#i cant stop laughing at them they’re fucking laced

[scoopsgf]

these photos contain a very specific energy

[abiomens]

So...this ain't fluff but hear me out:

Massage Therapist!Noah who gives you a full body massage and ends up finger fucking you and railing you into oblivion afterwards until both your brain and body melted 🥴🥴🥴🥴

JESUS CHRIST GET BACK HERE ANON

(i got rly carried away with this. nsfw bellow the cut 😭)

cuz yeah !! okay i cant do this

nvm jm back.

cuz he has really nice hands, right? you can’t help but stare at them for a little too long when he’s running his hands up your thighs or massaging the muscles in your shoulders. and he take notice to this.

he noticed looonnggg ago, a few months actually- he’s a TEAAAAASSEEEEEEE. like like like purposely lingering on your waist a little too long, or squeezing your thighs a little when you’re in a session. he knows it makes you squirm and he loves seeing you squirm. so one day when he’s wearing a specific turtleneck sweater and has the sleeves rolled up on his forearms, you suddenly feel very hot under your clothes.

half way during him massaging your legs and you talking about your day, you notice his hands reaching a little higher up your thighs, and then they’re at your inner thighs, squeezing and kneading at the plush flesh there. it’s distracting, you keep trailing off or completely forgetting what you were saying cuz you were too busy looking at his hands and how his cheek is pressed against your knee.

then his fingers run underneath your jean shorts and he keeps squeezing so softly, and when you just. stop talking. he looks up at you like he doesn’t know what he’s doing (he knows.) and is giving you the most innocent eyes ever. “you okay sweetheart?” as his fingers are literally tugging on your shorts and fishnets.

he’s suddenly rising up and hovering over you, dipping his fingers under the fabric and rubbing at your clit. you’re already crumbling under him, gripping his shoulders and whimpering into his neck. and before you know it he has 3 fingers buried in your cunt. you’re whimpering and moaning and grinding down onto his hand, his other holding your face and kissing you so deeply.

he made you cum twice on his fingers cuz he’s evil and wants you pliant and dumb and docile and mindless. then he’s so so gently tugging down your shorts and tossing then next to your bag, then your fishnets and pretty lace panties come next. he’s rubbing at your thighs again and leaving love bites all over them, you barely realize he’s buried his face in your cunt cuz you’re already so dazed. he’s moaning into you and gripping your hips, groaning when you tug at his hair and grind on his face. the glasses he wore were somehow still sitting on his face perfectly fine-

and when you cum again? he happily scoops it all up and sucks it off his fingers, literally moaning at your taste and praising you for doing so well for him, he’s so sweet :(((

he’s kissing you so softly now, cradling the back of your head and unbuckling his belt, then tugging on the waistband of his pants. you were already sat on the couch in his office, so he laid you back and you nearly drooled at his size. he let out a little laugh and suddenly his hands were at your waist and he was pushing himself inside so slowly. you were already in another plane of existence, and being so full of him added to that? darling you’re gone.

he’s leaning over you and cradling your face in his hands, checking in and making sure you’re okay. sweet boy :((((((

“yeah? feels good sweetheart?”

“shh, i know baby, i know. its so much, isnt it?”

“hng- ‘s big-“ “you can take it pup.”

“doing so good for me, sucha good girl.”

and before you know it, he’s got you folded in half and fucking you like he’ll never be able to again. (this happens at least one a week afterwards.) you’re too fucked out and dazed to realize you’re drooling and being so loud until his hand is clamping down on your mouth and he’s murmuring against your ear.

“gotta be quiet baby, can’t let everyone hear how good you take my dick, hm?”

“cock feels that good baby? yeah?”

okay ill shut yhe fuck up now-

[chippedaxe]

no thoughts just reader wearing a maid dress with the different mcyt. (nsfw)

◢✥◣

Title: Maid Dress Hc's

Warnings: NSFW (Minors DNI), praise, pet names, exhibitionism (not rlly) ???, possessiveness, SUB reader,

Pronouns: They/Them, non specified genitalia

Synopsis: The reader wears a maid dress and here are the mcyt's reactions.

Word count: 1.2k

Note: you guys are so down bad, I love it <3

I KNOW ITS TAKEN A WHILE TO ANSWER, IM SOZ

*I hate the word smirks because it makes me think of Debbie Ryan's weird smile from radio rebel but whatever :/

◥✥◤

cc! Dream

- His face was one of shock, this wasn't expected but was certainly welcomed. "Oh wow Darling, is all this for me?" Dream is just casually sitting in his chair when you come up to him wearing the maid dress "It better all be for me, because I'm not letting anyone else get the privilege of seeing you like that!" Dream is flustered.

- He's torn apart. One side of him wants to keep you private and all to himself but another part of him ones to show you off as a prize to all of his friends, putting you on display and having everyone worship you but not being able to actually do anything to you.

- He'd put his arms behind his head and just watch you, smirking to himself "Do a little twirl for me.." he bites his lip and watches you spin around in your short dress. His pants tighten around his crotch and that's when you know that you're done for.

cc! Sapnap

- "Hey babe, look at me!" you interrupt him while he's on a call with his camera turned off, Sapnap turns around and looks you up and down "Wow darl' that's fuckin' gorgeous.. These guys wish they could see you right now.." Sapnap groaned as he stared at you.

- Sapnap suddenly feels a tad bit flustered as he remembers that the guys can actually hear what he's saying but plays it off anyways, You spin around for him and show him your frills and lace "You're so pretty oh my lord.." he smiles at you.

- Sapnap suddenly grabs you and places you on his lap, signaling you to be quiet as he slowly explores your clothed body. You shut your mouth and try to keep quiet, your breathing becoming heavier as Sapnap slides his hand up your dress.

- Sapnap pushes his fingers past your underwear and slips his fingers inside of you, stopping himself from groaning at the feeling of your warm walls around his fingers. "Come on Sapnap, don't be rude! Show them to us, we're all really intrigued now!" The guys complain "That's too bad because they're all mine.." Sapnap smirks.

cc! George

- He lets out a full on gasp as you enter the room which causes Dream (on the phone) to question what was happening "NOTHING, absolutely nothing!" George is flabbergasted by how you look. You're everything he's ever wanted and you're everything that he needs, George's jaw drops and you can hear Dream complaining again.

- "Sorry It's just my partner, they look SO good!" George gulps nervously as he cant take his eyes off you "Aw, they look better than me? :( " Dream asks jokingly "Everyone looks better than you" George replies "Hey- don't be rude.." you laugh.

- "I think- I've gotta go.. I'll call you back actually" George hangs up on Dream and he stands up, his hands finding their place on your hips as he leans towards you and kisses your lips. George lowers his hands so he's now full on groping your ass, squeezing your thighs as well.

- You let out a soft moan as you feel George's hardness press up against you, the muscle becoming bigger in his pants by the second. "So.. So pretty.. So good.. All mine.."

cc! Eret

- He just sits there in his chair expectedly and waiting for you to come in the room, her expression and whole mood changing the instant you enter the door with the dress on. "What are you wearing? Is- Is there something special?" They're confused but not angry about it.

- Her hands are quickly working to get it off as quickly as you were working to get it on. Eret appreciates every little piece of lace and clothing you put on for them as they take it off, sliding the skirt off and pausing to look at the soaked lace undies.

- His hands massage your thighs gently, admiring you thigh high socks you put on as well. Their eyes wander and they notice you're also wearing thigh garters "So dressed up, and you're all mine.." Eret gets a rush from seeing you like this.

- You. Will. Not. Walk. That is a warning. Eret will 100% guaranteed keep you from being able to walk tomorrow (assuming you could already walk in the first place) by ramming into you at high speeds and bruising your hips.

cc! Karl

- He was already expecting it, he was the one who bought you the maid dress in fact but he just didn't expect how damn good you looked in it. The dress complimented you perfectly, the sight in you in it made Karl's mouth water.

- He will probably try to keep the costume on you, only sliding your underwear to the side to fuck you. He would of course worry about ruining the dress with his cum though "What if this is the last time I see you in this dress?" he doesn't like that thought. He needs to see you dressed up like this for him way more.

- He would grind against you while you sit there looking pretty in your outfit, feeling happy to do it and attend to your every will. Karl is your happy boyfriend and would do fuckin' anything for a hot person like you, and I mean anything.

- He would get so upset if you told him that stream wanted to see the maid dress "Well they can't! This is all mine!" he will pout and keep you to himself "That's not fair Karl.." you remind him "Well- I'll wear the maid dress then! Just not you, who knows who might try to steal you away!" he crosses his arms "I don't know about that but I'm all for making you wear the maid dress" you grin.

cc! Punz

- "Holy fuck!" he tackles you to the bed and pins you underneath him, "Is it my birthday already? Holy shit.." Punz looks down at you. You look up at him with your lust filled eyes, ready for him to just take you.

- "Thought you may like it" you smile "More than just like it! I love it!" his hands won't leave you. Punz' rubs your skin, patting your hips and opening your legs up for him to get between. You close your thighs around your face unintentionally but he loves it, gasping at the feeling of being trapped under you.

- Punz will ruin you and probably ruin that maid dress you were wearing, his teeth ripping the lace underwear so he could have better access to your genitals "h-hey! That was expensive!" you complain. "I'll by you some more if you wear them for me, babe.." Punz hums from under you.

- He will destroy you the moment he actually fucks you, his hips shuddering against your non-stop until you both cum and even then he still isn't stopping. You unleashed a beast and now he won't stop until he's fully calmed down and satisfied.

[thighridingsamu]

a/n: it's the time of day when i get all :( and despite two completed pieces, i shall write and post this.

"do you ever get that weird, ugly feeling in your stomach because you don't feel like you're enough for someone?"

ennoshita stops sipping on his drink, his hand dropping so fast you hear the ice slosh around noisily. "not necessarily for one specific person, but i know what you mean." he sets down the styrofoam cup and leans over to get a better look at you. he frowns when you don't turn towards him, the frown deepening when he sees you catch him in your peripheral vision. "is someone making you feel like you aren't enough?"

you take about a minute to answer, extending your hand towards him. from your cupped hand he knows you're asking for his drink, hope that you'll ask for his hand instead fading. like the nice friend he is, he hands you his drink and waits until you have a proper hold on it before letting go.

"yes and no," you take a sip, humming at the taste of cola, "but it's not like they're doing it on purpose. i just don't like feeling like there's more that i can do for them." you shrug and hand him his drink back, finally looking his way to make sure he gets a hold of his cup. "they're so strong and independent, but they don't always have to be. i wish he'd let loose and rely on others."

"oh they're a he?" in true best friend manner chikara sends you a grin. at your soft glare his expression turns into something more sympathetic. "by others, i assume you mean you?"

you nod, "by others i mean me." your throat gets tight when you look him in the eyes. and by he i mean you, you say to yourself. "sorry, i didn't mean to spoil the view." you look back at the city, hands falling between your crossed legs. your fingers drum the hood of ennoshita's car.

"you could always bring it up to him, tell him how you feel," chikara offers, purposely ignoring your apology and scooting closer so your shoulders touch. he says he does it so you can rest your head on him, but he knows it's a selfish act.

"yeah because i'm great at speaking up for myself, 'kara." you laugh softly at the slurred and mumbled version of his name, giggling right after at his scoff. "c'mon, don't be surprised over old news."

"you're infuriating." you nod at his words and finally let yourself lean against him. chikara holds his breath and lets you get comfortable, and when you are, he rests his hand on your knee and squeezes. "you shouldn't worry over someone that doesn't open up to you." he squeezes again and makes his voice more firm. "but you can't expect him to know what you're thinking and suddenly do what you want if you don't bring it up."

you don't say anything back for a while. he doesn't speak up, either. you're left under the moonlight, on top of a car, sitting beside someone you want to feel enough for. you let him push the straw of his drink into your mouth from time to time, you let yourself lace your fingers with his.

chikara swears he's gonna lose his mind when you speak up again.

"you're strong and independent, but you don't always have to be. i want to do more for you, but i also need to be more to you, chikara."

"i swear to god if you don't kiss me right this fucking second, i'm gonna scream."

tagging: @newfriendjen, @jean-prettyboy-kirschtein, @natsuonii (soph help i changed the form and cant remember if you checked hq... lmk so i can take note if you can <3), @chsetlantc. want to be added to my taglist? fill out this form!

[forcefully-awoken]

this was commissioned by @bokutobabie who is apparently me as we share the same kinks and tiktok fyps

wc 1.6k

cw for uhhh lovey doves things, cream pies, dilf zeke pls just tell me

Zeke takes pride in all the ways he’s better than his father.

He was never abusive to his children, always kind and doting. He can’t even find it in himself to be angry at how things didn’t work out with their mother. It led him to needing a babysitter for all the long nights he finds himself away, or simply locked up in his study. He might be distant, a little too wrapped up in his work, but he’s still better than Grisha. It’s all he could have ever really wanted in life.

That is, until he meets you.

You’re the babysitter, and fuck if that cliche doesn’t burn in his chest sometimes. He’s tried so hard his whole life to be a better man, to be the best man he can be. And then you saunter into his life, all wide-eyed and innocent, practically begging to be corrupted by him. It’s like something out of a dream, out of some terribly cliche porn. Worse yet is when he does finally get you into bed, it doesn’t scrub the need for you from his system. He finds himself craving you more, inviting you over for whole weekends while the kids are away.

It’s how he wakes up one morning, to see you laying in bed next to him, and realizes he’s in love.

The realization overwhelms him, creeps up into his chest, and makes a home there. It crashes into him, one beat after another until he gives in to the urge to wrap himself around you. Even in your sleep, you move with him, wrapping your arms around him as he settles his head onto your chest. He inhales your scent, loses himself in it. You’re so warm underneath him, so malleable, with curves he can (and had) gotten lost in.

“I think I love you,” He mumbles the words into your skin, hoping his confession goes unnoticed. His hopes die when he hears your sharp inhale of breath, and when you tense under him he begins the plan to move out of the country just to avoid you.

“Well,” You start, voice coming out breathy, but your body begins to relax, “That’s good. Because I know I love you.”

He’s on you in less than a heartbeat.

“Say it again,” He insists between kisses, “Please.” You laugh, and he wonders if this is how Icarus felt flying close to the sun.

“I love you,” You repeat, taking his face between your hands to lock eyes with him.

“Fuck,” He breathes the blasphemous word into the heaven you’ve created, “Please let me fuck you.” You don’t respond verbally, but your legs spread just enough for him to settle in between them. Your eyes dart away when he tries to tug your shirt up, his heart stops and then shatters inside his chest.

“Let me see you,” It’s a plea, he’s begging already, but it’s worth it for the way he can feel your skin heat up beneath him. You meet his eyes briefly, before your shirt is pulled over your head and tossed to the side. He takes a selfish moment to stare at you, though he knows he makes you uncomfortable. He can’t get used to seeing you spread out for him; it makes him wonder what he did in a past life to get so lucky.

He only takes that moment though, before descending on you.

He takes one of your nipples into his mouth, large hand coming up to cup your breast as he does. It’s hard for him to tell you how he feels, hard for you to hear it sometimes. He’s ravenous for you, consumed with the need to prove his words with actions. His teeth come forward to catch the bud in between them, rolling it around until you’re whining under him. He repeats the motion on your other, he wants you desperate, he wants you needy.

He wants you to beg.

“Please!” Your resolve folds like a chair, as soon as his fingers ghost over the apex of your thighs, “I need it!” Zeke chuckles against your chest, leaving behind another sore spot as he sucks at it.

“And what, exactly, does my little girl need?” His voice is low, full of heat, a promise flirting around the edges of it. “Use your words now, I know you can.”

“I want your- your tongue on me,” Your voice is little more than a whisper but it’s music to his ears. His body slides further down, settling himself between your already shaking legs. He taps your hip to wiggle your underwear off of you and then his mouth is on you. You’re already wet, the slightly tangy taste of you flooding his mouth. His tongue circles your clit just to hear you gasp and he thinks-

I could get used to this.

He doesn’t have long to ruminate on the thought, not when your fingers tangle in his hair and he can hear your whispered pleas for more, right there, more Daddy, please. Zeke feels his own hips grind down into the bed, desperately seeking out any friction they can find. His fingers prod at your entrance, sliding in with little resistance with how wet you are. God, it never ceases to amaze him how much you want him, how plainly attracted you are to him. He moans against your cunt, the vibrations making you cry out.

Zeke always been good with his hands, and this is no different. He finds your sweet spot with practiced ease, targets it with sure and steady finger tips. He can hear you babbling above him now, the mix of stimulation between his confession and his fingers driving you steadily mad.

“Zeke!” Your fingers tighten painfully in his hair when you cum, but it’s worth it. Your cunt gushes for him, practically blossoming in front of his eyes and he thinks that if he doesn’t get inside of you in the next few seconds he might actually die. He guides you down from your first high and sheds his pants as quickly as he can without getting tangled in them.

His hands curl around your ankles now, pulling them up up up until they’re around his neck. Zeke wishes he had a camera to take a picture of you like this. You already look well and truly fucked, despite his cock simply rubbing up against your folds now.

“Don’t tease me,” He thinks your voice might hold some annoyance if not for the way your hips are canting upwards, trying to get him to slide into you. “It’s not very nice for a man of your advanced age.” Brat.

“Little girls like you shouldn’t speak out of turn,” His voice is teasing, the tip of his cock already pressing into you. One sharp jerk of his hips and he’s bottomed out, your hands scrambling to grab at the sheets. “That’s my girl, hm? So sweet for me.”

“Only for you,” You parrot back, eyes shining with tears. It makes his heart swell in his chest and he manages to lean forward, pressing your knees further down and his cock somehow deeper just to capture your lips in a surprisingly sweet kiss. Only once he feels you relax completely does he pull away, settling back so he can watch where your bodies are connected.

“My perfect little girl,” Zeke coos out, delighting in the way you come alive under the praise, “You take me so well, make me feel so good.” He can see your mouth open and close, struggling to form a reply when his hand drops down to rub a circle around your clit with his thumb. He barely touches it, leaving little glancing blows but it’s enough to have you tightening around him so much he can hardly move.

His hips never stop the slow and steady pace he’s started though. He may not be able to pound away at you like he wants to, like he used to be able to do when he was younger but this, he’s found, is better. He gets to stroke his cock through you, slowly building up the pleasure he knows grows like a knot in your stomach just to unravel it with a few simple moves of his fingers. Zeke loves the way he gets to enjoy this, enjoy you, and he can’t help but tell you so.

“You’re squeezing my cock so tightly, am I really that good to you?” A rhetorical question laced with only the barest hint of his latent anxieties. You can’t find your voice to respond, too lost in moaning for him but your pussy flutters around him and he thinks that’s answer enough. “You know I love you, don’t you sweet girl?”

This, it seems, is too much to handle for you. Your back arches off the bed as your mouth drops open into a perfect circle. He does have to stop moving now, settling for pressing deep inside of you just to feel the contractions of your pussy. The feeling of it is what pushes him over the edge, spilling his cum deep within you. He holds himself there for as long as he can, content to simply watch the return to normal. When his cock is too soft to stay inside of you only then does he pull out. Both of you hiss as the sensitivity but soon enough he finds you in his arms again, pressed as tightly as you can.

“Did you mean it?” He almost wants to laugh at your question- it’s a bit late now to worry over his words isn’t it?

“Of course I meant it,” He comforts you nonetheless, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “I love you.” You're silent for a few moments, and he swears he can actually hear you thinking before-

“You should meet my parents then.”

[ashintheairlikesnow]

OH ANTONI 🥺🥺🥺 my poor baby. I hope he will find it within himself to come clean to Jake or SOMEONE about this :((((

(((ALSO CANT WAIT FOR MORR))))

One Two Three Four Five Six

CW: Wound cleaning, burns, touch aversion, aftermath of torture, BBU, conditioned fucky headspace

"Lift your chin for me," she commands, and he doesn't really remember that he could choose not to obey.

Antoni dutifully shifts, his eyes moving to roam over a line of framed photographs along the wall behind her. A wedding photo, faded with time, a much, much younger version of the woman currently dabbing a cotton ball dipped in something cold and stinging to the fresh burn on his throat with a man he's never seen. The two of them are smiling, holding hands, looking right into the camera.

Bright white wedding dress turned cream with yellowing paper, with time, covered in lace. Powder-blue tuxedo. Brilliant smiles.

She touches the cotton ball to his skin and he hisses, hands tightening where they grip the edges of the chair he's sitting on. The sting rockets through him, only a pale echo of the original pain, but it's enough.

It's enough.

Fuck, that's hot.

He catches the sob before it can leave his throat, forces the burn behind his eyes to stay there and not turn into tears. He will not cry over this again.

Not now.

"There we go, just a bit more," She says, her voice gruffly compassionate. She presses a small rounded bandage against his throat, her fingertips are warm against his neck.

His skin crawls at even this slight, indirect touch, but he doesn't protest.

He wouldn't dare.

"All done. That's not s'bad, I think with a good bandaging it won't scar half so bad as all its little friends down south," She mutters, more to herself than him, really.

Where her fingers touch, he feels the echoes of other hands around his throat. Thicker fingers, heavy with rings. Smiling down at him.

Beg for me, love.

"Please-" It's automatic. He's drifting, in and out of this old kitchen that still looks like it must have looked thirty years ago, when the man in the wedding photo would still be here maybe cooking or cleaning or chatting up a storm to anyone who popped by for a visit.

"Hm? You say something, sweetheart?" Miss Ruth looks at him, and those dark eyes are shrewd. They know more than anyone is supposed to, they know things Nat hasn't told her. Hasn't had to.

"Ah, no," He whispers. "Just. I am very tired."

"No doubt. I'll finish these up and you can get back to your own bed and no doubt you'll be glad to get there." She looks him over, and his eyes dance to hers and away again. Back to the photos.

He sees a family photo, the two people from before and a daughter and son. Everyone is smiling, looking carefully just off to the side. They wear matching outfits.

"Get a look at 'em?"

There's a 35th wedding anniversary picture with a big banner behind the happy couple. The two people, much older, stand in front a cake nearly as tall as they are, surrounded by others. Everyone in the photo smiles in sort of the same way.

The next photo is a birthday, he thinks. There's a boy and a young baby in the photo, and the man from wedding and anniversary photo isn't there. Miss Ruth, holding her grandbaby he thinks, is wearing all black. The photo was taken in a church, and there's a spray of white lilies just visible at the edge of the picture.

Another, with Jaden, who Chris plays basketball with. The kid who more or less effortlessly opened his life for Chris when Chris badly needed a friend his own age, or closer to it, to remember what being a kid was like.

He is reading, in images, the story of this woman's adult life. Marriage, and death, and birth. Children. Life going on.

A life he won't have, that he gave up every possibility of having, because of... of whatever is inside him that Mr. Davies knew about, that the people who just hurt him could see in him even though he cannot see it himself.

He must look like someone who deserves to be hurt.

"Young man." She taps on the back of his hand and he flinches, blinking at her, struggling to pull himself out of his reverie. Her words filter through his mind, shift into the language all his thoughts are moving in, come back out in hers. He swallows, feeling a lump in his throat that refuses to move.

"I'm... sorry," He says softly, with difficulty. "I did not hear."

"I can tell. I asked did you get a good look at whoever did this to you." Her eyes roam over his chest, his stomach. The circle of new burns, placed so carefully compared to the haphazard placement Mr. Davies had favored, no pattern at all. "Looks like they took their damn time, anyway, to get you so much."

"N-... no." Antoni's eyebrows furrow, and he tries to think, but all he can remember is their hands holding the lit cigarettes, the quiet one touching his face, ruffling his hair. He can't... he can't remember their faces at all. "I am sorry."

You're fucking gorgeous, buddy, you know that?

"Hm." If she's disappointed in him, nothing changes about her expression, still held in a kind of skeptical compassion as she wets a new cotton ball in liquid from a small frosted plastic bottle and touches it to each burn, one by one, in the circle. It's like a ritual, the sting, washing away a bit of sin with each hint of pain. He clothes his eyes and breathes carefully through it.

When he is done, each circle covered with a bandage that is shades darker than his skin, she steps back to look him over, critically. She steps away and he takes in deep breaths free of her air, the powdery scent of her. He breathes in her absence, no one nearby.

She returns with a washcloth and he takes it, scrubs at his face until his cheeks are red but clean, until you can't tell anymore that he cried while they burned him.

Good boy.

"You can stay here," She says, voice low now. "Sleep it off for a while. I've got a guest room."

"No. No, I will go home. Thank you. I will... I want to go home." He looks out the kitchen window right at Nat's house next door. No lights are on... yet. But there isn't much time before they will be.

"Fair enough. You plan to tell 'em what happened to you?"

He looks back at her, searches for the judgement, finds none.

"No," He says. Confesses, really, his sin. "I will not."

I will lie to them.

"That's your choice to make, I suppose." She lays a hand on his arm. He doesn't pull away from her. He wants to unzip himself from his skin and step out of it, let them all have what they seem to want to touch so much.

Instead, he holds himself perfectly still, until she pats him a few times and steps away again.

"I've done what I can do. You come back over here tomorrow or the day after and we'll look 'em over again and make sure they're healing up nice, you got me?"

"Yes," He says. He is good. He can be good.

"Right. Off you go, then, before your people wake up and you get to come up with a story about why you're in an old widow's house at 4:30 in the morning, hm? You're pretty enough, but you're no Wilbur." She laughs to herself, a dry and crackly sound, and he thinks that her laugh was the sort that could set a whole crowd to laughing, when she was young.

It still is.

The corners of his mouth twitch in an answering smile.

"Yes, ma'am," he says, and pushes himself off the edge, standing up again. No one has seen his scars, no one but this old neighbor woman who looks at them like they are simply part of living, not something to be pitied. "I go. S-... thank you."

"Paugh." She scoffs, waves a hand in dismissal. "Go on, now. You've thrown off my morning coffee time. Tell your young man that Jaden will be over this afternoon."

She all but shoos him out the door, and the air is clear and clean and quiet. The only dirty thing is Antoni himself, smudged and mussed, still feeling in his scalp the prickles of Quiet One's hands, still feeling on his arms the sharp pressure of the shirt tied around his wrists.

Still aware of every single burn under the slight pull of the bandages pressed over them, the gentle sting that feels like a return to how he was always meant to be.

Even the walk from one yard to another feels like too much. Antoni's eyes move over the empty darkened windows of the houses all around him. How obvious he must be, if three people saw him in the darkness and knew him for a pet pretending to be human.

He shouldn't have left, shouldn't have gone on those walks. He'd left himself open and vulnerable, hadn't he? His scars are deeper than skin, and they must shine like the streetlights to anyone who knows what to look for.

Antoni stops at the porch, where he carefully lifts a loose bit of board from the porch railing, finds the small box hidden inside. The slightest scrape of metal on metal as he pulls off the lid makes him freeze, but no one is awake to hear it. He takes the contents of the box, moves it quickly back to its hiding place, replaces the board.

Like nothing ever happened.

Everything can be made as good as new, as long as it isn't him.

He slips inside the safehouse, where everything is still quiet, in the silent inhale that comes before the exhalation of morning. The clock in the kitchen reads 4:45, fifteen minutes until Jake's alarm will go off, until he - and likely Chris - will stir.

Fifteen minutes for Antoni get upstairs and look so deeply asleep that no one will realize he was ever gone.

No time to shower.

He will have to sleep with the grime of their hands still ground deep into every single pore. He will sleep with Deep Voice's we know what you are in his ears, with Quiet One's fingers tangled in his hair, running over his skin. He will sleep with Lookout's eyes locked on his chest as he presses the cigarette in.

Antoni hasn't worn a collar in years now, but he buckles it on, just one notch too tight like Mr. Davies would have, and climbs under the covers, pulling them over his head.

He breathes in as deep as he can, to feel the constriction. Breathes out, and runs his hand up over his chest, over the bandages that cover his burns.

They knew what he was.

Everyone always will.

Good boy.

The ashtray falls asleep humming a lullaby, afraid that if he pulls the blankets back down he will see bars on the windows.

[ragingbookdragon]

Each Word Gets Lost In The Echo PT. 1

Roy Harper x Batbrother!Reader

Word Count: 2.9K Warnings: Explicit Language, Mature Themes

Author's Note: I had way too much fun with this but PT. 2 is going to be angsty and y'all are gonna hate me for it. >:) Enjoy! -Thorne

********************************************************************************

So, are you planning on getting us together soon?

He hummed in response, pulling out the pan and spatula. “I dunno. With Gutierrez’s wife giving birth, I want Esmeralda to have some time with her daughter before we pull out again. I know her Samantha wants her home.”

Understood, but…what’s happening in Syria…it’s not going to get better on its own.

“I know it won’t, Nadeen. But until we get a mission from somebody overseas, we can’t exactly go out.” He pulled a few eggs from the refrigerator, cracking them on the rim of the pan, watching the yellow yolks fall in. “Besides, it’s the first week of a three-month leave.” He smirked. “Don’t tell me you’re already bored.”

Are you kidding me? Um and Ab have grounded me from flying. I’m stuck here, (Y/N).

“How is your family by the way? Wasn’t your sister attending the Cairo University?” he asked.

Yeah, and Um is so proud of her.

(Y/N) chuckled, whisking the eggs in the pan. “Someone’s jealous.”

Well, I can’t exactly tell my parents I work for an illegal black ops squad. Kinda puts dampers in relationships.

“Nadeen, we’re not an illegal squad. We’re government sanctioned.”

The fuck we are. They just don’t bother us because they know they can’t kill us all.

Grabbing the pepper, he ground some into the pan. “Jesus, take a vacation, Nadeen. Go to France or something.”

Fuck France. I’ll go to Saint Petersburg first. Oh shit, speaking of SP, have you spoken to Vitsina yet?

(Y/N) frowned, setting down the pepper grinder. “Why? Is something wrong?”

What? No. I was just wondering if you had. She really needs to get a hobby. Hey, maybe I can get her and Walker to come hang out with me at home.

“You’re not going to get Walker out of his flat, Nadeen. You know how he is when he gets on leave.”

And what about Nakamoto?

“You know they’re both paranoid. Remember to—” something clanged down the hallway and he stopped, mid-sentence, going silent.

Hello? (Y/N)? Captain, you alright?

He frowned and turned off the stove, opening a drawer at the far end of the counter. Pulling out the Glock, he cocked it and murmured, “Asghar, lemme call you back.”

Ten-four, Captain. Be careful.

The line went dead, and he crept to the edge of the doorway and paused, inhaling sharply before he peeked around the corner, gun ready. Nothing. (Y/N)’s frown only deepened as he moved down the hallway, quiet and breathless. He got to the first room in the hall, his study and he shifted against the wall, listening for movement. When he heard nothing, he moved slightly, gun pointed into the door as he swept the room. Empty.

Exhaling deeply, he started to move when he heard the noise again and he peeked out the door to his bedroom. There. (Y/N) crept along the wall again until he was at the doorway and he leaned against the frame, listening carefully. Something was in there. Something or someone, he didn’t know what, but he did know.

(Y/N) waited until the noise got closer then turned the doorway and moved in. Someone’s hand shot out, grabbing the gun and he grunted, throwing up his elbow into their jaw. The intruder cried and with their free hand, grabbed (Y/N)’s shirt and yanked; they went tumbling to the ground, the gun falling away, but he didn’t waste his chance, scrambling atop the stranger as he went for the Strider he had in his back pocket.

He flicked it out and brought it down when the person beneath him grabbed it with one hand, the other ripping off the hood he wore. “(Y/N)! It’s me!”

“Roy?”

The archer sighed and went slack beneath him. “God, yes, it’s me!”

(Y/N) relaxed and tossed the knife to the side, hanging his head down. “Jesus Fuck Roy, I thought you were an assassin.”

“Get those often?” he shot back and (Y/N) glowered at him.

“Yeah, I do actually.” He rolled off Roy and got to his feet, holding out his hand for him to take.

“God, remind me not to sneak up on you again.” He let himself be tugged up and rubbed his jaw. “I thought you dislocated my jaw for a second.”

(Y/N) shoved a finger in his face. “You’re lucky you managed to grab the gun because I almost shot your ass.” He bent down and picked up his Glock and knife, putting the latter back in his pocket after he’d flicked it shut. “Are you some kind of idiot? Why the fuck didn’t you just knock on the door? What possibly justified sneaking into a mercenary’s bedroom through the window?”

Roy shrugged. “I thought you weren’t home yet.”

He opened his mouth to retort, then shut it and nodded. “Alright, that’s actually not a terrible excuse.” Sighing, he shoved past Roy and walked down the hall into the kitchen, the archer following him. “But don’t do it again.”

“Why? Worried you were gonna shoot your boyfriend?” Roy teased, wrapping his arms around (Y/N)’s waist, nuzzling into his neck.

“Yeah, I was.” He put the gun back in the drawer and lugged the archer towards the stove where he flicked the burner back on. “Next time just text me and ask if I’m home.”

Roy hummed, pressing a kiss just above the mercenary’s collar. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well,surprise me you did,” (Y/N) griped. “I seriously thought I was about to have a firefight in my own damn apartment.” He paused, seeming to remember something and said, “I live in a penthouse.” Glancing at Roy, he questioned, “How the fuck did you get up here?”

“I’ve got skills, babe,” Roy grinned, waggling his brows and (Y/N) rolled his eyes before tapping the Bluetooth headset at his ear.

“Call Nadeen.” It pinged for a few moments.

Captain, you’re back. Everything good?

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Roy was in the apartment.”

You live in a penthouse? How’d he get up there?

“His ‘skills’ apparently.”

Nice. He still going around with your brother?

(Y/N) nodded forgetting she wasn’t in front of him and reclined into Roy as the eggs started cooking. “Yeah. Got a new gig as Red Hood and Arsenal.”

Roy blinked. “Wait, does your squad know…about you know…”

He waved and (Y/N) completed, “That my family and friends are vigilantes? Yeah. Why?”

“Isn’t that a breach of security?”

He snorted. “You act like my squad is friends with every government in the world, baby.” He shook his head. “I trust my team with everything. And in return they trust me with theirs.”

Aww, Captain you do care.

“Does your dad know that they know?”

(Y/N) shrugged. “Probably. But he doesn’t tell me how to live my life and I don’t tell him how to live his.” He scrambled the eggs. “Nadeen, go hang out with Vitsina for a week or two if you’re really that bored.”

She’s back in Russia right now, isn’t she?

“I think so. Said she had a loose end to tie up with Antonovich.”

Oh shit, she’s gonna fucking kill that guy. She might need air support then.

“Hence why I said go hang out with her.”

Wanna come along? You could bring your boy-toy?

“Did she just call me a boy-toy?” Roy blurted. “Excuse you, I am not a boy-toy. I am a boy-man.”

Well, from the pictures Captain’s showed us, you are in fact a boy-toy, Roy.

He blinked and looked at (Y/N). “What pictures did you show them?”

“Nothing,” he coughed. “Nadeen, shut up.”

The ones with the red lace and matching heels.

“You didn’t.” Roy breathed. “You showed them the pin-up photos?!”

(Y/N)’s mouth fell open and closed as he vaguely gestured around. “I didn’t directly show them. Nakamoto hacked my phone like the nosy asshole he is and found ‘em.”

“So that means you still showed them because you apparently didn’t stop them from seeing!”

Oh, look at that, Captain, Ab is calling me. Talk later!

She hung up on him and (Y/N) huffed a laugh, pulling the device from his ear. He set it aside and shrugged out of Roy’s arms, pulling two plates out of the cabinet beside them. He plated the food, smirking at the flush across Roy’s cheeks. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re embarrassed, baby?”

“You showed my nudes to your black ops squad. It’s hot. Ridiculously hot. But also embarrassing.”

“If it makes you feel any better, they were very impressed with them.”

Roy tried and failed horribly to hide the grin coming over his lips. “…They were?”

(Y/N) set down the plates and got up in Roy’s personal space and flirted, “Oh absolutely baby. They were so stunned at how pretty you looked all dolled up in that red teddy, your lips painted crimson.” He gripped Roy’s hips and pulled them flush together, and while Roy was about five-eleven, (Y/N) had a couple inches on him. He smirked when he felt the definition in Roy’s jeans. “Wanna know what my favorite picture is?”

Roy swallowed thickly, one hand coming to grab at the island behind him, the other grabbing (Y/N)’s shoulder. “Which—which one?”

He pressed a kiss to the underside of the archer’s jaw, trailing his lips to his ear where he breathed, “The one where you’re bent down on the bed…” he reached up behind Roy’s back and tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck. “Your ass is up in the air and...”

“Uh huh, what else?” Roy begged, hips canting forward.

“God, you’ve got that pretty red flush across your cheeks.” (Y/N) whispered. “You looked incredibly ravishing.” He breathed in Roy’s ear. “We were on that mission in Kazakhstan for two whole months and all I could think about was getting back home and drilling you into the mattress until you couldn’t walk.”

“(Y/N)…” the archer groaned shamelessly. “Babe, please.”

He smirked, pressing a kiss to Roy’s cheek. “I didn’t show them that one though,” he said, pulling away without a second thought, picking up the plates. “I kept that one to myself. It’s still in my wallet if you wanna go check. I look at it a lot.”

(Y/N) wandered towards the living room and plopped down on the couch, propping his legs up on the coffee table. He snorted when he heard Roy’s moan of frustration followed by the man stomping into the living room with the other plate in his hand, the free one adjusting the front of his jeans.

“I hate you.” He scowled, sitting on the other end of the couch. “I hate you so fucking much it’s not funny.”

(Y/N) shrugged and picked up the remote, switching the channels until he found a football game to watch. “You snuck into my penthouse and almost made me shoot you point blank.” He shot Roy a grin. “I guess we’re both doing things to each other we don’t like.”

“I thought you weren’t home!”

“Mhm. Punishment is still a punishment, baby.” He turned up the volume and dug into his eggs. “Jason know you’re in Gotham City?”

Roy swallowed the food in his mouth, answering, “Told him I was in the area.”

“You know he’s gonna wanna see you.” (Y/N) replied. “If not to hang out, to make sure you’re not into trouble.”

“Are you saying I’m trouble, babe?” Roy retorted and he chuckled.

“You’re my kind of trouble.”

The archer went silent, and his cheeks flushed. “…That was a low blow.”

(Y/N) winked. “Uh huh.” His side vibrated and he reached down, pulling his phone out.

“Who is it?” Roy asked.

“Alfred.” He slid his thumb along the bottom and put it to his ear. “Hello, you’ve reached the answering machine of your favorite grandson. How may I assist you today, grandpa?”

You’re absolutely hysterical, Master (Y/N). You should go into comedy.

“I would but it doesn’t pay that well unlike merc missions.”

Hmm…how are you today, Master (Y/N)?

He smiled. “Not too bad Alfie. Could’ve eaten a perfect parfait with fresh fruit and granola, but beggars can’t be choosers, huh?”

You did miss an excellent breakfast if I do say so myself. Nevertheless, it is Sunday morning. Shall I expect you later tonight for dinner?

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Alfie.” (Y/N) agreed.

Wonderful. I shall set out an extra plate in case you decide to invite Master Harper. Have a good day. Until tonight, sir.

The line clicked and (Y/N) pulled the phone from his ear, staring at it in confusion. “Babe? What’s wrong?” Roy questioned.

He shook his head. “Alfred knew you were here.”

“What? He did?”

He looked up at Roy. “Yeah…said he was going to set out an extra plate for you tonight at dinner in case you wanted to come.”

“I get to come to the Wayne Family Sunday Night Dinner? Really?” he seemed awfully excited.

“Dude, it’s just dinner.”

“That you guys do every Sunday night and don’t allow anybody to tread on,” Roy retorted with a glare. “This is special.”

(Y/N) rolled his eyes. “Are you that eager to be introduced to the family?” he dodged the pillow Roy threw at him. “But…if you wanna come, you’re free to.”

“Really?” Roy doubted. “You want me to come over? I thought you wanted to keep this quiet?”

He sighed and pulled his legs from the table, setting the plate on it. “It’s not that I want it to stay a secret. It’s just…I worry about it.”

Roy set his plate down on the coffee table and scooted close. “What about?”

“I don’t know, Roy. I’m just worried that the more people that know about us the more danger I put you in.”

“Babe…” Roy started, placing a hand on the other side of (Y/N)’s cheek so he could turn his face to the archer’s. “We both live dangerous lives. There’s always going to be danger surrounding us.”

“I know,” (Y/N) sighed, leaning into Roy’s hand. “I still worry though. About you…about us.” He met those evergreen eyes. “I’m just worried that every time I leave, it’s going to be the last time we see each other.”

Roy chuckled. “Afraid I’m going to get offed?”

“No,” he murmured, turning his lips into Roy���s palm. “That I will.”

The archer gaped at him. “(Y/N)…why haven’t you told me about this?”

“Because I’m a super soldier who was trained to keep my emotions under control by an anal retentive, over glorified kitchen scale of a father.” (Y/N) deadpanned, then heaved an even bigger sigh and rested his forehead against Roy’s shoulder. “You’ve got enough on your plate.”

“Yeah, Jaybird keeps me pretty busy with missions.”

He chuckled. “Gonna have to tell my little brother to let my boyfriend have a break.”

“Break smeak.” Roy quipped, pressing a kiss to (Y/N)’s temple. “Listen to me, you’re a strong man, (Y/N). You’re probably the best out of your family. Smart and skilled off the charts.” He ran his calloused fingers down his lover’s neck. “If anyone is going to get out alive on a mission, it’ll always be you. Always.”

He sighed, turning his nose into Roy’s neck as he whispered. “You think so?”

Roy smiled, gripping his chin lightly to pull his head up. “I don’t think so, babe. I know so.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to (Y/N)’s. “I love you,” he murmured against the soldier’s lips. “So much.”

(Y/N) hummed and pressed a hand to Roy’s chest, shoving him backwards onto the couch and he crawled atop him. “I love you more,” he replied and pulled his shirt off his body before pressing his hand to Roy’s chest, except the archer hissed and he let up. “What’s wrong?” he worried, and he shook his head.

“Nothing.”

“Roy.” He warned, cocking a brow. “Where are you hurt?” he asked, pressing the same spot again.

“Ow! Stop that!” Roy grunted. “It’s tender.”

“What’s tender?” (Y/N) inquired and Roy sighed.

“I got a new tattoo.”

He narrowed his eyes and gazed down at him. “Of?”

“Nothing.” The archer muttered, though pink was coming across his cheeks and he sighed.

“C’mon Roy. Talk or I’ll tease it out of you.” He shot him a glare. “And you know I will.”

They stared one another down for a minute then Roy sighed and pulled his shirt off and (Y/N) peeled away the bandage. His eyes went wide when he saw the silver spartan helmet atop the black shield, the gold lettering underneath.

“Is this…”

“Your squad designation?” Roy offered. “Yeah…thought it seemed right.”

(Y/N) traced the raised flesh, eyes flashing to Roy’s when he shivered from the calloused touch. “I can’t believe you got my squads symbol tattooed on your chest.”

“You don’t like it?” he sounded hurt.

“I love it,” (Y/N) huffed, gesturing to his own tattoo on his ribs. “We match now…though you forgot to put your name inside the shield.”

“Well, I’m not technically a Spectre, (Y/N).” Roy said.

“Maybe not, but that’s still where your name goes.” He retorted and smiled. “It’s awesome, baby.”

Roy’s thumb brushed his hipbone. “So does the tattoo get me out of punishment for sneaking in?”

(Y/N) smirked down at him. “It just might.” He reached down and tugged the front of Roy’s pants. “Why don’t you show me how sorry you are for it? I just might decide to forgive you before subjecting you to dinner with my family.”

A multitude of emotions flashed through Roy’s eyes. Arousal, desire, need, and then surprise. “Oh shit, I forgot about dinner.”

“Seriously?” (Y/N) blinked, unsurprised. “God you’re such a man.” He crawled out of Roy’s lap much to the archer’s dismay and groaning.

“Where are you going?”

He paused and looked back at him. “I’m not fucking you on my couch, Roy.” He started towards his bedroom. “Hurry up or I’ll start without you.”

Roy rolled off the couch and to his feet as fast as he could.

[happys-crazy-queen22]

A True Love

Gif credit @angelreyesgirl.

Requested by @writerwithasoul. Hope you like it. Thanks for the request. ❤

Taglist @nocturnalherb16 @jesseswartzwelder. @leaalfred. @tranqs-main-mami. @mayans-mc. @baylishh. @writerwithasoul. @twistnet. @ilovetaquitosmmmm.

"Sweetie, I'm heading out with the girls. I'll see you tonight". You called out, fixing your necklace and grabbing your purse by the door.

"Wait wait wait. Let me get a look at you". Miguel purred as he got closer. You blushed as you twirled around.

"Looking sexy as always. A little to sexy. Where are you going with the girls"? He asked rubbing his thumb over your hand as he held it.

"Shopping and maybe to lunch. There's this new restaurant that opened down the hill and we all have been wanting to try it". You gushed.

"Alright. You be safe out there. Call if you need anything". Miguel kissed your cheek and you went on your way.

"Follow her". Miguel turned his head and motioned to one of his security guards.

"Yes, sir". The guard slipped out the back and went to his car. He let your driver and you get ahead of him so you wouldnt spot him following you.

You met up with your girlfriends and headed into the first store. It wasn't much your taste but they did have cute lingerie that you couldn't resist. So you grabbed a cute red matching set and a black and lace matching set. Heading into the dressing room.

Quickly slipping off your shirt and unfastened your bra the curtain swept open and in popped a man with a kutte on.

"What the fuck are you doing in here? You pervert". You slapped his chest and he laughed. Then quieted down when he saw your breasts were hanging out.

Covering yourself, you let out a giggle. "Angel, you can't be here. You know Miguel has someone following me. I think he's become suspicious. I'm hanging out with the girls to much. And I dont even like them. They're to rich for my blood. A thousand dollars for lingerie. That's expensive". 

"But it looks so good on you". Angel softly growled, his arms wrapped around your waist. Your hands went to his groin. Massaging his cock through his jeans.

"Buy it. Wear it tonight". Angel nipped at your earlobe.

"I cant tonight. Miguel has a party that he wants me to go to". You moaned when Angel moved down to your neck, sucking on your collarbone. He turned you around his hot breath on your neck.

"Blow it off. Say your sick or something". Angel kissed down your chest. Stopping at one of your hard nipples. Taking it in his mouth and sucking on it. Your head fell back and your hands went to his hair. His tongue circled your nipple, taking it between his teeth. You gasped out as he pinched the other with his fingers. Pulling at it.

"Fuuuuck". You pulled on Angel's hair.

"I can't. I'm sorry. I want to be with you but I can't". You whined when Angel released your nipple from his mouth and his fingers weren't touching you anymore.

"So this is why your buying lingerie? For him"?

"No. We havent had sex in four months. You're the only one I want. I crave you every second of the day. My mind it always on you. Not him. I dont even let him kiss me on the lips any more". You sadly said, putting your clothes back on.

"Then why dont you leave him? Come live with me. I want you". Angel ran his hands up your arms, giving you goosebumps.

"I cant.  You know that. My family".

"Okay. But what if I can make sure that your family is safe"?

"I would thank you in the best way I can and I would never leave you". You smirked as you hugged Angel.

"Alright. Go to your party and text when you can". Angel kissed your lips with passion and then hurried out of the dressing room without be caught.

You breathed in and out. You wanted to go with Angel so bad but there was a little voice in the back of your brain telling you no. Itll be deadly for some. See your marriage with Miguel wasnt a ordinary marriage. It was planned without your permission. You had no choice in the matter. Miguel is a rich powerful man and what he wants he gets. He wanted you and he got you. There was no running or turning away. You had too or your family wouldn't make it. Your father basically made a deal with the devil. No, Miguel isn't that bad. He's sweet and charming. But he's also overwhelming and over protective. It took him a year for you to be able to go out shopping with friends.

He was controlling and secretive. The sex was okay. Nothing like with Angel. Angel gave you mind blowing orgasms. Miguel gave you a mind blowing migraine. They were totally opposites. Angel was freedom. Miguel was shackles. But you had to pretend to be happy.

Then you met Angel and he made you truly happy. Then Miguel started to suspect something was going on with you and a man. He wanted to fire or kill every man that worked for him.  He was jealous but you made sure that he didnt catch Angel.

After buying the black and lace set you headed to lunch. The girls chatted and galked about the cute busboy and how they wanted to take him for a spin. But all you could think about was Angel. And why Nestor was sitting there watching you with his binoculars.

Rolling your eyes, you knew it was time to go home. You said bye to the girls and went to Nestor.

"So you're taking me home"? You asked getting into the SUV.

"Yeah, Miguel wants you ready for tonight".

Huffing as you sat back in your seat. You drove down the road and saw a couple of bikes on the side. Your heart raced, hoping to see Angel.  There he was sitting on his bike, smoking a cigarette and smiling. Your heart did flips. He was so beautiful.

"Dirty filthy scum". Nestor spat.

You ignored him as you watched out the window. Angel sent you a wink. You melted into a puddle in the seat.

Pulling up to house you got out and headed inside.  Straight to your room, hiding the lingerie from Miguel. As you finished up he came into the room surprising you.

"You scared me". You let out a breathy laugh.

"Sorry. Did you have a good time"? He asked coming and sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Yeah, Karen talked about the busboy and all the things she wanted to do to him but I think it was just her hot flashes talking". You slightly giggled.

"So you were talking to boys"?

"No. We had a waitress and a hostess. All women".

"Then why is the only thing I'm hearing is about a busboy"?

"Just forget I said anything. What should I wear tonight"? You gulped down your fear and headed into your closet.

Miguel rubbed his temple. "There's a dress in there for you to wear".

Finding the dress it was beautiful. "This is lovely. I cant possibly wear this. It might get ruin".

"You'll wear it. Itll look great". Miguel kissed your head. "Oh, and I wished you had gotten the red set. You know how black looks on you". Miguel smiled and left the room. Your heart dropped. He knows what set you bought. Does he know about Angel?

[statticscribbles]

Wind Chimes Pt 2

Summary: Sweet Pea/Reader Request: A Part two of Wind Chimes, TW: Abuse, Discussions of Abuse

You don’t mean to spend the night over in Sweet Pea’s, but its almost morning anyways theres no point in going back to get yelled at more. FP doesn’t push you instead asking how your mom’s been doing explaining how shed stopped showing up to meetings, you in return explained how she wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without Micheal, and since he wasn’t a serpent he couldn’t go. You try your best not to make a mess or bother sweet pea, opting to stay on the couch once FP leaves; after assuring you he’ll talk with your mom. You fall asleep and wake up in the bed, sitting up and looking around the room has you identifying the suddenly odd shaped couch as having Sweet Pea sleeping on it.

You manage to sneak out, after leaving a note letting Sweet Pea know you’ve just gone home. Your mothers making breakfast when you open the door, she turns cheerfully and offers you a plate, you claim you’ve already eaten as her boyfriend emerges. You can tell he’s looking at you when the content look drops off his face. “The kids back, you been slumming it with those snakes again? you know you’ll just end up knocked up and alone if you try to get with them. you know they wouldn’t want you as one of them right?” you don’t say anything just bow your head slightly; evidentially he wanted a verbal answer with how he shoves you, repeating himself.

“i know, they wouldn’t want me anyways. You don’t have to worry about me Micheal” you mimic whatever you think he wants to hear, relieved when he nods and gestures to the door. “I’m not worried for you. Hanging out with gang members is putting stress on your mother and i, how’re we supposed to get anything done with you running off with who knows doing god knows what kinds of drugs and going to parties. well go on I’m sure they’re waiting to bring you to school, if they even go of course.” you bite your lip to avoid saying anything as you start to walk to school.

“Need a lift y/n?” you nod as sweet pea pulls to a stop beside you, he offers you his helmet and waits till you nod to start his bike again. You feign a little more fear than necessary during the ride as an excuse to cling to him more. You worry you’re being clingy and annoying but Sweet Pea just smiles and tucks his keys into his pocket. “Your helmet!” you start to tug it off and he waits as you hover it out towards him. “Keep it, i’ll give you a lift later.” “What about fangs?” you question, confused when he pulls up in a car with Toni and a few other serpents. “Oh so thats why you wanted to take your bike, showing off like that is no way to impress a lady, you need to buy her dinner.” Toni laughs and Sweet Pea glares. “Shut it.” he smacks fangs on the shoulder and you jump.

“Sorry, fuck I’m sorry.” he speaks before you can react fluttering around you, the rest of the serpents watching curiously. “You not a fan of violence then?” Fangs asks and you blink out of your momentary stupor to shake your head. “I don’t mind just brought back some uncomfortable memories.” they nod leaving you and Sweet Pea alone. “Memories?” “It happened in the past, that means its a memory.” you counter and he smiles a tiny bit before looking serious as he looks you in the eyes. “I’m really sorry about that babe I didn’t even think about it freaking you out, I really am sorry.” Sweet Pea hangs his head. “Babe?” You question. “Yes?” “No I was asking why you called me babe.” “Oh. Cause I can; I can stop if you want.” You know you’re probably blushing. “No you don’t have to, its nice.” you smile and nod to him and then towards the school. “We should get to class.” He nods repeating what you said and following you, staring at the ground.

“You only like him because he can protect you. You don’t know the first thing about him” Micheal starts the minute he gets home, you know he saw you riding on the back of sweet peas bike. “I bet the first chance he gets, the minute he gets you alone he’ll hit you.” “Like you?” you cover your mouth but know its no use; Micheal stalks forward face blank as he curls his fist.

You try your best to cover the black eye with a mixture of your hair and makeup, its still visible, but looks healed by a few days, all you have to do is lie about the pain and no one should bother you. Micheal seems almost proud at the disgust on your mother’s face when she catches sight of you; you hope its disgust at what he’d done, not at you. You shake the thought from your head trying your best to not to let Micheal’s verbal attacks wear you down more. “I’m going for a walk.” You say mostly to the carpet as you take your keys and step three doors down.

“Hey y/n whats up?” You don’t respond stumbling forward trying to avoid touching your hair. “What happened y/n” You know sweet pea knows, you can hear the concern lacing his voice and when he cautiously tugs your arm you fold into him crying off the makeup you’d spent hours on.

Micheal learns from what he calls his mistake, you learn to keep any comments to yourself and he learns its much better to hit you in places you wont show anyone; of course since he thinks you’re sleeping around he concludes at least there will be bad lighting to hide it.

“Come on kid, no one actually wants to look at your face when they fuck you, they wont notice the bruises anyways. Suck it up; if you’re going to end up as the plaything for the serpents like your mother was the least you can do is take a hit without crying about it.”

Your excuse is you’re taking a shower, you shove you school bag full of as many clothes as you can, unsure of when you’ll be back. You’re thankful you don’t have to go far, sliding out your window and knocking three doors down. “Hey, study session right?” You know other people are here right now with how his hands grip the door. You hate that sweet pea got dragged into this, he can’t even spend time with his friends without you interrupting. You offer a slight nod.

“I can come back if you’re busy.” “Is that y/n? Tell her to come in; I need to talk to her.” You cringe at FP’s voice and follow Sweet Pea. “Hey Mr. Jones.” “I’ve told you its FP; now-“ “Actually before we talk, I wanted to ask; can I join the serpents?” You blurt out trying your best to avoid looking him in the eye. “Well great minds think alike, Sweet Pea and I were just talking about it. We both think it would be best, just for added security. Well I do anyways.” “You don’t want me join?” you frown at Sweet Pea who shakes his head.

“No i just, its complicated, we can talk later..” He nods to FP who laughs. “I know when I’m not wanted, see you two at your trials; Sweet Pea, no cheating to help her okay..” Sweet Pea nods and you turn to him nerves building. “Listen I get I’m a burden and a nuisance right now, but if I join the serpents I don’t have to shadow you all the time so you can get your life back. I get I don’t offer anything of value to the- Sweet Pea?” You break from your rant to watch him frown.

“You’re not a burden, or a bother or a nuisance or any other thing like that. Im spending my time helping you because I like you, because I want to protect you, I want to help you. I’m going out of my way, sure, but its worth it knowing you’re safe.” He sighs. “Let me put it this way, if I have to sleep on the couch every night, just so I know you’re not sleeping in the same place as that asshole, I’m more than happy to do that.” “we can just share the bed, or i can take the cou-” You shrug half heartily pausing at his scowl. “-sharing the bed it is then.” You smile at him setting your bag down. “Oh here, I cleared out a drawer for you, well its mostly Fangs’ and Toni’s things, they used to stay here a lot.”

It becomes normal, a relief to return to Sweet Pea’s everyday. You’re an official Serpent; Sweet Pea insisting that you’re the best recruit they’ve ever had. The Serpents themselves seem relieved, and a few of the older ones ask about your mom, you give what updates you can, she seemed to be doing better although Micheal still came around too often for you to want to go home.

“I’m sorry please don’t-“ You don’t finish the sentence ducking down to pull the plate fragments from the carpets, nervous when Sweet Pea stops you. “Hey y/n, it’s okay sweetheart, it’s fine.” “You’re not going to hurt me?” You cringe as you calm down from the panic, he’s staring at you. “No y/n, I’m not going to hurt you, I’d never hurt someone I love.” You nod nervously still holding the plate shards and he pulls the trashcan over. “There, all clean, hey wait don’t step there you could hurt yourself.” Sweet Pea says, lifting you up and swivelling to place you down in a plate free area. He finishes cleaning up returning from dumping the trashcan outside. “Whats wrong Y/N?”

“Hm? oh, nothing, I love you too.” You try your best to sound nonchalant but cant help the smile when his face pinks. “You love me; wait too? Did I- dammit, I was saving that for a more romantic moment.” “Picking up a plate is plenty romantic.” You counter and he smiles nodding to the bed where you curl up next to him. “ So Y/N, would you like to be my girlfriend then?” “Yes please.” “You don’t need to say please I asked you.”

“It’s polite, you need to learn manners.” You laugh and he shakes his head. “i have manners, it’s just silly of you to ask if you can be my girlfriend when I already asked you to date me.” You blink shaking your head. “That doesn’t make sense, dating doesn’t mean we’re boyfriend and girlfriend.” “It does to me” Sweet Pea nods to you. “Same goes but-“ “Then theres no buts, were dating and boyfriend and girlfriend that’s how it works.” “Not always.” You counter and he laughs. “Of course, but for us it does.” You fall asleep in Sweet Pea’s arms and when you wake in the middle of the night he’s still next to you, you turn slightly curling into his arms as he half wakes up. “What’s wrong?” He mumbles still half asleep. “It’s quiet.” You shrug a little and he presses a kiss against your cheek. “Go back to sleep babe, it’s too early.” You nod settling down but jump bumping into his arms as you hear a sound outside the door. “Y/N, it’s okay sweetheart, just the wind.” He nuzzles into your hair pulling the blanket closer.

Support My Writing?

[tallycraven]

A small continuation of “brainwashed” 👀 a small moment where Scylla helps to calm down Raelle, the first time Raelle attempts to touch her. But her hands start to shake uncontrollably with a bad headache. Scylla comforts her by being forehead to forhead with Raelle and telling her to concentrate on her smell to get her to relax.

haha oops my finger slipped here’s a 1.8k word addendum to this (; 

(pt. 1) (pt. 2) (pt. 3) (pt. 4)

also available on ao3!

Raelle still feels like a monster sometimes, Scylla knows. She’s seen moments where Raelle flinches at her own reflection or adamantly avoids looking at it. She’s watched Raelle double and triple-check her pockets and make lists for the smallest of tasks. All things to help herself stay stable; all things recommended to her by her therapist. 

Scylla also knows that Raelle tiptoes around her. She treats Scylla like the most delicate of snowflakes on a bright sunny winter day and almost never lets herself touch Scylla the way she wants to. And Scylla understands. She gets that it’s hard and painful and takes time. It’s not like she doesn’t have scars from what happened. 

So, she survives on grazing touches and brief hugs, prolonged contact through clothes when they sit close to each other. She lets herself miss Raelle’s kisses and imagines the day that Raelle will finally let herself touch Scylla again. She remembers and relives their first time together, their second time, all the times after that, waking up in the same bed and feeling Raelle’s fingers press hard into her hips. 

It’s nothing close to reality, but it’s enough to keep Scylla grounded. 

Healing takes time, Tally said once, when she and Scylla were waiting for Izadora to finish helping Raelle with her weekly fixing session. No matter how much you want her to give it to ya. 

Scylla giggles at the memory; remembers the way Tally had wiggled her eyebrows and shifted her hips in an attempt to entertain her. 

“What’re you laughing at?” Raelle asks, head perking up from looking at the comics in the newspaper in front of her. 

They’re settled on the couch in the Bellweather beach estate— a house that’s become a home for the four of them over the past few months. Scylla’s been spacing out, repeatedly reading the same paragraph in some book Abigail gave her for the past ten minutes and intaking none of it, while Raelle’s been going over the Sunday paper. 

(Keeping up with current events is a good way to stay present, according to some Fort Salem-assigned brain fixer; but Raelle only ever reads the comics and half-asses the crossword.)

They’re sat by each other’s sides, like usual. Close enough that Raelle’s knee can bump into Scylla’s thigh whenever she shifts.

“Oh, nothing.” Scylla smiles, moving so she’s sitting with her legs crossed and facing Raelle, choosing to give her a tiny bit more distance between them. “Just remembered something Tally said.” 

The crinkle the forms between Raelle’s brows is downright endearing. 

“What’d she say?” Raelle turns to mirror Scylla’s posture until they’re both facing each other on the couch with their legs crossed.

Scylla weighs her options briefly before remembering that truth is a virtue that she’s been learning to master. Especially when it comes to Raelle. 

She takes a small breath and smiles. “Uh. Said that you’re gonna need time and I should be patient about wanting you to touch me until then. Which is absolutely true and I’m willing to wait forev–”

“I do want to touch you.” Raelle says, quickly and all in one breath so that it comes out sounding more like ‘Idowannatouchyou.’

It takes Scylla’s mind a little bit to catch up, deciphering the words that sounded for a brief moment like another language and then unraveling the bundle of emotions that said words have given life to in her chest.

Scylla must spend too long looking at Raelle in wonder, because Raelle’s suddenly beet red and staring down at her hands. They’re trembling, but it’s not the worst that they’ve seen. She’s made a lot of progress.

Raelle presses her palms against her thighs and takes a deep breath. 

“I do want to touch you.” She repeats, this time slower. “It’s just. M’nervous.” 

The emotions in Scylla’s chest melt into something soft and sad and full of love. She scoots herself a little closer to Raelle —slowly, of course— and holds a hand out, palm up, and waits. 

Raelle looks from Scylla’s face to her palm, recognizes the offer and places her own palm by it. 

Scylla traces a familiar ‘S’ and watches its twin bloom in Raelle’s palm. She lets it fade slowly before grazing her pinky along the side of Raelle’s hand and very slowly brings her own hand against Raelle’s. 

The tremors are smaller now, but Scylla’s focusing on the touch of Raelle’s hand against hers. The pads of her fingers pressed against the base of Scylla’s palm and the warmth of Raelle’s own palm radiating against her fingers.

Scylla shifts ever closer until their knees bump and stay touching. She’s watching Raelle’s face to tell for any telltale signs of the need to run and finds only concentration.

Raelle’s taking slow but shaky breaths, eyebrows furrowed with her jaw tensing and untensing. For a moment, Scylla considers pulling back. But she knows that would upset Raelle; it would launch her into a cycle of blaming herself for not healing fast enough.

“Is this okay?” She asks instead.

Raelle’s nod is hurried. “Yeah, it’s good.”

She presses forward some more, leaning so that her forehead bumps lightly against Raelle’s. She can feel Raelle’s unsteady breaths and the tension in her temples. Her hands are starting to shake more despite how hard Raelle is staring at them.

“Hey, focus on me, yeah?”  

Raelle swallows and stays silent, clenches her eyes closed in that way she does when the headaches start to pick up.

Scylla takes her hands in her own, fully now, lacing their fingers together and letting Raelle manage the tightness of the grasp. It’s slow and careful, but Raelle holds on tightly while Scylla rubs gentle circles against Raelle’s thumb with her own.

“I love you.” Scylla whispers. “I love you and I’m real and you won’t hurt me.”

Raelle’s breath catches at that and her eyes open for a split second before slamming shut again, tighter as she tries to push away memories of cold bodies and betrayal and violence unbecoming.

Scylla backtracks. She brings Raelle’s hands up to her lips and presses soft kisses to her fingers.

“Stay with me.”

Raelle swallows and nods, eyes closed and hands clenched around Scylla’s.

“Do you hear the ocean?”

A nod.

There’s a window open somewhere, letting in the sound of the Atlantic’s waves crashing against the shore.

“Can you feel my hands?”

Another nod, hesitant.

They sit in silence like that, hands together and pressed as close as Raelle’s nerves will let them. Minutes tick by and Scylla’s lost in the warmth of being so close to Raelle. She finds that she’d be okay if they just stayed like this for the rest of forever.

Raelle’s voice is quiet when she finally speaks. “You smell nice.”

Scylla can’t help the small laugh that bubbles out of her; can’t explain the tears that spring forth from her eyes or the way her chest tightens with incomprehensible affection.

“New shampoo.” She supplies in what she hopes to be an easy fashion.

Another minute passes and Raelle’s hands have stilled and her breathing is slower, calmer.

When Raelle speaks again, it’s with a new kind of nervousness. Something more innocent, less rooted in fear.

“Can I kiss you?”

Scylla would scold herself for nodding like an eager teenager if she weren’t already tilting her lips and catching Raelle’s between them.

It’s slow and careful, like Raelle’s learning how to kiss Scylla for the first time. It’s so polarizing and different from the first time they ever kissed that Scylla’s brain is doing looping circles. She’s trying to remember this moment, seal the way Raelle’s breath catches when their lips meet as a gasping rush of hot breath pushes itself past her own. Just in case Raelle needs to pull away for space again.

Scylla tries to memorize every push and pull; to be slow and careful instead of giving in to the base need for Raelle that lives inside of her. Of course, her body wins out—like it always does—to the feeling of Raelle against her, dropping her hands to pull Scylla onto her lap with a whispered, “Is this okay?”

Which, yes, yes it very much is okay for Scylla but she just has to check with, “Is this okay for you?”

Raelle’s hasty nod bumps her nose against Scylla’s and draws twin laughter from both of them before they meet in another kiss. Still slow and careful, but deeper this time as Raelle’s fingers spread across the small of Scylla’s back and press firmly while she gives an exploratory lick into Scylla’s mouth.

And gods after months of grazing touches and second-long hugs, Scylla thinks she might melt under the heat of Raelle’s kiss.

Slow and shy has given way to greedy want; Raelle’s hands grasp tightly against the back of Scylla’s shirt and they’re properly pressed together now. Scylla can feel the hard lines of Raelle’s muscles through her shirt, lean and lithe and so fucking unfair.  

She can’t stop the borderline-sinful groan that escapes her when Raelle cants her hips up instinctively to press deeper into the kiss. She’s humming. Her body’s pounding in time with her heart in a way that she can feel the desperate beat in her fingertips.

And then Raelle pulls away, eyes clouded but worried and careful.

“Are you okay?”

Scylla’s breathless, confounded at how kisses could render her body into a mess of pulses and need. But she manages the nod and smiles, drawing slow breaths of oxygen into her grateful lungs.

“Sorry, that…” she huffs a small laugh, “wasn’t what I was planning, I promise.”

Raelle has fallen quiet again, pulling her bottom lip (kiss-swollen and so so tempting) between her teeth and sucking on it for a second.

“I’m sorry if I rushed—” Raelle starts.

“No!” Scylla cuts her off, hands coming to rest on Raelle’s shoulders as she shakes her head. “No, no, it’s okay. I’m okay. Are you?”

Raelle draws her lip back between her teeth and bites, her brows furrow but her eyes never leave Scylla’s.

Scylla immediately shifts when Raelle doesn’t answer, already moving to climb off her lap, but is stopped when Raelle’s hands grip and pull her back against her.

“No, I’m—” Raelle husks, “Please stay?”

All Scylla can do is nod, eyes scanning Raelle’s face for signs, anything that’ll tell her what to do.

She smiles softly, brings one of Raelle’s hands up from her hip to her lips and presses a soft kiss to her knuckles. Her other hand finds its way to Raelle’s face, brushes carefully along the jagged scar on her cheek while Raelle leans into it.

“Slower?” Scylla asks.

Raelle nods, eyes fluttering closed. “Thank you.”

Their calm is disturbed by the sound of the front door opening and closing followed by the footsteps of the only two people it could be approaching the living room.

Scylla can’t even bring herself to move off of Raelle, it’s too warm and comfy, so she just braces for what comes next.

“It’s about damn time.” Comes Abigail’s voice as she falls backwards onto an armchair opposite them.

“Abigail!” Tally scolds, trailing in after her while shedding her jacket. She turns to Scylla and Raelle (who’s adamantly staring at Scylla’s collarbones instead of paying attention to her unit mates) with a smile, “Congrats, you two.”

[a-lonely-tatertot]

Kiss me like it isn’t allowed

Pairing: Keefitz

Word Count:  3111

Warnings: Underage drinking (briefly mentioned), cursing, and internalized homophobia 

A/N: There’s a happy ending I swear, Fitz is just a repressed gay and doesn’t like feelings, I also know nothing about laser tag so sue me. And thanks to @bookwyrminspiration

The night it all started was normal. Keefe sprawled on Fitz’s bed, staring at the ceiling lost somewhere in a world of thought. “I wonder what it’s like to kiss someone,” Keefe said to no one in particular. 

Fitz looked up startled, “Didn’t you kiss my sister once?”

“She turned her head!” He put his hands up in defense. “I meant like, kiss someone for real.”

“Come back to me when you have an answer,” Fitz sighed indifferently. He never really understood the gain there was to smashing mouths together and moving them around. He hadn’t realized Keefe had moved to sit criss cross in front of him until he pulled away his book. “Hello to you too,” he said. Keefe’s ears were pink against his pale hair.

“What if- if you wanted to- maybe we- I could- uh,” he swallowed, eyes darting everywhere. Fitz smiled a bit.

“Spit it out, buddy.”

“CanIkissyou?” Fitz’s brain short-circuited, and Keefe began to fidget, playing with his hands like he would die if he didn’t. Purely out of impulse and not thinking straight, Fitz surged forward his forehead smacking into Keefe’s. “Ow,” he groaned.

“That definitely could’ve gone better,” Keefe laughed weakly. Before he could grab the book again and hide behind the pages, soft hands ghosted his face. Oh, he thought, realizing what he agreed to.

“This still okay?” he asked softly. His hands fell gently on Fitz’s cheeks. They were light, barely there, waiting to be refused. 

A breathy, “Yes,” was all Keefe needed to press their lips softy together. 

There weren’t any fireworks as Fitz’s eyes fluttered closed and pushed back slightly. There wasn’t anything grandiose about it, it was sloppy and messy. There was only this: Fitz’s vague thought of Oh, as the air was stolen out of his lungs by Keefe’s soft irreversible touch.

Eventually Keefe pulled away, panting slightly. He chased him for a quick second, quickly realizing that his hands had left with his mouth. So it went, Fitz winding up the courage to put his hands in his hair, his eyes widening at the sudden touch but leaned into it. So it went, hands, mouths, hair.

When it’s over he watched Keefe leave. Frizzy hair, flushed cheeks, and swollen lips. Some part of him realized that he had done that. A dopey grin took over his face.

But his small paradise shattered the moment Keefe closed the door and someone else opened it. By harsh words and stern looks. His father said it wasn’t okay, that if he wanted to matter the kiss couldn’t matter. So the next day he doesn’t let it change things and he tried to miss the way Keefe stared after him. It doesn’t matter, because he mattered.

-

His heart was in his ears as he moved through the warehouse. A shout rang out to his left followed by a buzz signaling that someone was out on his team. He filed that somewhere in the back of his mind as he hid behind a wall. If he could just spot someone- There! Tam was running between two walls- 

“Hey, Princey,” whispered Keefe, right as he was about to pull the trigger. And just like that, his concentration was gone and so was Tam.

“Dammit,” he breathed, lowering the gun. Fitz tried to ignore Keefe, he was supposed to be helping his team. That couldn’t happen if he thought about the annoyingly persistent boy next to him. They did this often, the group finding themselves more often at the old warehouse converted to a laser tag company. It was known that Fitz was the best shot, his aim was unmatched by the others. Most of the time he found himself like this: behind a wall, or on top of something, trying to hit the people running in and out between the walls.

He watched the layout for a bit and tried to not think about Keefe’s heavy gaze on him (keyword: tried, he didn’t succeed). A flash of blue and his finger was on the trigger, firing. There was that familiar tension in his chest, waiting for the light to turn blue and the buzzer to go off-

And it didn’t. “Having some problems there?” Keefe teased. 

“Uh, yeah, you,” Fitz responded flatly. His eyes stayed on the field even though he knew it’d be useless. As he fell deeper into his thoughts he saw Keefe’s vest, blue. The beginning of an idea formed when Keefe gently wrapped a hand around his wrist. Don’t tense don’t tense-

Keefe let out a soft laugh, “Your pulse is racing.”

“Oh?” Fitz was barely even thinking about what left his mouth, his mind somewhere else. “Maybe it’s cause of how close you are.” He was close, Fitz could feel his breath brushing his cheek. “Maybe I want you closer.”

A small blush spread across his face, rising to the tips of his ears and racing down his neck. In one quick move, Fitz laced his fingers through Keefe’s and spun them around and pinned Keefe against the wall he was hiding behind. “Hey.” 

Keefe stared at him, wide-eyed. “This was not how I expected this to go,” he said finally. Fitz chuckled.

Keefe leaned in slightly and Fitz didn’t stop him, nor did he when Keefe kissed him. It was messy and slow like the first time and every bit as distracting. Some part of him knew that he should probably shoot him right then, it would be so easy and he wouldn’t see it coming-

There was the soft click of the trigger and the buzzer went off in the distance. Fitz didn’t notice, he was too focused on the feeling of Keefe pulling away. “You shouldn’t let yourself get distracted so easily Fitzy,” he said, a smirk pulling at his mouth. The tips of his ears were pink as ran off, there was a hit of sadness in his eyes when he looked back once more.

“What the fuck,” he whispered to the wall.

-

9. He ran, laughter barely held in. 8. He spun around the corner, wide empty hallway in front of him. 7. Don’t slow down, he thought, destination already in mind. 6. Quieter this time as he swung the closet door open. 5- “Well this is ironic,” said Keefe, his voice next to his ear. Fitz forgot how to breathe.

“Don’t pass out on my account Fitzy,” Keefe chuckled.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Hiding, though I think you’re a bit better at that than me.”

“Oh just shut it,” Fitz grumbled. “Can you scoot over?”

Before he could as again, Keefe’s hand covered his mouth and the other gripped his side. In a second, he had turned them and pressed Fitz into the back of the closet. A squeak escaped his mouth before he could stop it. 

“I didn’t think you’d be so noisy,” Keefe whispered, his voice a warm breath on Fitz’s lips. Without his permission, his eyes found Keefe’s mouth. Like he’d been waiting for it, Keefe leaned in a bit and he dimly realized he would have to be on his toes. 

“We shouldn’t,” he breathed, regretting the words as soon as it was out.

“Okay.” Keefe leaned back into the wall, eyebrows furrowed, eyes trained on the floor. Fitz found he couldn’t move his gaze; that he didn’t want to.

So he didn’t. His eyes traced the way his eyebrows furrowed, the smooth curve of his nose, the sharp lines of his clenched jaw. With a sudden burst of confidence, he placed a hand above Keefe’s head and leaned in.

“What, Princey?” Keefe said with a growl.

“Kiss me,” it was a challenge. A shot in the dark. A make or break. And even as Keefe’s eyes narrowed, he wasn’t gonna say no.

When he thought about it later, his father’s disapproving look burned it’s way into Fitz’s mind. He wanted to cry because why did it have to be wrong? Why did it feel right? 

In the end his father’s words won as the sick feeling found home in his stomach because of a single text.

11:30pm

Fitz: We cant do that again

1:05am

Keefe: Okay.

-

The stars filled the sky. “They’re like pimples,” Keefe laughed, his voice soft, words slurred.

“What?” Fitz asked, rolling on his side. It was mesmerizing watching Keefe look at the stars. He got this look in his eyes, sometimes he would tell Fitz what he was thinking. Others, he would pass meaningless jokes, and on the worst days, he would sit, and stare, and drink so much he passed out on the roof.

“The sky has acne,” he giggled a bit and threw back another swig. 

“I think they’re freckles, freckles are better than pimples,” Fitz sighed, alcohol seeping into his words. They came out here on bad nights. If their dads were rough all it took was a call. If school was hard, they’d ditch it all. Tonight, Fitz hadn’t even had to specify. On the second tone, Keefe picked up and responded, “I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

“Keefe only hummed in vague recognition. He jumped down, hitting the ground with a soft thud and slide in the driver’s seat to turn up the music. When he climbed back up there was something else in his eyes. The beat thrummed through the car, matching the quick pace of Fitz’s heart. “If you’re gonna say something, say it,” he whispered into the tentative silence. 

“Can I kiss you?” There was a rushed ask, a careful impulsive decision in his voice, he didn’t know if it was the beer or just Keefe.

Stop. His heart, his breathing, the beat. “Pardon?” Start. 

“Like the other night, can I kiss you?” The other night. The words he had carelessly thrown out, the way he could feel Keefe’s shattered heart through his simple ‘Okay.’ The other night was not something he wanted to repeat. But he was drunk and he shouldn’t be thinking and all he could think of was Keefe. He already knew the answer before it left Fitz’s mouth. 

“Yeah.”

And there was that feeling again, the one he had told himself he would never feel again. The intensity, the openness, screw the stars this was so much better. There was an air of forbiddenness to it, Alden had said no to both these nights and the kisses, so was it really different? Out there, the woods, the car, the beat edging everything in them on, Keefe’s mouth moving on his, it wasn’t allowed; Fitz had never wanted anything more. 

-

He was warm, it was all warm. Hard and solid, but comfortable. He was laying on something that felt more like home than any pillow ever did. It was steady. Keefe, something told him. 

It doesn’t mean anything, he responded automatically, and he hated himself for it. It didn’t, it couldn’t. Yet some part of him wanted it to, some part that was quickly growing bigger. He shoved the thought away as another wave of drowsiness hit.

-

It wasn’t warm, it was very cold. “Took you long enough Princey,” Keefe said, “You know it was a pain in the ass hauling you in here. If you weren’t such a bitch when you wake up hungover, I might’ve made you do it yourself.”

He chuckled lightly and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. When memories of the night before came racing back, he shoved them out. He couldn’t, he wasn’t allowed, it was a mistake. It meant nothing, he repeated like a mantra. 

The drive back was normal. The radio playing steadily, talking about meaningless things. They didn’t bring up last night. But they should and Fitz knew it. Keefe was tense, his hands on the steering wheel were tighter than they need to be, his back was slumped, and tightness gripped his words. He wanted to ignore it. He wanted to be oblivious to the telltales. You’re the reason, a nasty voice said. You broken thing.

“Look,” Keefe said turning off the car. “We need to talk.”

“Do we?”

“I know you’re not big on feelings and all that-”

“We were drunk okay? We’re teenagers it’s normal, it doesn’t change anything.”

Keefe let out a helpless breath and stared at him with wide eyes. He wanted to take it all back, he wanted to fix the broken expression Keefe wore but he couldn’t, he couldn’t.

“It was no different from the others,” he said finally.

“You can’t kiss me like that and say it means nothing!” There were tears in his eyes, and Fitz was falling apart from the inside out, staring at him.

“It didn’t, Keefe.” He opened the door.

“Then don’t expect to mean anything to me.”

Somehow he still knew how to rip him up with a single sentence. It didn’t matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t forget Keefe’s words. He couldn’t forget Keefe.

-

It’s so cold. There’s ice under his skin, eating him up inside. As soon as he stepped inside it all came crashing down. Because he couldn’t forget Keefe. Keefe and the weight of his mouth. Keefe, his best friend since they were kids. Keefe and his thoughts, his idea,s his everything. He couldn’t forget his dopey smile when he agreed the first time only two weeks before. How he threaded his fingers through Fitz’s hair. His raspy voice, the way he only looks at peace with a pencil in his hands. How his confidence was a facade crafted by years of hurting. And there was that bubbling feeling that burned his throat as the rest of him froze with regret. So he screamed and yelled, his voice a release of the flames scorching him from the inside. He didn’t give a damn who heard him.

Time passed, but he paid no attention. He didn’t know how long he was there. Angry and bitter and pissed. He screamed until his throat went dry and his voice was a whisper. Until his eyes hurt from the tears and he didn’t have any left in him. And he was finally as empty as he should’ve been.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

 Biana stood in the doorway. “Wow, what happened here?”

“Screw off, Bi,” he muttered.

“It’s Keefe isn’t it?” At the mention of his name Fitz rolled over and groaned into his pillow. He knew the drill at this point. He was an open book to Biana and there was no point in hiding it. So he explained. From the beginning, every stupid kiss that made his stomach twist. When he finally finished, she let out a low whistle.

“You messed up big time buddy,” she said solemnly. 

“Thank you for stating the obvious.”

“You’re quite welcome. Do you know what I think? I think you’re in love with him.”

“What?” The worst part was, it made sense.

“You love him and you know it,” she said with a smirk. “You’re just burying all of it cause of Dad.”

Everything clicked into place, the puzzle that was Keefe Sencen finally made sense. He didn’t know how he hadn’t gotten it. Before he knew it he was in the car, starting on the hour drive to Elwin’s, Biana next to him, the siblings grinning like idiots.

Biana’s phone almost buzzed itself off the dash startling both of them.

“It’s the Team,” she smiled, “This’ll be fun.”

“Why the hell is your after school club calling?” Fitz asked, incredulous. She didn’t respond, only answered the phone on speaker.

“We owe Dex twenty dollars,” Sophie said solemnly.

“I thought Wylie was closer,” Biana responded.

“No, I was last week,” said Wylie dejectedly.

“You had too much faith in the idiots,” he could hear Dex’s smirk through the phone.

“What’re you all talking about?” he asked finally speaking up.

“We bet on you dumbass,” Biana said not a hint of sympathy in her voice. “Turn here.”

“Where are you guys going?” Stina’s voice betraying how interested she was. 

“To Elwin’s so Fitzy here can dramatically confess his love, I’ll give y’all the details after,” Biana said hanging up. As he stared at the blue door of Elwin’s it all came crashing down on him.

“Dad’s not gonna like this,” he whispered, finding it harder to breathe. 

“Hey,” Biana said, forcefully grabbing his shoulders. There was that stubborn determination in her eyes that he had seen so many times before. “You get the boy, let me handle dad.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he swallowed hard.

“Now go get ‘em, tiger.”

Well, that was the plan. As he walked up to the door he wondered if he should have flowers or an apology or where to even start. Turns out he didn’t have to worry about it. Because Keefe wasn’t home.

“Do you know where he is?” he asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.

“It’s a clear night, where do you think?” Elwin said with a small smile. “He’s been out all day.”

“Shit,” he cursed. Of course, he was so stupid!

“Hey, language,” Elwin laughed.

“Thanks, sir,” he spun on his heel and ran back to the car. 

Biana didn’t say anything as he hightailed it out of the driveway, driving way too fast for a neighborhood. 

The woods weren’t far, he was lucky it wasn’t another hour. Yet when he found himself confronted by trees, he wanted more time. “What do I say?” he asked.

“Whatever your heart does.”

“My hearts going in every direction, it’s not used to being needed.”

“There’s a direction,” she said with a small laugh, “take it.”

So he did. The winding path was practically burned into his memory. The sun had set, he didn’t remember when. The stars were appearing as he found Keefe on the roof of his car, that same look in his eyes.

“What’re you thinking?” he asked, voice so quiet he didn’t know if Keefe had heard.

“I’m thinking,” Keefe said, eyes still trained on the sky. “There's a boy. And I think he's lying to himself. I think he's scared of his dad and doesn't understand his feelings. A boy who gets so angry and hates himself for it. I think he's angry for being different. I think he regrets it but doesn't know how to say it,” Keefe jumped down and locked eyes with him. “There's a boy, and I know him. And I think he knows me. And i really don't wanna be wrong.”

“I think you’re right.”

“Prove it.”

“Kiss me,” Fitz said. One more challenge.

“No,” He shook his head. “You’ve brushed that off enough times.”

“Then how?” 

“You kiss me.”

And Fitz couldn’t say no to Keefe. 

[yikesharringrove]

hmmm, could you write genderfluid/nonbinary steve against trans billy?? bonus if steve’s in lingerie 😍

Honestly, I need to write more nonbinary Steve, that is arguably one of my strongest headcanons.

So, this is some nb/fluid amab Steve with ftm Billy :)

If you are looking for AMAZING trans billy content, and also nb steve, and ALL of you’re fav rare pairs, go check out @transbillyhargrove who is a WONDERFUL writer and is (last I checked) taking commissions!

I put it under a cut bc there’s smut :)

Steve started crying when Billy came out.

Billy immediately thought the worst, thought Steve was disgusted by him, the scars on his chest, the hormones he injected into his upper ass cheek.

But then Steve said no, I just, I get it.

And told Billy the truth, showed him the things hidden in their closet, the makeup, the pretty things. Told him they didn’t feel right as one or the other, boy or girl, so they’re somewhere in between, sometimes they’re closer to one than the other. Billy kissed their head and that was the first time he told someone not his mom that he loved them. And the first time he heard it back.

So he and Steve figured it out. Steve helped with his T shots, delicate fingers rubbed vitamin E oil into the scars on his chest planted soft kisses along them. On the days when Steve hated their body, Billy would wrap them in a blanket, and they would watch silly movies, and laugh through the pain of feeling wrong.

And the thing is, Billy likes being fucked, it feels good, and when Steve is slamming into him, they’ll reach down, and thumb at his dick, and he’ll clutch at Steve’s shoulders, and scream while cumming on their cock.

But then there are nights like these.

“You’re so beautiful.” Billy was trailing his hands along Steve’s sides, feeling the delicate material. They were wearing something new. The bralette was soft pink, the lace band white on the ribs, the cups soft and silky. Their panties were high-waisted, matched the pretty pink color. They showed of Steve’s perfect peach ass, Steve was straddling Billy on the bed. They had spent hours getting ready for Billy tonight, had shaved and waxed everything, had done their makeup so perfectly, Billy was so excited to fucking ruin it.

“Always so pretty for me.” Steve whined when Billy’s hands toyed with the panties. “What’s up, Sweet Thing?”

“Leave ‘em on. Want you, want you to fuck me tonight.” Steve liked taking it, always had. But there were times it went a bit further than that. Sometimes Steve didn’t like their cock, wanted Billy to get the strap out of their drawer, and fuck them silly.

Billy rolled Steve off his lap, spread them out on the bed, hair fanned out on the pillowcase beneath them. Billy stripped slowly, chucking off his jeans, Steve’s dark eyes watching the slow reveal of more of that tan skin. Their delicate fingers trailing over their nipples, soft touches through the silk cups.

Billy secured the strap in place, crawled up the bed between Steve’s legs.

“Roll over, Kitten.” Steve turned, putting their ass in the air. Billy hooked his finger in the leg hole of the pretty little panties, moved them to the side, exposing Steve’s tight hole, slick with lube, a slim plug nestled inside. Billy flicked it, making Steve keen into the pillow. “You all ready for me? You fuck yourself in that shower all morning? That what take you forever?”

“Yeah, I wanted, wanted to be ready for you.” Steve’s voice was muffled in the pillow in front of their face, no doubt smearing their makeup into the white case.

Billy slid the plug out of them, grinning at their soft moan. He slicked up the strap, grinding it against Steve’s ass, just teasing. He laughed as Steve pressed their hips back, keeping the tip of the strap just out Steve’s reach.

“Bill, stop teasing. I want it.” Billy just laughed again, slapping Steve’s ass, leaving a red tinge on their cheek. “Please, Bill.” He lined up to Steve’s hole, pressing in.

Steve fisted the sheets, fingers tense as they sighed, opening up for the strap. When Billy bottomed out, he ground his hips down, the base of the strap pressing into his cock. He set a punishing pace, fucking Steve just the way they liked, rough and dirty.

Steve’s back was tensing, their hips canting back to meet Billy at each thrust, fucking themself on the strap. Billy had one hand on their soft hip, the other reaching to grip into their hair, pulling them up to Billy’s chest, thumbing at their nipples through the little bralette.

“Billy, I’m, I’m close.” Billy pressed kisses into their neck, nipping at the soft skin, leaving red marks in his wake. Steve came with a shout, soaking through the seat of the panties. Billy fucked them through it, letting Steve slump down into the mattress. He pulled out, working his way out of the strap as Steve rolled over, eyes heavy and dark.

Billy kissed them sloppily, breaking apart to move up the bed, sitting right down on their face.

Steve knows what Billy likes. Held him by the hips and let Billy grind down onto their face. They were obscene about it, making all these noises, shoving their tongue inside Billy, sucking and licking at his dick.

“God, Steve, you’re so fucking good. Know just how I like it.” He had them by the hair again, using it to move their head, make sweet little noises that just shoved Billy that much closer to orgasm.

He came all over Steve’s face, shuddered as he gushed a little, always got so wet for Steve’s tongue. He climbed off Steve on shaking legs, using his discarded shirt from earlier to wipe at their face.

He cuddled up behind them, spreading his fingers over their sternum, feeling the steady rhythm of their heart beat.

“Baby, I know you’re not feeling good today, but, you really shouldn’t sleep tucked like that. Remember that rash you got last time?”

“I know, Bill. I just, I don’t want it today.” Steve was very comfortable with their identity, but sometimes they weren’t comfortable with their body. They had told Billy they got confused a lot, because sometimes they loved their dick, loved that it was big, that it made Billy feel good, and sometimes they wanted nothing to do with it.

“I know it sucks, I just don’t want you hurting.” Steve whined but flung themself out of bed, took off to the bathroom with one of Billy’s shirts and soft panties, ones that weren’t meant for tucking.

They huffed when they came back and climbed back into bed, curling up with their back to Billy. He pressed himself against them, kissing at their neck.

“Thank you, Baby. You know I just wanna keep you safe, right? Don’t want you to be hurtin’ tomorrow.”

“I know, Bill. But sometimes, it just sucks. I wish I could just think really hard and would magically have whatever body I wanted.” Billy laid his head on top of theirs.

“I get it. I really do, Stevie.”

“I know you do. Thanks, Bill.”

“For what?”

“Where to fucking start? For good sex, for taking care of my, for understanding, for making me breakfast most days, for-”

“Okay, Doll. I get it, I’m the best boyfriend ever.” Steve turned around, their eyes wide.

“But you fucking are. You’re so good to me. And I love you so much for it. For everything you do, everything you are.” They kissed Billy softly, holding his face in their palms.

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

Helllooo May i request a fic where the reader is an art student in the university of oxenfurt and Jaskier come in as a model one day. She falls in love with him immidiatally and just cant stop painting pictures about him. Later Jask visits her in her studio and see all the stuff about himself. Then love confession( maybe he's been writing songs about her) and some soft kissing😇

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 2,099Rating: TTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle @writingstudent @mlleecrivaine @coffee-and-stories @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @astouract @your-not-invisible-to-me @kemmastan a/n: This was a lovely prompt, I hope you like what I did with i!

“Hmm… I don’t think you’ve quite captured me.”

You shook your head and a little smile turned up the corner of your mouth but you kept your eyes focused on your canvas.

“You are supposed to be a model and models don’t speak,” you murmured quietly.

“I’m so bored though.”

You glanced up at the man who posed in front of you. Jaskier was hunched over, chin resting on his fist. He looked more pouting than pensive as he was supposed to be but the moment your eyes met, he perked up a bit.

There was no one else in the art studio since it was after hours, class having ended long ago. You’d been sick one day and Jaskier had graciously volunteered to come by and help you catch up on what you’d missed. You were in week three of the “month long strip tease” as he called it, taking a layer off each time. This week he was down to a loosely untucked chemise, sleeves rolled up to the elbows and pants whose laces were undone but still rested just at the hip. Boots were long gone, leaving him barefoot. Indeed, if anyone who walked by the doors saw him in his attire and you, a bit sweaty with disheveled hair, tired after a long day of classes made longer by this extra work, they would have assumed something unsavory was happening. They would have been tragically mistaken.

“You didn’t have to agree to this. Hell, it was your idea,” you reminded him, extending the handle of your paintbrush to gently position his chin back to where it was supposed to be. He playfully nipped at the brush but then moved back into position dutifully.

“Hmm, yes, and why do you suppose I did that?” he asked. It was the same flirtatious tone he used with everyone and you knew that, but still you felt a little shiver of excitement at the tone. Perhaps one day someone would use that with you and mean it but it wouldn’t be Jaskier, the traveling bard with a thousand muses around the globe. He had no need for a simple art student with barely enough life experiences to count on one hand. That would change when you graduated, though. You were determined. Though as the day came closer you grew more anxious about those barely conceived plans.

“You are a patron of the arts of course,” you replied, mixing the shades of blue together. You’d known the first day he walked into the classroom that those eyes would torment you as you tried to create the right shade to capture them. You knew you’d never feel you truly got it right and so far you’d been correct. You’d made far more paintings than the three you’d done for class. In your personal studio you had what appeared to be a shrine to the bard. You just couldn’t get him out of your head and your fingers itched constantly to paint him again, to try and capture his likeness better, more accurately.

“I suppose that must be it,” Jaskier said in somewhat plaintive tone. Yet when you looked back at him again he gave you a little wink and you stopped worrying, rolling your eyes again and setting to get the portrait done.

You were finished before another hour passed and though he tried to catch a glimpse you successfully hid it from him.

“I offered you a deal,” you said, “You show me the song you’ve been working on and I’ll show you the painting that I’m working on. A fair trade of artistic sampling.”

“Perhaps another time,” he said, “May I walk you home?”

Since meeting in that first class nearly a month ago the pair of you had struck up an easy friendship. In truth you felt much more than that for him but you were happy just for the chance to talk with him, much less anything else. He was brilliant and funny and endlessly encouraging. When you told him of your dreams of traveling he’d insisted that you do it and even offered to introduce you to some nobles who had a keen eye for artists they wanted to support. In all of that time, though, you’d never seen each other away from the sprawling campus of Oxenfurt University.

“Alright,” you said a little reluctantly, nervous but also unwilling to pass up a single opportunity to spend more time with him. He gallantly offered you his arm and the pair of you walked through the streets. It was twilight and lamplighters were roving about to light the lanterns that would keep you safe as you walked, the skies bathed in a soft golden and pink watercolor.

“Are you excited to be finishing classes soon?” Jaskier asked.

“I should be,” you said. He laughed, but not unkindly. It was a laugh of understanding.

“I felt much the same when I approached graduation,” he said, “Sometimes I think that’s why I come back so often to lecture and just visit. I felt safe here.”

“Do you not feel safe out there?” you asked.

“No. But that’s part of the fun of it, right? The uncertainty, the potential for danger which makes it exciting,” he mused.

“I suppose so… But I do wish there was a way to both have adventures and be safe or at least feel safer,” you replied.

“Travelling with a witcher has helped a bit. You’re much harder to kill with one around,” he said.

“You’re also the target of more attacks though,” you countered. You’d heard him tell stories about his adventures to breathless students but you hadn’t joined in on their glee. Instead you’d grown more and more worried about the bard’s safety and whether you’d ever see him again once he’d left the school to join Geralt on his next hunt.

“Well there’s always a tradeoff,” Jaskier said glibly. You walked in silence for a time and when you reached your home you realized that at some point during the walk your hooked elbows had slid down to clasped hands. You both noticed at the same time and laughed a little nervously.

“Would you like some tea?” you offered instinctively, not wanting the moment to end. Jaskier eagerly agreed and followed you into your house. It was a humble place but he praised it as though it were a mansion, and he’d likely seen many in his time. Hell, as a viscount, perhaps he had even been raised in one.

“Make yourself at home,” you called as you walked to the little kitchen to get the fire going. Jaskier didn’t need telling twice, already walking around the room, looking at book titles and little drawings. He smiled at what appeared to be an early art piece of yours that had been lovingly framed by a family member, a drawing scrawled by a child that seemed to be… a dog? An elephant? Some animal. He continued to walk through the little house, glancing into the open door of your bedroom. There was a closed door and though he knew you probably would rather he didn’t, he couldn’t fight back his curiosity and opened the door.

—–

“Jaskier? Tea is ready! Jaskier?” you walked back into the little living area and saw no sign of him. You poked your head down the hall and almost walked back away, thinking he may have left suddenly, and then you saw a sliver of light coming from the door you knew had been closed. Your heart leapt to your throat and you ran towards it as though you could outpace what had already occurred.

There stood Jaskier, staring at a portrait you’d most recently completed, surrounded by sketches. Not all were of his entire face or body but you knew that he knew exactly whose disembodied hands and eyes and mouth and other randomly positioned angles of body they were.

“Fuck, ok, I can explain,” you began, heart beating a mile a minute. Jaskier turned to look at you but you didn’t see fear or disgust, just a soft look of surprise.

“Y/N?” he said.

He was giving you the chance to explain like you said you would but no words came to mind. You just stared at him blankly, panicking, feeling the walls close in around you.

“I think… I may be able to help,” he said. He walked past you and you waited to hear the front door open and close as he left, possibly to get the guards but most likely just to escape you. But then you heard him walk back, holding the leather notebook he drew in often but never showed you. He opened it to a page and handed the book to you, a nervous, expectant look in his pale, blue eyes. You took it with trembling fingers and at first you weren’t sure why he was showing it. Perhaps he thought that he should offer some exchange of art since he’d seen yours. Maybe he somehow didn’t recognize the man in the pictures as himself. Maybe this could all blow over and be nothing.

And then you saw your name.

“Jaskier what is this?” you asked, flipping the pages and finding more descriptions, not with your name specifically, but of a woman who sounded unmistakably like yourself.

“This is the bardic version of what this room shows, I believe,” he said, his voice soft, “They’re pieces dedicated to someone I have fallen very much in love with over the last few weeks.”

Your wide eyes tore away from the journal to meet Jaskier’s. Now he was the one who looked uncertain and scared, waiting for you to run from him.

“You don’t think it’s weird then?” you asked, gesturing to the room as you placed the journal on a shelf nearby, hands trembling too much to keep a secure hold of it.

“Oh no, it’s very weird. But love makes you do weird things. Like fill a journal full of half-formed songs about someone or stay late to pose for paintings or snoop in rooms you know you shouldn’t because you just can’t resist getting every little bit of them you can,” he replied, moving a bit closer and gently brushing his fingers against your cheek. Though he’d thrown on his doublet again the chemise was still unbuttoned and you rested your hands against his chest, fingers twining in the dark hair.

“Whoever said anything about love?” you teased, “I could just be incredibly enamored or perhaps a very artistic murderer.”

“Well I was speaking for myself mostly,” he answered, “But you’re right. I should be concerned. Shall I call Geralt to defend me against you and your wicked brush?”

“Ooh watch out, Jaskier, don’t sass me! You may find yourself having a brush with death,” you said, emphasizing the pun unnecessarily. Jaskier groaned and shook his head.

“Shut up and kiss me before I change my mind.”

You opened your mouth to make some other, terrible joke but he stopped you with a kiss, mouth brushing against yours with the barest touch but you recaptured his lips with yours and felt him card his hand through your hair as yours tightened against his chest. His kisses were soft and tender and nothing like what you’d expected the renowned rogue to offer but then the people who spread those rumors hadn’t known him like you did.

“Come with me,” Jaskier whispered against your lips.

“What?” you breathed back. His eyes found yours and you were struck again by the puzzling color. Was it blue? Or was it grey? Was it even the same thing all the time or did they change on you? You would spend the rest of your life trying to figure it out but oh what a happy quest.

“When you graduate you said you want to travel the world. You’re graduating soon. Come with me when you do. I’ll take you everywhere. I’ll show you the world. I can’t promise to keep you safe, there is always a tradeoff, but I will do everything I can and I promise you it won’t be boring,” he replied, words spoken in a hushed tone like someone offering a fervent prayer. You considered his words, thinking about the risks but more than that, thinking about the things that are worth taking risks for. And the people.

“Ok,” you breathed in response, “Yes. Take me with you. Show me everything.”

“Oh love,” he said, licking his lips which quirked into a wicked grin, “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

[calumcest]

i took a walk with my fame down memory lane (i never did find my way back) - chapter seven

[ao3]

yes i missed last week but i have a good excuse i was in hospital when i was supposed to be posting we’re back on our scheduled bullshit this week also sidenote can we please appreciate that i have actually stuck to this schedule for nearly TWO MONTHS ?? i’m actually dead gassed w myself i really should do this with soulmate au maybe once britpop is finished i will replace monday evenings with soulmate au. do not hold me to that though i work on whims 

of course i must thank my lovely @tirednotflirting who has been suffering in this document with me as i struggled through this chapter i cant lie to you sam your little comments and just knowing that you’re watching me suffer feel like a little pat on the head thats like gwarn you can do it so thank u for that <3 and also this chapter owes the life i have forcibly breathed into it to @kaleidoscopeminds who listened to me scream about it for like half of today and helped me navigate part of it i hope i have done it some slight justice 

Michael insists that he knows a great local chippy, but when he turns into yet another residential street with no shops in sight after a good five minutes in the freezing cold, Calum frowns.

“Thought you said it was local?” he says.

“It is,” Michael says. “Never said it was local to me, though.” Calum stops, and stares at him. 

“Are you serious?” he demands, edged with a little uncertainty, because he’s not quite sure whether they’re there yet, not after one conversation, and Michael laughs, bright and loud. It makes Calum’s stomach flip, and he’s not quite sure whether it’s pleasant or unpleasant, or maybe just because he’s absolutely fucking starving. 

“It’s not far,” Michael promises. “Two minutes, tops.” 

“This had better be the best fucking fish and chips I’ve ever had,” Calum grumbles, shoving his hands into his pockets and nosing into the collar of his coat. Jesus, isn’t London supposed to be warmer than the north? He’s not inhaling all this pollution for nothing.

True to Michael’s word, though, another street-and-a-half later they’ve made it to the chippy, and Michael shoves the door open with his shoulder, pushing it far enough that Calum can make it through before it swings shut again. 

“Fuck me, it’s warm in here,” Calum mutters, pulling his hands out of his pockets and stretching his fingers experimentally, wincing as that horrible burning sensation of a sudden temperature change shoots through them. 

“It’s what, maybe fifteen degrees?” Michael says, amused. “What sort of a fucking Australian are you?” Calum glares at him instinctively, and then falters, because he’s still not sure exactly where he stands, but Michael just laughs, turning to the menu. 

“They do a good battered sausage,” he tells Calum, who reaches around into his pocket for his wallet as he blinks up at the prices. Fucking hell, two quid for a bag of chips? And Noel and Liam want to move down here?

“Who the fuck goes to a chippy and gets a battered sausage?” Calum says, scanning the menu, and frowning. “Where are the mushy peas?” 

“The what?”

“The mushy peas.”

“What the fuck is that?” Calum tears his eyes away from the menu to stare at Michael. 

“What the fuck are you on about?” he says. “Y’know, mushy peas?” 

“Is that some kind of northern thing?” Michael asks, and Calum frowns. Surely not; mushy peas are a fucking staple of a fish-and-chip dinner, aren’t they? What the fuck do they eat down south if not mushy peas? Mushy capers, or something? 

“Can’t be,” Calum says, still frowning, turning back to the menu. “What the fuck else do you eat with-”

“Hang on a minute,” Michael interrupts, frowning. “Is that- is that Liam? ” Calum cuts himself off abruptly, blood running cold.

What?

“What?” he says, and hopes Michael can’t hear the way his heart is in his throat, spinning wildly on the spot and trying to follow Michael’s gaze.

“Over there,” Michael says, sounding mildly intrigued and moderately confused, and nods in the direction of a table in the corner. 

Sure enough, there, frowning down at his chips as he shakes out a sachet of ketchup and says something indecipherable to Noel, who’s sat opposite him - Calum would know the back of that head anywhere, sees the top of it enough with the five inches he has on him - is Liam. 

Fuck. 

Shit.  

“D’you want to go over?” Michael says, and Calum swallows. 

What the fuck is he supposed to say? He can’t imagine no, because I’ll get kicked out of my band, and you might get murdered will go down well. It doesn’t really matter, though, because his hesitation is an answer in itself. 

“They don’t know you’re here, do they?” Michael’s voice is a little heavy, a little bitter, and a little sad. It makes Calum’s stomach curl in on itself, like it’s trying to make itself too small to feel anything anymore. 

“They know I’m here,” Calum says. “Just- not to see you.” What’s the point in lying? That’s been the whole point of him coming down here, hasn’t it? Stop lying to Michael, start lying to Liam and Noel instead. It’s like Calum has a limited amount of honesty to go around, can’t keep himself in one piece, has to hand people little parts of himself so they won’t see the full thing. It’s fucking exhausting, especially when he hasn’t got booze or drugs to numb the pain of the pieces he keeps chopping himself into. Maybe it would have been easier if he’d stayed in Manchester, if he’d said no when Michael offered his phone number. 

(But, Calum knows, somewhere in the depths of his ragged soul, that no matter how many worlds there are out there, no matter how many parallel universes, there could never be one in which he could say no to Michael.)

“Why?” Calum can’t help but bark out a short, humourless laugh at that as he turns around, heart beating wildly, praying Liam hasn’t seen them. 

“They’d fucking kill me. And you.” Michael glances over at Liam again, frowning slightly, and then looks back at Calum, confusion lacing the green-blue of his eyes, like he’s trying to work out what Calum really means by that. Calum thinks he’s been pretty fucking clear, isn’t really sure what Michael’s searching for in his eyes, until Michael opens his mouth, and says:

“Are you ashamed of me?” Jesus. Does Michael really want to do this here? In a fucking London fish-and-chip shop?

“No,” Calum says. “Can we- can we do this somewhere else? Just-” he cuts himself off, and Michael purses his lips, considering, and then sighs, nods, and heads for the door. Calum nigh on fucking runs after him, speedwalks out and halfway down the street until he thinks they’re a safe enough distance away, and then stops, letting Michael round on him. 

“Why haven’t you told them?” Michael asks, and Calum can see all the hurt swimming in his eyes and thinks fuck, not now, not just when I’ve got you again.  

“They’re-” Calum stops. He’s not really sure how to phrase it. Fucking cunts is probably the closest he can get, but then he’d have to try and explain why despite that, despite the fact that neither Liam nor Noel have a rational bone in their bodies, Calum loves them, and would do anything for them. “Not exactly reasonable, when it comes to this shit.” Michael raises an eyebrow. 

“‘Not exactly reasonable’?” he echoes. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Calum shrugs, a little uncomfortably. 

“They take this whole Blur-Oasis thing very seriously,” he says, and Michael frowns. 

“They do?” He sounds surprised.

“Don’t you?” 

“No,” Michael says. “Damon thinks it’s a fucking laugh.” Calum almost groans. Fucking hell, isn’t that just brilliant? He gets stuck with the mental northern lads who can’t take anything seriously except the one thing they don’t need to, and Michael gets the sensible southern boys who’ll listen to reason and probably hold hands while they do. 

(Calum wouldn’t change it for the fucking world, though.) 

“Well, Noel and Liam don’t,” Calum says. “I’d get chucked out of a window if they knew I so much as thought about you.” Michael stares at him. 

“They’re mental,” he says, incredulously. “They’re absolutely fucking mental. What is this, fucking Montagues and Capulets?” 

“That’s what they’d have you believe,” Calum says, shoving his hands back in his coat pockets. Michael blinks. 

“Jesus,” he says, after a moment. “So they don’t even know we’re talking?” Calum can’t help but bark out a short, humourless laugh at that. 

“No,” he says. “No. Noel would- and Liam- no. No.” His stomach churns as a number of thoughts flash through his mind - Noel and Liam screaming at him, kicking him out of the band, never speaking to him again - and he shakes his head, half to try and clear his head of the thoughts and half to emphasise just how much Calum can’t tell them. 

“So, what, I’m your dirty little secret?” Michael sounds a little bitter about it, and Calum can’t really blame him, but that doesn’t stop his heart twisting a little in his chest at the tone of his voice. 

“I- look,” Calum says, a little desperately. “This is my life, Michael.” Michael inhales deeply, doesn’t exhale, just looks at Calum, weighing something up in his mind. His eyes are a little sad, a little angry, heavier and older than Calum remembers them ever being. It sends a tiny shiver down his spine, but for the first time the irrefutable evidence of Michael changing doesn’t make him feel a little queasy. Instead, it’s oddly thrilling, seeing the new self-assuredness and confidence with which Michael makes his decisions, no longer based purely on a split-second emotion. It drives home that Michael’s different, now, that things aren’t the same as they were back then, but in a way that makes Calum think maybe different could be better. 

“Alright,” Michael says eventually, on a long  exhale. “I- okay. I get it. They’re your band, right?” He pauses, and then smiles, a little sheepishly. “And to be honest, I haven’t told anyone you’re here today, either.” Calum blinks at him. 

“Hypocrite,” he says, but it’s soft, tentative, no heat to it. Michael grins all the same, and it just about manages to reach his eyes. 

“Hey,” he says, protesting a little. “They at least know we’re talking.” Calum hesitates.

“What’ve you told them?” he asks. Michael shrugs. 

“Just that we’ve spoken on the phone a few times,” he says. “I mean, it’s not like I could avoid it, after Graham picked up your call on my birthday.” Oh, shit. Yeah.

“Oh,” Calum says. “Yeah. I forgot about that.” 

“Yeah,” Michael says, grimacing a little. 

“Did he ever tell Damon you locked him in a bathroom?” Michael laughs, bright and a little surprised, like he’s taken aback that Calum remembers that. 

“No,” he says. “But for the price I paid, he’d better keep his mouth shut about everything I ever fucking do for the rest of my life.” Calum raises an eyebrow, and Michael grins, properly this time, and shakes his head. 

“Wouldn't you like to know,” he says, and takes a step back, walking back into the stream of people that have been passing by.

“Oh, c’mon,” Calum says, falling into step with Michael, who just laughs again. “You can’t say that and not tell me.”

“I’m not telling you,” Michael says. “I take this Blur-Oasis shit seriously, y’know? Can’t be fraternising with the enemy."  Calum throws him a sharp glance, but Michael’s still grinning, eyes sparkling with something a little mischievous that reminds Calum so much of the Michael he once knew that he falters, almost trips over his own feet. 

“Is that why you’re trying to starve me to death?” Calum says, testing the waters. Michael snorts. 

“You were the one that wanted out of the best fish and chip shop in London, my friend,” he says, mock-snootily. “Luckily for you, I’m feeling particularly magnanimous today, so I’ll take you to a good Italian place.” Calum raises an eyebrow. 

“Magnanimous?” he echoes. “Since when do you know words that long?” 

“Damon’s rules,” Michael says. “Have to learn at least five new words a week, and a spelling test on Sundays.” Calum blinks at him. 

“Really?” 

“No, you fucking idiot,” Michael says, a little incredulously, a lot amused. “Jesus, don’t they do sarcasm up north?” 

“Better than most,” Calum says. “It just sounds like something Damon would do, is all.” Michael laughs, turning to grin at Calum over his shoulder as he pushes the door to a small Italian place open. 

“He did make me read Siddhartha before he let me join the band,” he admits, and Calum makes a noise of triumph. 

“See?” he crows, and Michael just laughs again, and Calum thinks the warmth stealing over him really has nothing to do with the central heating in the restaurant.

  -------

  They spend a leisurely hour or two in the restaurant, talking about absolutely nothing of import, skirting around anything that seems like it might get a little too serious, and Calum’s grateful for it. His carbonara tastes all the creamier when Michael starts pointing out passers-by, commenting on their frowns or their fast walks or their hideous coats, making Calum grin and splutter into his drink with every wicked and quick comment he makes. It’s almost like the old days, has the same sharp wit and ease that Michael’s tongue has always been good with, but is a little more refined than then, has something more mellow to it, like Michael’s no longer trying to impress Calum or keep him by his side. It’s oddly heady, actually, the new sheen of confidence that polishes all of Michael’s words before they leave his mouth, makes Calum lose his focus every once in a while as he just stares at the easy self-assuredness held in Michael’s shoulders, until Michael waves a hand in front of his face and says Earth to Calum, a small smile playing at his lips, a slight glimmer in his eyes. Calum can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed, though, still knows Michael well enough to read the smile as a pleased one, the glimmer as charmed, and just grins back, trying to stop his heart from jumping from his chest to his throat to his feet to his stomach and back again. 

It’s already getting dark by the time they head out of the restaurant - fucking December, honestly - and they take their time walking back to Michael’s house, wandering down side street after side street as Michael tells Calum about the difficulties he’s been having with his neighbour. Calum just listens, nodding and sighing and calling the neighbour a cunt in all the right places, and by the time they’re back at Michael’s house, it’s fully dark, the two of them bathed in the harsh orange light of the London streetlights. 

“When’s your train?” Michael asks, digging in his pocket for his keys and sliding them into the lock. 

“I, uh,” Calum says. “Didn’t book a specific one.” Michael raises an eyebrow at him over his shoulder as he unlocks the door, then steps inside and holds the door for Calum to walk in.

“Why not?” he asks, flicking the light switch on, and Calum shrugs, busying himself with pulling his shoes off. 

“Wasn’t sure how long I’d be here,” he says. Michael just hums at that as he kicks his own shoes off, like he’s mulling it over.

“When are Liam and Noel heading back?” he asks, and Calum shrugs again, a little more tense this time. 

“Don’t know,” he says. “Probably no later than six. Liam’ll want to be on the piss by nine.” 

“Not much else to do up there, I s’pose,” Michael says, a little flippantly, heading into the living room, making Calum frown as he follows. 

“There’s plenty to do,” he says, a little indignantly, and Michael turns back, throws him a slightly-amused look  over his shoulder.

“Proper Manny boy now, aren’t you?” he says, settling down on the overstuffed armchair opposite the sofa again, curling his legs underneath himself. Calum sits down on the sofa, stretches out for a moment to try and crack his back, and then settles back against it with a scowl. 

“It’s home,” Calum says, surprising himself with the sincerity with which the words are saturated. Michael cocks his head, and Calum knows what he’s thinking. When did Sydney stop being home to you?  

“D’you not ever miss it?” he says, but he only really sounds curious. Calum shrugs. 

“Not really,” he says. “I only really- uh. Miss the people.” He averts his gaze, tries to stop his cheeks heating up. He’d almost said I only really miss you.  

“Luke and Ashton are flying over in January,” Michael says. “You should come down and see them.” Calum swallows. 

“Depends when,” he says. “Think we’re back over in America in January.” Michael frowns. 

“You’ll be at the NME awards, though, won’t you?” he says. 

“Well, yeah, but so will Noel and Liam,” Calum says, and Michael’s face falls. Only fractionally, so slight that if Calum weren’t instinctively tuned into Michael’s frequency he would have missed it, but he is, so he doesn’t. 

“Oh,” Michael says. “Yeah. Right. Well, I know they’d love to see you.” 

“Mm,” Calum says, a little uncomfortably. He hates this, doesn’t want to be in a position where he has to pick his old life or his new. 

“I told them,” Michael says, and he sounds a little apologetic. 

“Told who?”

“Luke and Ashton. About us, y’know. Talking again.” Calum’s stomach flips. Right. So now the entirety of Blur and two of his friends from five years ago know, and his own best friends don’t. Brilliant. 

“Oh,” he says, and Michael has the dignity to look a little ashamed. 

“They were happy,” he offers, like it’ll assuage any of the guilt that’s bonded itself so tightly to each one of Calum’s blood cells he barely remembers what it’s like to walk around without their heavy burden weighing him down. “They’ve been asking after you.” 

“Oh?” Calum says, and hopes Michael doesn’t hear the thickness of his voice. 

“Yeah,” Michael says. “Luke’s finished his pilot training, now. He was in Japan the same time as me, so we went for a coffee.” 

“How’s he doing?” 

“Good,” Michael says, “yeah, good. Misses Ashton when he’s away, but.” He shrugs, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Not sure what else he expected, becoming a pilot.” Calum huffs out a laugh, a little bitter, a little amused. 

“And Ashton’s a teacher?” he says, and Michael nods. “What does he teach?”

“RE, I think,” Michael says. Calum snorts, but it’s sort of fond. 

“Sounds like Ashton,” he says, and Michael grins. 

“At least he put all those fucking books about Buddhism and that to good use,” he says. 

“D’you remember when he tried to make us all read the entire Bible?” Calum says, and Michael laughs, short and bright. 

“I remember him being beside himself when we just circled all the verses about masturbating,” Michael says, and Calum finds a laugh punched out of him by a sudden memory, surprising him with its intensity.

“D’you remember Luke made it through the entire Old Testament?” he says, and Michael’s smile grows, and he nods. 

“The things love makes you do,” he says, grinning, and Calum’s smile falters. 

Yeah. Love can make people go to the ends of the Earth for each other, or make someone read the entire Old Testament, or maybe even make someone lie to their best friends and put their entire career on the line. Calum doesn't want to think about that. 

(It can't be that, anyway. It just can't.)

Michael seems to sense the change in Calum’s mood, because he shifts a little uncomfortably and clears his throat. 

“Are you staying home for Christmas, then?” he says, and Calum blinks, and nods. 

“Yeah,” he says. 

“Is Mali coming?” 

“No,” Calum says. “Can’t stand a cold Christmas, she says.” Michael smiles, a little wistfully. 

“Took me a while to get used to,” he says. “Fuck me, the first time it snowed? ” 

“Oh, God, I know,” Calum says, a little more fervently than he’d intended to. “I thought it’d be all soft, y’know? Liam fucking saw to that misconception. Turned up at my house with a bunch of pre-made snowballs, the prick. Looked like I’d got battered in a pub brawl, or something.” Michael snorts. 

“No one ever mentioned how slippery it is, either,” he says.

“Or how nasty it is when it melts,” Calum agrees. 

“Or how wet it is in your hair,” Michael says. Calum raises an eyebrow. 

“It’s water,” he says. “You could’ve worked that one out for yourself.” Michael rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. 

“Fuck off,” he says. “Where’s the Aussie solidarity?” 

“Gone as soon as you insulted Manchester,” Calum tells him, and Michael laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“S’pose there are a few good things about it,” he concedes, eyes glittering. “One, in particular.” Calum swallows. 

“Oasis are pretty good, yeah,” he says, and Michael's eyes flash with amusement. 

“Pretty subpar bassist, though,” he says conversationally. 

“Is that so?” Calum says. Michael looks at ease, relaxed and sunk back into his armchair, smile on his face and eyes lit up with laughter,   but Calum can’t help but feel hesitant, a little afraid to lean too far into the comfortable familiarity of the conversation. What if Michael changes his mind? 

"Mm," Michael says. "Personally, I think they just keep him in for his looks." Calum raises an eyebrow, tries not to let the way his heart's just skipped a beat show on his face. It doesn't mean anything, he tells himself. It's just Michael's sense of humour. 

"What, with Liam in the band?" Calum says, and Michael scrunches his face up. 

"He's too pretty for me," he says, and then unscrunches his face again and raises his eyebrows. "Mind you, though, I wouldn't say no if-" 

"You fucking would if you know what's good for you," Calum tells him, and Michael laughs. 

"Would I?" he says, eyes gleaming. "Think I'd need a more tempting offer." He's looking at Calum in anticipation, like he's expecting a certain response, and it makes Calum swallow - twice, because his heart doesn't know how to behave. 

"I'll see what I can do," he says, and Michael grins at him. 

Right answer. 

  -------

  The journey back home is uneventful. 

Michael had kindly forgotten to inform Calum of just how much of a rush hour rush hour really is in London, meaning he has to wait for three tubes to pass before he makes it to the edge of the platform, and then has to spend the two stops back to Euston shoved uncomfortably against the glass that divides the seats from the door area. At least it’s only two stops, though, he tells himself, tumbling off the train with a bunch of serious-looking commuters, half of whom seem to be headed back to Manchester. Calum’s train is already packed when he gets on, even though he walks all the way to the end so he won’t have to walk far when he gets to Piccadilly, and he ends up having to sit next to a family of three, an exhausted mother scolding her two young children and trying to get them to sit still. Calum offers her a small smile, wishing he’d brought a book or his Walkman or something, and settles for staring blankly out of the window to the other side of the four-year-old girl on his left, trying to make out shapes in the inky darkness of the night so he doesn’t have to focus on his thoughts. 

It turns out not to matter much, though, because even when the train’s whipping through the countryside and the children are still kicking up a fuss about something or other, Calum can’t focus on anything at all, zoning out entirely and feeling a bone-deep tiredness seeping through him, gluing him to his seat. He prefers it that way, though, prefers that he doesn’t have to feel anything but an echo of guilt for a while, lets it steal over him as he closes his eyes and tips his head back against the seat. 

He must fall asleep for a while, because it feels like no time at all before a bustle of commotion wakes him up, and he finds everybody on their feet, patting their pockets and reaching for coats and bags. He blinks a few times, rubs his eyes, and then stands up, fumbles around in his pocket for his ticket as he files out of the train with everyone else. It’s surprisingly cold in Piccadilly, and he draws his coat around himself as he swerves around the mother and kids to beat them to the barriers, shoving his ticket in and stepping through. It feels like another threshold, like he's crossing back from a dream world into the real world, and he tries not to think about it too hard as he heads out to the bus stop.

The bus journey back home is cold and expensive, and by the time Calum gets home he thinks he might be in danger of losing a few of his limbs to the frosty air. It’s toasty warm inside the house, though, and there’s a plate of chicken and rice covered in cling film waiting for him on the kitchen counter, and Calum sticks it in the microwave, listens to the muffled sound of the TV floating out from the living room as he waits for his food to finish before taking it out to the table. 

The sound of the microwave dinging seems to have alerted his mum to his return, though, because no sooner has he sat down at the table than she's appeared in the doorway.

“Where’ve you been?” she asks, leaning against the doorframe. 

“London,” Calum mumbles, through a mouthful of chicken and rice, and scoops another forkful in, just for good measure. 

“To see Michael?” Calum falters, and then nods, averting his gaze. His mum sighs, loaded with something heavy that Calum decides he doesn’t want to pick apart. “And?” 

“And what?” 

“What happened?” Calum swallows, and shovels another loaded forkful of food into his mouth. 

“Nothing,” he says, and hopes she’ll attribute the way he winced at the evasiveness of his tone to the fact the food is really fucking hot. 

“Calum,” she starts, in that I’m about to give you a lecture voice that only parents (and Noel) can really manage, and Calum swallows again, chokes a little as the un-chewed food almost gets stuck in his oesophagus, and shakes his head. 

“Don’t,” he says, a little sharply. “I’m twenty-two, mum.” She sighs again, a little exasperated this time. 

“I know, but you’re still my kid,” she says. Calum inhales deeply, and closes his eyes. 

He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want to have to explain every single tiny movement he makes, not every time he comes home. He doesn’t want to be monitored whenever he comes or goes, doesn’t want to have to answer to anyone. He’s not used to it anymore, not after so long on tour; he’s used to crashing into hotel rooms with a bagful of white powder and a body full of booze, one or two or maybe even three loud and brash Mancunians in tow, vision hazy around the edges from the weed he’s just taken a few hits of, used to sleeping three hours on a bus and waking up in a different city to the one he’d fallen asleep in. It feels oddly claustrophobic, now, coming home. He loves it, loves seeing his mum and his dad and eating proper meals and getting to potter around the house and go down the pub with Liam, but he’s outgrown it as a lifestyle. He’s too big for that little room upstairs, now, too big for this two-up two-down, maybe even too big for Manchester. 

“I’m going to look at houses,” he blurts, before he’s even thought about it. A flash of something crosses his mum’s face, but she schools her features into something encouraging before he has a chance to really interpret it. 

“That’s a good idea,” she says. “You’re old enough to be gone, now.” Calum nods, and brings another forkful of food to his mouth. 

“In London,” he adds, and his mum blinks at him for a moment. 

“Well, I suppose it makes sense,” she says, sounding far too brisk, like she’s forcing it. “That’s where the music industry is, isn’t it?” Calum nods. 

“Noel and Liam are moving down, too,” he says, and she raises her eyebrows. 

“That’s a recipe for disaster,” she says shrewdly, and Calum shakes his head. 

“No, not together,” he says. 

“Oh,” she says. “Well. You should probably still look for somewhere further away from them.” Yeah, he probably should. 

(He won’t, though.) 

“Yeah, maybe.” He’s almost finished his plate of food, wishes she would fucking leave, so he doesn’t have to have the rest of this conversation with her. She seems to get it, though, just sighs again, and pushes herself off the doorframe.

“Let us know if we can help with anything,” she says gently, and Calum throws her a tight smile as she leaves. 

He’s not really sure where that came from. Okay, he’s been thinking about moving out for a while, but not in any concrete way; it’s very much been conceptual, something that he thinks he should probably do, but hasn’t been bothered to think about beyond that, something that’s stayed very firmly at the back of his mind. It feels right, though, he realises. He’d sort of thought it would be frightening, something that he was doing because he felt he had to rather than because he wanted to, but he feels oddly settled after saying it to his mum, like he's been making do in the dark and now he's turned on the light. It'll be good for him, he thinks, to live on his own. 

Plus, he thinks, as he scrapes his chair back from the table, gathering up his plate and cutlery, Liam could probably do with a set of eyes on him, couldn’t he? And the fact that Kentish Town is close to Camden has absolutely nothing to do with it. 

  -------

  Calum’s woken up at ten the next morning by a knock at the door. 

“Mm?” he mumbles, not entirely sure whether he’s actually awake or not yet, and the door opens a crack to reveal his mum. 

“Noel’s on the phone for you,” she says, and throws him a significant look that he chooses not to interpret. What the fuck does Noel want at ten in the morning? 

“Tell him I’ll call him back,” he says, and she purses her lips. 

“Tell him yourself,” she says, and tosses the handset at him. He squawks, flinching to avoid getting a hunk of plastic to the head - she’s never had the greatest aim - and then picks up the receiver that’s landed (painfully) on his forearm. 

“What?” he says, rubbing his eyes. 

“What were you really doing in London?” Jesus Christ. Straight to the fucking point. 

“Running errands.” 

“Bullshit.” Calum sighs. 

“What the fuck d’you want me to say?” he says tiredly. 

“You looked like you’d seen a fucking ghost when we came over,” Noel says. 

“I wasn’t expecting to see you, was I?” 

“You knew we were going to be in London. Liam says he told you.” Fuck’s sake. 

“London’s a big fucking place, though, isn’t it?” Calum says. “Still didn’t expect to see you there.” 

“Cut the fucking shit, Calum. I know who lives in Camden.” Calum’s blood runs cold. Shit. He should have known that they would have seen them in the chippy, should have made Michael leave faster, hide his face, turn away, anything. All it would have taken would have been one errant look from Liam, and the cat would have been out of the bag. 

“Why the fuck are you so convinced this is some kind of conspiracy?” Calum bites out. Fight fire with fire, he thinks. Works for Liam, doesn’t it? 

“I’m going to give you one chance to be honest with me,” Noel says. His voice is dangerously even, too controlled, that sort of wound-up serenity he gets a minute before he explodes, and Calum can’t even swallow, can’t get anything past the lump suddenly in his throat. “Were you or were you not seeing Thom Yorke?” Calum stops. 

What? 

“What?” he says. “No, I- what? What? I don’t even fucking know the bloke.” 

“You spoke to him at Glastonbury, didn’t you?” Noel says, utterly hostile. Calum blinks. 

“That was- that was six months ago.”  

“So?” Noel sounds like he’s bristling. “First Blur, now Radiohead? Are you just working your way through our competition? Were you fucking him too?” There’s a bitter edge to his voice, and Calum’s mouth drops open as he tries to process what Noel’s accusing him of. 

What?

What?

“What the fuck?” Calum says incredulously. “I’m not fucking Thom Yorke. What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

“You’d better be fucking certain about that, Calum, because-” Noel starts warningly, but Calum cuts him off. 

“Jesus Christ, Noel, I’ve spoken to him once. I don’t know where the cunt lives. Why the fuck do you know where he lives?” There’s a pause. 

“Alright,” Noel says, still tinged with suspicion, like he can’t quite let go of the idea that Calum had snuck to London to visit Thom fucking Yorke.

“You’re fucking insane,” Calum says, and doesn’t stop the derisiveness from leaking into his voice. Who the fuck rings someone at ten in the morning to accuse them of sleeping with a random bloke they haven’t seen in months? Noel’s acting like a fucking jealous ex, or something. 

“I’m insane?” Noel says, a little coldly. “You’ve got previous, mate.” And yeah, that’s fair enough - more than fair enough, because Calum is going behind Noel’s back, is betraying his best friend and his band - and the thought of it makes the guilt chase the anger out of his veins, makes him slump back into his pillow and rub a hand over his eyes. 

“Christ, Noel,” he says wearily. “You need to stop taking this shit so seriously. Let the music speak for itself.” Noel barks out a laugh. 

“I take it seriously because none of the rest of you do,” he says. 

“Just fucking relax,” Calum says. 

“I’ll relax when I’ve made my millions,” Noel says. “Until then, you can get your fucking arse in the studio and make me some money.” Calum rolls his eyes. 

“You snort all your money away,” he says. 

“So?” Noel says. “Just have to make me more, then, won’t you?” Calum can’t help but huff out a laugh at that. 

“You fucking idiot,” he says, but the smile playing at his lips makes it come out fond, and when Noel laughs this time, it’s soft and pleased. 

“Aye,” he says. “But I’m no Liam.” 

Well. He’s got a point.

  -------

  Christmas comes and goes without much fanfare, which is just how Calum likes it, and what he needed after all the months of touring. 

He gets up early, yawning and rubbing at his eyes as he slaps a hand on his alarm clock to shut it up, and spots a tiny little stocking at the foot of his bed, despite the stern look and the you’re almost twenty-three, Calum, you’re too old for stockings his mum had given him the night before . He grins, stifling another yawn as he empties it onto his bed, collects the little chocolate coins that spill out and unwraps the small present to find a little travel-sized bottle of his favourite aftershave. It makes him smile, that even though he’s a fucking rockstar in the making now, his mum still buys him aftershave, and he tucks the little bottle into his still-packed suitcase so he won’t forget it when they leave for Scotland on Boxing Day.  

His parents are both already up when he gets downstairs, showered and dressed and ready to help with cooking dinner, and he throws his dad a quick merry Christmas before heading into the kitchen where his mum is humming along to the tune blasting from the radio. 

“Morning,” he says, and she whips around, throws him a cheery smile as she puts something in the oven. “Thanks for the aftershave.” 

“What d’you mean, thanks?” she says, a twinkle in her eye. “Do I look like Father Christmas?” Calum tuts and rolls his eyes, presses a kiss to her cheek, and reaches for the carrots she’s been peeling. 

“What needs doing?” he asks, and she smiles at him, starts telling him that after he’s done with the carrots he should get some sprouts out of the freezer, please, and then fetch some of that wine from outside - the good wine, mind, Calum, and I know you drank the really good wine and thought we wouldn’t notice - and Calum just grins sheepishly, nods along to what she’s saying as he slices up the carrots, hums along as she switches to talking about Janet and how she’s got a baby on the way now. 

He’s halfway through chopping potatoes when the all-too-familiar drum beat of Supersonic starts up on the radio, a little fuzzy from the static. He starts, his heart lurching with adrenaline, and turns to his mum. 

“That’s us,” he says excitedly, but she’s already reaching for the volume on the radio, turning it up and beaming. 

“That’s you, isn’t it!” she says, sounding even more excited than him. “I like this one, actually. It feels very optimistic.” Calum bites the inside of his cheek, looks back down at his potatoes to try and stop himself laughing. Yeah, it was written while Noel was high as a fucking kite on coke; no wonder it sounds optimistic. 

“I like it too,” he says, grinning as Liam’s voice starts filling the room, raw and velvet and a little grimy, just how Calum likes it. Only fucking rock ‘n’ roll star there is, now, me, Liam would say, if he were here, and Calum would roll his eyes, and Noel would probably cuff Liam upside the head, and Bonehead would laugh, and Tony would shake his head and look the other way. God, Calum loves his band, loves their dysfunctional dynamic, loves every bit of the coke and the booze and the fighting and the laughing and the tiny moments of peace where Liam’s curled up against him, fast asleep, and Noel’s throwing him an exasperated but fond look from across the room.

( You don’t love it enough to be honest with them, though, a little voice in his mind tells him, but he pushes it into the back of his mind with as much force as he can muster. Not on Christmas. He deserves one day without guilt, however much of a cunt he’s being.) 

They ring Mali after dinner before the Queen, because it’s pushing on for time back in Sydney and his dad sagely points out that she’ll be too drunk to hold a proper conversation once it hits midnight. She’s already well on the way there, shouting and laughing merrily down the phone, but it just makes them all laugh, makes Calum’s heart ache a little bit, but not in a way he particularly minds. He misses her, but he knows he’ll see her soon enough. 

After an already fairly lengthy catch-up, his mum wants to speak to her about something to do with her rent which neither Calum nor his dad particularly care about, so they head into the living room and start sorting out potential VHSs to watch that evening. They’re in the middle of arguing about whether or not Blackadder is an appropriate Christmas show when Calum’s mum appears in the doorway, holding out the phone in her hand. 

“Mali wants to talk to you,” she says, and Calum scrambles to his feet, grabs the handset off her and heads into the kitchen, hoping his mum won’t follow, will let the two of them have a moment of privacy.

“Hello?” Calum says, throwing a glance over his shoulder to check his mum’s not following. Sure enough, she’s tutting at his dad, telling him Blackadder isn’t a Christmas show, David, be serious, please, so Calum turns into the kitchen, doesn’t bother turning the light on, just leans against the counter in the dark.

“How’s my baby brother?” Mali asks cheerfully, and Calum grins, and shakes his head. 

“I’m good,” he says. “Yeah, I’m good.” 

“Heard you on the radio today,” Mali says, and Calum’s stomach flips. They’re playing Oasis in Australia? Fucking hell. 

“You did?” 

“Yeah. Sounds really fucking good, actually.” Calum grins. 

“‘Course it does,” he says. “It’s me, innit?” Mali laughs, bright and tinny in his ear. 

“You’re spending too much time with those Gallaghers,” she tells him. “Where’s my shy little brother got to?” 

“Gone with all the coke and booze,” Calum says, and Mali snorts. 

“Fair enough,” she says. “How’s the rockstar life treating you, then? Number one album, isn’t it?” 

“Fastest-selling debut album in British history,” Calum says, and Mali whistles lowly. 

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” 

“Yeah, think so.”

“Alright, then, I’m impressed,” she says flippantly, and Calum huffs out a laugh. “What’s it like?” 

“What’s what like?”

“Y’know, fame, and all that. Sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll. Although I’d rather not hear about the sex, if it’s all the same to you.” Calum snorts. 

“Good,” he says, “it’s good. Weird, though, getting asked for autographs, and that. Touring’s strange, too. But it’s good. And I’m glad I’ve got my band with me.” 

“Good to know someone’s glad,” Mali says. “I bet the rest of the world aren’t glad to have those two delinquents running wild. Mum and Dad don’t know about the number of hotels you’ve been kicked out of, do they?” 

“No,” Calum says warningly, “and they’re not going to find out.” 

“No, no, I’ll toe the line, Cal,” Mali says breezily. “For a price.” 

“Get fucked,” Calum says, but he’s grinning. 

“C’mon, you must be fucking loaded by now,” Mali says, but she’s grinning too, just trying to wind him up. “I mean, you played Glastonbury, right? That was a big fucking lineup. Pretty much anyone who’s relevant was there, if my boss is to be believed. She might just be saying that because she was there, though.” Calum’s face drops.

“Yeah,” he says, and bites his lip. He should tell her about Michael. She knew, back then, knew better than almost anyone, and she should know now, really. “I, uh,” he starts, and then licks his lips, and swallows. Mali just waits, though, knows him well enough to know that it’s going to be something important, and Calum takes a deep breath to steady himself. “I saw Michael.” 

“Clifford?” 

“Yeah.” There’s a pause. 

“I wondered how long it’d take,” Mali says, and she sounds a little mournful. It makes Calum blink, makes him frown as he thinks - more than a little upset - what the fuck? She knew?

“You knew? About him being in Blur?” 

“‘Course I knew. I’m in the music business, aren’t I? I’m in Australia, Cal, not on the fucking moon.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Mali sighs. 

“I was trying to protect you,” she says. Calum grits his teeth. 

“Would’ve protected me more if you’d warned me before I ran into him at a fucking awards show,” he says. 

“Shit,” Mali mutters, and Calum makes a yeah, fucking right sort of noise. “What happened?” 

“Liam and Noel nearly fucking skinned me alive,” Calum says. 

“With Michael, I mean.” Calum hesitates. 

“Nothing,” he says. “Until Glastonbury.” 

“What happened at Glastonbury?” Calum stares down at the floor, digs his thumbnail into the countertop behind him.

“Bumped into him,” he says. “And then he rang me a few days later. And then we- uh. We started calling. And I went to his house last week.” Mali’s silent for a long, long moment, so long that Calum would think that she might have got disconnected if it weren’t for the sound of her breathing, slow and considered in Calum’s ear. 

“Oh, Cal,” she says, and the words come out sad and heavy. “Are you- are you…?” She trails off, clearly not sure how to phrase it, but Calum knows what she’s asking. He closes his eyes, brings a hand up to rub over his face, and shrugs, even though she can’t see him. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t know. Maybe. Not yet, though. But maybe.” Mali sighs again, sounding more sober than she has for the entire call. 

“What do the rest of them think?” she asks. Calum swallows. 

“They don’t know,” he admits. 

There’s a pause. A long, long fucking pause, and Calum sort of wants to just hang up, sort of wants to laugh and say joking, just kidding, can you fucking imagine, wish I could see the look on your face, but he doesn’t. He clenches his fist, waits it out, and eventually Mali exhales heavily. 

“That’s a dangerous fucking game,” she says, and Calum can’t help the humourless laugh that escapes him at that. Doesn’t he fucking know it. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I just- I can’t tell them. They don’t understand.” 

“Even Noel? He was always the reasonable one, wasn’t he?” Calum snorts, and it’s bitter. 

“Not when it comes to the music,” he says. “And-” he cuts himself off, biting his lip. He hasn’t told anyone about him and Noel, not even Mali, because it didn’t matter at the time, and as soon as it started to matter, he had no one to tell. But it’s pertinent now, isn’t it, and it’d probably be a weight off his shoulders, so he takes a deep breath, and says: “And, uh, I fucked him.” There’s another pause. 

“You- you fucked Noel?” Mali doesn’t quite sound like she believes him. 

“I- well-” okay, she doesn’t need to know that technically Noel fucked him “-I mean, yeah. Years ago, though, like, three years ago. But- y’know.” He winces, cringing at his own words. 

“Fucking hell, Cal,” Mali says, sounding a little awed. “You’ve made yourself a right fucking mess, haven’t you?” 

“I know, I know,” Calum groans, tipping his head back. “It- it didn’t matter, y’know, it was just a one-time thing, but now with Michael back in the picture…” he trails off, and Mali sighs again. 

“Does Michael know?”

“No.” 

“Jesus, Cal, are you honest with fucking anyone in your life?” 

“I- yeah, I just- look, it’d be presumptuous of me to tell him,” Calum says. “We haven’t- we only just made up last week.” Mali hums, a little disapprovingly. 

“Well, I suppose,” she says, but she still doesn’t sound too happy about it. “You’ve got to tell your band, though. I’ve seen bigger bands fall apart for less.” Calum’s stomach flips. He knows that, and he knows full well that they could fall apart for less. But he also knows that he’s too far deep with the lie, now, could maybe have got away with the months of sporadic phone calls but hammered the final nail into his coffin in a chic house in Camden, that if he tells them now it all comes crashing down anyway. 

“I can’t,” he says, and he hears the desperation in his own voice. “I can’t, Mali. I’d be-” he doesn’t even want to think about it. A life without Oasis, fine, whatever, he can go back to fixing fences and walls. But a life without Noel? A life without Liam? Calum can’t even stomach the thought of that, let alone the prospect of it being a reality. “I can’t. I can’t lose them.” 

“What the fuck is the deal with you and those two?” Mali says, a little exasperated, because she knows he doesn’t mean Bonehead or Tony. “They’re nothing but trouble.” 

“They’re my best friends,” Calum says, which is a bit of an understatement. Liam’s more of a part of the fabric that makes up Calum’s soul, but it feels a bit dramatic to say that out loud. 

Mali’s quiet for a moment, and then she sighs again, long, heavy, resigned. 

“Be careful,” she says gently. Her reluctant seal of approval. 

“I’m trying.” Mali hums. 

“Give my love to Mum and Dad,” she says. “I’m going to get high as fuck and try to forget that someone in my family has fucked Noel Gallagher.” The ghost of a smile crosses Calum’s lips at that. 

“Night,” he says. “Love you.”

“Love you most, Cal.” There’s a click, and then she’s gone, nothing but the sound of Calum’s ragged breathing and his racing heart swelling in the silence of the dark kitchen. 

Calum sets the phone down on the counter, then inhales deeply, staring up at the ceiling. Mali’s right. He’s made himself a right fucking mess. 

Well, he thinks, a little bitterly. Merry fucking Christmas, eh?

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[randomoranges]

Anniversaire [40]

i remembered i forgot to do this one that i’ve had in mind since - eum, a year ago? anyways good thing i never write anything in order lol

end may/early june 2020

 It’s a few days before Étienne’s heading home and they’re making the most of the last of their time together. Therefore, Edward is sitting outside on the back porch with Étienne. The back porch seems to have become Étienne’s go to place when he’s not sprawled on the living room couch and Edward feels as though he’s never spent so much time in his life simply sitting out in his backyard. It’s not terrible, just different.

 “I don’t know if you remember,” Étienne starts and spares him a glance, “But this year – well, this summer marks a – milestone of sorts for us. Sort of.” He shrugs, looks away and Edward notices the colour that marks his cheeks. It’s not from the sun and Edward needs a moment for his brain to kick back into gear.

 He’d never ever ever expected ever Étienne to ever even remember ever.

 Ever.

 He blinks and looks at him with surprise, completely astounded. Part of him wants to pull him in close and kiss him silly; another more sensible and logical part of him says that maybe he should check to make sure they’re both talking about the same thing.

 “It’s – well, it’s forty years since we –”

 Edward cuts him off, afraid of what Étienne is about to say – of how he’ll react to whatever extremely ridiculous thing his boyfriend is about to say.

 “Became special friends?” Edward offers instead and holds himself from wiggling his eyebrows in any suggestive way whatsoever. It’s best to make light of it and joke. He’s not sure he can handle Étienne say something meaningful and deep.

 Étienne shoves at his shoulder and laughs. “Yeah – special friends, fuck buddies, since we – well, I guess started spending more time together and seeing each other more.” He shrugs again, shy smile splayed on his face. Edward thinks it’s a beautiful smile. Likes the softness of it. Loves to press his lips to it. He indulges and leans over to kiss his boyfriend and Étienne sighs into it, forgetting for a moment the conversation they’d been having. When they pull away, Étienne reaches for his pack of smokes as a diversion. He offers him one mostly out of habit, and also because he knows Edward still goes for a smoke every so often despite what he claims to others. Edward’s dropped the pretenses with Étienne, tired of the patronising looks he was getting. He does however decline the cigarette, but steals the second drag from it instead.

 “I had remembered,” Edward finally offers softly. Étienne busies himself with the cigarette and hands the rest of it to Edward before he lights another one for himself. They smoke quietly, lost in their own thoughts of what had been forty years ago. A lot had changed – they had, in many ways – hopefully for the better. Some of it has remained the same.

 “I mean – we didn’t see each other for nearly half of it – but – yeah, forty years...” Étienne trails off, still trying to find ways to make this seem less important than how he truly feels about it, as if ashamed – or maybe even afraid that he feels more about it than Edward does.

 “My feelings for you never changed – I never stopped loving you.” Edward counters and only nearly stumbles the last few words of his sentence. He blames it on the cigarette in his hands and nothing else.

 “I – yeah, me neither.” Étienne finally adds. Edward nods and they leave it at that for a moment, quietly smoking and observing the slowly growing plants and the leaves that are starting to come in with their full greens.

 “In that case then, it is an – anniversary of sorts.” Edward stubs out his cigarette and plays with what’s left of it, rolling it between his fingers, lost in memories of younger versions of themselves, still both as stupid around the edges and stumbling their way through their relationship. If he knew then what he knows now... He sighs – no sense if crying over spilt milk and such.

 “You know, I had a – plan. For this. I – if you came over – I had a plan.”

 Edward is surprised and he’s starting to tell himself that he shouldn’t. Étienne, for all that he says he doesn’t do romance, seems to be really good at it, in his own way. In his gestures and attentions – in the quiet spaces that exist between all the things he says and doesn’t. It’s a good thing Edward has been in his orbit for so long, for he’s gotten exceptionally good at deciphering Étienne. (It also helps that they’ve spoken about this to some depths and that other things have been admitted to.) Still, something warm and pleasant makes itself comfortable inside of Edward at the thought of Étienne planning something special.

 “Did you now?”

 Étienne nods and flicks his lighter, “I was going to take you to some nice terasse and then go down to the Old Port and catch the fireworks. Highlight the occasion and such. Treat you to a nice dinner.” He sighs to himself and scrubs a hand over his face and then through his hair – it’s getting a little long; Edward silently loves the way it looks. Loves the way the curls are a little looser yet still just as pretty.”Guess that’s all shot now.” The sobering comment brings Edward back to the present moment and he reaches out for one of Étienne’s hands. He laces their fingers together and thrills when Étienne sits closer to lean his head on Edward’s shoulder. At least, even with everything – from the heavy misunderstandings and breaks, they get to have this again.

 “Y’now, for a guy who claims to be allergic to romance...” Edward teases and nudges at Étienne’s shoulder playfully.

 He does it to get a rise out of his boyfriend and it works. Étienne’s cheeks are even redder now and he shoves back at Edward, “Shut up...”

 Edward manhandles him and pulls him closer until he can kiss the top of Étienne’s curls and hold him to his chest. Étienne wiggles about in his arms until he can lay proper claim to Edward’s lips and kiss him. Edward goes pliant and soft and cups Étienne’s face with his hands. He’s warm and ever so lovely and Edward knows he can get lost in these moments – could never get enough of them even if they were to make up for all the lost time and missed opportunities.

 “Don’t worry; you’re secret is safe with me. No one will ever know you have a heart.” He murmurs against kiss-swollen lips, moments and days and weeks and months later.

 He means it as a joke, but of course, Étienne has to go ahead and deliver the killing blow. “S’yours anyways. Always has been.”

 This time, Edward’s cheeks turn a lovely shade of red. Luckily, Étienne doesn’t comment and instead settles in his embrace for a moment. It’s nice and quiet and for a while they simply sit together. Edward has always liked this part of their friendship and relationship – the quiet moments when they never needed to do or say anything, content sharing the same space. There’s more of that now and Edward has to admit that he likes it a lot.

 “We could still highlight the occasion,” He says after a while. Étienne gives him a curious look and Edward pecks his nose before disentangling himself from him. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

 Étienne watches his retreating figure and Edward heads back inside. He returns moments later, as promised, with a small bottle of champagne and two flutes. “It’s not whatever fancy terasse you wanted to take me to, but I think the company is just fine regardless.” He pops the cork and pours out two glasses before handing one to Étienne.

 Étienne cant’ really believe this is happening, but he’s endeared and touched by this sudden spontaneous little celebration. It’s not much – not what he wanted to do, but Edward does have a point – at least they get to highlight the occasion together. “To us,” He offers as a toast, bringing his glass to cling with Edward’s.

 “Here’s to forty more?”

 Étienne chuckles softly, “May they be without interruption this time.” He adds. He can do forty more years – hell, he can do a lifetime more, but forty seems like a good benchmark to aim for. Forty more years of teasing and loving Edward. It sounds like the simplest task he’s ever been handed. He looks at his boyfriend and smiles softly and openly and it only grows bigger when Edward smiles back at him.

 “I’ll drink to that.”

 FIN

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Wonderwall Epilogue

Keanu Reeves x Reader 

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6  Chapter 7

“And after all, you’re my wonderwall.” - Oasis 

New York- 1 year (and some months) Later

(Flashback) “I don’t want to wait,” he says, smiling widely as he looks down at me in his arms. He’s slouched against the headboard and the sheets are pulled over my naked breasts as Keanu traces absent circles into my arms while I do the same on his chest. Unless we’re apart for filming, this a nightly occurrence, lying like this or in a similar position until we fall asleep, our limbs intertwined. I haven’t officially moved in with him, or to L.A for that matter, but it’s become second nature to be here, to be where he is.

“Are you sure?” I ask quietly, lifting myself a little so our eyes can meet, “You don’t feel rushed or anything? It hasn’t even been a year yet.”

Keanu nods, determination in his eyes, “It don’t.” Shifting a little, he reaches into the drawer into his nightstand, pulling out a little rusted-red box with a gold pattern at the edges, offering it to me, “I got this a couple months after we started dating. I picked up when I did that press thing in Paris.” His smile is wide and his eyes are searching mine for an answer. My mouth hangs open in surprise and I can’t find the words. Ever since we’ve gotten together, or maybe even before, I’ve known that he was the one, but now that it’s actually happening, I’m speechless. My fingers are shaking so much that I can’t even open the box. “Y/n,” Keanu begins, helping me open the box, only to reveal a smaller ring box, “Will you marry me?”

Smiling like a love struck fool, I nod eagerly, flinging my body to his chest, pressing my lips to his, “I’d love to marry you,” I mumble between kisses, “I love you Keanu.”

“I love you Y/n,” he replies quietly.

Now.... The sun is setting and the air has cooled, though the party shows no signs of dying down any time soon. I’m sitting at our table, adorned with candles and fresh flowers, a flute of champagne in my hand as I look on at the scene with a smile. “Hi,” a pair of strong hands start rubbing my shoulders, barely grazing the off the shoulder sleeves of my dress.

“Hey,” I giggle, turning my head as he bends down to press a kiss to my lips. Keanu’s face is flushed and his grin bright, “Where have you been?”

“Your cousins love to dance,” he breaths as explanation, plopping in to the chair next to me. Even with most of the day over, he looks like a dream in his tux. His bow tie is undone and the top two buttons of his white shirt are open.

“I think they love you more,” I laugh, finishing of the rest of my champagne. “Though maybe not as much as I love you,” leaning forward, I press another kiss to his lips, keeping my eyes closed as I hold my forehead against his.

Keanu hums as he laces his fingers with mine, “Care to take a walk with me, Mrs. Reeves?”

It’s only been a few hours, but already, I love being called that. I’m Mrs. Keanu Reeves. “I’d love to,” I giggle as he pulls me up. With our hands still linked, we walk towards the near by lake, not stopping until we’re at the middle of the bridge, away from the crowd.

Y/n stands gripping the railing and I’m behind her, my hands planted at her hips, the silk of her gorgeous wedding dress smooth beneath my fingers. She was definitely a vison in white, the perfect picture of a bohemian princess with a flowing dress that easily blows in the direction of the wind and a glittering tiara holding her veil in place as she walked down the aisle this morning, to meet me under the flower adorned arch, our closet friends and family watching. 

In the end, we had opted for a small ceremony held just past noon, when warm spring rays bounced around after filtering through the trees at the edge of the forest that sits just beyond the lake. The small crowd sat in white patio chairs, on either side of a pathway marked off by pink rose petals. A violins had played soft music while we read the vows that we wrote ourselves. It was everything Y/n and I had hoped it would be; simple, elegant and intimate. 

“I can’t believe it’s already over,” Y/n muses, leading her back against my chest, her fingers dancing along the wooden guard rail.

“I know,” my arms wrap around her, encouraging her to try to snuggle closer, “I can’t believe that you’re actually my wife,” I chuckle quietly.

Y/n giggles, humming, “And you’re my husband. Took us long enough,” she chortles.

“You mean it took you long enough,” I correct and she swats at my arm, “Okay fine, maybe we both played our parts.” She spent a long time chasing after a something that was long gone and I spent an even longer time hiding how I felt because of fear.

“Well,” Y/n begins, turning in the circle of my arms, looping hers around my neck, “It doesn’t matter anymore. We’re here, in love, married and everything is just the way it should be,” Y/n’s nails graze my scalp as her finger tangle in my hair, urging me towards her.

“I love you, so, so much Mrs. Reeves,” our noses brush each other in an Eskimo kiss that brings visible warmth to both our cheeks.

“And I adore, and love you with everything that I am Mr. Reeves,” she returns giddily. Out lips tangle in a lingering kiss, only one of many that we’ll share in our lifetime as a married couple. I taste the sweetness of champagne and wedding cake on her tongue and my bottom lip drags between her teeth.

When we break, Y/n’s face sobers and I slid my palms up her shoulders as I ask, “What?”

“That night, when I asked you to meet me downstairs, I didn’t even know what I wanted to say to you. And things were going so great with you and Samantha. I knew that marrying Jacob would have been a mistake, and even if you had told me you didn’t feel the same, I don’t think I would have gone through it,” Y/n sighs quietly, shaking her head, “God, I don’t even know why I’m telling you this now, but I do know that I’m glad things went the way they did,” Y/n smiles softly, “And that I am sorry that it took me so long

My mind flashes back to that night, it was over a year ago and since then so much has changed but it feels like just last night, we were at a resort in desolate, snowy Colorado and she’s standing in front of me, begging me to forgive a mistake that she had spent so long making. I was no different , playing the part of a coward who was just a few hours away from losing the person who meant the most to me.....

(Flashback) “I think I’ve made a mistake,” Y/n’s words are breathless and thick with emotion. The yellow tinted lighting coming from the old-fashioned lamps lining the walls is dim, but I can still see the moisture in her eyes, threatening to break through.

“What do you mean?” I ask worriedly, stepping closer to Y/n, ready to gather her in my arms, “Did he hurt you again? Cause if he did-”

“No,” she sakes her head, smiling sadly through the tears, “It’s on me this time.” Licking her lips, Y/n swallows tightly, “Ke,” she begins, “I think- no, I know, that I’m in love with you. I have been for a while now and I know things are complicated and you probably don’t feel-” In an instant, I’m cutting her off, smashing my lips to hers, my arms going around her waist. With in a minute, Y/n’s arms loop around my neck, her fingers tangling in my hair.

We’ve kissed before, almost a year ago, on New Years, but this, this is levels beyond drunken, hungry kisses. This is everything that she wants to admit to me and everything that I’ve been feeling for her over the past three years, all poured into one kiss. It’s a declaration that starting now, everything has changed for the better, that no matter how complicated things are, how many people are involved, we matter most to each other. I love Y/n, and she loves me.

When we pull away for air, she’s still in my arms, “I do feel the same, I’ve loved you for so long Y/n.”

“Then why didn’t you ever say something?” She asks, her fingers brushing my cheeks, they’re cold but nothing has ever felt this right.

“I was scared, I didn’t think you’d feel the same but I love do you Y/n, and I don’t think I’d be capable of anything less.”

Her eyes are wide, and my thumb slips across her cheek as I marvel at her in this moment, “Oh Ke,” she sighs, “We’ve really fucked up haven’t we?”

I laugh quietly, pulling her body flush against my chest, “We have, but we’re going to fix it.”

“I’m sorry too,” I hug Y/n close and she presses her head against the center of my chest, “For hiding the way I felt from you, for so long,” I kiss the top of her head and she hums in contentment.

“We could have saved ourselves, and each other a lot of time if we had just grown a pair and came clean.”

“Yeah,” I huff a quiet laugh, “But like you said, all of that doesn’t matter anymore. We still got here after all, and I couldn’t have imagined this being any better.” We stand on the bridge for a while, looking on at the serene lake, the reception still thriving. Soon, the sun is beginning to set and, reluctantly I say, “Come on, we should get back, everyone is going to think we ditched our own wedding reception.”

Y/n groans in protest, “Let them, I want to keep you all to myself,” she giggles warily.

“You can, in Rome,” during our honeymoon. As we walk back, our arms are linked and she rests her head on my bicep, “And I’ll have you, all to myself.”

I can’t see it, but I hear her wide, gleeful smile as she concludes, “I can’t wait.”

Neither can I y/n, for our romantic getaway and forever with the woman I love.

THE END!

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