet moving by themselves towards leaving the room.

“Goodnight, Kun,” you called after him, watching his retreating silhouette in the light from the landing.

As he reached the door he held it open, head peering into the darkness to catch a final glimpse of your face in the dim light for the day. You already had your eyes closed, hair around you like a halo, temple exposed and waiting. You looked so adorable wrapped up and surrounded in warmth.

“Goodnight, love.”

And with that he left the room, leaving the door ajar, rubbing his own lips to make up for the contact he missed as his cowardice took over once again.

There would be another time. He prayed that there would be, and that it was him alone who got the opportunity.

But he couldn’t bring himself to believe it.

~~~

AN: longest thing ive written and published wtf. It’s also unedited as of yet and with a piece this big it’s bound to have mistakes so I am very sorry for them and will get round to editing eventually i still need to update my masterlist oop

Also, all film names were randomly generated on a title generator. If they are actually the names of films then they weren’t intended to be.

Masterlist

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my-brothers-corrupted · 4 years

Note

Mini prompt-Anti having a good day and treating the bois nicely

“Okay, that’s it!” shouts Anti. “Get into the fuckingcar!”

The hot grip of the terror around its bones loses a little of itsstrength as Trick registers belatedly what he said.

“Wait - what?”

“You heard me! Get in the car! Goddamn! Go! Get in the car!”

Shaky already, Trick rubs at his watering eyes and slips behindRed, who holds him carefully at his back.

“Anti, I know we should have been more careful with the ball,but we didn’t mean to break the window,” sniffles Trick, buryinghis face in Red’s sweatshirt. “Please don’t dump me in theocean, I’ll be good, we were just playing. We’re just a littlecooped up, we - ”

“Yeah, I can goddamn tell,” snaps Anti, grabbing his hair andmaking him go “ack!” Trick gets obediently out from behind Redbefore Anti even has to tug or yank. “I hear you throwing that ballaround every hour of the day, all Dok does is sleep, Red has beensmacking his stupid head against the floorboards - ugh, I can’tstand the sound of you all anymore! I’m sick of this house! Dapjust stares at the wall all day, probably hallucinating, and Bluekeeps singing to himself… you all drive me mad, you know that?”

“Yes, Anti,” answers Trick and Red in morose tandem.

“But I thought we were hiding from the bad men?” Red proffersanxiously.

“Yes,” Anti puffs out a sigh. “We are. But you all need out.You’re acting like wild animals.”

Anti’s body is fizzling irritably, consumed all over withrunning lines and curves of rainbow-shifting glitches, his eyesflickering from black to green to blue to brown, stamping hisbarely-corporeal feet.

Ah, realizes Trick, picking at Red’s sleeve. So we’re not theonly ones feeling a little cooped up.

“Go get your brothers,” orders Anti, snapping his fingers infront of their faces and making Trick startle. “Now, I’m notwaiting. We’ll take the car… somewhere. Whatever. Come on! Fiveminutes or I’m leaving you behind!”

Red leaps to his feet and darts off towards his bedroom. PoorTrick is still red-faced and trembling in the expectation of somekind of trap, but Red, for his part, is not about to miss whateverthis day is about to become.

“What about a movie?” suggests Blue timidly.

Anti leans back farther in the passenger seat, shrugging, and Doksquirms behind him as his legs begin to get crushed. Trick looks upin the rearview mirror and giggles at his twin’s discomfort,earning himself a pointed glare. Anti’s eyes flicker over to Trickand he immediately tries to get the amusement off his mouth, butAnti’s already seen it.

He only grins and turns his head about, winking at Dok.

“Anti,” scoffs Dok, blushing as he realizes he’s beingteased, pushing at the car seat crushing him. Anti snorts and leansit all the way back, making Dok yelp and Dapper slide off of Blue’slap and onto the floor beside him, shaking his head at the laid-backchair, pushing at the side of it playfully.

“A movie, huh? I don’t know if we got fifty bucks lyingaround. Not if we want lunch.”

“We want lunch,” whispers Trick, growing bolder with everymoment that passes. He knows Anti isn’t mad now, right? He even lethim drive. He let Trick drive. Trick gets to take his familysomewhere. Trick gets to be in the front seat and Anti gets to bebeside him, beside him, beside Trick and nobody else.

Anti pushes the side of his head, playing with his soft brown downas the streets of the city pass them by in a rush of gold. Tricktries to keep his eyes on the road.

“We could go actually see some of the country,” suggest Dokplaintively. “The natural landmarks are - ”

“Who guessed he was going to say that?” asks Red, putting hishand in the air. “Blue, you - ? Yeah, and, oh, Trick’s got hishand up - Dap?”

“I thought he would ask to go straight to the library,actually.”

“Hey!” cries Dok, shoving himself into Blue’s shoulder topress him into Red and bapping Dapper’s head. “I’ll have youknow that seeing the sights is a perfectly normal tourist activity -”

“Don’t tease him so much,” laughs Anti, reaching back to patDok’s thigh. “Somebody has to be the nerd of the family, that’swhy all you assholes are still alive. Dappy, what about you? Tell bigbrother where you want to go.”

Dapper becomes obediently simpering, tilting his head with wideeyes and reaching up to put his fingers gently on Anti’s arm.“Anti, I want to go to the zoo.”

“Okay, could have guessed that one too,” says Trick.

“The zoo, huh?”

“I think it’s free in the city,” shrugs Blue. “We passedby that poster the other day, didn’t we, Dap?”

“Baby lemur,” replies Dapper emphatically. “Baby giraffe.”

Anti pauses, stroking Dapper’s hair, gazing out at the sun.

“Red?” he says.

Red blinks and looks up. “Yes, sir?”

Anti frowns, turning to shoot him an exasperated look. “Chillout. So?”

Oh, fuck. This is him not understanding again, right? Everybodyelse gets it and he doesn’t. He should, but he doesn’t. Thesignals are there for everybody else to see, but he’s missed them,again, and Anti’s going to look at him like he’s an idiot, andall his little brothers will snicker behind his back, and then -

“Red!” laughs Anti, slapping his knee and making him jolt.“Space back in, please, you’re a million miles away. Where do youwant to go?”

What, him? Where does he want to go? His brain, already kickedinto a gear too high for the hill he’s rolling down, only picks upits pace. In the city? In the country? In the world? Between theproud bodies of shadow-strong trees wheezing ever upwards, throughmountains shouting towards the sky, coated in icing, across oceanswide as infinities, great blue waves leaping with the dolphins,coming to crash like old dead gods onto the grainy gold of ancientbeaches -

“Red.” Blue’s voice is as soft as his hand on his thigh.“Ro.”

“The beach,” spills Red’s mouth frantically.

Anti watches him carefully. His eyes are brown today and he seemsmuch younger than Red, his hair curled on the top and a pair of bigfriendly glasses sitting on his small nose.

“The beach, if you want to,” Red re-attempts, straightening inhis seat and adjusting his black hood, feeling Blue’s hand withdrawfrom his thigh. “But just a suggestion.”

“Yeah,” says Anti musingly. “You did like to swim, huh?”

Everyone falls into silence. It is a remnant of their mutuallyforgotten past, one of the rare, secret pieces of reality long sincestripped away from them. It is a very small detail, and it awakenssomething in Red the same way a smell might awaken the faintest,fondest, most fleeting deja vu, and brings nothing concrete to hismind, but Trick, Dok, Blue, and Dapper all stay quiet and solemn -ode to that which we have all forgotten.

Red catalogs the fact in his brain like someone wrapping dishes intowels instead of bubble packaging, hoping they won’t shatter thenext time they go to pull them out of their boxes. I like to swim.

“Well,” says Anti, clapping his hands together. “Zoo’sclose. And free. And Dap’s been ill.”

Dapper always seems to be ill, and, as such, in need of a greatdeal of fussing and spoiling and looking after, but nobody questionsit. And nobody minds either, truly. They’re out of the house. Allsix of them. The sun is shining. The world feels kind. There are babylemurs at the zoo.

“Hola,” says Trick.

The parrot’s pupils shrink and enlarge, shrink and enlarge,tilting its head as it considers him.

Trick grins. A small group of children and a couple of adults areholding their breath, waiting for him to try again.

“Hola,” he says clearly.

The parrot bobs once, twice. “Hola,” it croaks.

“Ohhh!” cries a small child, bouncing up and down. “Hola!”

“Hola,” says the parrot, playing along now. “Hola.”

A chorus of hellos bursts up around Trick and he laughs, bobbinghis head and making the parrot bob in return. The kids crowd tightaround him, staring up at the bird and chattering in Spanish, tryingto make it talk.

“It likes you,” grins Dok.

“I’m a parrot-whisperer,” says Trick.

They laugh and Trick slips away from the pack of kids, brighteningunder a couple admiring glances from small, chubby kids with smilinglion ink prints pressed onto their hands. When was the last time hegot to be around kids?

“Ahh, baby,” he breathes, as they pass a particular rotundbaby hanging off his mother’s shoulder, slobbering on his fist.

“Is this an animal zoo or a small child exhibit to you?” asksDok, brushing mussed hair, glowing in the afternoon sun, out of hisvivid eyes. Slightly sun-burned and bright with a little exercise, helooks like nothing has ever hurt him in his life. Trick’s mouthsoftens and he lets out a warm hum, closing his eyes and tilting hishead up to the sun, wrapping an arm around Dok’s ribs and walkingforward towards the others again.

“Little bit of both,” he says, and makes his twin laugh.

Blue and Red are leaning over a sign in front of the condorexhibit, Blue translating the extinction prevention discussion outloud to his twin, their color-coordinated heads tilted towards eachother while the condor parades itself in front of them, pausing onlyto groom its heavy wings. Across the way, Anti is holding Dappergently, one hand on his waist and one hand holding his, trying tokeep him from getting too over-excited and faint. It’s not unusualfor him to over-emote when Anti’s making obvious attempts to spoilhim, and he hasn’t been out of the house in weeks - maybe a month,Trick can’t remember. It’s almost too much for him, especiallygiven his passion for zoos, exploration, and tiny animals.

“Baby, baby, baby,” he is babbling, pointing and signing andgrabbing Anti’s hand over and over again. He seems to buzzunderneath Anti’s hands, rocking on his dress shoes. “Baby birdbaby baby baby.”

“All okay,” soothes Anti, and Trick sees a small, fond smilesitting on his mouth, carefully holding back their youngestbrother. “All okay. We’re okay. Dapper, my Dapper.”

The quail chicks in the pen before them bop along on tiny sticklegs after their big fat mama, cheeping weepily for attention andpoking around at the dirt.

“Apparently there used to be like, thirty of these left in thewild!” Blue runs his fingers over the informational again. “Butthey’ve really made a comeback. One of few endangered species thathas…”

“Poor sucker.” Red clucks his tongue, shaking his head at thebird. “It’s almost as ugly as you are, Blue.”

“Red, we are identical.”

“Yes, Red, don’t say that.”

“See, Dok-Dok agrees.”

“Oh, I just meant the condor doesn’t deserve to be calledugly.”

Red cackles and Blue has Dok in a headlock, pressing him into theinformational. Trick stops his own hackles from rising - they’rejust playing, Dok is laughing, and Red and Blue are bigger than himanyway, so even if Blue was actually hurting him, it would be betterto sit back quietly and be ready for the aftermath than to try andintervene.

Trick turns back to the quails and finds Anti looking back at him,a rare smile on his mouth. He softens to meet Anti’s eyes and Antilets go of Dapper’s waist to reach a hand out towards him,beckoning. Trick’s heartrate picks up and he hurries towards him,grasping his hand tight before it can be pulled away. Anti laughs andsqueezes his palm tight, pulling him and Dapper off towards the nextexhibit.

Red uses the last of his sols to buy Blue a handful of bird feedand he glows with laughter as the birds converge on him, pecking athis filled palms. Dapper continues to buzz and whistle and click andsign through the big cats, the ungulates, the penguins, and themonkey house, including the baby lemur, but he stills when they reachthe hyenas just in time to see them being fed, his big eyes fixed onthe moving bodies of the cats, his head tilted, calmed as Antistrokes his back. A butterfly lands on Dok’s nose inside thebughouse. Anti pulls out his phone and takes a picture.

The reptile exhibit is a long line of darkened tunnels, bodieswrithing across stone and tree and little cups of water. The smell ofsnakes is over-sweet and reeks in the air.

“Very cool,” says Trick, lead by Anti.

“Very edgy,” Anti replies, and Trick snorts. Dapper puts hispalm on the cool glass of a snake cage and watches the body move,nodding slowly like they’re speaking to each other.

“Look how fat he is,” mumbles Blue, entranced with a very fatfrog.

In the dark hallway, they are all close and slowed by the smallcages, each one deserving a moment of admiration. Anti pulls Trickand Dap to the tarantula at the end of the hall and humsappreciatively, staring at it.

“Don’t let your twin see that, huh, Trick?” says Anti,swinging their hands back and forth. Trick looks up at him, warmed.

“How’d you know he doesn’t like spiders?”

“I know Dok.” Anti turns to him, frowning a little. “I knowall of you.”

“Excuse me?” says a young boy in broken English, pausingbeside them before Trick can answer. Anti startles and drops theirhands, turning to regard the kid, probably about twelve or thirteen.

“Yes, bud?” asks Trick, grinning at him.

“Are you Jacksepticeye?” he asks Anti, beaming through gappedteeth. “Can I have picture?”

In the lowlight, Trick watches the color drain from Anti’s face.Even if he couldn’t read Anti’s warning signs himself, he wouldknow the sudden danger from the way Dapper distances himself fromthem, pushing his back into the glass of the tarantula exhibit andhis fear into the back of his head, leaving him small and contriteand dull in the eyes, the easiest mental space when big brother isangry.

“No,” says Anti, too soft. The snake cage behind him flowswith slithering movement as a python shifts. “Estas confundido.”

The boy’s face falls. “No eres Jack?”

Anti steps forward, his boots striking stone. The kid jumps,startled by the look on his face, and, with one glance at the tattoosburned into Anti’s forearms, turns to rush back to his parents.

Anti stills, staring at the cold floor, rubbing the circle on hisupper arm, his mouth slightly open. He can hear Dapper’s breathingpicking up beside him and he sees his youngest screw his eyes shut,rubbing at his head.

“Anti?” mumbles Trick. “Who’s Jack?”

Anti grits his teeth. “Go get the fake halter,” he hisses.“This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have wornthis…”

Trick breathes in and out shallowly, trying to diffuse whatever’shappening before it happens. “I thought you said you were comfiestlooking like this.”

“Go get my halter,” snaps Anti, rubbing at his face. And then,softening: “Please, Trickster, and don’t say that name again.”

“J - infected eye,” signs Dapper aggressively, nearly strikinghimself in the face. “J - infected eye.”

“Go get Blue too,” murmurs Anti, turning to grip Dapper’sshoulder.

“You make - forget.” Dapper is frantic, gripping at hiswrists. “You make - steal him from me - I want - I want - mybrother -”

Anti shoves him into the corner, taking his chin firmly in hishands and making him meet his eyes. Trickshot rushes back towards theothers.

“You didn’t hear anything important.”

“I - I - I did.” Dapper is suddenly shaken, blinking,heart-racing. “He said - ”

“You didn’t hear anything important.” His dark eyes boreinto him.

“Anti, too much, dizzy, please - ”

“You didn’t hear anything important.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t…”

“Ah, there you go, sweetheart.”

Dapper’s eyes are glazing, drifting back to Anti’s, his mouthparting dully. Anti holds his head securely to keep him fromdrifting. “Stay with me. You didn’t hear anything important.”

“I didn’t… hear anything important.”

“There you go. There you go. Hey, don’t close your eyes, stayconscious.”

Blue is at his side, gripping at his shoulder. “What happened?Is he okay?”

“Probably just a hallucination. Right, Carve?”

“Right…”

“Oh, here, Dap, I’ve got you.”

“I didn’t hear anything important. I didn’t hear anythingimportant.”

Blue leads Dapper away, his little brother clinging woozily to hischest. Red is left behind with Anti, pulling the halter out of hisbag, Trick hovering nervously behind them while Dok hurries afterBlue and Dap.

“What really happened?” asks Red.

“Bad name,” Anti mumbles.

“Fuck.” Red glances around, trying to make sure they’rehidden. They need a better spot than this. He puts his arms aroundAnti’s shoulders and leads him towards a shadowed water fountain.

“I’m fine,” growls Anti, low, his eyebrows furrowed and hiseyes closed, letting Red lead him.

“Anti, you’re glitching.”

Anti grits his teeth and lets Red press him into a corner by thewater fountain, hiding his color-burn stomach with his body. Trickhurries towards him as he begins to dissolve at the seams, breathingharshly through his teeth.

“Anti,” Trick says, patting his chest. “Just calm down, man.Hey, breathe with me, okay?”

“Get off me,” heaves Anti, pushing at his hands. “Trick, Idon’t need - ”

“Anti.” Trick steadies his hands on his shoulders, helping Redshield him in the corner while Dok and Blue guard and hold Dapperbehind them, glancing warily around and keeping their heads down low.“You’ve done this for me before. It’s alright. Breathe in,follow me.”

“Don’t even need to breathe,” chokes Anti, but a secondlater air is sliding in through his teeth as he watches Trick’schest rise.

“And out…”

“Not scared,” pants Anti, trying to keep the breath steady asit leaves him.

“I know, buddy,” says Red softly, patting his back.

“In…”

They rise like mountains.

“Out…”

Fall like waves. Anti ripples with power and distress, but hisdissipating stomach is coming back together.

Time shakes past them the way it always does when panic is high,cold and swift and slow and still. Anti lets his head fall down onTrick’s collarbone and they breathe in sync. Rise and fall. Riseand fall.

“I’m fine,” grumbles Anti.

“Better to be safethan sorry,” says Trick.

“It’s my faultanyway,” hisses Anti, and the words startle Red so bad he seems toreboot for a second, blinking hard at the sky and looking around like he’sjust woken up. “All of us being in public is stupid. I didn’teven pick another form. Anyone could be tracking us right now. Thiswas a bad idea. We shouldn’t have ever left the house. Why did Ibring even the little one, fuck…”

Red breathes a longsigh out from his teeth, nervous. It can be hard to work with Antiwhen he’s upset – all his emotions seem to lead to anger eventually– but he wants so badly to comfort him.

“We can’t juststay in the house all the time,” he soothes, almost touching Anti’sshoulder, drawing back uncertainly. “You were restless too. Andwe’re having a good time, Anti. We are. Maybe Dapper got upset for amoment, but how excited has he been today? Happier than he’s been ina long time.”

Anti hums, tiltinghis head back and forth, and glances up at Blue and Dapper, wanderingoff arm in arm. “I guess.”

“It was just onemoment. Tell you what – ” He holds his hands gently out and putshis head down a little. Just suggesting, not ordering. Justsuggesting. “How about we go see that last exhibit Dapper wanted tosee and then we’ll head out and get lunch like you said. Let me picksomething up for you and everybody and then we’ll find somewherequiet to go to eat. Just the six of us. And you can wear whatever youwant, and no one will look at us or follow us or hurt us or say badnames. How does that sound?”

Slowly, Anti’s mouthcurves into a small smile. Something warm unravels in Red’s stomach.

He leans forward andshoves their foreheads together. Anti giggles and knocks back.“Dumb-ass,” he sings, pushing Red’s shoulder, avoiding his skin.“Head full of air.”

“Guilty,” saysRed, making him laugh again. “Okay, you want the halter?”

“Yeah. And Trick,put your hat back on. Too many of the same faces walking around, andapparently I always fade right back to his… Okay, hide me.”

Red glances aroundfor eavesdroppers yet again and blocks Anti’s body off with his ownin the corner. A moment later, a knee-high black dog slips in frontof him and he leans loyally down and puts a halter labeled “servicedog – DO NOT TOUCH” around its chest. Anti bites his teeth at himonce and Red jumps hard and then laughs loud, reaching out to strokehis brother’s ears.

“Okay,” he says,getting up and tapping Trick’s hand. “Let’s go see a baby giraffe.”

“Baby baby baby!”they find Dapper signing, held back from the ledge by Blue, laughingand wrapped around his waist. “Baby, baby, baby.”

The giraffe racesaround on its wobbly knock-knees, its mother trying earnestly tocatch and lick it. Dapper falls back, laughing hard, letting himselfcollapse against Blue’s chest, heaving with the joy of it. To be outof the house, to be convinced that you’re free, to be laughing atbaby giraffes!

The black dog swirlsaround his legs and he clicks his tongue, turning his face up in thesun to bask in it. Anti returns to Red’s side and Trick returns toDok’s, and wraps, once more, a safe arm around his safe twin, andholds him while the sun gets low.

Red gets themchicken from a KFC – Lima is coated in them – and brings it backto the car, where the shiny black dog has finally returned to a youngman with mousy brown hair, big round glasses, and a neck wrapped inbandages.

And that’s it,that’s all, he expects, that was nice enough and now they’re goinghome to eat and think about the day and feel okay and safe and happyfor once.

“Hey,” saysAnti, glancing back at Dok. “You said you wanted to see the sightsor something?”

Dok perks up, eyesflickering around in case of a trap. “Yes, maybe.”

Anti pats Trick’sshoulder and gets in the driver’s seat in his stead. “Come on,let’s find somewhere to go to eat.”

Trick leaps intothe hot wet sand of the beach and hollers aloud, racing along theline of the water. A white wash of foam comes pouring across hiscalves and thighs, soaking into his bare feet and retreating again,leaving him cool and clean, laughing as he runs. He scatters a groupof seagulls and spins around, turning his face to the sun and lettinghimself crash onto his back.

“Careful, Trick,”warns Dapper, putting his hands around his sandcastle tower.

“Yeah, careful,Trick,” says Dok, and pours sand all over his bare white chest.Trick yelps and gets up, flinging sand at his twin and making himsplutter. Dok picks up another handful of sand and Trick turns to runeven as Dok rises to his feet, chasing him down into the tide anddumping the sand all over his hair while he shrieks and laughs hisprotest, trying to grab Dok and throw him to the ground.

“No, no, Trick,wait – ” cries Dok as he is lifted up and dragged farther intothe water, gasping with laughter.

“No way,dummkopf, this is what you get!” shouts Trick, and dunks his twinunderneath the water, snatching his glasses off his face and puttingthem on his own in victory.

Dok comes upspluttering and shoving at him, his eyes bright with mirth, and amoment later he is wriggling free and chasing him again.

Dapper turnscartwheels on the beach around his sandcastles, knowing better thanto play rough with his big brothers – Anti hates that, except forpractice fights – but entertained nevertheless. Blue, Red, and Antiare coming down the hill of the private beach they’ve broken into,carrying plates and cups and more food and even wine stolen from thehouse at the top of the hill, empty for months while the owners areaway on vacation in a wealthier part of the world.

But what could bebetter than this, wonders Red, staring out at the shoreline.

Gold light and thesetting sun. The glass shine of the blue water, rocking itself tosleep across soft brown sand. Little crabs scurrying around Dapper’sfeet as he steps curiously around them, water cooling his twinsiblings as they play, Blue singing a song behind him, distant andcontent, his eyes fixed on the horizon, the warm wind sighing throughhis hair. Fried chicken and sand in their socks and broken glass froma break-in. Nothing’s perfect. But this is good. This is good, andsometimes good is the best thing for something to be, good and pureand real and true.

“Dumbasses,”laughs Blue, breaking off his music as he watches them lock arms andpush against each other, Trick threatening to dunk Dok over again.“Come get some dinner, come on.”

Dapper comeslooping loyally back towards his big brothers, but Dok and Trickdon’t seem to have even heard them.

“Let them play alittle,” laughs Anti. “Look how Dok still fights even though he’snot as strong. He knows he’s the big brother. Just by a little. Theyplay well these days. Don’t they fit like puzzle pieces?”

Red turns to glanceat him in time to see Anti dart away to join his brothers in thewater, pushing the both of them into the ocean. Indignant coughingand laughter follows as Dok and Trick flounder and pretend to resist,though neither of them would really ever dunk him in the water.They’re smarter than that. Anti presses kisses to their hair andRed’s heart picks up from the relief of it – to see Anti holdingthem gently again, and Dok softened and smiling, and Trick lookingsafe and happy, flushed with joy.

“This is toosoft,” decides Blue aloud, shoving wine and chicken into Red’sarms.

“What?”

Blue races downinto the water. Red scoffs and turns to pull Dapper under his arm.

“Let’s watch himget dunked til he’s dizzy, you think?”

Dapper shyly slinksan arm back around Red’s waist, pushing his head into his shoulder,smiling. Everything is good and right and then –

Blue wraps his arms around Anti’s stomach and shoves him into theocean.

Dok startles so hard he tumbles back into the water. Trickshotstares open-mouthed, clutching his hair, and Dapper, with a littlegroan, turns around, curls down on himself, and hides his face in hisarms like a black and white hedgepig.

Anti spasms apart into coding in the water and leaps up again onthe beach, spluttering.

Red is shaking toomuch to move, staring at the sand.

“Ass!” yellsAnti, and then he bursts into laughter and leaps up onto Blue’sshoulders, and then, laughing so hard he can barely breathe, Red iswatching Anti riding piggyback, pushing and pulling at Blue, tryingto make him fall and take them both into the water. And eventuallythey both go crashing down, and the water is sloshing over them likeit’s laughing too, and they start a bonfire and eat chicken on thebeach and drink stolen rich man’s wine, and then Anti goes back tothe car and gets his laptop and they watch the movie Blue wanted tosee, pirated in HD, on a beach in Peru.

“You didn’t goswimming,” says Anti.

Red pauses,glancing over at him. His little brother looks back, brown-eyed,mousy-haired, sopping wet and lying on the sand beside him, Dapperasleep against his tummy.

“Oh,” saysRed. He didn’t think he’d remember. “It got dark so quickly.”

“Hm.” Antiturns back to stare up at the oncoming stars and Red mimics himwarmly, listening to Blue breathing as he sleeps beside him, andTrick and Dok sitting by the crackling fire and whispering to eachother, hand-in-hand.

“I thinksometimes,” says Anti, and then he pauses.

“Yes, Anti?”

“I thinksometimes you look after the others so much you forget to look afteryourself.”

Red turns to him,confused.

“I know, Iknow… kind of your job. But sometimes I need you to be well too.And when everyone else is okay, Red, you have to… kind of… blah.I don’t know.”

Anti shrugs,furrowing his heavy eyebrows, and turns back to the stars.

Red breathes inand breathes out.

“It’s kind ofscary,” he says. “When you tell me about the person I used tobe.”

Anti is turnedback to him. Brown eyes. Deep and dark and lovely. Red loves him.

“Because Ijust… don’t want to be that person again.”

Anti softens likea bud unfurling.

“So even littlethings start to seem serious… things like swimming. What if I tryto go swimming, and then I remember so much it makes me feel like adifferent person again, and that different person can’t be who I needto be?”

“Who the othersneed you to be,” Anti replies.

Red shrugs,feeling a prick in the back of his eyes. “I guess.”

Anti’s mouth opensand closes. Opens and closes.

“You have tobe… Red, you have to be more than what other people expect you tobe. I learned that a long time ago. Kind of fucked it all up, but Idid learn it. And I know I need you to be a lot of things, and sooften, too, so I know that seems hypocritical, maybe, butsometimes… when I give you the chance… I just need you to be whoyou need you to be. It’s why we have… nice days. Breaks. Holidays. To be who you all need to be.”

Red wants to belying on his chest instead of Dapper. Red wants to be held by him.Red wants to be laughing in the water with him.

“I… Anti, Idon’t think I know how to do that anymore.”

And if regretflashes across Anti’s face, well, Red doesn’t see it, and if Antiremembers, with guilt or with sorrow or just one dash of longing, theman who Red used to be, well, you will never hear him admit that outloud.

“How about youstart with a swim?” he suggests, pulling away from Dapper andgetting to his feet. He reaches out his hands for Red’s.

Red laughsnervously, letting himself be pulled up. “Sorry, lil bro, but allexistentialism aside, it actually is too dark to swim. Right?”

“Well, not ifyou’ve got a rescue dog,” answers Anti.

And this isn’t Redmisunderstanding, this isn’t Red not getting it. Anti is pleased withhim, Anti is gentle with him, Anti wants to see him happy to, wouldchange into the form of an animal just to let him swim one nightmore.

“It’s dark out,”admits Anti, glancing around. “But we don’t need the light, notreally. I don’t think we ever did. I’ve got you. You’ve got me. Come on. Come swim with me.”

“What – you’dreally do that for me?”

Anti smiles.

Fangless.

Brown-eyed.

He looks so much like someone Jackie loved a long time ago. The differences between them are small. You can miss them if you blink. And Red only ever stares at Anti. Red has learned to miss them all.

“Yeah. Course.For my big brother? Come on. You love to swim.”

His body shiftsand glitches and the black dog is racing towards the nightfall water,the stars shining up above them. And then, with a shout of laughter,Red is off after him, and crashing into the water.

He is afloat. Heis a part of this. He rolls and races and dives and curls. Heavy coldwater, the healthy joyful beating of his own heart. Starlight on thewater, and the strong black body of the dog beneath his hands when hegets lost, always waiting, waiting to bring him back to shore, to thesafety of his family, so he does not get lost in the darkness alwaysaround them.

“I love you,”says Red at three in the morning, half asleep in the shallows, laidacross the back of the dog and stroking at its fur.

Anti sets his headon top of his and closes his eyes.

#hypnosis tw #prompt stories #not mini lol but that's my fault #abuse tw #i should put that on cause anti is just... always

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paellaplease · 4 years

Text

Firebird | Chap.6

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 7

Apologies for the long wait, everyone!

Chapter 6: Of Monsters and Metals Part 1.

Strength is not measured by your willingness to meet fear’s gaze...

Revali dove, slowed, and eventually landed, talons gracefully touching down on the rocky ground below them like a falling leaf to water.

Maiya lifted her head from his shoulder, the smell and sounds of waves crashing into stone washing over her as she opened her eyes. Looking around, she saw that they were standing on a long slab of rock, hovering above the tumultuous waters of Lake Totori.

Another departure deck, her mind supplied for her.

The hylian quickly clambered off the rito’s back, the freshwater spray chilling her to the bone. She realised just how much warmth Revali’s feathers had provided her, feeling the full brunt of the elements as she pulled away. Maiya shivered, regretting her earlier decision in leaving her thicker coat at the inn.

As her feet touched the earth, her legs immediately gave way.

“Holy— ”

Revali caught her arm, steadying her moments before she smacked into the ground.

“Give it a moment.”

“No, it’s alright.”

Stubbornly, Maiya took another step forward. The rito warrior clicked his tongue as he caught her again. “You are unaccustomed to flight. Stand still and move your feet slowly, let the normal flow of blood return to your legs. Unless of course you’re extremely keen on acquainting yourself with the floor.”

Embarrassment colouring her cheeks, Maiya closed her mouth and turned her head away, allowing herself to lean on him but refusing to look him in the eye. She stared forward into the distance, surveying their surroundings as she waited for the tingling feeling in her legs to disappear. As her eyes adjusted, all she could see was a looming cliff before her and a thick wall of evening fog. Night had set in around them, making visibility difficult in the dying light.

“So...where is that cave we saw earlier?”

Revali’s free wing pointed down to the empty space in front of them, following along the platform until the point where she guessed it would connect to the cliff a few metres away. “On the other side of this departure deck, beyond the fog.”

The Enchanter pulled her jacket closer as another strong gust of wind blew past, mussing up her dark hair again and cooling the sweat on her brow. Small waves continued to crash against the platform, powerful enough at times she swore she could feel the ground shudder. Quietly, she marvelled at how different the scenery appeared in comparison to what she saw in the sky earlier. From afar, the cave seemed so...removed— detached in its stillness. Now up close it felt like she was in the midst of a storm.

What an odd place to have a smithy. “So your forge is cut into the rock holding your village aloft in the sky?”

The rito warrior’s jade eyes were still trained at the distance in front of them as he regarded her evenly. “We are still within village grounds, enchanter.” His expression turned thoughtful. “And that is more than just a rock in the middle of the lake. The cliff face you see in front of you is Wayrakuchuyna, or simply Wayra. She is ancient, older than Chief Kamori and many of those before him, and is the foundation from which Valoo’s Spire was carved.”

“Thats,” Maiya paused, mulling over her words. “That’s actually very interesting. I thought the Spire was carved by your people?”

“Carved by the wind.” The rito corrected her, the rarest hint of a smile in his voice. “Technically speaking, we are underneath the main village structure. Valoo’s Spire is the epicentre of our way of life. However, Wayra had been a part of my people for as long as rito could fly.”

“As such, according to Chief’s Law, so long as we are connected to her, we are always home.” He looked up, gazing at the cliff-face for a quiet moment.

Maiya tilted her head, mimicking his stance. Due to the angle from where they stood, she found it difficult to spot the Spire amongst the rocks and fog. She only managed to catch the faint details of the bridge she’d crossed a day ago, hanging far away in the air above them, illuminated by the waning gibbous moon.

Feeling that enough time had passed, she gave her leg an experimental shake, relieved that the pins and needles had finally subsided. “Hey...I think my legs are back to normal.”

“Continue forward if you must then. You are capable of making your own decisions.”

“I would but,” despite her irritation at his previous comment, she allowed a laugh to slip through. She cleared her throat and pointed to her shoulder. “You can let go now.”

Feathers rising, Revali quickly withdrew his wing, stepping to the side. “Take caution where you tread,” he groused, suddenly very interested in readjusting his pauldrons. “I won’t be responsible if your clumsiness results in you cracking a few eggs.”

The Enchanter shrugged, too tired to deal with the rito’s changing moods, and started walking.

Both hylian and rito made haste across the departure deck, the gaping maw of the forge’s main entrance slowly coming into view. The cave-like opening was tall as it was wide, and Maiya estimated it would easily fit about three of her across. Enshrouded in fog; dark and foreboding, it looked to suck all life into it until there was nothing but open emptiness.

Except it wasn’t empty.

“Someone's there.” She murmured.

Smoke escaped from the mysterious figure's pipe, making them appear like a shadow in the creeping darkness. They were leaning against a tall and looming object. Upon closer inspection it revealed itself to be a heavy metal door, several locks lining its side.

Their face flickered by the flame of a rusty sconce, wavering in the midst of blistering winds. They had feathers of mottled black and white, and a jet black scraggly beard which was pulled into two hanging braids. They stood as if dragged down by the weight of the world — a hunch curving their back and an elderly face dominated by two white-feathered brows pinched together in a scowl. Whilst unable to see their eyes, she still had a feeling that they were watching them closely, eyeing them like a hawk as they drew closer.

Above them, a sign swung and creaked in the whistling wind. Jackdaw Metalworks and Weaponry it read, complete with a carving of two rito's and an anvil resting between them.

“Yieni,” Revali said from behind her, voice unusually careful and diplomatic. He bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Allin tuta, it has been a while.”

Maiya’s eyes widened in alarm. Yieni? Then that means—

The Blacksmith lifted his head, revealing a pair of fierce, cloudy eyes. He threw Revali a questioning look, before zeroing in on the Enchanter and the dagger that hung innocently at her hip. Maiya felt frozen in place, the rito’s glare piercing in its quiet fury. It was as if he was surveying a defective sword, seeking what was left of its worth.

Revali gently nudged her with his wing, pulling her from her thoughts. "Courage now," he whispered.

Maiya grimaced, straightening her back and ignoring the rope of anxiety knotting in her chest. She cleared her throat. “Good evening, Yieni." She didn't think it was possible, but his scowl deepend. Don't panic, just continue. "I am Maiya from the land of Akkala and I’m hoping you can answer some questions regarding— ”

“Get out.”

She blinked. “Pardon me but wha—”

“I said get out! Leave this place." He rasped, smoke escaping his mouth. His eyes narrowed as he glared daggers at the blue rito. “What in the void possessed you to bring an Enchanter to my doorstep, Revali?”

The warrior raised his wings up as if in surrender. “I mean no offense, Yieni.”

“Hah!” The elderly rito hunched over as a dry cough racked through him. "I cannot imagine what inane quest has sent you here but we’ve had enough trouble brought upon by your kind, Enchanter. Now run back to your teacher and never show your face on my property again.”

Maiya’s felt her enthusiasm drain, her gloved hand warming alongside the bubbling of her unease. "You don’t understand. So much of my people’s knowledge has been lost. I know you have a level understanding of our craft. Please.” Fucking listen!

The rito shook his head. “I’ve been bitten more than once by feeding the rabid dog. I refuse to extend my arm out once more as it bears its teeth."

“That makes no sense!”

"I make no deals with Enchanters,” he spat. “Make sense of that, child.” Putting his cigar out, Yieni wrenched the heavy door behind him open, stepping through.

Maiya raced forward. “Wait, hold on!”

The door was slammed shut, cold metal inches from bruising her nose. She took a step back, bumping into the warrior behind her.

Maiya looked at him, the locked door, and slumped. “Okay, perhaps I need to rethink my strategy here." Or perhaps he really hates Enchanters and I'm just wasting my time.

Revali crossed his wings. “Perhaps?” he said, beak curving. “A welcome like that and you honestly still think you have a wing in the door?"

The Enchanter looked to the open lake, feeling cold droplets hit her face as the rain above began to fall. "This would have been a waste of time if I decide to give up now." She rolled her shoulders, ignoring Revali's muttered “Evidently” and bunched up her sleeves. “I’m not leaving til that door opens.”

The blue rito moved to the side, gesturing her forward with an exaggerated wave of his feathers. “The floor is yours.”

Maiya clenched her jaw and moved to knock again.

Knock, knock. Her first attempt garnerd no response.

Knock, knock, bang! As did her second.

“Stubborn old bird.”

She felt the veins in her left hand begin to burn again, the rune no doubt responding to the shock and stress of the day’s events. Taking the glove off, she shook her hand vigorously in the air, trying to cool down the scar which had heated up considerably in the past few minutes. The edges glowed a light blue. She hissed.

“Are you well?” Revali asked.

She looked at him from the corner of her eye. Good going, he thinks you're going to burn the place down now. “Nothing, ignore me. Stinging as always.”

Gritting her teeth, she raised her left hand again. She was inches away from slamming it into the door when the metal surface shuddered.

Reflexively, Revali reached for his bow. Maiya held a hand up, the hairs on the back of her neck rising. “Wait—”

She took a cautious step back as the clicks of several locks were heard, the unusual symphony joined by a cacophony of keys turning, latches being pulled, and bars sliding to the side. Smoke left hidden pockets located at the hinges, making a hissing noise as billowing clouds escaped from the cracks, dissipating into the surrounding darkness.

A creak and screech echoed, the sound ricocheting off the rock and making small pebbles fall from their perches. Metal scraped against metal, joining the activity as the noise reached a crescendo, building up until suddenly— there was silence.

Maiya released the breath she was holding, clutching her gloved hand to her chest. "Did I do that?"

"No,” Revali said. He pointed to a rounded mirror-like object which hung above the burning sconce, something Maiya thought was merely for decoration. "That glass is not reflecting our images…”

At that moment, the flame went out.

“Someone’s watching us.”

And the door swung open with a bang.

Lying before them was a dark corridor. It was cold and eerie, a void tunneling into the rock. Maiya was surprised to find that no one was on the other side to greet them, and wondered briefly how the door could have opened by itself. “There’s something mysterious at work here,” she whispered.

It was completely barren except for a small hanging lantern at the furthest part of the hall. The quivering flame marked the beginning of a spiral staircase, its flickering light illuminating the start of stone steps leading down.

The Enchanter stared into the darkness, fear of the unknown making her hesitate. As she retreated into herself, she took a step back, her hand brushing the hilt of her dagger. The latent energy within it sent a small spark up her fingers, and for a moment she remembered the way it spluttered and burned within the confines of the Blacksmith’s clamp.

Her mentor’s words reverberated in her mind. ‘Do not let fear dictate your freedom.’

Maiya groaned, stepping foot into the dark corridor and began walking with renewed purpose. “Into the unknown, let’s go.” She grumbled. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

She was surprised to hear Revali following close behind her, the sound of talons against stone echoing throughout the passageway. Pausing abruptly, she swivelled around to face him, taken aback by how close he suddenly was.

She backpedalled and crossed her arms, ignoring how he was only a step away. “Hold on. You’re coming with me?”

Revali mirrored her stance, folding his wings. He looked at her pointedly. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but there’s no stairway to the Spire from here.”

“So you’re sticking around to fly me back up, huh?”

“Precisely.”

Maiya huffed, lifting her head higher to glare at him. “Chief Kamori told you to watch me, didn’t he?”

He wasn’t even looking at her, choosing this moment to inspect the feathers on one of his wings. He flexed it in front of him as a hylian would when checking their nails. “You wound me, enchanter,” he said, voice bored. “Do you really believe I’d make you scale the cliff in the dark?”

“Oh.” She laughed humorlessly, turning around to continue her brisk walk to the end of the hall. “Absolutely.”

Maiya kept a steady palm on the smooth stone column beside her as they continued deeper into the cave. In their descent, she traced the lines of the column, feeling it grow colder the further they travelled into the cavern in almost full darkness. It was one of the few times she was grateful for the dull glow of her hand, leading the way and stopping her from taking a bone-breaking tumble to the bottom floor. At least the stress did something good for once.

The spiral staircase seemed to wind forever, eventually unfurling and flattening, lantern light appearing in the distance as they reached the very last step. They eventually found themselves in an open room, under a high ceiling full of vents.

The Enchanter marvelled at the flow of the air as she watched smoke leave like ribbons through hidden pockets in the room, seemingly replaced by a fresh batch almost instantaneously with the lift of a vent in the ceiling.

It appeared that most of the heat in the room was originating from the giant metal structure sitting at its centre. Blackened and spluttering soot, its presence dominated most of the space; a metal monster with a belly reddened by flames.

The forge’s oven.

The familiar clang of hammer on iron reached her ears, followed by the hiss of steam as it was dipped in the slack tub. The hylian was immediately transported back in time, remembering the workshop in Akkala and the days she spent as a young girl observing Teacher in her workspace.

Maiya was but a novice then, but the silver-haired woman was always in her element. She could recall watching her mentor hammer out a swordsman’s blade, forgetting her notes and daydreaming instead of the moment she would finally decipher the secrets of the anvil and impress the Sheikah Enchanter with her first proper weapon.

Except you failed her, she thought bitterly. No matter how hard you try to make amends, your dagger has rejected its master. And in that, you have failed your purpose.

Maiya blinked back into reality, the figure she saw standing in the middle of the forge no longer her mentor. No, Maiya realised. The person holding a cooling blade in the air wasn't even rito.

Seeing her step into the room, the smith rested the blade on the edges of a clay bath. As they lifted the protective mask obscuring their face, Maiya's eyes caught a teal fin peeking from behind it. A fish? Her mind stuttered.

The mask was lifted further, revealing a lean face and sharp smiling teeth. They stood with a straight back, posture impeccable as they smoothed their leather apron over.

A zora!

“Good evening, Traveler,” they said, voice soft and polite as small bells. They looked at her calmly, golden eyes serene. Maiya’s eyes caught the intricate silver ornaments decorating the side of their face, hearing them clink as they removed the mask entirely.

The zora angled their head higher, finally seeing the person behind her. “What a surprise, Master Revali.”

“Uleh.” The rito nodded curtly.

Maiya looked between the two of them. She noticed some soot staining the Zora's arms and cheeks, painting their shining scales a smoky grey.

Coughing into a closed fist, they cleared their throat. “Apologies for earlier. I’m not sure what’s gotten into Mister Yieni this evening. He is usually more accommodating, but I theorise that the wine might have been more potent than usual."

"You're his assistant?" Maiya asked.

"An Artificer." They corrected. “You could say I’m on...an extended industrial study tour.” The zora smiled to themself, enjoying their own inside joke, before bowing low. “I welcome you, Enchanter. It has been many years since someone of your vocation has stepped foot in ‘Jackdaw’s. I would offer my palm for the greeting but,” they raised both their gloved hands, “I must keep these on for the time being. There is much work that needs to be done.”

Maiya blinked, still bracing herself for the anger that ultimately never materialized. “Hold on. You know I’m an Enchanter? Why then...why haven’t you yet—”

“Kicked you out as Mister Yieni had?”

“Yes.”

“I hold no quarrel against you or your people.” They said, beginning to coat the blade in clay, expertly avoiding its edges. “In fact, I want to help you.”

The Enchanter did not immediately celebrate, silent for a moment and lost to her own thoughts. As much as she was happily surprised by this stranger’s willingness to assist her, she was once again hit by a gut-punching suspicion that had been plaguing her mind since she left the village’s library.

She was slowly learning that there’s always some sort of catch.

"And what exactly does this help entail?" Revali asked, reading into her discomfort.

"Simple,” Uleh said, gently painting the finishing touches of the clay coating with a brush. "I need you to extract a rare ingredient the forge has been lacking in for awhile. After you’ve done that, I can arrange a meeting.”

Maiya shifted her weight from one foot to the other, unconvinced. “How can you be sure he would want to converse with me in the first place?”

Uleh chuckled, clipping the blade into a wooden holder to dry. "Mister Yieni can be ill-tempered, prejudiced and especially cantankerous, but he will always honour a good deal." The zora looked up at her, golden eyes gleaming. "Find him that ingredient, offer it in exchange for information, and he will answer whatever you ask him."

Maiya eyed the silver jewellery framing Uleh’s face, thin and long sheets twisted like intermingling spirals. Ultimately, it would be within her best interest to trust them. She’d just have to roll with the punches and accept the consequences of what was to come after that. She could compare her situation to skipping stones. Nothing left but to cast the rock and count the ripples from the sidelines.

Your willingness to trust will get you trouble one day, my dear. Her mentor’s ever serious voice echoed warningly.

The hylian rubbed her eyes, too tired to argue with herself anymore. Grab the ingredient and strike a deal. Easy. She thought to herself. It's okay. It will be okay. That just leaves me with...

Gazing up, she flashed Revali a tentative grin. The sharp lines of the rito’s face softened a fraction, then fell back into its default haughty glare as he looked away. "What is it?" He asked sourly.

"...are you going to help me?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Well, I'm going regardless."

Revali sent her a knowing look. "And you will probably encounter trouble along the way.

The hylian shrugged, unbothered. "It's not a given but with the increase of monster activity out there, coupled with some Yiga sightings, I probably will—"

"Then the answer is obvious."

"You don't have to be rude about it."

"You shouldn't ask moronic questions you know the answer to."

"Fine!"

"Fine."

Maiya shook her head, turning back to the zora who was still patiently waiting for her answer. She cleared her throat, trying to regain whatever professional dignity she'd shed in the past minute. “If it will grant me an audience with the Blacksmith, then I'll do it."

Uleh's face broke out into a smile. “Fantastic.”

Rising from their sitting position, the zora picked the blade up with their iron tongs, carrying it back to the oven. As they plunged it back into the red hot embers, the fire casted dancing lights and shadows against their teeth, drawing Maiya’s attention as they spoke their next words.

“Now onto business. Have you ever heard of a Frost Talus, Enchanter?”

#revali #botw #breath of the wild #revali x oc #loz botw #legend of zelda #botw fanfiction #revali botw #rito #rito botw #botw fic #fanfiction #writing #enemies to friends to lovers #paellaplease #firebird botw #maiya botw

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gwilymz · 5 years

Text

My Sweet Lord--Uni!Brian x Reader

Summary: You and Brian meet by chance on a fall afternoon and become close friends. But as the seasons change and the flowers of spring begin to bloom--your relationship with him does the same.

Word Count: 13k+ (oh my god i truly cannot be concise.. anyways stream my sweet lord by george harrison)

Warnings: slooooow burn, friends to lovers, Brian being a shy, smart cutie, unprotected sex, oral, dirty talking

October 1972

If Brian counted every step he had taken to the campus library and converted it into energy, he was sure the force would be strong enough to take him out of this world. This cruel, cruel world that was forcing him to study for a physics test that his professor insisted was the week after a gig he and the band had been preparing for for months--not that his pudgy, almost-elderly instructor would ever know--or suspect--that Brian was in a band. That was one thing he was trying to change about himself; the fact that he was Brian. He wasn’t Freddie. And he surely wasn’t Roger, who had kicked Brian out of their own flat four times that week, his curls soaked through with the same acid-rain that rolled down the streets as he pounded on the door, which Roger held shut with his booted foot as his one night stand whose-name-he’d-never-remember pushed her skirt up her legs and gave her interim lover a kiss, stained red. He’d mastered the awkward wave, one that expressed a sort-of hello-goodbye hybrid, Brian’s eyebrows furrowed in a sorrowful quasi-frown that he hoped would soften the blow when Roger inevitably failed to call her back.

“How do you do that?” Brian asked Roger as he shook his umbrella off, the material crinkling as trembling rain rolled off the sides, onto the wooden floors.

“Hey!” Roger wiped his hands down his bare chest, covered in a perpetual blanket of leftover kisses, healing into purple-pink marks that ran up the expanse of his tanned skin. He took another bite of a biscuit he was eating and shook his head at his best friend. “Don’t get fucking water all over the floor. This?” He pointed at the shitty floor beneath them; there wasn’t a step that didn’t produce an eerie creak that always made Brian’s heartbeat skip against his narrow chest as he attempted to get water in the wee hours of the morning. “This is real wood. When we sell this shithole, I don’t wanna be fined for ruining the floor.”

“Oh shut up.” Brian rolled his eyes and hung the umbrella on the coat rack by the door as Roger lit a cigarette that dangled between his pillowy lips. “How do I do what? Shag random girls?” He asked, puffing at his cigarette, pulling it out of his mouth for a bit to let out a suppressed yawn. “It’s a bit exhausting.”

Brian believed him; his eyes were sunken in so much he would look dead if he weren’t so tan from the blistering sun that beat through his skin--all of their skin--as they packed and unpacked equipment from pub to pub all across London, all summer long. “I just--I wonder if I’m doing something wrong? I mean I don’t look like you, but I’d like to think I have a redeemable personality.” Brian complained, taking a biscuit from the crumpled paper bag on the counter.

“Don’t eat my fuckin’ biscuits.” Roger swatted Brian’s hand away as he took another drag, puffing the heavy, stale cigarette smoke into Brian’s nose, which was a rosy hue from the same nipping wind that mussed Brian’s hair into a coiled nest upon his head. “Don’t be so harsh on yourself, Brian. You’re just--” He shoved the bag of snacks into Brian’s hands and tapped some peppered ashes from his cigarette. “Shy. A bit awkward, but you do have a nice personality. And--” He paused. “You’re-- physically attractive. I--” He swirled the butt of his cigarette in a foggy glass ashtray, extinguishing the smoldering glow. “That’s all I’ll say. Don’t repeat those words to anybody.”

Brian chuckled and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, which remained soft, a severe contrast with his fingertips that were cracked and calloused from years and years of plucking ridged guitar strings. “Wow, thanks Rog.” He said it facetiously, knowing Roger didn’t appreciate sappy confessions from his best friend. Roger pulled his silk robe over his chest and gave Brian a tight-lipped smile.

“You’ll find a girl someday. Just like I’m sure I’ll settle down eventually.” He shuddered, padding to his room--a place Roger rarely stayed; otherwise it would be scattered with clothes and cigarette butts and the odd token from his girl-of-the-week, begging for his undying attention.

“Don’t be presumptuous.” Brian peeked around the corner in the kitchen, sending a smile to the shorter blond as he shut his bedroom door, swatting his hand at him before promptly flipping him off. “Charming.” He rolled his eyes, biting into a semi-stale cookie, leaning his elbows on the granite of the counter, resting his sullen cheeks in his palms as he listened to the bay of the wind, watching the yellow lights flicker--whether that was a consequence of the wind or the unpaid rent bill shoved under a candle, he didn’t know.

Now, Brian was certain he would fail his physics test--which he reminded himself was in just two days, as he rested his head on the table, his ear pressed against the hollow, airy wood of the table. The tall chair he was sitting on was the same material, and there wasn’t a cushion, so he shuffled around every few seconds in a desperate attempt to find a comfortable position that soon proved impossible. Everything was muffled against his ear; the sounds of his peers punching irresolute numbers into their calculators, sipping lukewarm coffees hidden between their legs, behind sat-up textbooks. Brian was exhausted, and lying his head on the table--although scratchy against his soft skin--made his eyelashes flutter against his cheekbones as his eyes fell, closed as his lips parted, shallow breaths fanning over his book so the dog-eared pages skimmed and flitted upon the next.

He wasn’t usually the type to fall asleep in class; in fact, he had become reliant on coffees saturated with grainy sugar to keep himself from doing just that. But something about the hollow, dreamy reverberation of flipped pages and tapping pencils had him softly snoring, his hair fanned over the table, where small dribbles of drool pooled at the corner of Brian’s mouth. The pen he was holding loosely between his fingers soon fell against the tabletop as his head fell to one side, nuzzling into the fleece of his powder blue hoodie which had sleeves that were much too short; his wrists were covered in goosebumps.

You sat at the table next to Brian’s, a small cart stacked with nonfiction books only slightly obscuring your--and your friends’--views of him, this massively tall, eternally sleepy boy you’d seen many, many times that week. It was nearing midterms, so everyone was scrambling to cram for the massive number of exams they were going to have--making pacts with buddies that they would study together, as if the collectivist, group setting would increase productivity instead of annulling it completely. But this boy was always by himself, his hands shoved into the pockets of whatever jacket adorned his willowy frame, his bony wrists jutting out from beneath his deeply tanned skin. He burrowed himself in a nest of crumpled notes and dully sharpened pencils, yawning into his fist as he scribbled so passionately you were convinced he couldn’t be writing anything pertaining to schoolwork.

Brian was a sort of enigma at university; nobody knew much about him, but they were endlessly fascinated by the shrouded nebula of the unknown that seemed to hover above his cloud of frizzy waves. Nobody had seen him speak to anybody but the occasional professor, hushed by their desk after class ended and the majority of the snooping peers had left to attend to their social lives. So everyone perked up in their seats when three men--two of them excessively rowdy for a school library--strode into the building, tall heeled boots clicking against the tiled floors enough to make the librarians scowl, shaking their heads uniformly as wire-rimmed glasses were pushed up their noses.

“Christ.” Freddie did a scowl of his own as he looked around the expansive library, taking in the grandeur of the old architecture. “This place is gorgeous; too bad its a fucking bore to be here.” He added, quite loudly. Deaky shoved his shoulder and shook his head, gesturing to the multitude of students who were now just pretending to study--they were all watching the men intently, aching for something to gossip about, anything substantial enough to act as an excuse to finally rest their weary eyes from reading their stacks of books which all seemed to belie one another.

“Shut up.” Deaky didn’t look at Freddie when he said this; he was looking for Brian, and was becoming frustrated when he couldn’t spot his head of curls amongst the sea of pupils focused their way.

Roger and Freddie loved the attention, and they winked and smirked at the majority of their audience, including you, as you held your pen between your teeth, fishing your keys from your tattered bag. Roger liked what he saw, so he pulled a chair out, sitting down leisurely while you paid no mind to the doe-eyed blond. He was cute, but you weren’t looking for a relationship; it was just too difficult with the amount you were juggling--plus you had silently swore off guys in a drunken rage a few months back and you weren’t ready to go back on your words just yet. You could tell your friends were intrigued by Roger’s beachy waves and sun kissed cheeks, his wide blue eyes that were covered in a thin film of innocence that most girls saw right through.

“You girls seen a tall lad around here? Big curly brown hair? No other redeeming qualities?” Roger scooted his chair closer to the table as you capped your pen, tilting your chin to motion to the probable culprit--although you’d never seen him speak to anyone, and would be surprised that these three very self-assured, very flamboyant guys would be anybody he would associate with.

Roger turned his head and scoffed when he saw his roommate knocked out on the table, his signature curls veiling his sharp, angelic features. His hands were splayed on the table in front of his book, and it was then that you noticed his nails were painted an opaque white, chipped just along the edges.

“That would be him. Good eye--what’s your name?” He acted nonchalant, furrowing his messy eyebrows as he pulled a smoke from the pack in his back pocket, his other hand fumbling, in search of his metal lighter.

“Y/N.” You smiled at him sweetly as you found your key ring, hidden beneath an array of old receipts and hoarded trinkets that had no place being there.

“Roger.” He held his hand out, flashing his teeth, semi-crooked and just a smidge yellow from incessant smoking. Without another word he pushed his chair back so it fit neatly, tucked into the table.

“Sleepy head,” Freddie poked Brian’s head with the pencil that had fallen from his grasp. Brian groaned softly, adjusting his position so his head moved away from the strange sharpness that pierced his scalp. “Wake up Brian. You’re making a fool of yourself.” He whispered into his ear.

“Fuck off, Freddie.” Brian turned his head to the opposite side, so he faced where you were sitting, watching the interaction curiously, like a few other surrounding tables were, halting their procrastinated studies to try and decode the campus mystery that was Brian May. You noticed how effortlessly attractive he was, even with his face mostly obscured by curled tendrils of hair that tickled against his angular nose, fell over his sharp cheekbones. His eyelashes were thick, and they laid across the very tops of his cheeks; his mouth hung open enough for you to notice how plump and peachy his lips looked underneath the yellowed lights that glowed throughout the building.

Roger moved to the other side of the table and pinched Brian’s nose, squatting down as Brian’s eyes snapped open, his pupils dilating and constricting like his stomach was, pumping with anxiety as he sat up quickly, rubbing his eyes with a ringed finger.

“I can’t believe you told us we had to postpone a meeting with fucking EMI records so you could study.” Roger used air quotes around the last word, slapping the back of Brian’s head harshly, which emitted a few gasps from the tables around you.

Brian grabbed Roger’s wrist, pushing his hand down onto the table quietly, his hazel eyes a warning to his friend. “Roger!” He whisper-yelled, looking around the library. He shot a few glances to their spectators, one that screamed: I’m sorry for disrupting your studies I wouldn’t usually be like this--

“I’m allowed to be pissed; they probably won’t think we’re fucking serious about the offer since you’re moping around in libraries taking fucking afternoon naps!” He was whispering too now, and Brian sighed in relief when he noticed more and more of their audience returning their attention to their books, the cracking of the glue along the spines like a depressant to Brian’s sympathetic nervous system.

“I was studying; I fell asleep because you’ve decided to shag a new girl every night, so I can’t exactly get anything done at home, now can I?” Brian gathered his physics book, shoving his pencil on the last page he was on before he closed it carefully, pushing it into his bag behind portfolios of various lab reports and unmarked quizzes.

“Whatever, Brian.” Roger knew he had been loud the past couple of nights, and he felt a tinge of pride on his part as Brian fed into his ego unintentionally. Deaky just stacked the rest of Brian’s papers strewn about the table and handed them to him without a word. Freddie was absurdly quiet too, mouthing apologies to a few angered students who had probably developed headaches from Roger’s screeching.

“Just don’t get me banned from this place, okay?” Brian straightened his stack of papers and clasped them together with a metal clip, pushing it into his bag expertly.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s just go.” Roger kneed Brian in the ass as he got up, and you noticed how he seemed to tower above the rest of the posse, his shoes and hair and incredibly lengthy legs just adding to his stature that would have been quite imposing if not for Brian’s lanky body and eyes that were laden in kindness and warm honey, framed by straight eyebrows that gave him an easygoing, impossibly handsome charm.

“The record company is just a few blocks east. We have plenty of time.” Deaky said, following behind Roger and Brian and next to Freddie, his breath fanning on their shoulders which grazed lightly against one another.

“Deaky, keep your mouth shut. We all know we would have missed the appointment if we hadn’t come here to drag Brian’s skinny ass out of his nap.” Roger shoved his hands in his pockets and shivered as he pushed open the heavy door of the library, it was teetering on the cusp of fall and winter and all four boys snuggled into their thin jackets; they never could dress for the weather.

You had to go too; your psychology class was beginning in twenty minutes and you were already running a bit late since you were admiring the cryptic boy whose name you still hadn’t gleaned. As you stood up and adjusted your necklace that you had flipped over your neck, you saw his own psychology book--more torn and loved than your own--tucked away under the table, sitting on the empty chair next to where he had been sitting.

You took it and weighed your options: you could attempt to find him and end up lost, with the very expensive textbook of a complete stranger--or you could find him, by some odd bout of coincidence or fate, and brush fingertips with him, then never speak to him again, most likely. Neither of those options were favorable, but by the scarlet blush that you had never seen him without, you reckoned he was an anxious person, and was probably already deliberating about where he could have possibly left his book. You tucked it under your arm and sighed, fixing your hair in the glare of a window that sat next to the entrance, the window pane covered in coffee rings and devoid of any paint.

You understood why the group of guys had shivered so severely when they opened the door; a drafty gust of wind made your breath become choked, shoved down your throat. But you saw his messy head of curls being blown about in the wind, the cold air reddening the tip of his nose as the foursome leaned against the side of a pub, a long-haired brunette cupping his hands around Roger’s cigarette to light it despite the wind’s vindictive attempts to keep it unlit. The other two men hugged their arms to their bodies and huddled into each other, chatting annoyedly, pulling open the door when passersby wanted to enter, in an attempt to feel the drafty heat. You quickly crossed the street, holding your coat over your body and his textbook over your chest as your bag thumped against your thighs.

“Hey!” You waved as you reached the edge of the sidewalk, where rain was sloshing in a deep divot in the street, a makeshift bay. Your boots kept your feet from getting wet, but the bottoms of your jeans were soaked and cold against your ankles as you held the book in front of you. “You--you left this on your seat.” You reached forward, watching Brian’s eyes light up as his arm extended towards yours. But your heel caught on the edge of the pavement, making you fall forward as a car weaved past you, soaking your jeans completely with rain that had to be just on the cusp of freezing. Your sweater, chunky and cable knit, did nothing to barricade the water from seeping through, and you stood up quickly, your hair stuck to your shoulders as Brian took the book that had somehow avoided the majority of the splash.

“Shit! Are you okay?” The black-haired one took your hand, helping you stabilize your balance. You attempted to rub some mud off of your knees, but it just worsened the stain, so you gave up, huffing as you checked your watch--which you realized wasn’t on your wrist.

“Fuck! What time is it?” You were already running late, and your professor for your literature class already had an odd vendetta against you.

“Ten ‘til one.” The longer-haired, lighter brunette said, giving you tight-lipped smile and offered to hold your wet coat.

“Shit.” You would be late even if you weren’t completely and utterly unpresentable.

Brian was monumentally guilty; it was, technically, his fault that you were in this predicament. If he hadn’t been so stupid and remembered to pick his book back up, you wouldn’t be in front of him, soaked to the bone and distraught, one side of your hair frizzed from humidity, the other side slicked down by a curtain of water.

“Do you have class soon?” Brian touched your shoulder apprehensively, but his grip was still strong as he tucked you under his arm and helped you walk under the awning outside of the pub.

“Yeah.” Your face was burning at the close proximity; his face was a few inches away from your own, squished near the wall so the door wouldn’t hit you two. You felt sweaty; cold yet burning to the touch. He braced a hand against the exposed brick of the building pushing closer to you as a couple brushed past, trying to get into the bar.

“Oh--I’m sorry.” He turned around so his back was against the wall and he was standing next to you, shoulder-to-shoulder. “I didn’t mean to get so--close.” He scratched the back of his neck. “What class do you have? Maybe we can still make it?”

“Renaissance Lit. It’s in about twenty minutes, so I doubt we can make it.” You lowered your eyes to meet his, noticing how they were sparkling, honey specks alternated with the faintest greens that made it impossible to look away. His hair blew over his face as he faced you; his hands large and delicate, gesturing down the block but you couldn’t focus on his words.

“Professor Thompson?” He inquired, wiping his nose discreetly with his rolled-up sleeve. “We better get moving then, he’s quite the stickler.” Brian turned away from you and then quickly pivoted back, holding his hand out towards yours. “I’m Brian, by the way.” He smiled easily, his lips a bitten peach color as his teeth tugged at the skin.

“Y/N.” You clasped your hand in his, which was much bigger, and much warmer than yours--which might have been why your touch lingered, your pinky rubbing against his own, adorned with a silver ring. “We?” You inquired, letting go of Brian’s hand, which was heavy but comfortable to hold.

“You have to get changed--I mean--I was going to offer you some of my clothes from my flat--” He spat out quickly, averting his gaze to his feet as Roger stomped his cigarette out with the toe of his boot. “If that’s not too much. Or too soon. Forget I asked?” It was charming how shy he was; you liked how his eyebrows made him look so tentative and innocent; and you liked even more how his personality mirrored the same thing--pure intentions.

“Are you sure?” You asked. “That would be great, I mean my flat is a ways away. If you’re not too busy or anything.” You stumbled over your words, your hands finding his wrists and running a thumb over the protruding knob of the bone there.

Brian stiffened, then grinned lazily. “Oh, don’t worry about it--I kinda owe you one since--”

Roger cut him off, his hands gesturing wildly, his pack of cigarettes clasped tightly in a calloused hand. “Brian. EMI records. Two o’clock.” He shoved the pack into his jacket pocket and shivered dramatically, his fingertips pressing white prints over the darkened skin of his shoulders.

“I promise I’ll meet you there. I’ll run and everything, Roger. Don’t even worry about it.” Brian stepped forward and clasped his hands down onto Roger’s shoulders, pushing his hair back, away from his forehead.

“Brian, if you’re late I’ll fucking kill you!” Roger yelled after him, his middle finger held up prominently and uncaringly as a group of miserable schoolchildren passed, their fur-lined hoods pulled snug over their heads.

“EMI records?” You began to walk faster, trying to keep up with Brian’s massive strides. His jaw was tensed as he looked at the checkerboard of taxis that were lined, parked along the streets.

“Yeah--” He looked down at you, slowing down a bit as he guiltily realized you were struggling to keep up. “Those guys and I are in a band. Just record deal drama. Trying to get signed before the end of the year is proving to be very difficult--and time-consuming.” He chuckled and looked at his feet, covered in white clogs, the heels only adding to his already massive height. “I’m just not sure if I’m ready to give up university, you know?” Brian didn’t know why he was dumping his inner drama to you--a beautiful girl who he had met mere minutes before--but it felt as natural as the blush that was seeping over him whenever he looked at your face.

“I mean, tell me about your band; is it something you’d want to pursue?” You didn’t want to pry, but he seemed comfortable with talking to you. Plus, you were on your way to his flat, so it felt necessary to break the ice a bit. Brian and you turned the corner, and he pulled you close to him as he saw a teenage couple walking towards you, a dazed look in their eyes which were focused anywhere but the sidewalk ahead of them.

“Sorry if that was too close--didn’t want you to run into them.” He ducked his head under an oddly low balcony, his hand ghosting over the small of your back. You noticed him pulling his arm away, his fist hovering over your body as if he were forcing it away but a magnet was stabilizing it there, confused.

“You’re fine, Brian. No need to apologize. Tell me about your band; I’m curious.” You stepped over a puddle and looked up at him.

“Oh--I--I guess I don’t know where to start.” He reached the glass door of his apartment building, ushering you inside. He pulled his hood down and shook some water from his hair, smiling at you as he strode towards the elevator, which looked crooked and unsafe. He must have sensed your fear, as he huffed and leaned against the wall as he pressed the button for his floor. “It looks a lot more intimidating than it is. Trust me, I know it looks sketchy; it took months for Roger and Freddie to convince me to use it.” A dull ding sounded, and the doors opened, two young boys stepping out, giving you a questioning look. “She’s a new friend.” He explained, gesturing to you as you stepped inside the lift. Brian was severely blushing now; his neck was painted scarlet.

“Brian, it was about time you got a friend.” One of the boys commented, chewing loudly on a stale piece of peppermint gum.

“For real! I thought guitarists were supposed to get all the p--” The other began, but Brian stopped him nervously.

“Okay! Watch the language! Go play your rugby or something.” He shooed them away playfully as the doors closed. You smiled to yourself, assessing the mud caked into your jeans, your soaked boots and your shirt which was seemingly more water than fabric. Your hair was matted and tangled but Brian still couldn’t meet your eye for more than a few seconds before his nerves fizzled and bubbled to the point that he couldn’t possibly look anymore.

“So you’re the guitarist?” You continued. Of course, it made sense; he just had that feeling about him. His calloused fingers, long and agile and bony, painted white were a sort of symbol.

“Yes, I am. The blond, Roger, is our drummer. Freddie is the singer, he’s the quite flamboyant one; and Deaky--John--is the bassist. His last name is Deacon if you wondered where the name came from.” He spoke quickly, and it seemed like he wanted the attention off of himself as much as possible.

But you wanted more. “How long have you been playing?” You watched Brian’s fingers fumble with his keys; he had a keychain of a guitar and a globe on the keyring, and the faint sound of the plastic and metal clinking together permeated the empty corridor.

He entered the key and turned, letting you in first. The floor was scattered with velvet shirts and satin pants and vice versa; socks piled around a laundry basket that remained empty despite the mess of dirty clothes. “Jesus Christ,” He bent down, frantically pushing the clothes into his arms and throwing them into the broken basket. “Roger is the messiest person I swear--”

“Oh, it’s fine.” You traced your finger along the marble of his counter before sitting down on a red leather stool sat nearby. “Can’t say mine is much better with so much going on.”

He nodded, looking up from the stained button-up he was inspecting. “And I’ve been playing for--” He paused. “Over fifteen years I’d say. Not sure quite exactly when I started, but music has always been an escape.” He held the laundry basket to his hip, leading you to his bedroom in the corner of the flat. “It’s just so hard to choose music when it’s so scary. Who knows if we’ll ever be anything but a group of English boys trying to be rockstars?” He set the basket in the doorway of what you assumed to be Roger’s room, before he opened the door to his own room. His was neat and tidy, save for some trousers scattered about the wooden floor. An orderly stack of school books sat at the edge of his desk, and he added his forgotten psychology book to the collection, slumping his shoulders so his school bag slid from his body.

You slumped down on his bed, sighing. “Can I take off my shoes?” You pointed to your soaked boots and he nodded, pushing open the doors of his closet. You noticed a cherry-wooden guitar leaning against his desk, the leather strap swinging from the air escaping from the vents. “I don’t know you much, but I’d say go for it.”

He sat down on the bed next to you, his knee touching your own. He extended a ringed pinky towards you and rose a dark eyebrow. “I promise I will, then.”

December 1972

“This is my friend, Brian.” You gestured to the lanky boy to your left, who waved awkwardly to your two friends, his hand gripping the neck of his guitar. Beads of sweat poured down the front of his face and over his nose. His lips were bitten from bouts of severe concentration onstage, and his pupils were dilated, his breaths labored and heavy in his throbbing chest.

Queen had scored a major gig at the Marquee Club in London--a nightclub that would allow them to perform to more than a group of sleazy drunks and their bartenders. It had taken some convincing, but you had gotten permission from Brian to invite some of your friends--his peers--to the venue. His lip was truly bitten purple and bloody from the anxiety simmering throughout his body; his hands trembled uncontrollably over the fretboard for the entirety of the concert. But to you--and the rest of the crowd--Brian looked at ease, in his element; it felt right for these few dozen strangers to label the mysterious Brian May as a guitarist--a shy, tall, incredibly handsome guitarist who was stumbling over his carefully chosen words. His eyes were able to follow your own much longer now; within the couple of months you two had known each other, quiet study sessions with amateur conversations had mutated into quasi-cuddling on his couch, resting your head in Brian’s lap as he dropped salted popcorn into your awaiting mouth.

It was you who he felt most comfortable with, which was why Brian pulled you into him by your waist as he mingled with little-known peers; nameless friends-of-friends who held lagers in their hands as they complimented Brian’s band. That was the girls mostly; the guys gifted Brian with backhanded compliments while they glared at his painted fingernails and the glittery makeup you had swiped over his puffy eyelids hours before.

“You taught yourself the guitar?” A random girl asked flirtatiously as she twirled an artificial blond curl around her finger.

Brian scratched the back of his neck as he lifted his half-drunk beer to his lips. His arm tightened around your waist; you were like a security blanket to him in unwanted social situations. “Yeah--more or less. My dad helped me get started but I guess--I just got really into it.”

She nodded enthusiastically, leaning into Brian as he set his drink down carefully on a cardboard coaster. “I can tell you’re into it--” She batted her eyes and looked at her hands coyly, stirring her mixed drink. “You’re so focused when you’re playing.”

You felt your face growing hot as Brian’s fingers played with the loops on your jeans, his thumbs fingering the denim fabric nervously. You felt jealous, even though you and Brian were nothing more than friends--close friends. You pushed Brian’s hair back from his forehead and plucked a fallen eyelash from his upper cheek as the girl continued to talk. Before leaning back to your original position, you whispered into Brian’s ear: “Christ, she can’t take a hint.”

He swatted your knee playfully and grinned at you widely, his teeth a brighter white than usual. “God, I know.” He mouthed, taking another swig of his beer.

A shorter guy, who was a bit chubby with side swept dirty blond hair came up to the girl and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, whispering a secret of his own into her reddened ears. You and Brian assumed he was her boyfriend by the guilty look that adorned her features as she met eyes with him. “What’s up with the painted nails?” He gestured to Brian’s hand, which grasped his drink loosely.

“Wha’ do you mean?” Brian slurred; he had a few drinks in him and you could tell he was getting tipsy by the way his eyes were hooded over, his mouth tangled into a relaxed smile.

“It’s a bit--nevermind.” He pushed his girlfriend’s hair behind her shoulders, his arms hugged over her chest.

“A bit?” Brian urged, his thumbs digging into your hips. It was weird--seeing him angry. You’d known him for only a few months, but were surprised you’d never really seen him lose his temper--not when a taxi cut him off while he was driving, or when Roger had ruined a good amount of his clothes in the wash. He always heaved out a heavy sigh and crossed his arms--then let it go. But by the harsh grip he had on you, the tensing of his jaw as he rolled his darkened chocolate eyes--you could tell he was pissed. “A bit what?”

The guy smirked, realizing he had drawn a reaction from Brian. “Gay? Girly? Weird? Want me to continue?” His girlfriend tilted her head back and looked at him, disapprovingly.

“I don’t see anything wrong with being any of those things.” He tilted his head back and swigged the rest of his drink, slamming the glass down onto the mahogany bar. “Have a nice night.” He smiled tightly, pulling you flush into his side. “What a fucking dick.” He sneered, grabbing his guitar from backstage. He gave Deaky a small wave and gestured to you; John nodded, setting his drink down to give you both a double thumbs-up.

“Are you okay, Brian?” You brushed some hair over his collarbones and he nodded, biting his lip as he slipped your coat over your shoulders.

“Yeah--just pissed.” He opened the heavy door and braced himself for the cold, zipping his coat up entirely to cover his numbed nose and cheeks. “Hold on! Stop, missy.” He held his hand out and pushed a hand down on your shoulder, making you stop in your tracks. “Let me zip you up.” He bent his knees a smidge to reach you and pulled your zipper up quickly. You saw his eyes crinkle, fine patches of skin folding like thin paper as he smiled genuinely, drunkenness evident in his eyes and his sunken stature.

“I’m starving.” You commented, watching his eyebrows furrow; it was impossible to understand you with your mouth firmly covered by layers of thick wools and fleeces.

“Hmm?” He turned the corner with you, his guitar thumping against his leg as he strolled down the streets with you, his head turned perpetually to watch your eyes, fleeting over his face. You watched each other reciprocally like mirror images of one another; consistent, never missing a beat.

Yanking the covering over your mouth, you repeated yourself. “I’m hungry. Aren’t you? I swear I’ve never seen you eat that much you’re like a little birdy. Or maybe a robot. Is that why you’re so good at the guitar--and everything?” You teased him, holding onto his free arm tightly.

“You caught me, Y/N. Damn; how will I ever keep this secret?” He widened his eyes and tightened his grip on his guitar as his fingers began to slip, somehow sheathed in sweat despite the rest of his body shielded with goosebumps, his teeth softly chattering. “You’re hungry?” He asked in a robotic voice, poking your sides almost mechanically. “I can whip up something for you. I’d take you out but--” He gestured to himself. “I’m positively broke. Oh shit.”

You laughed at the random turns in his talking, the way his body leaned to one side, weighed down dramatically by his guitar, hung over his willowy arm. “What’s the problem, Bri?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and stopped at a fork in the sidewalk; the left would take you to his flat, the right to yours. “Gig night.”

“Oh, right. Shit, I still can’t believe it’s every damn time.” You shoved your hands deeper into your pockets. “You’d think he’d get tired of meaningless sex at some point.”

“Right?” Brian tilted his head back dramatically. “I’ve been convincing him for awhile that what he’s doing is not normal. And he’s so--loud.” He shuddered as you approached your apartment building; it was in a nicer part of London, but it was a little smaller and more remote, which Brian favored astronomically. There were many days that he forgot your flat wasn’t really his home, but just a temporary abode where he’d rather be than there. He slept at your flat more often than not; you had offered to make him a bed on the couch after seeing his bloodshot, sleepy eyes and wide yawns many mornings as he strolled into the library to study with you. But he would never admit to you how he’d over exaggerated Roger’s shagging statistics; he had once stayed an entire week and then some at your flat, telling you Roger had met a girl he had “real chemistry” with. But of course that wasn’t true. And Brian felt bad about it, but not that bad; he enjoyed making you toast in the mornings and brushing your teeth together over your porcelain sink, your hair messy from deep, comfortable sleep.

“Maybe you’re both robots--but he’s just programmed to be ultra-flirty and fuck random girls and annoy the shit out of you.” You joked, pulling your keys from your pocket. Your landlord gave Brian a familiar nod as you both walked in, stomping packed snow off the bottom of your shoes.

“Wouldn’t even be surprised if he were a robot. Sometimes that boy has no emotions. He’s ruthless with some of those girls!” Brian held the door open for an older couple as you ran to the stairwell. “I bet I’ll beat you on the lift.” He hovered his thumb over the button, quirking an eyebrow at you.

“I bet you wouldn’t. That thing has no business being called a lift.” You opened the door to the stairs, counting down from three before you both frantically tried to outrun the other--although all Brian could do was cross his fingers and shake his leg and pray. You won of course, panting heavily as you stood in front of the opening elevator doors, which Brian stumbled out of, almost tripping over his feet as he held a finger up at you.

“Two seconds.” He said. “I basically won.”

“Two? That was at least four. Maybe five.”

“Don’t be hyperbolic.” He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as you opened your door. “We’ll call it a tie.”

“I can leave you out here to sleep on my rug, you know that right?” You pointed to the shaggy rug at your door, small and covered in scuffs from your shoes.

“Who would make you world-famous toast in the morning?” He walked in behind you, shrugging his coat off lazily. “Couldn’t be you.”

“What’s special about putting pre-sliced bread into a toaster?” You mirrored his actions.

“It’s all in the techniques!” He gave you jazz hands, kicking his shoes off, watching them tumble on their sides as yours did too.

The next morning, Brian awoke twenty minutes before you did. His legs hung over the end of your tattered leather couch, his back sticky from sweat as he shook his arms to gain his sacred circulation back. He wiggled his fingers and pulled his favorite blanket of yours from his body; it was an ivory fleece blanket that was impossibly soft against his skin and smelled like you, and only you. Stretching his arms, he stood up and padded to the kitchen, cursing silently as he almost dropped your toaster, stored in a lower cabinet near the floor. He toasted some bread for you and added strawberry jam carefully, spreading it as evenly as possible with a concentration only akin to the type he had while playing guitar.

“G’morning.” You rubbed your eyes in attempts to adjust to the harsh overhead lights in the kitchen.

“For your troubles.” He slid you the plate with the toast on it, leaning on his elbows as he awaited your feedback.

You smiled almost timidly, taking a bite of the toast as Brian leaned forward, watching your reaction intently. Nodding, you pointed to the carefully made breakfast, one that Brian was embarrassed to admit took him almost twenty minutes to get just right. “How do you do that? It’s so good!”

“What did I say, Y/N?” He stole the piece from you, taking a bite large enough to transfer globs of jam onto his cheeks, peppered with fallen crumbs. His hair fell over his face, his eyes sleepy and crinkled as his cheeks lifted in the biggest smile you’d ever seen.

January 1973

Brian stumbled into the library just three and a half minutes after he had promised he would meet you, but he felt guilty enough to shrug his shoulders at you, mouthing a pouty “sorry” to you from across the room, shaking the freshly fallen snow from his shoes. He rubbed his hands together hastily as he walked towards where you were sitting, in a corner table, guarded by bookshelves on either side. It was early enough that the usual crowd of overworked, overstressed students was still asleep, or using the early hour as an excuse to put off their studying, for now.

“Sorry I’m late--” Brian set his bag on the table pulling the zippers down. He shoved his nimble fingers through his messy, unwashed locks. “Shit. I forgot my psychology book.”

“You mean the book for the one test we got together to study for?” You held a finger up, pulling the book in question from your bag, his favorite pen shoved in the middle as a makeshift bookmark. He began to talk, but you answered his impending question. “You left it at my place last night. And what did I tell you?” You scolded, withholding the book from him, eyebrows raised.

“I know! I should have put it back in my bag. Truly a mistake. I would say it won’t happen again but we know how forgetful I am.” He scooted his chair closer to your own and opened his book, licking the tip of his finger swiftly before turning to the page you were on.

“Oh, I know. I still don’t know how you forgot your underwear there last week.” You shoved his shoulder and he choked on his coffee, clasping a hand tightly upon his throat, the deep burning of the hot syrupy concoction making his eyes close tightly.

“Fuck.” He coughed loudly, embarrassed. “I did?”

“Somehow.” You looked at him through your eyelashes, admiring the smallest dimple, creviced in his cheeks, a cradle for his most beautiful, most genuine smiles.

Brian watched your lips move, your tone assured as you traced your pencil over the words you read aloud to him. He watched you bite the skin of your bottom lip as your expression grew more questioning, your eyes searching into his for an answer. He realized he spaced out for a minute. “Come again? I’m sorry. I’m—I can’t believe I forgot my underwear at your flat.”

“I washed them for you.” You turned the page, relishing in the way he reddened at your words, his eyes averting to concentrate falsely on the material in front of him. In all honesty, both of you were more than prepared for the exam coming up; you and Brian studied excessively just to spend the time together—your pinkies touching apprehensively as you turned pages and shared banter with each other.

“That makes it worse.” Brian answered sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck as he pulled his lip between his teeth, running a thumb over his protruding collarbones.

“You don’t want me touching your underwear?” You kicked his foot from under the table and he reciprocated, stepping on your boot slightly as his shoulder bumped into yours.

“Not in that—not really. Not when it’s like that.” Shaking his head, he offered you some of his coffee, which you drank gingerly, savoring the bitter taste of an unsweetened latte and something so specifically Brian.

You slammed your book shut, sighing as you made eye contact with an influx of students rushing into the ambient warmth of the library. “Wanna get out of here? I can’t study this for another second.” You traced the raised orange letters on the cover, glossy and smooth against your fingers.

“Thank God.” Brian nodded and closed his own book too. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more confident about a test in my life.”

“Okay, we get it. You’re smart. Don’t have to rub it in.” You grabbed his latte from his hands and took a swig as Brian shoved miscellaneous papers into his leather bag.

“Oh shut up.” He slung it over his shoulder, checking his watch quickly. Still watching the tiny metal extensions ticking away against his wrist, he sighed. “My classes are all pretty easy this semester. Since I’ll probably drop out.”

“What?” You grabbed his wrist as he stood up, his chair harshly screeching against the floor. “What do you mean you’re dropping out?”

“I mean—“

“You got it? Brian, you got it?!” You ruffled his hair and kissed his cheek; it was the first time you had ever given him a kiss of any sort but it felt natural in the situation, and Brian’s beaming glow of a smile told you he didn’t mind the gesture, no matter how affectionate it was for two close friends.

“We got it. We’re gonna have our first record out in the summer.” He fiddled with the rings on his hands, rolling them with his thumb as his arm slung around your shoulder.

“Brian—I’m so proud of you!” You felt an overwhelming pride that flushed over your face and lifted your cheeks as you watched a smile choked in his throat bubble, overflow upon his face in a sweet grin, his as eyes easygoing as the boy himself.

“I just—my parents are gonna be livid.” Brian linked his pinky with yours; both of your hands held onto his, his arm still draped over your shoulder. And it didn’t seem odd to look so longingly into each other’s eyes, lost in the sea of honey that had hypnotized you and induced you in a permanent state of hope that maybe, maybe he felt how you two were inching closer and closer to a plateau—one that teetered over friendship and into something so much more.

February 1973

“Brian, it seems like we haven’t seen you in ages; what’s new with you?” Freddie hoisted himself onto the counter in Brian and Roger’s shared apartment, his legs swinging against the hollow column that supported the sturdy tabletop.

Deaky swung the refrigerator open, squinting to focus his sleepy eyes on the food inside that was definitely there past expiration. His hair was strewn about his head in every direction— except for down. “Ever since you got your little lady you’ve ditched us completely.”

“Yeah.” Roger agreed, shoving open a drawer as Brian reached into a taller cupboard in search of a clean plate. The knobby handle of the drawer pushed into Brian’s stomach and he winced, pushing Roger out of the way some. “You’re whipped by that little girlfriend of yours.”

“Y/N?” Brian set the last clean plate down, cringing at the hollow scraping of porcelain against the raw table. “She’s not my girlfriend.” He watched as Deaky cranked the heat of the stove up in utter concentration. “Don’t turn the heat up all the way—“

“Who cares, Brian? Very funny, “she’s not my girlfriend” “ Roger mocked Brian’s bashful tone, batting his eyelashes as he pouted bodaciously. “Is she a good shag? I can’t believe you’re finally getting laid!”

Brian took a bite of his toast, jutting his chin forward so his plate caught the shower of crumbs that fell. “Well the thing is, Roger—is that she is not my girlfriend. So I wouldn’t know.”

“So—let me get this straightened out.” Freddie held a finger up, his voice squeaky from a rather rambunctious concert a few nights before. “You’ve stayed at her flat for weeks on end, basically, and haven’t—done anything? Nothing?”

“Not a kiss? Maybe a cheeky touch?” Deaky added, setting a questionable carton of eggs next to Freddie.

“What do you do?” Roger looked a convincing fusion of disgusted and disappointed.

“Hang out. Talk. Study.. I don’t understand the big deal.” Brian rubbed his eyes and finished off his toast, focusing his attention on washing the sticky jam from the side of his plate. He felt belittled and stupid, his hands engulfed in scalding water, the metal rings only conducting the heat so it seeped and manifested over his skin, prickling like the tears stinging his eyes. There was something about that raspberry residue caked onto his plate that reminded him of you—your lipstick, your shared breakfasts and coffees snuck into the corner of the library on Saturday mornings, your books almost like a shield to barricade how obvious it was you two were in love—an excuse to stay in each other’s presence, so close together for so many hours.

“You’re in deep.” Roger commented, his tone almost worried. “You love her, don’t you?”

Freddie gasped dramatically, jumping down from the counter. Brian remained silent, scrubbing his plate with perfect deliberation, in attempts to ignore something he had known since fall. Freddie squeezed Brian’s shoulder, pulling a pronounced curl among a mass of loose waves. “Earth to Brian.” He waved a hand in front of his sullen face. “Blink once for yes, twice for no. Are you in love with Y/N?”

“I’ve never been in love. I don’t know what it feels like.” Brian thought that was a good principle for avoidance, and he finally gave up cleaning his plate; his hands were rubbed raw, a fleshy red from the steaming water.

“You know, Brian.” Deaky comforted, much gentler than the other two men. “You know when you are.”

“I guess I am. I don’t know--maybe.” He slumped against the counter, opting to sit on the ground to assess this seemingly otherworldly situation. He’d never been in love, never had the hopes of being in a relationship. He’d spent his high school and adolescent years convincing himself he was bound to bigger things than girls and love and marriage and children; he told himself he didn’t want it. But the hopeless romantic in him feathered into everything he did; he daydreamed about meeting his love in aisles of the run-down grocery store he went to in west London. He dreamt about writing ballads for her and humming tunes in her ear while the two of them slow danced, hand-in-hand, beneath a sliver of the silver moon.

“Why are you sad about it? Is she with someone--I don’t get it.” Roger glanced over at Freddie, who shrugged unknowingly.

“I don’t think she feels the same way--I don’t know. I just know my luck with love; I doubt it will be different this time around.”

Roger shook his head and dug his pointer finger into Brian’s bony sternum where a layered necklace sat, cold against the skin. “No. We’re not doing this self-pity shit, Brian. What did I say a while back? You’re attractive, Brian. You’re a lot sweeter to girls than I am. You’re smart. Girls dig that shit. That’s the thing--you’re the long-term type. I’m the short-term type. And I’m fine with that. You need to be fine with yourself because you’ll never get a girl if you’re sulking around believing you can’t do it.”

“Wow!” Freddie clasped a hand over his chest. “I’ve never heard you be so..sweet, Roger.”

Deaky agreed silently, and Brian tilted his head back against the counter, listening to the pipes of the sink rattle and cry and squeak and he wished he were somewhere else entirely, a molecule of water spilling into trillions of others that looked exactly the same so he could just disappear, and conform.

March 1973

“This doesn’t make any sense.” Brian deliberated over his physics book, reading the same poorly-worded, contradictory sentence over and over. “None of this really makes any sense. When did I become stupid?” He hung his head and pushed his book away, crossing his arms over his chest which was only barely covered by an ivory button-up. Ever since Queen was signed to EMI, you--among many other girls--had noticed Brian’s confidence blooming and growing almost exponentially. The reserved boy in the back of the lecture hall who hid himself in oversized jumpers now wore his shirt only halfway on, and tight pants that only emphasized the lank of his slim legs. His hair was messier, but it only added to his charm, like the three golden necklaces layered upon his collarbones. His timidness and isolation from the university life had once deemed him weird and awkward--but now he was just mysterious, sexy even. You had caught many girls ogling at him from across the library, biting their cherry lips and blushing when Brian met their yearning gaze.

“Why are you even studying? You’re dropping out after this semester.” You asked, genuinely unable to see the point. You watched the muscles in Brian’s forearm ripple as he scribbled notes into a lab notebook.

“Exactly.” He added. “After this semester. I still have a ways to go. Fuck, this makes no sense though; maybe I’ll save myself the trouble and drop out now.”

You scoffed. “And leave me alone to fend for myself for the rest of the semester? Disgusting and shameful.” You said, facetiously.

“Leave you?” He scrunched his eyebrows together. “I’d never. I’m too far gone now.”

His tone was quieter: anxious and apprehensive; his hands played with the charms laid upon his collarbones. There was an obvious shift as soon as you noticed Brian’s adams apple bobbing, his hand hovering over your own as he leaned forward, his breath warm and minty, ghosting over your lips, taunting you. You admired the faint freckling of his aquiline nose, pointed and angular and beautifully masculine. His plump bottom lip, protruding and so fucking kissable.

“Too far gone? What is that supposed to mean?” You scooted forward, running your thumb over his necklace. Brian stiffened, savoring the rarity that was having your hands on his body, no matter how indirectly, no matter that it meant nothing--seemingly.

“You’re always going to be a part of my life--I hope.” His eyes flitted upwards, watching your reaction. Your lips parted as you rested an arm over his shoulder, running your fingers down the expanse of the nape of his neck. He sighed contentedly, his hand finding your knee, tracing arbitrary shapes upon the bump, covered by your jeans.

“I could say the same.” You wanted to say more--so much more--but you didn’t know what this was, where this was going. You didn’t know what was too much, what he wanted to hear, what would hurt him or lead him on. It didn’t take long for you to label what you felt for Brian--your supposed “friend”--as love. Because it was truly impossible to be around him--his stupid grins and corny jokes and wild intelligence and everything about him--without wanting to see and hear and talk to him forever and ever. You had spent weeks on end together, sleeping with a paper-thin wall between you, but one that felt thick and impervious and massively giant--a barrier between you that was physical and tangible. But you’d both felt an emotional barrier separating the both of you for months. How Brian had begun to stay over less frequently although you knew Brian was playing more gigs. But you didn’t attend all of them like you used to, because seeing Brian onstage and in his element and completely himself--you couldn’t help but become more enamored by him with each passing lick of his guitar. And seeing the gaggle of groupies try and take him home was making you unyieldingly jealous.

“I lo--” Brian began to speak, but you barely heard him over the desperate pounding of your heart, and a younger peer batting her eyes at Brian, asking him if he was using the chair next to him.

The tension was arresting, a rubber band hooked over your finger and his own, stretched to the brink of snapping--and it would surely hurt one of you--but then, maybe it wouldn’t. You hoped it wouldn’t.

April 1973

Brian sat, hunched over a rather thick packet of papers full of graphics, pictures and equations for velocity and all sorts of things he knew he should have memorized by now--but his mind had no hierarchy now. He used to put school at the forefront of everything; he spent weeks revising for physics tests, convincing himself through something akin to self-torture that if he spent enough time studying and mastering he would soon learn to find passion in it. And he did have a passion for science--but it wasn’t as raw, as all-defining as his love for music. He had gradually lost interest in his studies as Queen picked up venues and fans and groupies--and now he had spent the past few weeks of the semester daydreaming. About performing, recording, growing famous. But mostly, they involved you. Performing with you in the front row, recording songs about you, coming home to you after a long and strenuous tour. It was all he thought about--dreams. Mere possibilities that you and him could be together--but just maybe. Just possibly.

He was wearing a pinstripe suit, one that elongated his body, his legs specifically. Silver necklaces hung loosely from his deeply tanned neck as he leaned forward, the eraser of his dull pencil salty against his lips. His hair was messy from hours of touching and playing with the tendrils of curls falling over his face. He had a photoshoot--the first real Queen photoshoot--right after his physics exam, and Roger convinced him to wear the suit to class. And while he admitted to becoming more daring with his attire as you grew his once minimal confidence, wearing a full on striped suit to an exam felt excessive.

“Well first of all,” Roger spooned some cereal into his mouth, cringing at its staleness he had hoped the milk would have subdued. “You’re gonna be late if you’re not dressed for it during the exam. So you have to wear it anyway. Might as well have fun with it!”

“I don’t--” Brian began.

“But! Also,” Freddie widened his eyes, sipping some chamomile tea, supposedly to calm his nerves. “We three were talking… and it’s time.” He paused dramatically, and then continued, sensing Brian’s uneasiness. “--To tell Y/N how you feel.”

“You still haven’t told her about the tour, have you?” Roger almost scolded him, and brian shook his head timidly.

“No. But I haven’t seen her much lately. We’re both so busy--with exams.” Brian explained.

“You always study for exams together though.” Deaky said. Of course, Brian had dwelled over the fact that he and you hadn’t really hung out or studied or had a sleepover in weeks on end. Your calls had gotten briefer, confessions simmering at the tip of your tongues. Opening your mouths would only release everything you both were thinking, and it just never felt like the right time.

“I know.”

So sitting, squished uncomfortably into his tiny desk in the back corner of the lecture hall, Brian gave only half an attempt for the last few questions, bubbling in the first answers that seemed plausible--not that he had the slightest clue. He had decided--in the minute elapsed between finishing the test and finally turning it in--that today was the day he was going to tell you the feelings he had been suppressing since the leaves were crisp and shades of browned ochres were all that Brian’s sweet eyes could see.

Brian didn’t pay much attention during the photoshoot; he just tilted his head when the photographers said so, lifting his chin and trying his hardest not to blink. All he could imagine while he posed and tilted for the allotted two hours was your reaction; would you laugh or cry? Would you feel the same way? Or would you say you hadn’t talked to him because you were endlessly tired of boring old Brian May? Had you fallen in love with another guy? Was that why you had invited him over less and less as winter morphed into spring?

He thought and dwelled ceaselessly as he buzzed up to your flat, holding two blood red roses behind his back, careful to not prick his fingertips with the hidden thorns. It felt like a metaphor for your and his relationship--walking on eggshells around each other until you both were at the edge, just trying to avoid the pain of rejection. But Brian needed to know; the lust for love had, for once, surpassed the worry of you not loving him back.

“Who is it?” You raced to your intercom, confused.

“Me.” Brian replied. “Brian. I need to talk to you.” He ran his fingers over the glossy stems of the roses as you buzzed him up.

You heart felt choked in your throat, your nervous system overly-aroused as your fingers trembled, opening the door quicker than you ever had before. Brian stood abashedly at the door, his long fingers choked around two lone roses. You had never seen him look so handsome before; his hair was frizzy and his curls uneven; he was wearing a pinstriped suit you had only seen buried in the depths of his closet once before. His adams apple bobbed anxiously as he extended his arms, offering you the wilting flowers. His lips parted, a warm peach tone, as you took them.

“I’ve missed you.” He admitted, stepping into your flat. He loosened his tie, wiggling the uneven knot he had spent twenty minutes tying that morning. “Where have you been?”

“Here.” You answered. “Always here.”

You were wearing an oversized t-shirt and some fleece pajama bottoms, your hair unwashed and even more untamed. You yawned into your hand and led Brian to the couch, almost feeling grand relief at finally having him back there, where you thought he belonged, with you. Brian couldn’t believe how blind he was to ever believe he wasn’t in love with you; seeing you like this--natural--was all the confirmation he needed to know he was doing the right thing.

“Come here.” You sat up on your knees, and then knelt behind him, where he sat on the couch. “What’s bothering you?” You pressed your thumbs into the aching muscles of his shoulders, loving how soft and hot his skin was. His head rolled back and he groaned, just loud enough that you could perceive it and he could be embarrassed by it.

But, he didn’t mention it. “I--” His leg started to bounce up and down and he didn’t feel control over his mind--and definitely not over his body. This was the time. This was right. “I love you.”

You stopped kneading his shoulders between your fingers, slinging your arms over his shoulders as you sat on your feet. “You--what?” You heard him--how could you not--but you wanted to hear it again, wanted to know he felt it enough to admit it twice.

“I’m in love with you. I want you.” He whispered it this time, less confident. But you tilted his head to the side, your fingertips resting against the jaw you had so often wanted to pepper with sweet kisses until he drowned in them.

“God, I feel the same way.” You stroked the thumb of your other hand over his cheekbone, admiring the structure of his face, so angelic, so perfect. “You’re so perfect.” You said it aloud this time, touching the curve of his lip. “Perfect for me. I love you too.” You pulled his face forward, molding your lips with his, sighing into the kiss, which was searing and fueled by months of restless pining and lust. His lips parted and he moaned; it was the sweetest sound you had ever heard--innocent and purely Brian. You slipped your tongue into his mouth easily, massaging his as your hands tangled into his hair, yanking at the roots softly. His arms snaked around your waist carefully, pulling you into his lap fluidly.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” He whimpered against your lips as you ran your fingers over his scalp, reveling in his desperate cries. “I need you.” He rocked his hips slowly as you grabbed his face a second time, running your tongue over his bottom lip as his hands fell over the curve of your ass, squeezing just enough for you to slip a moan into his heavy, escaped breath.

“I want to make you feel good, Brian.” You tilted his head back, looking at him through your lashes as you pressed open-mouthed kisses to the column of his throat, suckling on his pulse point as you realized how he writhed beneath you when you did. You were deliberate, dragging your teeth smoothly along his protruding collarbones where his necklaces laid, sucking marks into the tanned skin and moving inwards with softer kisses, until you reached where his collarbones met.

“God, it feels so good--” He whined, his hips rocking forward, enough for you to feel his hardening cock against your core. “I want more.” He pushed down on your shoulders so you were flush against his cock, rocking back and forth as you kissed down his sternum, pulling at his tie to loosen it.

“You want more?” You teased, pulling him forward by the silk around his neck. You captured his lips in another kiss, one that was more loving but impossibly desperate and longing.

He nodded as you pulled the buttons to the shirt beneath his suit jacket, unfastening them teasingly to reveal his chest, splotched with a crimson blush. You ran your hands over the ridged, prominent bones in his chest, over his ribs and his toned stomach, down to the dark patch of hair that led you straight to the button of his trousers. His cock was incredibly prominent--long and hard--against the taut fabric, and you ran your palm over it, watching his mouth fall open in disbelief at having you finally, finally touching him.

“Lie down.” You commanded, watching him hurry to oblige. He was too tall to fit his legs onto the couch, so his feet hung off, his legs spread as wide as possible on the narrow width as you knelt between them, falling forward to kiss his sternum, licking down the valleys and crevices of his chest and pressing hot kisses along the skin, before you finally reached the waistband of his pants, your breath fanning over his begging cock.

“Oh god--I’ve never--You don’t have to.” He gasped as you palmed him more; he felt pulses of precum oozing from him, wet over his pants.

“You’ve never been sucked off?” You questioned, popping open the button. Your fingers pulled his zipper down quickly. “Can I be your first? I want to. I want your cock in my mouth.” You assured him.

“Fuck--yes--only if you want.” He nodded, letting out a heavy sigh as you released his aching cock from his briefs.

Your eyes widened as you held him in your hand; he was very well endowed--thick and long and throbbing with veins along the shaft. “Jesus, Brian.” You licked your palm--both of them--and started to stroke him with both of your hands, running your fingers along the veins of his underside until you reached the tip, his hips bucking forward as you touched his most sensitive area. “You’re so big.” You scooted back on your knees, resting between his legs as your mouth ghosted over him.

“Wh--what?” He was too high on the sensation--on the anticipation-- to understand what you were saying.

“Your cock is big, Brian. Fuck.” You watched him intently as you spit over the tip, watching it pool at his slit and then dribble down the sides. Brian had never felt like this--so loved and wanted--in his entire life. And feeling your spit that was mixed with his own spilling down his shaft was making him keen for more.

“God--Fuck.” He rested on his wobbly elbows, his stomach tensing as you pressed a kiss to his tip, your hands jerking him off lazily as you watched his eyes flutter shut.

“No, Brian. I wanna see you. Watch me make you feel good.” You directed, finally sucking on his tip, hollowing your cheeks to give him suction.

“Fuuuck.” He moaned loudly, his eyes hooded and lips bitten as he watched you suck on his cock, your tongue massaging a sensitive patch of skin on the underside of his head. His fists were clasped at his sides, his nails digging into sweaty palms.

“Baby, guide my head. Let me show you how much I love you.” You licked a thick stripe up his shaft and smirked as you watched him shudder in pleasure, before your lips began to wrap around his thick cock once again, bobbing your head up and down. His fingers threaded in your hair and pushed some tendrils away from your face, intent on watching you leftover mascara stream down your face. He whimpered and writhed beneath you, his hips thrusting into your mouth lazily as spit and precum spilled from your mouth.

“Holy shit--Fuck.” He gasped, watching the mess you were making on his cock. You were humming around him as you swirled and flicked your tongue over the tip, tasting the salty precum oozing from him. You took him as much as you possibly could down your throat, your eyes averted upwards to watch him as you gagged on his dick just slightly. His head fell back as his tip hit the back of your throat and he let out the deepest, most pornographic moan you never thought you’d hear from him. You pulled off of him, your mouth tight around him, watching strings of your spit break as you let his cock out of your mouth with a satisfying pop. Brian’s breaths were labored and heavy as you stroked his cock slowly, lubing it up with your spit.

“You dirty boy.” You spit more into your hand and massaged it into the velvety skin of his dick. “You like it sloppy, don’t you? Who would’ve thought?” You teased, moving down to suck on his tip more, your hands still jerking him off, your grip tight.

He nodded, pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail. “Fuck--I love your mouth on my cock.”

You’d never heard him say anything suggestive, so hearing him say something so vulgar--so hot--made more wetness pool in your panties. You clasped a hand on his thigh as he began to fuck into your mouth slowly, one of his hands falling from your hair and over your hand on his leg. You dragged your tongue up his cock and rubbed his tip against your lips, watching his lips part and breathy moans escape as you did so. “So, so handsome.” You praised. “God, you’re perfect.”

He whined, so desperate that he pushed your head down just slightly--not that he didn’t feel bad about it. “Fuck, I’m so-sorry.” He gasped as your tongue swirled around him, warm and wet. “I didn’t mean to push--”

“I love you Brian--but shut up.” You continued your ministrations on his eager cock, moaning and humming around him, watching his pupils dilate and his eyes roll back as you licked and sucked his most sensitive areas, pulling him into a haze of pure euphoria.

“Oh--God. I love you so much. Fuck-I’m gonna cum..” He grabbed your hair desperately and tensed his stomach, trying to fend off his orgasm. “No--no. I wanna--I wanna be inside you. Can I please--”

You took him from your mouth and pulled him into a kiss, hot and unrelenting. This time, Brian took control, sitting up and pulling you into him so you straddled him, his lips tracing down your neck and over your collarbones--just like you did to him. He pushed your hair behind your shoulders and pressed passion-fueled kisses to your throat and upon your shoulders, thumbing the hem of your t-shirt.

“Please, do whatever you want to me--” You interrupted him before he could even answer, pulling his face into yours as he lifted your shirt over your body, wrapping his arm around your waist to flip you over so he hovered on top of you.

“Oh my--God.” He admired your breasts, groping and massaging them in his hands before he kissed the sensitive skin, running his tongue over the marks he made before it swirled around your nipple, making your back arch.

“Fuck--” You tangled your hands in his hair and pushed his mouth closer to your body, gasping as his fingers pulled the drawstring of your pants downwards, before he yanked them down, pushing your underwear aside.

His fingers rubbed gently around your entrance, his thumb stroking your aching clit as he felt your wetness with the pads of his fingertips. “So pretty. I’m gonna stretch you out with my fingers, okay?” He waited for your approval and you gave it to him, in the form of a soft nod. He sucked his middle finger into his mouth, despite how incredibly wet you were for him already. His tongue swirled around the digit and you whimpered, writhing on the couch as he delved it into your pussy, hooking it to rub against your sensitive walls.

You gripped onto his wrist as he pumped his finger and and out of your hole, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “More, Brian. Fuck I want another one.” You urged, and he rubbed your clit in soft circles, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours as he pushed his ring finger into you as well, moving them in unison, moderately fast, but slow enough so you felt yourself on the cusp of an orgasm.

“So tight, fuck you think you can take my cock?” He nibbled at your earlobe and groaned into your ear as your walls clenched at his words, so straightforward, so unlike the sweet Brian you had known before, the one who was shy about leaving his underwear at your flat, the one who made you breakfast and blushed when his hand brushed against yours. You ran your hands down his back which was still covered by his button-up, which was halfway hung off his shoulders. Hickies covered the soft skin of his collarbones and extended over his neck; his hair tickled your own neck as he kissed you deeply and forcefully. His fingers pushed deeper inside of you and you pushed his shirt off of his shoulders, dragging your nails down his back as he curled his fingers again and again.

“Give it to me, Brian. Fuck--I need you inside me.” You had never felt more needy in your life; you had been starved of a touch this passionate and lustful in your life. You’d never felt a love this profound--one that was all-consuming, the licking tendrils of a fire engulfing your body into a flaming abyss you couldn’t seem to get out of, even if you tried. But you didn’t want out; you wanted more. He quickly lined himself up with your entrance, running his tip along your pussy, from your throbbing clit to your entrance and back up again, until you were hanging onto his neck, your nails scratching down as your legs shook.

“Brian--” You arched into his touch, how his fingers danced over your stomach and over your breasts, his lips attached to your jaw so his moans tickled against the shell of your ear. He rocked himself against your bare pussy, wanton moans escaping his bruised lips as he felt himself throbbing, every ridge of him being caressed by your sensitive core. He hitched your legs over his waist, one of his arms extended, straight next to your head as he pushed his tip into you, the veins in his arm pulsing in tune with his racing heartbeat. You pulled at the curls at the base of his neck and groaned at the dull burning inside of you; he was so thick.

“Are you okay, baby? God, you’re a fucking angel.” He rested on his elbows, still inside of you.

“It--hurts.” You whined, gripping onto his shoulders desperately.

“Want me to pull out? I don’t--” He began.

“No--more. Just go slow.” You sighed and dug your nails deeper into his skin as he pushed in further. “Ohh fuck. You’re already so deep.”

Brian tilted your head so the tips of your noses were touching, colder than the rest of your bodies. He kissed the corner of your mouth and whimpered, his hips stuttering as he pushed in even further. “Fuuuck-God you’re so tight. Taking me so well, my love.” He stroked your hair and wiped a tear from your eye with his thumb.

“Fuck, Brian. Go deeper--I want you all the way.” You urged him with a small nod, his forehead sweaty against yours.

He gasped and moaned as he became sheathed inside of you completely, your walls fluttering around him tightly, without him even moving. He moaned and whined into your mouth as he began to rock his hips back, pulling out of you slightly before fucking back into you, more easily than the first time. He grunted against your neck as he left soft kisses at your sweet spot, his thumbs rubbing against your scalp as he fucked you slow and deep. “You feel so good--fuck you’re so good, taking me all the way.” He cooed into your neck, one of his hands trailing down, his fingers finding your clit. He rubbed it in assured circles, bringing his head up to watch your eyes flutter shut as you moaned almost innocently at the sensation.

“You’re fucking me so good, Brian--God--I want your cum.” You pulled his lips to yours and bit softly at his bottom lip, stroking your tongue over his as he picked up speed, his fingers still rubbing at your clit as his other one stroked your cheek.

“You want me--to cum inside of you?” He asked, making sure. “Fuck--wanna cum so deep inside.” He whined and went even faster, angling his hips to fuck into you at a new angle.

“Oh--fuck. Come on, baby. I know you’re so close.” You pulled at his necklaces, rolling your head back as his thumb pressed harder against your clit. “Give me your cum--please.” Your eyebrows knitted together as the couch squeaked beneath you, your wanton moans echoing off the tiled floors.

“Angel--so fucking pretty. I’m so close-” He trailed kisses down your chest and sucked on your nipple, pressing an open-mouthed kiss over the bud as he began to lose his rhythm, his thrusts becoming erratic.

“My perfect boy--God, I love you. Love seeing you so desperate to cum.” You egged him on, and he wrapped the hand that was caressing your cheek around your throat, pressing gently against it, causing you to clench harshly around his cock.

“Oh my God--I’m,” His cock slipped out of you and he shoved it back into you, snapping his hips forward, his hand around your throat as his thumb rubbed over your bottom lip. He came in spurts, hot and deep inside you, groaning in a way that was much more primal than before. You arched into him as you came too, coating his cock with your wetness and his own cum. “Fuck--that feels so good.” He cried as your hand grasped over the one still around your throat, gripping his fingers as you came down from your high.

He pulled out easily, catching the excess cum with his hand in a manner that was anything but graceful. You rested on your elbows as he got up to wash his hands and grab a towel, which he rubbed you down with, pressing firm kisses over your hip bones as he did.

“I love you--I don’t know what to say now, other than that.” Brian giggled, a wide grin adorning his face; his hair messier than you had ever seen it, his lips red and thoroughly kissed like his neck and collarbones.

“I love you too Brian--I can’t believe we went this long without each other.” You laughed. “God, we’re clueless.”

Brian shrugged his shoulders. “I guess--good things come to those who wait?” Brian paused. “That seemed a lot more poetic in my head.”

“No need to be poetic after you just fucked me, Brian. Always the intellectual you are.” You booped his nose and pecked his lips softly, pulling your shirt off the floor as he slipped his briefs back on silently.

“I think we should be together.” Brian held a pinky out, scooping up yours with the long digit. “I don’t quite know how it’ll end up, but a pretty girl once told me to go for it.” He linked your fingers together and sealed the promise with a drowsy smile.

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i-went-to-a-cuddle-party-once · 4 years

Text

Christmas Time Is Here

Summary: Christmas time is hard for everyone. But especially if you’re a family that’s been torn apart by the terrible deeds of your patriarch.

Warnings: Angst, mentions and descriptions of panic attacks.

A/N: I have too many things I can say about this! I enjoyed writing it and I hope y’all enjoy reading it!

They sat on the couch, an old quilt covering their laps. Jackie’s cold feet wedged beneath his thigh and the couch cushion. A warm cup of apple cider in hand. A black and white Christmas movie played on the tv that he only half watched. The perfect way to spend Christmas eve. Working for the NYPD he had learned to appreciate the rare peaceful moments of life, even more so after the arrest and the looming trial of the Surgeon.

He furrowed his brow. As much as he was enjoying the moment he couldn’t help but think about him. Malcolm. Stoic, shy, lost. He had only started speaking again a few months ago. It was a good sign but he was still a very broken, traumatized, lonely kid.

“Gil,” she nudged him with her foot, “just call and invite them over.” He looked at the house around them. The half decorated Christmas tree stood twinkling in the corner, a box of decorations beside it. Some sparse garland wound around the staircase handrail. A small paper crafted Santa’s village decorated a shelf. It wasn’t much but it was home.

He groaned standing up, missing the warmth of the couch already, and took the few steps to the small kitchen where the wall phone hung. He didn’t have to look up the number having memorized it after the many calls he’d made since the arrest.

It rang and the quiet voice belonging to the solemn boy answered almost immediately.

“Hello, Gil.“

"Hey kid, how’d you know it was me,” he smiled, wondering if Malcolm had been waiting by the phone. He had told him he would call to check up on them during the holiday.

“You’re the only one that calls,” the voice was flat, without any sadness. His smile faltered and cleared his throat not quite knowing what to say.

“Could I talk to your mom,” there was silence on the other end of the phone, “Malcolm is everything okay over there, do you need me to come over?"

"No! It’s fine. She’s fine. My mother is just…she’s just busy at the moment."

Over the months Gil had learned what Jessica being busy meant. Busy drinking. Busy locking herself in her room. Busy trying to block out the pain that comes from finding out your husband is a serial killer. She wasn’t a terrible mother. Just a person terribly unprepared to deal with the trauma she was dealt.

"Since your mom is busy would you and your sister like to come over? Maybe sleepover?” He glanced at Jackie with raised brows. She smiled and nodded at him in agreement. They hadn’t talked about inviting them to spend the night but she cared for them just as much as he did, maybe more. He waited for a reply. If it wasn’t for the even tones of the breathing on the line he would have thought the boy hung up on him.

“I think that would be alright. She probably won’t notice we’re gone,” he whispered.

“I’ll swing by to pick you two up-”

“No, it’s fine,” Malcolm cut him off, “I’ll have the driver drop us off.” he shook his head, sometimes he forgot just how rich this family was.

“Alright kid, remember to pack Ainsley’s blanket, we don’t want a repeat of last time.”

…

They had spent the last hour running around preparing for their guest’s arrival. The tree was dripping in tinsel, stockings were hung, and a small pile of presents (bought in haste at the corner store) were waiting to be wrapped in their bedroom.

It was the sound of car doors closing and a little girl’s happy squeal that let them know they’d arrived. Gil had only taken a few steps out the front door when the little girl in question jumped into his arms.

"Look!” She smiled wide, an array of teeth missing from her mouth, “I lost two more since last time!” He swung her around before setting her back down.

“Oh no! We’re gonna have to put your food through the blender before you eat,” the little girl gagged and giggled, “head on inside Ainsley, I’ll help your brother with the bags."

He nodded to the driver who had already begun to unpack the bags from the trunk of the car. An unknowing eye would think the two children were moving in. Malcolm had already begun picking up two and was attempting a third.

"Did you guys have to bring your whole wardrobe?” He asked, an eyebrow raised.

“This one’s mine,” Malcolm raised one bag, “the rest is Ainsley’s.” he rolled his eyes in exasperation.

…

The first batch of sugar cookies were in the oven by the time the two of them had finished wrestling all the bags into the house, up the stairs, and into the guest rooms.

“How about some hot chocolate for these two strong men,” Jackie smiled and placed two steaming mugs in front of them as they sat at the small kitchen table. He smiled at his wife with her hair up in a bun and flour coating her outfit.

“Ainsley don’t eat that you’re going to get sick,” Malcolm chided. The girl stuffed a handful of raw cookie dough into her mouth before making a face at her brother. He made one back at her. Gil couldn’t help but smile. Hearing them bicker and tease the way all siblings were meant to made him hope that maybe they really were resilient enough to make it through this.

“How about we eat some real food before a certain someone ruins their appetite,” Jackie pulled a ham out of the oven and replaced it with another tray of cookies. Malcolm stood to help, he knew where the plates and forks were kept. He knew that Gil would ask him to at least try to take one bite of the meal. And he couldn’t deny that the food, now crowding the small table, smelled amazing.

…

Gil watched as Jackie showed the kids how to decorate the cookies. Ainsley was already on her seventh, happily pouring sprinkles on. He made a mental note to make sure that wasn’t one they would leave out for Santa or Santa would be needing a root canal. Malcolm, on the other hand, was still on his first. He would start, carefully squeezing the icing on before scraping it off with a knife and start the whole process over again.

“Malcolm?” the little girl’s voice sounded worried. The knife in the boy’s hand shook.

“You know you’re not gonna get graded on this kid, it’s just for fun” he rested his hand on Malcolm’s shoulder and the boy jumped, dropping the knife and cookie to the floor. He looked up at Gil with a thousand-mile stare. His body began to shake. Gil dropped to his knees.

“Hey Malcolm, you need to take some deep breaths for me okay. You gotta breath kid. It’s okay,” he pulled Malcolm into his arms. He was so thin, so small that he easily picked him up out of the chair and quickly carried him out of the room, away from the music and twinkling lights. He heard Jackie comforting a crying Ainsley.

“Shh, it’s okay Ains, Gil’ll take care of him. Let’s finish these cookies up for Santa”

…

Malcolm started to breathe again in ragged gasps when they were halfway up the stairs. Gil sat on his bed still cradling him in his arms.

“That’s it, deep breaths. Deep breaths. It’s alright Malcolm, you’re safe. I’m here. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. It’s okay to cry.” The boy clung to his shirt, loud sobs muffled against his chest. He held him tight against him for what felt like an hour, only releasing him when he felt Malcolm push against him. The boy’s eyes were puffy and red, his usually perfect hair mussed.

“I’m sorry I ruined Christmas eve,” he whispered, a few tears escaping his eyes. Gil put his hands on the boy’s shoulders and squeezed.

“You didn’t ruin anything. You can only listen, Rudolf, the Red nose reindeer so many times. And you probably saved me from getting sick from eating all those cookies,” Malcolm laughed, wiping his face with his sleeve. “Let’s get you cleaned up and go see what they’re up to downstairs.”

…

They came downstairs to see Ainsley snuggled against Jackie on the couch watching an old claymation movie. The girl’s eyes were drooping.

“Alright miss, I think it’s time we get you to bed. You don’t want to be here when Santa gets here,” Jackie stood from the couch, stretching.

“ ’m not sleepy,” the girl rubbed her eyes and sat up suddenly,“ I can’t go to bed yet, Malcolm you have to read me the book!” She jumped from the couch ran as fast as her legs would take her up the stairs.

“I’m not reading the stupid book, we went over this earlier,” the boy yelled up to her.

“You have to! Dad’s not here and you promised Malcolm, you promised!"

"That’s not what I meant,” he looked up at Gil, sighing, “I promised her that Christmas would be just as fun this year… I wasn’t doing a very good job at it before you called if we’re going to be honest.”

“Do you want me to read it for you,” Gil questioned, he placed his hand on Malcolm’s shoulder and squeezed, “it’s okay to not be okay with everything. You don’t have to push yourself so hard.”

Ainsley bounded into the room and thrust the book into Malcolm’s hands. The boy looked at his sister, for a moment, jealous of the childlike glee she felt that he never would again. That wasn’t her fault though and he knew it was wrong to punish her for it.

“Fine,” he took ridiculous heavy steps to the couch and fake groaned when the girl squealed and climbed into his lap. He opened the book and started to read.

…

She was fast asleep in the boy’s arms before he finished the story but he finished it still. Gil picked her up and carefully carried her to bed, tucking her in. When he came back to the living room he found Jackie washing dishes and Malcolm sitting at the table working on a puzzle.

“I’m not really tired yet is it okay if I finish this puzzle first,” Gil didn’t think he had ever seen a ten-year-old that looked more tired than he did and it was a 500 piece puzzle that he had only just started but he was accustomed to the boys strange sleeping habits.

“It’s fine, just let us know when you’re ready to lay down so we can help you set up,” he smiled, “I have to go upstairs and help Santa wrap some presents anyway”. Malcolm rolled his eyes at him before returning to the puzzle.

…

Malcolm yawned. It was his least favorite time of the day. Time for bed. Saying it was time for sleep would be a lie since he did so little of it. He always hoped that sleeping somewhere else, like at Gil’s, would make it easier but it didn’t. He turned the lights off in the kitchen and climbed the steps, changed into his pajamas, and knocked gently on the master bedroom. The door cracked open and Gil’s head popped out.

“Ready for bed?” he nodded at him, feeling the dread and jittery feeling that filled his body every night. They got to the room and Malcolm opened his suitcase, removing the straps from the bag.

“My mother had these new ones made for me, they’re supposed to be stronger. They go under the mattress like this,” he stuffed one end under the mattress and dug around for it on the other side of the bed, “and go around me like this at my ankles, hips, and shoulders.” Gil nodded and helped him place the other straps. He climbed into the bed while he was carefully buckled in. He wiggled to see if he could get loose too easily. When he was happy with the restriction Gil covered him with a thick, heavy blanket. He opened his mouth so the man could give him his mouth guard and the words he didn’t know were hiding there came tumbling out.

“Could you stay here with me? Just for a while,” he hated how pathetic, how needy he sounded but he knew Gil would tell him he was neither of those.

“Of course I’ll be here as long as you need me,” he put the mouth guard into the boy’s mouth and took a seat in the recliner next to the bed. He would never tell Malcolm that it was placed there in the room for that purpose.

…

Ainsley was the first to wake up, shrieking with joy about how Santa had come. The rest of the house bleary-eyed and yawning came down the stairs.

They emptied their stockings first, candy, an orange, and a disposable camera for both of them. Ainsley already on her fifth chocolate before Gil started to pass out the gifts. He knew their gifts wouldn’t be as extravagant as the ones they would get at home but you weren’t able to tell from the looks on their faces.

Ainsley was in a frenzy, moving from one toy to another like she’d never owned one in her life. Malcolm was already deeply engrossed in a book about law and police procedure Gil had gifted him from his own collection.

He started to get up when Malcolm suddenly closed his book.

“I almost forgot, we brought gifts” he ran from the room and came back a few moments later with one of their many suitcases. “Ainsley said I was taking too long so I didn’t have time to buy wrapping paper.” He started to dig through the bag. He pulled out a small jewelry box and a silky scarf and handed them to Jackie.

“I picked the scarf and Malcolm picked the earrings!” The boy rolled his eyes.

“You’re supposed to let her open it first before shouting it to the world Ains."

Jackie opened the box, the earrings were diamonds, lots of diamond. They were hands down the most expensive gift she’d ever received.

"I didn’t know if you’d like them. I heard you tell Gil you’d lost your favorite earrings a few weeks ago so I thought that maybe they would make a good replacement,” he was biting his lip and looking at her nervously. She pulled him into a tight hug and kissed the top of his head.

“They’re gorgeous Malcolm, thank you.” He smiled wider than Gil had ever seen him before. The boy practically bounced back to the bag and began rustling around it for a moment.

“And these are for you,” He pulled out an impressive-looking bottle of bourbon, a letter, and another scarf.

“She’s not exactly the most creative gift giver,” he gestured to his sister.

“How did you,” he gently shook the bourbon, an inquisitive eyebrow raised.

“I, uh, had to get the driver to buy it for me.” Gil laughed and set the bottle down and took Malcolm and a bouncing Ainsley into his arms for a hug.

Not long after a knock came at the door. Jessica, along with her attractive, stoic driver came inside carrying armfuls of gifts and food.

After another flurry of gift opening, while Malcolm and Ainsley were planted in front of the tv playing video games, Jessica sat at the table with the other adults drinking a cup of coffee.

“Thank you,” she whispered. She dabbed her watering eyes that threatened to ruin her perfect makeup. “I just- I just couldn’t do it. And I know they deserve better than me-” she stopped and Jackie took her hand in her own.

“It’s okay Jess. We’re in this together.” She smiled and squeezed Jessica’s hand.

“Thank you,” was all she could reply.

…

The day was coming to an end. It had been filled with fun and laughter, with snowball fights and music. Malcolm had retreated to the guest room a few times when the sound and excitement got too much for him.

They said their goodbyes. Ainsley trying desperately to convince her mother that they all could spend the night there together and only gave up when Malcolm promised to play princesses with her when they got home. Jessica had insisted on sending the cleaners to clean up the mess they left and they insisted that it was fine, they’d clean it up themselves.

He almost threw the letter out with the trash by accident. He had completely forgotten about it, the events of the day keeping him busy. His heart felt full. It had been a tough year, nowhere near as tough as the one the Jessica and the kids were having but still hard nonetheless. He was grateful for days like today that made all the heartache worth it.

He sat on the couch, Jackie sitting beside him sipping a steaming cup.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a letter Malcolm gave me, I haven’t read it yet,” he unfolded the letter. The carefully written words were almost too small to read. Definitely Malcolm’s handwriting. His throat felt tight and his heart- his heart ached in a way it hadn’t since his mother passed away. He folded the letter, setting it to the side, and cried.

…

Many Years Later

He was home for the holidays for the first time since he joined the FBI. It had been a strained evening of forced politeness. It was nearing midnight and he lay in his bed, wide awake when he heard a soft knock on his door.

“Come in,” he called out sitting up. Ainsley poked her head in, a nervous smile on her face.

“Hey, I knew you’d still be up,” she took a tentative step in like she was afraid to disturb anything. “You know mom doesn’t let me in here at all when you’re gone.”

“Sounds right,” he waited for her to say something, “so is there a reason you’re sneaking around the house?"

"I just wanted to invite you. I’m, uh, going to go visit Gil and Jackie tomorrow. I don’t know if he’s told you but she hasn’t been feeling well lately and I just thought it might be nice if we both came."

"Yeah, okay. We can do that,” he studied her face, there was something else, he laughed realizing what it was, “you have the book don’t you?” She pulled the old, worn book from behind her back.

“I mean,” she stumbled over her words, “it’s just that. Well. I know we’re not kids anymore but it’s tradition and you haven’t been here the last few years so I thought that maybe you could?” She held the book out to him.

He took it and ran his hands over the worn cover. He sat up and patted the bed beside him. Her face broke into a huge smile and she jumped into bed with him, pulling the blanket around her.

“Will you do the voices?” She asked excitedly. He laughed and cleared his throat.

“Sure Ainsley,” he opened the book and began to read.

…

tags: @ihavejarlsberg

#prodigal son #prodigal son fic #prodigal son fandom #prodigal son fluff #prodigal son fox #malcolm bright #gil arroyo #ainsley whitly #jessica whitly #jackie arroyo #fic #fan fic #sometimes I write things

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angelsfalling16 · 5 years

Text

Sugar, We’re Goin’ Down

Rating: E

Summary: Simon keeps running into Baz at various bars, and even though he knows that there is no way that it will end well, he can't keep his hands off of him.

Technically, this a prequel to (Wishing to be) The Friction in Your Jeans but it can probably be read alone if you want.

Read it on ao3

Inspired by the song “Sugar We’re Goin’ Down” by Fall Out Boy

Word Count: 4521

***

The first time that it happened, Simon was a little drunk, but not drunk enough to be able to blame his choices on the alcohol. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he’s not sure that he would have done anything different had he been completely sober.

He hadn’t seen Baz in years and running into him that night came as a shock, especially when he saw what Baz was wearing.

He’d never seen Baz outside of their school uniforms, and they were never the type of friends who hung out outside of class. Mainly because they weren’t friends at all. They could barely sit in the same room without getting into an argument with each other.

That night, as he heard a familiar voice behind him, he couldn’t believe his eyes when he found none other than Baz Pitch standing there, wearing tightly-clad, artfully ripped black trousers along with a white button up that was sheer enough to almost be see through, the sleeves rolled up to just above his elbows.

If that weren’t enough to have Simon’s mouth going suddenly dry, Baz’s eyes were also rimmed in a dark eyeliner, bringing out the silver color of his eyes, even in the dim lighting, and there was a tattoo peeking out from beneath his shirt sleeve.

It was another moment before Baz saw him standing there, and Simon was happy to see how surprised he was to see him there, too, his eyes dragging slowly down Simon’s body before coming back up to meet his eyes.

“Simon,” he breathed, eyes going wide with surprise before he managed to school his features.

“Baz,” Simon replied with a nod, not sure what else to say. What do you say to the guy you basically hated and who you may or may not have developed a crush on at one point?

“You here alone?” Baz asked, leaning against the bar beside him, and Simon struggled to keep his eyes on Baz’s face.

“I was here with a couple of friends, but they just left. I was actually on my way out.”

“That’s too bad because I just got here.” He shrugged, but there was this look in his eyes that made Simon begin to wonder if maybe he really was disappointed. “Well, it was nice seeing you.”

“Wait,” Simon said as Baz turned away, resisting the urge to reach out and grab his arm. “Would you like to go somewhere more quiet and talk for a moment?”

He didn’t really want to talk, and even though he once thought that he’d be happy if he never saw Baz again after they finished school, he suddenly didn’t want him to go.

“Sure,” Baz said, a little warily, but a smirk curved his lips.

Simon turned, not bothering to check that Baz was following him, and led him to the back of the club where the bathrooms were.

He pushed on the door and was relieved to find that there was no one else inside.

“I really hope you didn’t bring me in here just to talk, Snow,” Baz said quietly, slipping right back into calling Simon by his last name, just like when they were in school together.

“You called me Simon before.”

“No, I didn’t.”

We just stood there quietly after that, intensely gazing at each other, and before Simon knew what was happening, Baz had pushed him back against the door, angling his face down until their lips were just a breath apart.

Simon froze, and his eyes were drawn to Baz’s mouth, wanting to lean forward and kiss him, but Baz’s hands were still on his hips, holding him in place.

“What did you want to talk about?” Baz murmured.

“Nothing.” Simon swallowed hard as Baz moved closer to him.

“No?”

Simon shook his head just slightly. “I just didn’t want you to go. Fuck, you look gorgeous in these jeans.”

Simon cursed himself silently for letting the words slip out, but with how close Baz was, he couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t help but reach out to touch either, his hands landing on Baz’s hips, fingers slipping into the belt loops to pull him closer until their bodies were pressed up against each other.

Baz’s nosed bumped into his, and he let it rest there so that their breaths mixed. If either of them moved just a bit, their lips would meet, and Simon’s heart began to race at the thought.

That moment felt like a dream as they both stilled, waiting to see who would make the next move. Simon was afraid that anything that he might do would be the wrong thing, and he didn’t want to mess this up, especially if it was his only chance to be like this with Baz.

Their breathing sounded harsh in the quiet of the room as their eyes met, and Simon could feel his heart beating in his chest. He used to dream about this, having Baz this close to him. He never thought it would actually happy, and he never could have dreamt up the way that Baz was looking at him.

Simon was wondering whether Baz was actually going to kiss him when Baz dropped to his knees and began to undo the button of Simon’s trousers.

“W-What are you doing?” Simon gasped.

“What does it look like?” Baz asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“What if someone tries to get in?”

“Lock the door, and we’ll be fine.”

Simon did as he said, and his head thumped back against the door as Baz’s hand made contact with his cock, pulling it out and moving his hand slowly from root to tip.

Simon sighed, his eyes falling shut as Baz’s lips brushed over the tip of his cock, teasing.

Simon brought one hand up to loosely tangle in Baz’s hair, and Baz’s lips moved down, sucking and licking at the head of his cock.

The slow pace was tortuous, but Simon couldn’t complain because it felt wonderful.

Baz’s mouth was perfectly sinful as it began to move over his cock, drawing little moans from him that he struggled to hold back.

Baz brought one hand up to fondle Simon’s balls, rolling them gently and adding a light pressure occasionally. Then, his hand started moving farther back, and Simon gasped as he felt one of Baz’s fingers brush over his hole.

When Baz’s finger added pressure, Simon came hard, much sooner than expected and too quickly to warn Baz. He tried to bite back the moan that escaped him but failed miserably.

Baz gagged but managed to swallow almost all of Simon’s come.

“Sorry,” Simon murmured as he slumped against the wall, exhausted.

Baz shook his head, standing up, knees sore from the unforgiving tile of the bathroom floor. “No need to apologize.”

It took another moment for Simon to recover, but then he was reaching out to touch Baz.

“Here, let me help you with that,” Simon whispered against Baz’s ear as his hand joined Baz’s on his cock that he had apparently freed while Simon was distracted.

Simon pushed Baz’s tight jeans farther down with his free hand and started to explore the exposed skin of his thighs and arse as their hands moved in tandem over Baz’s cock, quickly bringing him to climax.

Baz moaned low in Simon’s ear as he climaxed, his body shaking against Simon’s, and Simon stroked him through it, only letting go when Baz pulled back.

As his eyes trailed over Baz’s mussed, yet still beautiful, appearance, Simon yearned to kiss him, and he wasn’t sure where that need was coming from or why it was so strong.

He felt happy and sated, but for some reason, he still wanted more.

“I should go,” Baz said, suddenly unable to meet Simon’s eyes.

“Shouldn’t we talk about this?” Simon asked, not because he really wanted to but because he didn’t want Baz to leave yet.

Baz simply shook his head as he buttoned his jeans then Simon’s, something that felt oddly intimate and left sparks on Simon’s skin.

“It’s just a bit of fun between old school rivals.”

Simon wanted to argue that it was more than just “a bit” of fun, but then Baz was turning away from him to wash his hands. Simon was still leaning against the door when Baz turned back around, and as he moved closer and closer, Simon gasp quietly thinking - wishing - that he was about to kiss him, but then, Baz reached around Simon to unlock the door, barely even looking at him.

Simon quickly stepped out of his way, and without another word, Baz disappeared back out into the crowd, and Simon was left feeling both confused and sated, wondering what the hell just happened.

***

The next time they met, Baz was a little more casually dressed in a plain black t-shirt that dips slightly to reveal the smooth expanse of his olive skin. His jeans were looser that time, but barely so, and there was no trace of any makeup. Even so, he looked just as beautiful as the last time.

Simon and Baz actually managed to make it out of the bar and back to Simon’s place before clothes started to come off.

All of their clothes were gone by the time they settled on top of Simon’s bed together, and Simon had begun to suck on the side of Baz’s neck when he was suddenly being pushed gently away. He moved so that his face was just above Baz’s so that he could see his expression, looking at him quizzically.

“I don’t want you to give me any hickeys.”

“Oh.”

“I just don’t want anyone to see and start asking questions.” He looked away as he said it, which was good for Simon because it gave him a chance to hide his disappointment

“Okay,” Simon said, trying not to sound disappointed and failing. Before Baz could comment on it, though, Simon moved down his body and began sucking on his cock.

The weight of Baz’s cock on his tongue made Simon forget about everything else, and Simon let his hands roam over Baz’s body as he sucked him, rubbing his thighs then up his chest, where he pinched and tugged on his nipples

Baz’s body tensed beneath him, and Simon was sure that Baz was about to come when he pushed Simon off of him for the second time that night.

Before Simon could ask what was wrong, Baz had flipped them so that he was hovering over Simon, then slowly, he ground his cock down against Simon’s.

Simon moaned loudly at the unexpectedness of it.

Baz set up a steady pace, wrapping his hand around both of their cocks, pulling them together. Simon reached down to help, but Baz used his free hand to push his hand away, bringing their hands above Simon’s head and intertwining their fingers.

The slick of Baz’s cock from having Simon’s mouth around it just moments before eased the slide of their cocks together.

Simon gasped as Baz sped up his hand on their cocks, and it wasn’t long before he was coming between them, Baz coming soon after.

Baz let go of Simon’s hand almost immediately, and Simon bit back a frown at it.

They both relaxed as they came back down from the high of their orgasms, and Baz’s face came down so that their lips were mere centimeters apart, and Simon was so sure that he was about to kiss him when Baz rolled off of him, asking where the restroom was so that he could clean up.

He was gone from Simon’s flat quickly, collecting every article of clothing that had been tossed carelessly aside, and in the morning, Simon felt as though he had imagined it all. The only evidence that Baz was ever there was the used condom in the trash can and the smell of him on the bed sheets.

Once again, Simon was left alone, and he couldn’t help but think that Baz was only using him to get off and that he didn’t care that it was Simon he was with.

Simon wished that he felt that way, too, but there was something tugging at him, and he knew that he felt different about what they were doing than Baz did.

This was beginning to mean something to him, and he should probably put an end to it before it got out of hand.

***

Of course, when they ran into each other for the third time and Baz invited Simon back to his place, he couldn’t say no.

As Simon followed Baz to his flat in his own car, he was left with far too much time to think about what it was that they were doing.

Simon had never really been one for one-night stands or meaningless flings or whatever it was that you could call what he and Baz were doing, but it was like he couldn’t stay away from him for long.

As soon as he saw him in that bar that night, he could feel himself growing hard and trying to come up with a way to get Baz to go home with him.

He knew that it was a bad idea. You should never try to have meaningless sex with someone who you once had feelings for. It would only lead to disaster, but once he had a taste, it was like he couldn’t get enough.

It was like he had been drowning, and Baz pulled his head above water. Being with Baz was like the first breath of air after being deprived of it, and it was nothing like Simon had ever experienced before.

That’s why even though he knew that he should, he couldn’t put an end to this. Simon liked what they were doing too much to just give it up. He’d never felt this way with anyone else. Even his last boyfriend never made him feel as good as Baz does.

They didn’t talk as Baz led Simon inside his flat and to his bedroom, and Simon was beginning to realize how much they don’t seem to talk around each other. It was all sex between them, getting off as quickly as possible before leaving, and Simon would never admit how much he hated that.

That night, Simon took the time to slowly open Baz up, fingering him slowly and drawing Baz’s pleasure out, delighting in the way that Baz fell apart beneath him. As he gasped and moaned and begged for more, Simon memorized every sound that he made, wanting to commit it to memory for reasons he wouldn’t think about.

When he finally pushed his cock deep inside of Baz, he moaned low in his throat, resting his cheek against Baz’s for a moment while they both adjusted to the feeling.

Simon squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, taking a steady breath, before sitting up and slowly pulling out of Baz before slamming back in.

Baz’s finger dug into Simon’s back, gasping out sounds of pleasure, as Simon started out slow before steadily increasing his pace.

As Baz began to thrust his hips up to meet him, Simon brought his hand between them and began pulling on Baz’s cock in time with their movements.

Their eyes met, and Simon felt an overwhelming rush of emotions wash over him. He couldn’t put a name to what they all were, but he found himself coming inside of Baz with a loud moan.

Baz came a few seconds later, and they collapsed on the bed next to each other, breathing heavily but not saying anything.

Simon found that he had so many things that he wanted to say to Baz, but none of them felt right in that moment.

After a few minutes, Simon sat up and looked around the room, looking for his clothes.

He didn’t want to leave, but reluctantly, he slid out of Baz’s bed, collecting his clothes from the floor before disappearing into the bathroom to clean up and dress.

Baz was dressed when he stepped back out, and Simon wished that he could cross over to him, pull him into his arms, and kiss him, but he couldn’t because Baz didn’t want that, which was evident from the way that his expression held nothing as he looked up at Simon.

It was like Baz couldn’t care less about Simon, and it was killing Simon as he realized it.

Simon said goodbye and hurried back out to his car, thinking that he shouldn’t do this again but knowing that given the chance, he definitely would.

***

The fourth time they met, Baz took charge, drawing pleasure from Simon slowly enough to drive Simon crazy with lust.

He slowly trailed his mouth over Simon’s body, kissing and biting lightly, not leaving any marks even though Simon told him that he could. Apparently, he didn’t want either of them to have proof of what they were doing. He didn’t want there to be any chance of someone finding out about them.

The realization of how ashamed Baz was to be with him hurt, but Simon was too wrapped up in the pleasure of what he was doing to think too much about it at the time.

By the time that Baz finally put his mouth where Simon wanted it, he was so close to orgasm that he was afraid that he’d come instantly.

His hands tightened in the sheets as Baz wrapped his warm mouth around the tip of his cock, sucking and licking until Simon was panting and practically begging him for more. One of Baz’s hands was wrapped loosely around the base of Simon’s cock occasionally stroking the shaft.

“Please,” Simon gasped, his hand coming up to thread his fingers through Baz’s hair.

Baz glanced up at him, his eyes hooded and filled with lust, then he surprised Simon by taking him all the way down in one go.

“Hnng,” Simon groaned, eyes rolling back.

Baz slowly pulled off, letting his teeth graze the shaft

It was unexpected and more pleasurable than Simon ever could have imagined, and it caused Simon to involuntarily thrust up into Baz’s mouth, making him gag a little before pulling off.

“I’m sorry,” Simon gasped, trying to regain control of himself.

“It’s okay,” Baz said before adding even quieter, “I liked it.”

“Fuck,” Simon breathed, barely able to contain the shiver that ran through his body. “C-can I?” Simon asked, his body shaking with the effort of keeping his hips still.

Baz’s eyes widened ever so slightly, but he nodded. “Yes,” he said before taking Simon’s cock back into his mouth.

Tightening his grip in Baz’s hair, Simon started out with slow, shallow thrusts, trying to be careful, but when Baz squeezed his hips, encouraging him, Simon began to thrust deeper, watching as his cock disappeared into Baz’s mouth.

Baz was beautiful, and Simon couldn’t believe that Baz trusted him enough to do this. He wanted to reach out with his free hand and trail his fingers down the side of Baz’s face, but he decided that it was best to keep his hands to himself at that moment.

“I-I’m going to come,” Simon gasped a few moments later, his body shuddering with how close to the edge he was.

Baz pulled away abruptly, and Simon was ashamed to say that he whined at the loss of Baz’s warm mouth, but then Baz was saying, “Wait. I don’t want you to come until I’m inside you,” and he couldn’t complain.

Simon readjusted his position, bending his legs and spreading them in order to give Baz access to his hole, and Baz began making quick work of opening him up while taking care to make sure that he was prepped enough, placing a kiss to the inside of Simon’s thigh as he worked.

“You’re gorgeous,” Baz whispered so quietly that Simon was pretty sure that he wasn’t supposed to hear it.

It sent shivers down his spine, and his eyes fluttered shut as he felt Baz’s fingers moving in and out of him. He hated the effect that Baz had on him. He hated how easily he fell apart when Baz touched him.

When Baz finally slid into him, Simon had been on the edge so long that he knew he wouldn’t last very long, but it felt so good and right to have Baz inside of him, filling him up.

As Baz thrust into him, Simon wanted to reach down and touch himself, but he was afraid of coming too soon, and it felt nice enough with Baz moving inside of him, hitting that spot deep within him.

Simon was right, and he didn’t last more than a couple of minutes, but Baz followed him to his climax soon after.

They were both breathing heavily as Baz slipped out of him, and Simon felt sleepy and happy as he came down from the high of his orgasm.

Baz lay beside him for a long time, and Simon wanted to ask him to stay the night but knew that it was stupid to hope that Baz would want anything more than a quick fuck.

Finally, Simon started to feel gross with his come all over his stomach, and he sat up to go get cleaned. Without a word, Baz got up and started dressing, leaving with little more than a murmured goodnight.

Again, Simon was left feeling like he wanted this so much more than Baz, and he was angry at himself for not being able to just have some fun without letting his feelings get in the way.

***

The fifth time was different. There was almost no awkwardness between them, and it seemed like their goal was more to just spend time together than to get to a bed as quickly as possible.

They danced together for a while, neither of them drinking much this time, hands roaming each other’s bodies as much as they dared in public.

Simon felt good with Baz there, and he couldn’t believe that Baz would choose to be with him when he could probably have any guy that he wanted.

Eventually, they made it back to Simon’s place, falling into bed together.

As the night progressed, it became clear that this night would be the most memorable, and Simon found himself never wanting the night to end.

It was the most sensual time, and it was the first time that they kissed.

Simon had barely managed to lock the door behind them when Baz pulled him into his arms and kissed him, their lips pressing urgently together before softening as they relaxed into the kiss.

Simon half-expected Baz to pull away immediately, but they stayed like that in Simon’s entryway for several minutes, taking the time to explore each other’s mouths for the first time. Simon was pretty sure that it was the best kiss he had ever experienced, and he wouldn’t have minded if it was all they had done that night.

When they finally did part, Simon was breathless and hard and almost certain that he was going to do something stupid before the night ended.

Simon slowly led Baz to his bed, and they fell into it together, moving slower than usual, like they wanted to draw out the night.

They moved together fluidly, easily giving each other pleasure with the things they’d learned about each other over the time that they’d spent together. This time it felt more like they were making love, rather than just trying to get off with each other, and Simon could feel himself falling for Baz more and more as the night progressed.

Baz teased Simon for a long time, holding off his orgasm until he came as soon as Baz’s hand touched his cock. It was the hardest that he could ever remember coming, and it took him a moment to pull himself together so that he could return the favor.

Using just his mouth, Simon started at Baz’s neck and began moving down his chest, stopping to play with his nipples from a moment before continuing on. He bypassed Baz’s cock, rubbing his face against his leg, where he yearned to leave little love bites on his inner thigh.

It wasn’t likely that anyone would see them if he had, but respecting Baz’s wish not to be marked, Simon settled for dragging his teeth lightly over the sensitive skin there, drawing a low moan from Baz.

Then, he began to suck Baz off, starting off slowly, sucking on the head for a while before taking more of him in, bit by bit.

Simon moved up and down, licking and sucking on Baz’s cock as he slowly increased his pace until he had Baz moaning beneath him before he finally came with a low sound that sounded a lot like Simon’s name.

Simon couldn’t help himself, and he moved back up the bed to kiss Baz breathlessly for long moments, their tongues wrapping around each other as their hands aimlessly rubbed over each other’s bodies. It felt like it might physically pain them to stop touching each other.

Simon found himself getting hard again as they kissed, and when he moved to adjust his position, he was pleased to find that Baz was getting hard, too.

Simon moved slowly against him, rubbing their cocks together as he dragged his mouth across Baz’s cheek and over to his ear, which he tugged at with his teeth.

Baz groaned and bucked up into him, creating more friction. With a low growl, Simon kissed him again, and he sped up his movements the best that he could without removing his mouth from Baz’s.

Soon, they had both come again, and when Baz got up to go clean himself in the en suite, Simon followed silently after. They cleaned up together, avoiding each other’s eyes, and there was a question sitting heavily on Simon’s tongue as he tried to get up the nerve to voice it.

Will you stay the night? He wanted to ask.

He couldn’t do it, though. He didn’t want to mess things up, so he watched as Baz got dressed, and his heart did a flip as Baz kissed him once more, softly, before leaving.

When Baz was gone, leaving Simon alone in his suddenly too-big bed, Simon realized that he was screwed. He’d fallen in over his head.

This was all just supposed to be fun. Baz kept repeating that every time they were together as one of them dressed to leave, and Simon could feel himself moving past simple fun.

He’d begun to develop feelings for his ex-rival. Those old feelings had come rushing back, and he knew that he was screwed because they were now stronger than ever.

He was falling in love with Baz, but Baz only wanted him for sex. The best thing to do would be to stop all of this, but Simon knew that he couldn’t do it.

He would keep returning to Baz for as long as Baz wanted him, even if it destroyed him.

#snowbaz #snowbaz fic #simon snow #baz pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #carry on #rainbow rowell #my writing

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keeroo92 · 5 years

Note

Hi! I love your writings so much! I saw your post of wanting some writing prompts. If you still would like some, I have one! Prompt: V and reader are set up on a blind date. Maybe Nero set them up because the 2 are so different from each other (opposites attract type thing). The entire date goes horribly wrong, but despite that, Nero ended up being right and they start falling for each other.

Ahhhh, my first prompt!!! Thank you so much, I had such a blast writing this! I’ll be working on your second one later today :3

Word count: 2,269

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Being single and living with Nero and Kyrie was such a pain. You caught them in all manner of compromising situations, from the way they stared at each other to walking in on them in the shower together. It was downright nauseating to see how lovesick they were. You’d been single for a long time, and as you complained about the living situation to Nero one day, he offered an alternative.

“I know a guy, you should meet him.”

He glanced knowingly at Kyrie but she just held up her hands in a classic gesture of “leave me out of it” and left the room. You were instantly on high alert.

“Uh… a guy? Care to be more specific?”

Nero smirked at your hesitance and you pressed a fingernail into the flesh of your palm to keep yourself from smacking the smugness right off his face.

“I’ll set it up. You free Friday?”

And thus on Friday night, you found yourself at a café downtown. You had a casual but flirty skirt on, perfect for the delayed summer heat. Kyrie had even done your hair. It was a weakness of yours, but she turned out to be a lifesaver and arranged a stylish French twist across the backside of your head.

All that work to dress up, and Nero’s “guy” was late.

By twenty minutes.

You stood in the lobby amongst a horde of patrons with the horrible orange bracelet Nero had given you so his friend would know who you were. He had blatantly refused to drop a single clue who you were meeting no matter how hard you prodded him.

You had to give Nero credit; he’d maintained his silence through an entire week. Impressive, considering how you even recruited Nico to needle him. He rarely kept any secrets from her, as her brash attitude tended to get under his skin and break his composure.

You snickered quietly, remembering how the two had bantered over dinner last night, when you heard a shy voice call your name. Your eyes glided up the figure of the man who had spoken with intense curiosity – was this “the guy”?

Oh, please let this be “the guy”…

His elegant appearance dashed every image you had pictured, none of them coming close to his poise. His converse shoes led to a pair of black jeans that fit just right under a dark button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up for the heat.

And he has tattoos…

The stranger leaned closer as he offered a single hand to shake yours, giving you a better view of his face. Raven locks framed his ethereal features and you spotted the edges of the same pattern of lines extended partially up his neck. His eyes were beyond description and you reached out to take his hand with a gracious smile.

And just like that the illusion shattered as his clammy palm grasped yours.

Well, nobody’s perfect.

“Apologies for my lateness. The hours of folly are measured by the clock, as they say.”

He released you quickly, much to your relief. He gestured toward the podium where a hostess stood, clearly struggling to keep up with the sheer volume of people in the lobby.

“It’s alright. Nice to meet you, um… Nero didn’t tell me your name.”

The man looked down and you assumed he chuckled, but with the noise of the crowd you couldn’t be sure. His eyes met yours once more in a piercing stare.

“You can call me V.”

“As in… V for Vendetta?” you asked with a dubious glance.

He stared at you blankly, clearly not comprehending your reference. You brushed it aside; it was a bit of a cult classic, anyway. The hostess waved you forward and you waited patiently as V spoke with her. He returned a moment later with an annoyed grimace, grabbing a thin jacket from the coatrack and gestured you outside before speaking.

“They lost the reservation, and the wait is over an hour.”

You sighed but maintained your cheerful mood despite the mishap. A glance around the area showed several alternate options, though they all appeared equally busy.

“Well, want to try the next block? I think there’s at least a sandwich shop.”

V nodded and waved a hand for you to lead the way. His mannerisms so far reminded you of a Victorian gentleman, and you couldn’t decide if that was a plus or not.

The night is young. Plenty of time to figure that out.

You stepped out from beneath the covered entrance to the café and paused at the lack of change in lighting. You looked at the sky and frowned at the clouds gathering overhead.

Within thirty seconds, it began to rain.

You hid under a small tree, its branches doing a piss-poor job of keeping you dry as you considered your options. A blur of motion made your eyes glace back at V to find him holding out his coat to you bashfully, his hair already damp.

Victorian gentleman is a plus. Definite plus.

You accepted his jacket with a grateful smile, threading your arms through the sleeves and pulling up the hood to discover it draped around you like a circus tent. Still, it was dry. And it smelled amazing. You took a deep breath, enjoying the hint of spiciness and masculinity in the fabric.

“Thank you,” you said, peeking out from behind the collar.

“Of course.”

The pair of you continued walking, silent as you tried to think of something to say. This was the part of first dates that you sucked at – small talk. You hated the tedious mundanity of surface conversation. Still, it was expected of you and you knew how to play the game, if nothing else.

“So how do you know Nero? He told me literally nothing about you.”

V smirked, his lips twisting in an adorable shape.

“We worked on a big job together a few months ago. I would not be exaggerating to say he helped save my life,” he responded slowly, “And you? You live with him, correct? How did you meet?”

The memory made you chuckle..

“A few summers back I was working at an ice cream store near his work and their AC kept going out. He came in at least twice a week and got a huge tub of strawberry cheesecake ice cream. Kinda evolved from there.”

V barked out a laugh, turning the corner beside you as he replied, “That sounds like Nero.”

You could see the sign for the sandwich shop ahead and took another deep whiff of V’s coat in preparation to return it.

This isn’t so bad.

Then you started sneezing.

“Bless you,” V said swiftly. He held the door to the shop open for you as you let out another sneeze.

You hurriedly removed his coat and handed it back to him as your eyes began watering. You knew what this meant.

Ugh. Definitely a potential problem.

“Do you have a cat?”

He looked at you quizzically, taking his coat as he answered in the affirmative.

“I’m allergic…”

He raised his eyebrows and took a step back as you sneezed yet again.

“I’m sorry, I hadn’t thought of that. Would it help if I kept my distance?”

You shook your head. The damage was done; you’d be sneezing like this for a while even if you went straight home.

“I’ll be right back.” You smiled at V again and headed to the bathroom of the sub shop. You blew your nose until nothing came out anymore, then stuffed a few more tissues in your purse for later. While washing your hands you noticed the dampness of your mussed hair and the makeup running from your eyes.

Shit.

You did the best you could to remove the smeared mascara and eyeliner, leaving behind a messy smudge of black on each eyelid. You released your locks and combed through them with your fingers, carefully saving the bobby pins.

Good enough, I guess.

You returned to V near the counter as he pondered his options. He glanced back to you and smiled gently.

“What?”

A light tint colored his cheeks as he replied, “Your hair looks nice that way.”

You sneezed.

Right over the glass covering the meat.

You saw V’s lips twitch with what you assumed was distaste as he took in the fine mist you’d deposited on the transparent glass. You looked at your feet in embarrassment, wishing the floor would swallow you whole.

“What can I make you two? Aw, man… I just cleaned that…”

Oh god, could this get any worse?

You turned away and rummaged in your purse for a heartbeat, handing V a ten dollar bill.

“Order me something with turkey.”

With that, you walked outside, barely able to keep from running.

It was still raining; if anything the pattering drops quickened. You sighed, taking shelter under the miniscule marquee. You wrapped your arms around yourself as the air cooled, fighting off the goosebumps cropping up on your forearms.

The door to the shop swung open beside you and V came out with a small bag. He spotted your posture and shuffled his feet for a moment before speaking.

“Would you like to borrow my coat?”

The appeal of the heat was too strong, and you nodded with a grateful smile. He handed you your sandwich and draped his jacket across your shoulders with a smirk. The two of you seated yourselves at one of the plastic tables sheltered from the rain and you unwrapped your meal to dig in, pausing as you saw the meat.

“They were out of turkey, I hope roast beef is alright,” V murmured apologetically.

“It’s fine, thank you.”

You took the first bite and noticed he didn’t have a sandwich of his own. Pointedly, you stared at the empty spot on the table until he awkwardly spoke again.

“I left my wallet at home.”

You sneezed.

Twice.

V cracked a small smile and suddenly the whole situation was utterly ridiculous. Not a single thing tonight had gone as planned. You smiled back, snickering. He chuckled along with you and all the tension shattered as you shared a moment of mirth.

“This really has not been our night,” you commented dryly between laughter. He shook his head with a smirk, agreeing.

As the last few chortles faded away, you carefully split your sandwich in half and handed it to V on a napkin. His eyes widened before he accepted it with a rueful smile.

“Thank you. And I’ve enjoyed it, regardless.”

You flushed as you caught the gleam in his gaze, like you were the only other person in existence. You took another bite and held your breath, swallowing as fast as possible to subdue the next sneeze.

“So have I.”

The two of you spent the following few minutes eating and chatting, getting to know one another better. You found his wit charming, his attention to your every word like a small flame in your chest. He made you laugh, between sneezes. Made you roll your eyes with a line of poetry. Made you cringe as he described his family.

All too soon, the night wound to a close. V walked you back to your car, carefully making sure he walked on the portion of the sidewalk closer to traffic. You enjoyed the deep hum of his voice and indulged in one last sniff of his coat as you reached your vehicle.

“This is me.”

V frowned, glancing at the ground as you removed his jacket and held it out to him. He took it hesitantly, almost hiding behind the gesture as he replied.

“I had a wonderful time. Thank you for your company.”

You sneezed, holding up a hand to cover your mouth and nose as you blushed.

“I did too,” you said once it was safe.

He gave you a nervous look, his anxiety obvious as he leaned forward to close the gap between you and place a light kiss on your cheek. You pulled him closer, wrapping your arms around him in a quick hug before stepping away and unlocking your car. You paused as a thought struck you.

“Hey V… let me give you my number.”

He smiled, brushing his black hair out of his face as he waited patiently for you to find a pen. You didn’t have any paper and ended up writing the digits on his forearm, right along one of the dark lines of his tattoos. He blew on the ink to help it dry before donning his jacket once more.

“I’ll talk to you soon,” he assured you as you started the car. You gave him one last smile as you backed out of the parking spot, waving as you drove away. You couldn’t help but glance at him in the rearview mirror, watching his slim figure shrink with distance. He watched you go, not moving until after you turned the corner.

You sneezed.

Despite the rain, the allergies and all the small hiccups of the evening, you found yourself excited to see V again. You weren’t the type to sit and wait by the phone, but even so it didn’t take long for his first message to appear a mere twenty minutes later. You grinned like an idiot when you heard the soft ding, making Nero smirk knowingly from where he sat on the couch with Kyrie.

#fanfic #one shot #v x reader #blind date #writing prompt #my writing #dmc5 v #dmcv #devil may cry #reader insert

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vminni · 5 years

Text

Pretty As A Flower

Minho was just picking flowers in his garden, minding his own business, when his life changed forever.

A strange boy stepped out of the woods behind Minho’s house, his hair an unnatural orange and a woven basket full of plants dangling from his wrist. A squirrel was perched on his shoulder and it appeared the boy was talking to it, giggling lightly as he crossed towards the street.

He must have felt Minho’s gaze on him because he suddenly turned, offering Minho a bright smile and a cute little wave.

The surge of want that hit Minho was so strong he shocked himself, bluebells tumbling from numb fingers as he continued to stare. If the boy was off put by Minho strange reaction, he didn’t show it, just gave one last smile before disappearing down the road.

“I’m telling you, he’s the most beautiful person that’s ever existed. It’s completely unfair. He has to be a fairy.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure he’s a nature witch,” Woojin took a long sip of his green tea, his voice comfortably familiar among the clatter of the small tea shop. He set down his chipped mug, “Not a fairy.”

“I’m a nature witch,” Minho’s voice was full of awe, his own tea forgotten in front of him.

“I am aware of that, yes,” Woojin laughed at his friend’s sheepish expression.

“No, I just meant, you know, that we’d be compatible. Since we’re both nature witches.” Minho focused on stirring some sugar into his tea, hoping to hide his flustered blush, ”Do you know what his speciality is?”

“Animals. According to Felix, he’s working on building a little cabin out in the woods, kind of back by where you live. That’s probably where he was coming from yesterday when you saw him. For now he’s staying in Felix’s extra room.”

“He’s staying at Felix’s?” Minho’s hand drifted to the leather satchel that hung off his chair, where two jars of homemade strawberry jam were safely tucked away. “I was going to go to Felix’s after here.”

Woojin saw the indecision on Minho’s face, “Go. Talk to him. You’ll be fine.”

“Do I look okay?” Minho adjusted the crown of daisies that rested atop his softly parted chestnut hair and sighed. “I would have done something nicer if I knew I was going to be seeing him again.”

“You look lovely. You always look lovely.”

“I’m nervous,” Minho pushed his half eaten scone away, stomach twisting and turning at the thought of being face to face with the beautiful boy again. “I acted like a total idiot when I saw him yesterday.”

“If he says something about it, just say you were shocked by the squirrel,” Woojin waved his concern away. “We’ve never had a nature witch whose focus is animals in the village before. Pretend it was that.”

“I guess,” Minho stood, gathering up the mismatched china that his breakfast had been served on. He bid goodbye to Woojin with a tulip and weaved his way through the tiny shop, stopping by the counter to pat the spaniel that was lounging on a overstuffed chaise.

“Thanks, Chan,” Minho set his dishes on the counter and layed a peony over top, giving Berry one last pet on the head before slipping out of the shop and into the early morning sunshine.

He took off down the familiar cobblestoned street, suddenly hating the fact that Felix lived only a few houses down from Chan’s tea shop. It didn’t give him nearly enough time to prepare himself to face the beautiful witch once again.

Minho paused outside of Felix’s wooden door, smoothing his hands over the billowy white shirt he was wearing. He took a deep breath, adjusted his flower crown and wrapped his fingers around the golden sun knocker in the center of the door. He lifted it once and let it fall, taking a few steps back as his heart threatened to beat out of chest.

A minute that felt like an eternity later, the door creaked open, revealing Felix’s freckled face.

“Minho!” the younger boy brightened, throwing the door completely open and ushering his friend inside. “I haven’t seen you in awhile.”

“Sorry about that,” Minho fiddled with the leather strap of his bag, following Felix into his warm kitchen. “I’ve been pretty busy.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Felix nudged him into a chair and then began bustling around, grabbing some mugs from the cabinet as he made small talk with Minho. “How’s everything going? The flowers doing alright?”

“Flowers are great,” Minho’s heartbeat picked up when he saw Felix set three mugs down on the table, each filled to the brim with warm honey lemon tea. “How’s, um, everything with you?”

“Everything’s fantastic!” A few pieces of toast joined the tea on the table. Minho fished out his jars of jam and offered them to Felix, who took them excitedly. “I have a friend staying with me for a little bit! I think you might have seen him the other day.”

Minho nearly choked on his sip of tea, “He mentioned me?”

“Vaguely. Something about a pretty boy in a flower crown out by the woods. Figured it had to be you.”

“He called me pretty?” Minho blinked in confusion. “But he’s the pretty one.”

“You can both be pretty,” Felix dropped down into the chair across from Minho and took a bite of his jam covered toast before screaming. “Oi, Jisung! Breakfast is ready.”

Soft footfalls sounded on the stairs and a few seconds later the boy appeared in the kitchen doorway.

He was rubbing sleep heavy eyes with the long sleeves of his gray knit sweater, orange hair mussed from his pillow. His legs were bare underneath the sweater and his feet were clad in a fluffy pair of bunny slippers.

Minho was an absolute goner.

The boy took his fists away from his face and was about to step into the room when his gaze locked with Minho’s.

His eyes blew wide and his mouth dropped open into a shocked ‘o’ as a violent burst of red exploded across his cheeks.

“The food’s getting cold.” If Felix noticed the way his friends were staring at each other with twin blushes, he chose to ignore it. “Come in, sit down.”

Jisung did as he was told, pawing desperately at his wild hair as he collapsed into the chair next to Minho. Felix’s circular dining table was tiny and a knee knocked against Minho’s as Jisung got comfortable.

Minho switched his gaze from the boy to his mug of tea, sneaking occasional peeks out the corner of his eye at the sleep softened witch. He was even prettier up close, with chubby cheeks, smooth skin and large expressive eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me anyone was here?” Jisung whined, his fingers still trying to tame his bed head. “I’m not wearing pants!”

“Minho doesn’t care if you’re wearing pants or not,” Felix rolled his eyes and shoved the rest of his toast in his mouth. “You’re fine, just eat your breakfast. Try the jam. Minho makes it and it’s super good.”

Jisung did as he was told, spreading a glob of jam across his toast before taking a large bite. The food puffed up his already full cheeks, rendering him even more adorable. He turned to Minho after he finished chewing and offered the other boy a small smile, “It is really good.”

“T-thanks,” Minho nearly choked on the word and he grabbed his tea, taking a sip so he wouldn’t have to embarrass himself by speaking anymore. Pretty boys were his weakness. He never should have listened to Woojin, he should have just left Felix’s jam on his doorstep with a note.

“Minho is a nature witch too!” Felix shoveled another piece of toast in his mouth. “He’s plant focused.”

Jisung seemed to have recovered from his initial embarrassment and he beamed happily at Minho, “I’m animal focused! Normally I have my squirrel, Han, with me all the time but Felix banned him from the table.”

Jisung’s lips tugged down into a pout at that and Felix rolled his eyes, “He kept stealing my food!”

“He likes you! He’s just trying to be your friend!”

“By stealing from me?”

As the two younger boys bickered, Minho took the opportunity to finish his tea and slip out of his seat. The longer he stayed, the more likely he was to make a fool out of himself. Again. He needed bit more prep time before attempting at actual conversation with Jisung.

Minho fished around in his bag and came up with two flowers, dropping one onto Felix’s empty plate. He held the other out to Jisung, who had stopped arguing with Felix and was looking at him in confusion, “What’s this?”

“For you,” Minho’s cheeks colored when Jisung’s fingers brushed his briefly as they wrapped around the stem of the pink rose.

“That’s Minho’s thing,” Felix got up, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. He dropped his sunflower into it, then centered it in the middle of the table. “He always gives a flower when he leaves.”

“Oh,” Jisung pressed the rose to his nose, sighing softly as he breathed in the pretty scent, “that’s so sweet. Thank you!”

“Welcome,” Minho said softly, hands fiddling once again with the strap of his bag. “It, um, it was nice meeting you.”

“You too!” Jisung beamed up at him, the rose in his fingers a close match to the pink that highlighted his cheeks. “Hopefully I’ll see you around some more! You can meet Han next time!”

“That’d be nice,” Minho gave one last small smile before slipping out of Felix’s house and back into the sunshine. He let out a relieved breath once he was outside, glad he hadn’t done anything too embarrassing in front of the pretty nature witch today.

Sunshine bathed Minho’s kitchen in a warm light, a soft breeze blowing in through the wide open French doors. He hummed lightly, spinning across the blonde wood floor in contentment. The sweet smell of banana bread mixed with the chorus of scents from the wildflowers that colored his backyard, soft and pretty and familiar.

A knock at the door interrupted his routine, starling Minho enough that his crown of daffodils tumbled from his head. He scooped it up and resettled it over soft chestnut waves, smoothing his hands down the flower patterned apron that hugged his slim hips. He threw the door open, expecting Felix’s sun-kissed face, or perhaps Chan’s dimpled smile.

He certainly wasn’t expecting chubby cheeks and a wide grin.

“Hi, Minho!” Jisung was beaming, his squirrel perched on his shoulder and a basket covered in a red checkered cloth cradled in his arms. “I hope you don’t mind me showing up unannounced, but I have something for you!”

“Oh, um, okay,” Minho took a few steps backwards, beckoning awkwardly for Jisung to come inside.

“Your house is so pretty!” Jisung’s bright voice was filled with awe as he looked around, wide eyes taking in the multitude of plant covered surfaces. He tilted his head towards the skylights, a soft golden glow coloring him even more beautiful than he already was. “It’s so bright and airy. It almost feels like I’m still outside.”

“Thank you,” Minho flipped on the kettle and grabbed two rose printed mugs from his glass fronted cabinet. “D-do you want tea?”

“Sure,” Jisung carefully set his basket down on the counter, leaning in to press his face to the bouquet of lilies that stood next to the sink. “Everything in here smells so good.”

Minho poured out two mugs of jasmine tea and handed one to Jisung, “Would you like any banana bread? I just made it.”

“I’m fine, but thank you,” Jisung took a sip of tea, smiling at Minho over the lip of his mug. “I like your crown today.”

Minho’s hand drifted up the yellow blossoms and he smiled, eyes locked on his own tea, “Thanks.”

They fell into silence, the chirping of the birds from outside the only sound. Jisung tilted his head slightly to the side and Minho realized that he was listening to them, understanding them in a way Minho would never be able to.

The younger boy giggled lightly, his nose crinkling adorably and sending Minho’s heart rate skyrocketing. He drew a finger around the rim of his mug and looked up at Minho from under dusky lashes, “The birds said you sing about me.”

Minho colored and began to pick at his lace tablecloth, avoiding Jisung’s searching gaze. He silently cursed his early mornings of spinning around the kitchen with the windows and doors thrown open, made up songs about nothing and everything spilling out of his lips.

A soft mewling from the basket Jisung left on the counter saved Minho from the embarrassment of explaining. Jisung jumped up from his seat, gathering the basket into his arms as he peeled away the cloth that covered it. A tiny head popped up and Minho’s whole body melted at the sight of the orange kitten.

“Hi, pretty,” Jisung cooed, bringing the basket over to table. He set it down in front of Minho and ran a gentle finger over the kitten’s back. “I found this baby hiding in Felix’s backyard. He sensed that I was there and came to me for help. Unfortunately Felix is allergic and is already annoyed at Han being in the house.”

At the sound of his name, the squirrel poked his head out of the hood of Jisung’s sweatshirt. Minho had forgotten he was there and realized he had been rude not to offer the animal any food. He quickly scooped up a handful of almonds from the bowl in the middle of his table and held them out towards the pet.

Han crawled out of Jisung’s sweatshirt and made his way over to Minho, grabbing a nut with his small hands. Content that he’d now been polite to all his guest, Minho returned his attention to Jisung and the kitten.

“I thought maybe you could take him,” Jisung blinked up at Minho with hopeful eyes. “He reminds me of you.”

“Me? How?”

Jisung pressed a kiss to the crown of the kitten’s head, “He’s pretty and soft and elegant. And a little shy, but I’m sure he’ll be a love once he gets comfortable. Just like you.”

The kitten let out a soft meow and clumsily climbed out of the basket, pawing his way across the table towards Minho. The nature witch held out a trembling hand and the kitty bumped his head against it, a purr rumbling through his belly.

“He likes you,” Jisung said softly, fondness apparent on his face. “He knows you’re safe.”

Minho relaxed slightly, running tentative fingers through the cat’s soft fur, “Do you want to live here with me, baby?”

Another meow escaped the kitten and Minho didn’t need to speak to animals to know that was a yes. A smile tugged at his lips as he looked down at the new member of his family, “What are we going to name you?”

“I’ve been calling him Poppy,” Jisung ran a finger down the kitten’s back. “Since it’s an orange flower.”

“Poppy,” Minho scooped the kitten up, melting as it snuggled against his chest. “Welcome home.”

Poppy was fast asleep in Minho’s arms and his tea had long gone cold when Jisung stood up to leave.

“Thank you for taking him,” Jisung gathered up his basket and gestured for Han, waiting as the squirrel climbed back up to his shoulder. “I know you’ll give him a great home.”

“Wait, before you go.” Minho stood up carefully, cradling the kitten. He carried him into the living room and set him gently on the couch, before hurrying back into the kitchen. He snatched up the lilies Jisung had been smelling earlier and pressed them into the younger boy’s hand. Then he lifted the flower crown off his head and took a deep breath, leaning in to settle it atop Jisung’s messy orange hair. “Perfect.”

The younger boy blinked at him in confusion, “What’s this for?”

“Lilies and daffodils are poisonous for cats,” Minho explained. “Plus I thought it would look pretty on you. And I was right.”

Jisung flushed, reaching up with the hand that wasn’t holding the lilies to adjust the crown, “T-thank you.”

“Next time I’ll make a little crown for Han too.” Minho giggled at the thought, missing the starstruck look on Jisung’s face. “Then he can be pretty too.”

“No one will ever be as pretty as you,” Jisung murmured, so soft Minho barely caught it.

A surge of confidence came over him and he leaned in, wrapping Jisung in a loose hug, “Thank you for Poppy.”

Jisung moved to hug him back, accidentally bopping Minho on the head with the bouquet of lilies. Happy to not be the flustered one for once, Minho gave Jisung one last squeeze before pulling away, “Come and visit him whenever you want! I’m sure he’ll always be happy to see you. And I know I will be.”

Jisung couldn’t formulate a response, clutching the lilies to his chest and blinking at Minho with starry eyes. Minho giggled and reached over to straighten the crown of daffodils that had dislodged during their messy hug. Pretty boys may be his weakness, but pretty boys who turned to flustered messes after a compliment?

Minho could definitely work with that.

“He’s the absolute cutest thing to ever exist,” Minho breathed dreamily, his chin held in cupped hands and his crown of zinnias dipping over one eye. “I can’t believe a creature so amazing is allowed to walk amongst us mere mortals. It’s completely unfair.”

Woojin leaned across the table and pushed the crown back up, rolling his eyes at Minho’s distracted state, “Yes, your kitten is adorable.”

“I’m not talking about Poppy,” Minho pouted. “I’m talking about Jisung.”

“Speaking of Jisung…” Woojin trailed off as the bell to the shop sang out. Minho glanced over his shoulder and saw that the boy in question had walked in, accompanied by Felix and another witch that Minho vaguely recognized. The three were locked in a deep conversation, not noticing Minho’s wild attempts to wave them over.

He turned back to Woojin with a sigh, “Who’s that other guy with them?”

“Changbin. Felix’s counterpart. And crush.”

“Ah,” Minho nodded, the boy’s dark clothes and heavily lined eyes making sense. Felix was a light witch, all sunshine and smiles and golden touches. The dark witch at his side was a contrast to that, but Minho couldn’t deny that they would look cute together.

He turned back around and noticed that the others had finally spotted them. Minho waved cutely, wiggling his fingers individually and giggling when he noticed Jisung’s cheeks bloom pink.

Woojin quirked an eyebrow, “Oh, so now you’re the confident one and he’s all flustered?”

“Cute, right? I complimented him and he turned to mush,” Minho got up and grabbed a few more chairs, nudging Woojin until he stood and helped him. The five chairs barely fit around the table, but Minho didn’t mind the close proximity. Especially if Jisung was going to be the one sitting next to him.

Felix reached them first and Minho wrapped him in a warm hug, whispering his approval of Changbin in the younger boy’s ear. When they pulled apart, Minho greeted Changbin with a handshake and a compliment about his makeup. Jisung lingered off to the side, looking a bit lost when Minho finally turned to him.

“We’re on hugging terms,” Minho grinned and threw his arms open, humming happily when Jisung stepped into his embrace. The smaller boy’s thin arms settled around Minho’s waist as Minho gave him a big squeeze, inhaling the golden scent of sunshine that lingered on Jisung’s hair. It was a side effect from being around Felix, but still somehow uniquely Jisung.

Minho missed his warmth the second they separated and he made sure to pull his crush down in the seat next to him. Their legs brushed and Minho grew bold, dropping a hand to rest on Jisung’s bare knee as he tried to tune in to the story that Felix was excitedly telling Woojin.

It was hard to concentrate with Jisung’s knee bobbing anxiously under his palm and Minho belatedly realized that he might be making the other boy uncomfortable with his advances. He snatched his hand away and settled it back into his own lap, twining it with his other as he made sure to avoid looking anywhere near Jisung.

A sudden pressure on his tangled fingers surprised him and he glanced up to see Jisung staring at him, his cheeks warm.

“You, ah, you can touch me. It’s okay.”

Jisung gently drew Minho’s hand back to his leg, settling it on his thigh before offering Minho a small smile. Minho quirked a grin in response, eyes soft and fond as he watched the pretty witch flush under his gaze.

The rest of breakfast was a quiet, pleasant affair. Changbin and Jisung didn’t speak much, leaving most of the talking to Woojin and Felix. Minho chimed in occasionally, but was much more interested in the feel of Jisung’s soft skin under his hand then he was in any conversation that was happening.

Chan came over to see them as they were finishing up, Berry following happily at his heels. The dog immediately approached Jisung and he giggled at whatever she yapped, abandoning his seat to squat down and give her a pet. Minho missed the warmth of Jisung’s skin, but the adorable sight of him falling backwards on his butt as Berry jumped into his lap was worth the loss.

Minho joined the pair on the floor, giving Berry’s soft ears a pat as she attacked Jisung’s face with kisses. The boy was a giggling mess, eyes screwed shut and fingers tangled in the puppy’s fur as she tried to lick every inch of his face. With every tiny laugh that left Jisung’s lips, Minho fell deeper and deeper into the clutches of his crush.

Berry finished painting Jisung’s face with her kisses and moved on to Minho, giving him one soft lick on the cheek before deeming him uninteresting and trotting back to the chaise near the counter where she spent most of her time.

“Sorry about her,” Chan held out a hand to Jisung helping the younger boy up off the floor. “I’ve never seen her that excited about meeting someone new before.”

“It’s okay,” Jisung rubbed his face with his sweater paw before he gave Chan a smile. “I can talk to animals.”

Chan’s face lit up in recognition and Minho was suddenly cursing all the late night calls he’d made to Chan to gush about his newfound crush.

“Ah, you must be Jisung.” The knowing smirk on Chan’s lips was making Minho very nervous, “I’ve heard a lot about you. A lot. A week’s worth of midnight phone calls, to be precise.”

Jisung seemed a little surprised and confused by Chan’s admission and he turned to Felix, but the light witch just shook his head softly.

The deep blush on Minho’s face easily gave him away when Jisung’s gaze jumped to him. “Well,” Minho laughed awkwardly, grabbing his bag and twisting the strap in nervous fingers as he shoved in on to his shoulder, “would you look at the time? I just have so many things to do today. Can’t linger any longer. It was so nice seeing everyone.”

He took off across the shop, not exactly running, but definitely not walking. He knew Jisung must already be aware that Minho had a bit of a thing for him, but it was still embarrassing to have any details of his crush thrown out into the open like that. Minho was never speaking to any of his friends ever again.

He was just about to step out the door when a tug in his gut reminded him that he hadn’t given anyone their flowers. He halted and took a deep breath, spinning back around to return to the table. It wasn’t something that he had to do, but it had become such a habit that it felt wrong to leave them with nothing. Even if they were the worst friends ever.

Fishing around in his bag and avoiding eye contact with everyone, Minho drew out a handful of flowers. He pressed one into everyone’s hand, not bothering to look at who he was giving what. It didn’t matter. It just mattered that they had them.

As the last hand accepted their flower, another came up to clasp around Minho’s wrist. He recognized those ring covered fingers and he kept his gaze down, not quite ready to face Jisung again.

“Hey,” the other witch’s voice was soft, “it’s okay. I’ve been talking about you too. Ask Felix.”

“Every night,” Felix agreed. “He shows up at my bedroom door with his teddy bear and spends at least a half hour raving about how pretty you are.”

“You didn’t have to tell him about the teddy bear!” Minho could hear the pout in Jisung’s voice and he laughed lightly, his heart fluttering at the thought that Jisung was just as enamored with him as he was with the younger boy.

“Cute,” Minho murmured, finally lifting his eyes to meet Jisung��s gaze. The other boy was gnawing on his bottom lip, cheeks rosy. “It’s cute that you sleep with a teddy bear.”

“Hey, Minho, if you’re lucky,” Woojin offered him a cheeky grin, “you’ll replace that bear one day.”

Jisung showed up at Minho’s door the next morning, with a plate of muffins and a request.

“You need me to help you plant a garden?”

“Only if you want to,” Jisung hurriedly corrected him. “I’m sure you have more important things to do, but I just thought I’d ask, since I really want a garden and you know all about plants and I thought it would be nice to spend some time with you and it was stupid I shouldn’t have asked, of course you have better things to do, I’ll just get going, sorry to have bothered you.”

“Jisungie, breathe,” Minho giggled and removed the muffins from Jisung’s trembling hands. “Of course I’ll help you. I’d love to spend more time with you.”

Jisung looked slightly relieved, but there was still a tremor of nerves in his smile, “T-that’s great. Perfect. I’ll come pick you up in an hour or so, is that okay?”

“That’s fine.”

“Okay,” Jisung backed down Minho’s step stone walkway and nodded a bit, more to himself than Minho. “I’ll see you then.”

Jisung was back on his doorstep exactly an hour later. Minho threw open the door and was surprised by the bouquet of begonias that was shoved in his face.

He took it with cautious fingers, a question in his eyes as he looked at Jisung.

“The first time I saw you, you were wearing a crown of these,” Jisung fiddled with the hem of his sweater. “So, um, I thought it would be fitting.”

Minho blinked, taking in the flustered state of the younger boy and the outfit he was wearing. A soft yellow sweater hung off his thin frame, one shoulder dipping low enough to show the beauty mark above his collarbone. The sweater was partly tucked into a pair of light wash ripped skinny jeans. Minho stated the obvious, “Those aren’t gardening clothes.”

He glance down at his own outfit, a pair of grass stained jeans and a t-shirt so old it was practically disintegrating as they stood there. He had his favorite pair of gloves tucked into his back pocket and a straw hat on his head instead of his customary flower crown.

Jisung looked distressed, “I, um, actually, it’s supposed to be a date. But of course you didn’t know that, I panicked and didn’t ask clearly. I’ll just back to Felix’s and change, it’s fine. We can garden.”

“No!” Minho grabbed onto Jisung’s thin wrist as the other boy turned to run away. “I’d love to go on a date with you. I’ll change. You stay here.”

Minho pushed the bouquet of flowers back into Jisung’s hand and sprinted into his house, tugging his clothes off as he pushed into his bedroom. Minutes later he was back on the doorstep, now wearing a blue and white striped button down and his favorite pair of jeans. A halo of white petunias rested on his softly waved hair.

“Ready,” he smiled at the younger boy and accepted his flowers back from the nervous witch, bringing the shock of flowers to his nose and inhaling deeply. “These are really pretty, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Jisung said softly, eyes full of wonderment as he looked at Minho. “You’re prettier.”

Minho giggled and wiggled the fingers of his free hand, hoping Jisung would take the hint. He did, twining their fingers together as his cheeks stained pink.

“Where are we going?” Minho asked, swinging their linked hands as another laugh bubbled over his lips. He couldn’t believe this was real life. Jisung actually wanted to date him! The prettiest boy in the world wanted to be with him! His happiness refused to be contained and his constant giggling just seemed to grow Jisung’s smile.

“We are going to my garden. Well, the place where I hope to have a garden one day. I made a picnic. I hope that’s okay.”

“If it’s with you, it’s perfect,” Minho assured, giving Jisung’s hand a light squeeze and marveling at the fact that he was allowed to do so. “Just being able to hold your hand has already made this the best day ever.”

Jisung scoffed a bit at that, but there was a clearly pleased smile took over his lips afterwards. Minho grew bold as they stepped into the cover of the woods and he leaned over to press a quick kiss to Jisung’s fiery cheek.

Jisung nearly tripped over a root and Minho giggled again, not at Jisung but just at the fact that he was able to have that effect on the other boy.

“Stop laughing at me,” Jisung pouted. “You’re mean.”

“I’m not laughing at you,” Minho smacked a few kisses in quick succession off Jisung’s chubby cheek, enjoying the way his blush gradually grew deeper. “I’m just so happy.”

The two witches stepped into a sun-washed clearing and Minho let out a soft noise of appreciation at the beautiful cottage that greeted them.

A checkered picnic cloth was laid out on the grass in front of the cottage, an array of food spread on top. Jisung lead them over and they sat down, knees nudging as they got comfortable.

Minho gently placed his bouquet of flowers in his lap, softly running his fingers over the petals. He was impressed that Jisung had remembered what flowers he was wearing in his hair the first time they had seen each other, especially because it had been from a bit of a distance. It confirmed to him that he wasn’t alone in this crush, that Jisung had been with him since the very beginning. The thought brought a smile to his face and another giggle to his lips.

“You like me,” Minho’s sparkle eyed gaze snapped up, meeting Jisung’s surprised one. “You actually, genuinely like me.”

Jisung had a plate of strawberries in one hand and a napkin in the other as he stared at Minho, lashes fluttering in confusion, “I, um, yeah. I do. I thought that was obvious.”

“You’ve liked me since the first time you saw me,” the sentence was more of a breath than any spoken words, the awe of it all still settling in. “It wasn’t just me who felt it.”

“Yeah.”

Minho set his flowers aside and pounced on Jisung, knocking the younger boy to the ground in his enthusiasm. He threw his arms around him and snuggled into Jisung’s chest, pressing his cheek against the frantic beat of the younger boy’s heart as he let out a content sigh.

Jisung’s hand hovered for a second before threading into Minho’s hair, winding soft chestnut waves around his finger as Minho breathed in the sunshine scent of Jisung’s skin.

“What are they saying about us now?” Minho asked, lifting his head a bit as a cacophony of bird calls filled the clearing.

Jisung cocked his head to the side and flushed, “They’re saying we should kiss.”

Minho let out another tinkly laugh as he grinned, “Well, we can’t let them down.”

“I guess not,” Jisung took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut, puckering his lips. Minho nearly broke down in another fit of giggles, but he managed to hold them back. He softly caressed the younger boy’s cheek before leaning in.

“Thank you for walking out of the woods and into my life,” he breathed, before his mouth molded to Jisung’s and the rest of the world fell away.

#minsung #han jisung #lee know #kind of a witch au #they're witches #but they don't do anything witchy #jisung talks to animals #minho gives everyone flowers #it is all very soft

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