#i even wrestled with my half-dead laptop to make this

[kara-knuckles]

(Please, click for full size)

#Sakamoto Ryouma #Oryou #oryouma #Fate/Grand Order #fgo #I ADORE THIS ANIMATION OKAY?? #i even wrestled with my half-dead laptop to make this #sorry this is the largest i could make it #also sorry Ryouma for editing your pretty-pretty outfit a bit #it wasn't working in gif form :( #aaah i want them so much! #i plan to go for pity on gudaguda 6 rerun to get them for sure! #hope the game will still be alive in 2024 hahaha... #creative tag #Nasuverse #oh it looks so much better on mobile! #the preview on pc is too small

[blasphemecel]

Ghiaccio — Deflowered

PAIRING: Ghiaccio/Reader WORD COUNT: 1.3k TYPE: Crack/Humor WARNING(S): This has A Lot of NSFW jokes in it even if nothing actually Happens

“Do you lay pipe?”

It’s an asinine question, one which someone with a deteriorating frontal lobe might ask. You’re rummaging through the fridge still, body folded almost in two, your posture making you vaguely resemble an arthritic alligator.

Ghiaccio’s eye twitches, fingers freezing over the keyboard. He’d been typing a report and you’ve been ‘intruding’ for the last seven minutes (though technically it is a shared space as he’s in the living room), and he knows because he’s been neurotically checking the time ever since you first walked in. He also has no idea what you might be looking for, considering the fridge has been empty for five days now.

“Are you talking to me?” he asks, tone flat. There’s no one else in the hideout.

“‘Cause I was thinking about it and like-” you step back from the fridge empty-handed before you make your way around and topple down right next to him, “-you don’t seem like you do.” After an unnecessarily wide manspread, you throw an arm over the back of the couch. “You don’t go out with us to bars or anything. So I did the calculations in my head and everything and it seemed unlikely.”

“You know, that thing you said.” He snaps the laptop shut before he turns towards you with a snarl on his face. “‘Laying pipe.’ That doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

“Okay, but do you or do you not?”

“Like, it’s not a pipe. It’s a dick. A penis. You know? And you’re not- when you’re pipe laying, I mean the profession-”

You pick your ear. “Oh, there’s a job like that?”

“-that’s delicate work because they need to be… installing the pipes and shit, it’s nothing like, you know. So why the fuck would you word it like that, you fucking ingrate? And who came up with it? I don’t think pipes are even phallic. It just doesn’t make any fucking sense! Who thought of that?!”

“You really need to get laid, man,” you say, before sitting up and inspecting the mysterious area behind the couch for any stray, half-drunken can of beer Formaggio might have forgotten about. The plush sinks in where you press your knee. Ghiaccio considers pushing you off, but the new euphemism catches his attention.

“See, ‘getting laid,’ that’s also illogical because I’m not a fucking egg. Just- stop talking.”

“It’s all about perspective.”

He frowns. “The hell?”

“‘Cause like if you think about it, at some point when you’re fucking, someone will be lying down, probably. So, you know, getting laid,” you say, then once it becomes clear no one happened to forget a bottle of whiskey behind, you abandon the search, settling for a glass of tap water which leads you to your return to the kitchen.

The sink runs. You think the dead insect near the drain might be a glow worm.

Ghiaccio contemplates this and by the time you take your previous position again, he has a verdict. “You know what? That’s really fucking stupid. Laying an egg is something entirely different.”

“Yeah, but it happens after they have chicken sex and stuff.”

He snaps his head towards you. “Were you raised in an isolation tank or something? Be honest. I’m serious.”

You let out a laugh like what he said is funny, inching even closer towards him on the couch, if possible. “Really? I thought they made you in a petri dish.”

“And what fucking sense does that make? Do you know what that is? Actually, think about what you just said for a second. Laying eggs happens after they mate so why the fuck would-”

“It’s just slang, bro.” It occurs to you that the TV exists, though it’d be a surprise if it worked. You reach for the remote and press the button, watching the screen flicker with static for a second until it clears, and apparently the person who last used it was watching TLC.

Ghiaccio immediately wrestles it out of your hold and turns it off, you presume because he thinks this argument you two are having is worthy of your full attention. “Then ‘getting laid’ should be slang for being born, not for having sex! And why are you calling me bro? We’re not related.”

“This is why I think you were born in a petri dish,” you say. “Like you just straight up spawned or some shit. You probably weren’t ever a baby either, just came out like this.”

“I was a baby,” Ghiaccio insists.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“I WAS.”

“I said whatever, why are you still talking?”

“Because you’re saying it like you don’t believe me,” he explains, trying his best not to throw a tantrum. Pain flares on the inner side of his jaw. Ghiaccio remembers reading that a ‘noncancerous bony growth’ can cause this.

Your mouth slants a little to the left like you’re being mean, or like he’s somehow embarrassing you. Ghiaccio finds something about your existence inherently humorless. It’s like you try so hard to be entertaining, it circles back to being unfunny. Then again, he doesn’t really… laugh, or experience joy, so you could be a comedian. In theory.

The original topic of conversation crosses your mind again and you smirk, which is his cue that you’re about to say something obnoxious. “How would you like your cherry to get popped?”

“What did you just say?”

“You know, like how you’d like to-”

“‘Pop the cherry.’ There’s not a single innuendo or whatever that makes any fucking sense. It just pisses me off! What the fuck do you mean you’re jacking off? Was there a Jack somewhere who was so fucking unpalatable as a person they made his name synonymous with ‘dick’? Then why isn’t it banjamining off, or thomasing off? Or something? It could literally be anyone. Even then, when you’re stroking your dick, you’re not… dicking off, so it still wouldn’t be a verb, right? That’s fucking stupid!”

You stare at him, eyes vacant. Yes, you’d been using these figures of speech just to get him to rant, but this is the moment you realize he’s clinically insane. “You’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep thinking about this.”

“No genitals look like cherries anyway,” Ghiaccio continues, almost hitting you in the face after he flails his arm in the air with what you consider dramatic flair. “And even if they did, you don’t pop them! It’s an insertion. You can’t pop an opening. What worthless moron came up with that? I’ll fucking- I’ll find them and go spit on their grave.”

With a sense of theatrical melodrama, you drape yourself over the couch and heave a sigh. Ghiaccio is distracted out of his deranged rambling for just a moment, enough for you to land the final blow. Adjusting yourself until your legs are up, you wrap your arms around your knees. “I think I could be the only one who could do it.”

He examines you, unimpressed, and leans against the armrest. “I really don’t think there's anything in the world only you can do.”

“Like,” you say, rubbing your chin, “if you wanted to lose your tragic virginity and anyone had to fuck you, it’d be me. There’s no one else who’d agree.” Then you betray your real intentions by letting out a snicker. “I’d have to be the one to deflower you.”

“Actually, usually that word is used in connotation with women-”

“Yeah, but you could be like, my princess and stuff.”

“-have you thought about how weird that is? Off-putting? How many women do you think consider themselves flowers? It’s fucking creepy! And then, ‘deflowered,’ it makes it sound like, after that first time, she wilts. Besides, people don’t fucking wilt. Even if they did, it’d be because of dehydration. It’d have nothing to do with sex.”

“So you don’t deny you’re a virgin?” you ask.

“I could have a tryst if I wanted to.”

“A tryst.”

Ghiaccio glares at you over the rims of his glasses.

You ask, “What do you think about my offer?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” You lay down and try to shove your big toe in his ear.

Ghiaccio shoves your pesky legs away. After some deliberation, “... Were you serious, though?”

#ghiaccio x reader #jjba x reader #jjba x you #jjba imagines

[buzzybeesinlove]

Girl help I’m out of established relationship bees

Girl I've got you don't worry <3 and because I can, I'm gonna combine this anons prompt for soft bees with this one so I can make up for the dead yang prompt I wrote the other day SKSKSK

I lost my previous draft so hopefully I can sort of recreate what I did before on my phone because my laptop is being dumb right now 😭 anyways have some established relationship soft bees in the future after the war where they're living together <3 hope you enjoy it!! It's a bit short but I hope it's good enough <3

There's some implied sexual content in this but nothing is actually shown.

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

It was rare for Blake to wake up earlier than Yang in the mornings.

They were both pretty light sleepers - fighting in a war had taught them to always be on edge, to be ready for anyone trying to ambush them or creep up on them when they least expected it.

However, after the war had ended and having been together for the last couple of years - thank Gods for Sun practically forcing them to confess to each other on their trip to Vacuo - they both decided to take the next step and move in together, both of them quickly finding out that although they had as much time as they wanted to catch up on sleep, Yang still managed to get out of bed before her most days.

The decision to live together wasn't a shock to the other half of their team - but it didn't stop Ruby and Weiss from constantly teasing them about it.

"You sure about this Blake?" Ruby had said on moving day, smirking in a lighthearted manner at her sister. "You may have had a taste of what Yang's like in the dorms, but she's even worse at home! There's the chainsaw snoring, being godawful at cooking, getting up super early to work out-" Ruby began listing all of these things, counting them on her fingers until Yang sputtered and cut her off with a swift headlock. Ruby whined in protest as she rubbed her fist into Ruby's hair.

"You jealous Rubes? That why you're trying to sabotage my attempts at living with the love of my life?" Yang said, saying it so casually with an infuriatingly attractive smirk on her face towards her little sister, and although she had heard it many times over the years, those words never failed to leave Blake a little breathless.

"Gods, can't believe how soft you are now!" Ruby shot back, giggling as she finally shoved Yang away from her.

Blake watched as they wrestled each other down to the grassy yard of their new home - a modest, one story house down near the water, close by to Patch, where Ruby and Weiss were currently staying. It was independent enough for both of them, but close by for family to not be too far away. Something that Blake knew Yang needed.

And Blake would never deny her anything.

"I'm happy for you two." Weiss said beside her, and Blake glanced at her to see a happy, genuine smile on her friend's face.

"So am I." She replied, letting out a dreamlike, almost whimsical sigh as she watched her partner - the love of her life, apple of her eye, roll around on the ground with her sister like the child she was.

"Ugh, gross." Weiss said in jest, and Blake raised an eyebrow as she looked at her, smirk forming on her lips.

"Oh, as if you don't want to take this step with Ruby next, hm?" Blake shot back, and she giggled lightly at the flush on Weiss' cheeks.

"Absolutely not. I can barely tolerate her in their family home." Weiss said, but the soft look in her eyes when they landed on Ruby, hoisted over Yang's shoulder now as they laughed together, betrayed her words.

It was soon after that when Ruby and Weiss helped them bring their stuff inside, and once the dust had settled and everything was in its place, they waved goodbye to the other couple as they left them.

It didn't truly sink in for her or Yang that they were together, in their home, until a few days into living there.

And even a week later, Blake didn't regret her decision as she cracked her eyes open in the morning, pleasantly surprised to see Yang still in bed with her, back pressed against her front.

Yang would usually already be up some days - either going on her usual run, or working out in their living room. And Blake would be lying if she said it bothered her - being more than happy to watch in on her girlfriend work her muscles and glisten with sweat as she pushed her body to the limit.

She was a simple bisexual woman after all.

However, waking up to find Yang clearly content to stay in her arms that morning was a gift she didn't know she needed till now.

Blake rubbed the sleep from her eyes and her ears flicked happily when Yang shifted a little in her sleep, her eyes following the rays of sunlight bathing onto Yang's bare shoulders, accentuating the light freckles there.

Blake smiled and leaned forward, humming in content when her lips made contact with the soft, smooth skin of Yang's right shoulder. She wrapped her arm further around Yang's waist, but her partner remained dead to the world.

Blake hummed again and began trailing her lips upwards, shifting onto her elbow once her lips reached the side of Yang's exposed neck. She began pressing soft, light kisses there, Yang twitching ever so slightly, but still fast asleep.

"Yang." Blake breathed softly into her neck, and with the lack of response, she smiled a little and moved her hand to Yang's hip. She started to tickle her fingers up her lover's side, Yang twitching once more, and all the way up her arm, before tickling them back down, repeating the process a few times.

She continued to pepper kisses on her neck and jawline, and eventually, Yang began to stir.

Blake watched as her eyes fluttered, and she paused in her movements, shifting a bit away from her neck.

"Hey, who said you could stop?" Yang said, voice rough with sleep. Blake let out a huff of laughter when Yang clumsily reached behind her to thread her fingers into Blake's hair, encouraging her to return to what she was doing. When Blake's lips made contact again, Yang sighed in content.

"Better." Yang said.

Blake breathed out another laugh, before reaching around her girlfriend to shift her onto her back, Yang's lilac eyes half-lidded as she looked up at her. Blake smiled softly and reached up to caress her bangs back from her forehead.

"Good morning, beautiful." Blake said gently. Yang blinked a few times and opened her eyes a bit more, looking up at her with a sleepy smile as she reached her hand up to cup Blake's cheek, caressing her thumb along her cheekbone.

"Hey." Yang replied.

Blake nuzzled into Yang's touch, smiling at the giggle she received when she pressed a kiss to Yang's palm on her cheek, looking down into soft lilac eyes.

"You should forget about working out in the mornings so you can wake up with me more often." Blake said. Yang's grin turned lopsided and she hummed thoughtfully, looking up at her with mischief in her eyes.

"Please, you love seeing me sweat, darlin'." Yang said cheekily, and before Blake could react, she was suddenly on her back with Yang looking down at her, love and softness radiating from her eyes.

"You have no proof of that." Blake replied, and Yang's lip curled up into a smirk, a hum escaping her throat as she looked down at her.

Yang lowered herself down and began brushing her lips along Blake's neck, gently laying several kisses there, leaving goosebumps behind on Blake's skin. Blake let out a sigh of pleasure, tilting her head to give Yang more access, her partner taking the opportunity to trail her lips upwards to her jawline.

"Hmm, I think last night was enough proof of that." Yang breathed into her skin, and Blake smiled, wrapping her arms around Yang's neck to encourage her to continue what she was doing.

"I think I may need more evidence of that." Blake said, and Yang trailed her lips even further up, pulling away a bit to look down at her. Her eyes had lit up at that, and she grinned down at her before softly capturing her lips with her own.

Blake smiled against her lips and eagerly pressed her body up against her lover's, delighting in the soft sound from Yang's throat, which she swallowed up with her own lips.

A tingly, warm sensation travelled through her body as she felt Yang's fingers, so gentle and delicate even after all this time, trickle their way up her sides under the blanket, a shiver passing through her body.

Yang pulled her lips away, and before Blake could playfully protest, Yang met her eyes with a spark in hers.

"That can be arranged." Yang said, smirking at her and then swooping down to take her lips again, the gentle but firm pressure sending a pleasurable shiver down her spine again.

This really wasn't what Blake expected their morning would be like, but she certainly had no complaints whatsoever.

Maybe it was a good idea to wake up before Yang more often.

#rwby #bumbleby #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #bumblebee #otp: we're protecting each other #my fics #anon #anonymous #tutantmeenageneetleteetles

[sugarandspace]

Some of us are human (Sterek)

(posted on AO3 under the pseud aconitum)

Summary: While researching the newest threat with Stiles, Derek comes across a box under Stiles' bed. The box has the words "open when I'm dead" written on it and for a moment Derek forgets how to breathe.

Word count: 2,446

Warnings:  for a moment Derek thinks Stiles might be suicidal (he's not), there's also talk about death (but no one dies) and a mention of the nogitsune and the darkness inside Stiles

A/N: check out this beautiful gifset made by my talented friend @sparkandwolf who also helped me with the fic!! 💙

Read on AO3

Stiles’ desk lamp is a little too bright for Derek’s liking and he’s sure it’s going to give him a headache soon. Maybe Stiles would be okay with switching places. Derek looks at the bed where Stiles has been sitting with his laptop. The bed is full of printed out articles and notes Stiles has been taking and Derek doesn’t dare touch them in fear that he’s going to mess up the other man’s organized chaos. He’s going to have to ask him once he comes back from the bathroom.

Stiles is back in Beacon Hills for the winter break and they are at Stiles’ researching the newest creature that has arrived in the town. The amount of books and notebooks and other sources Stiles has on his bookshelf is honestly impressive, and they hope they can find something that could tell them what they are up against.

One of the scrolls - yes scrolls, Derek has no idea where Stiles has found scrolls - falls from the desk when Derek turns to face it again. It rolls under Stiles’ bed and Derek gets up from the desk chair to kneel on the floor so he can see under the bed and can see where it rolled. It’s not far and he can easily reach it.

Just as he’s about to get back up, he notices an old shoe box under Stiles’ bed. It’s not what catches his attention, there are plenty of things under the younger man’s bed, but what makes him stop and stare at the box are the words written on the side of it, bold black letters in Stiles’ handwriting:

OPEN WHEN I’M DEAD

Derek stares at the box for a moment, feeling like his whole world has come to a halt. When he’s able to move he pulls the box from under the bed and sits more comfortably on the floor, bringing the box to his lap. He doesn’t even stop to think if it’s okay before he opens the lid and looks into the box.

Privacy be damned, if Stiles is planning on dying he needs to know everything.

Derek knows that some darkness still lingers inside of Stiles from when he, Scott, and Allison died for a moment a few years ago when they were trying to save their parents. The same darkness that made him vulnerable to the nogitsune. A darkness that will never completely go away.

But Derek didn’t know that it was affecting him this deeply. Was Stiles suicidal? The thought makes his heart race in panic.

What he finds from the box makes his eyebrows furrow. The box has three light blue envelopes in it, each of them addressed to someone. The first one is for the Sheriff,  the second one for Scott, and the third one is for... Derek?

It’s in that moment that Stiles walks back to the room. Derek had been so distracted by the box he hadn’t even heard him walk up the stairs. Derek looks up from the envelope he’s holding - the one with his name written on in Stiles’ handwriting - and can easily see the moment Stiles realises what he’s holding.

Stiles’ hand goes to the back of his neck in a nervous manner and he tries to laugh, but it comes out weak.

“So you found those,” he says. “Neat.”

The situation is very far from neat and Derek doesn’t know what to say. He’s not good with serious conversations and to be honest the flippant tone Stiles is going for grates Derek’s nerves, because this is a serious topic and Stiles’ isn’t allowed to make fun of it.

“What are these?” his tone comes out accusing now that he’s gotten over the shock of finding the letters.

“Listen,” Stiles starts and lets out a deep sigh as he leans against the doorframe, giving up instead of trying to argue. “I’ve seen things - I’ve done things no 20-year-old should ever have to have done. Is it really so unreasonable for me to be prepared for the unfortunate but very possible situation where some supernatural creature will eventually shoot me or maim me or cast me under a curse that no one will be able to break? I don’t have supernatural healing properties. Let’s be real, I’m lucky to still be alive.”

At some point during his speech Stiles had gotten defensive and even though he’s wrapped his arms around his chest in a protective manner Derek can hear his heart beat faster than normal beneath his ribs. Derek can smell hints of embarrassment in the air, but it’s paired with determination. Stiles really does believe in what he’s saying.

And it breaks Derek’s heart.

He’s gone through his own share (and a little more) of bad things in his life, and he knows very well how dangerous the supernatural world can be. But it still hurts somewhere deep in his chest to hear the words Stiles is saying. In no small part because he knows it’s true. Stiles’ mind and soul might be as tough as that of a strong werewolf, but his human body is fragile.

“And I’m part of the reason you’re a part of this world,” Derek says. He doesn’t mean to say it out loud but he can’t help it when the realisation comes to him.

Stiles walks over to him and sits on the floor as well, taking the letter from Derek’s hands and putting it back to the box, which he pushes back under the bed. Derek wants to say that it’s a bit too late for the whole “out of sight, out of mind” thing and that box is probably going to come to haunt Derek’s dreams in the following nights, but he stays quiet.

“No,” Stiles says. It’s short and sure and he makes sure Derek is looking him in the eyes before he continues. “You stop that right now. I won’t let you blame yourself for this. You know what got me into this world? My curiosity. It was my choice to go looking for a body in the woods in the middle of the night, my choice to keep hanging with Scott when he became a werewolf. It’s been, and always will be, my choice to accompany you all to your battles. My choice. I’m aware of all the risks. I don’t regret learning about the supernatural. Ignorance might be bliss but knowledge keeps me safe. That way I can protect myself and the people I care about.”

Derek doesn't know what to say to that. He’s suddenly hit with how much Stiles has grown in the past few years. He’s gone through a lot and he’s not as carefree as he used to be, but this life hasn’t turned him cold. There’s humor and sarcasm in hard places but there’s also wisdom and strength.

“Do you understand me?” Stiles asks. His voice has gone softer now, the determination has made room for gentleness, for the need to be understood.

“Yeah,” Derek replies. He does.

“Those letters are just in case,” Stiles says and looks towards the bed where the box is once again hidden beneath it. “I don’t want anything to be left unsaid if I’m taken from here too soon.”

That sparks a question in Derek, one he’s not sure if he should voice. He understands the letter for the sheriff and he understands the one for Scott. The sheriff is Stiles’ father and Scott is like a brother to him. But Derek? They’ve gotten far from when Stiles accused him of murder and he mainly communicated with threats and glares. They’ve become good friends. But Derek doesn’t see a letter for Lydia or Liam or Isaac. There’s something Stiles wants to tell him that he feels like he can’t say to his face. Something important. In the end the curiosity wins and he asks, “What do you want to say to me?”

Stiles’ eyes widen.

“I think I’d rather wait until I’m dead,” he says and goes to get up but Derek takes a hold of his wrist.

“I want to know now,” he says gently. He feels nervous and he hopes Stiles doesn’t notice that his hands are sweating a little.

Stiles looks uncomfortable when he sits back down.

“Don’t make me wrestle you to get to that letter,” Derek threatens, only half-serious.

“You wouldn’t,” Stiles says and narrows his eyes at Derek. Still, Derek notices how he angles himself slightly more between Derek and the box.

He wouldn’t. Stiles is allowed to have secrets, no matter how much Derek would want to know.

“Obviously you don’t have to,” Derek says. “But I’d really like to know. It’s clearly something important if you’d want me to know in case you died.”

Just saying that - of talking about the possibility that Stiles might die anytime soon - makes Derek’s stomach twist uncomfortably. He cares about the other man more than he’s cared about anyone in a while, more than is probably acceptable to care about someone who’s only supposed to be your friend, even if said friend is also your packmate.

“It might ruin everything,” Stiles warns, but Derek can see that he’s warming up to telling him.

“You don’t know that.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I do,” Stiles says and tries to laugh, but it comes out flat.

It might be unfair but Derek uses his senses to get a better read on Stiles. When he breathes in the other man’s scent, among the nervousness he can smell a hint of longing, and a little bit of hope finds its way to Derek’s heart.

Could it be possible that the feelings he has for Stiles were reciprocated? Derek tries not to let the hope grow too much. He’s tried so hard to keep those feelings buried as deep as he could, knowing that Stiles deserves better than him. It’s easier to do that when he imagines that Stiles would never want to be more than friends with him.

“I won’t force you,” Derek tells him honestly. “But I’d like to know.”

Stiles looks at him for a long time, probably weighing his options. It’s clear that he wants to tell Derek, wants to believe that nothing would change, but the fear is persistent.

“Can you honestly say that you’ll be okay with never hearing my answer?” Derek tries, and that seems to do it for Stiles.

“I like you,” he blurts out in a similar way Stiles often blurts things, only this time instead of rushing to talk more Stiles freezes in fear like he’s waiting for something bad to happen.

Derek doesn’t know what to say because Stiles’ words leave room for interpretation. Derek can’t know for sure if Stiles means it the way Derek hopes or if he means it in a way he does when he talks about the fries from the local diner. Though, as Derek thinks about it, Stiles wouldn’t be so scared to admit it if his feelings were platonic.

Stiles has been brave and he’s meeting Derek half-way, it’s only fair Derek takes the remaining step to meet him there.

“I like you too,” he says.

Stiles, it turns out, doesn’t hesitate to ask refining questions.

“You mean like… like-like, don’t you?” He asks, not giving Derek time to reply before he’s rambling on, obviously nervous. “Because otherwise this is embarrassing. Oh god, I should have waited until after I die. Is it too late for that? Because Derek if you’re not going to say anything anytime soon I might really die. Death by embarrassment, a new way to go but I bet no one who knows me would be surprised to hear that Stiles Stilinski was the first one to die of embarrassment. I can already see the headstone. Here lies Stiles Sti-”

Stiles doesn’t get to finish because Derek leans in and kisses him. Derek’s been dreaming about this moment many times, has hoped that he could stop the other man from rambling by kissing him speechless, and now he finally can.

It’s better than he dreamed.

Stiles’ lips are soft and he returns the kiss as soon as his brain catches up with the situation. The kiss is tentative, just a touch of lips, but somehow it feels like something huge.

“Oh wow,” Stiles says when they pull away from each other.

When Derek opens his eyes Stiles is still really close, and he smiles when Stiles’ hand comes up to gingerly touch his jaw. Derek wants to tell him that he’s not going to break, but he doesn’t remember the last time someone has touched him so gently. He leans into the touch and smiles.

“Oh wow,” Stiles repeats. “I think you broke me.”

“I’m sorry?” Derek says, to which Stiles snorts.

“You’re forgiven,” he says and leans in to kiss Derek again. This time the kiss turns deeper, more sure now that they both know to expect it.

The hand Stiles has on his jaw turns surer while the other one comes up to Derek’s shoulder. Derek crosses another thing from his list-of-things-he’s-dreamt-of-doing and buries one of his hands into Stiles’ hair and yes - it’s just as soft as he’s imagined. The other hand rests on Stiles’ thigh for balance.

“ Back to what I said earlier ,” Stiles says when they pull away for air. “ Learning about the supernatural side of the world has brought a lot of danger and bad things in my life. But it has also brought you into my life, and I’m really grateful for that. I wouldn’t change anything. If I were to be given a time machine, I wouldn’t go back. Or maybe I would, just a little, so I could do this sooner and we could spend more time kissing because holy hell if I’d known how you reply I would have spoken so much earlier .”

Derek rolls his eyes and takes Stiles by the chin to drag him to another kiss which effectively shuts him up.

“Is this going to be a new thing?” Stiles asks when he pulls back. “You shutting me up with your kisses?”

Derek doesn’t reply with words, but he does kiss Stiles again and that is a reply in itself.

“Okay no talking,” Stiles says when Derek lets his lips go.

“You are talking,” Derek points out as he gets closer again, unable to get enough of kissing Stiles now that he can finally do it.

“Shutting up now,” Stiles says, the words brushing against Derek’s lips before they are kissing again.

This time Stiles really does stay quiet. They get lost in each other, their crazy world and research forgotten around them.

#sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #teen wolf #sterek fanfiction #my writing #i'm slowly but surely posting these in here too

[emmy-writes-sometimes]

The Hoodie Problem

A wardrobe mistake costs you and Henry the privacy of your relationship. 

-

           “No,” you groaned as your heard the dreaded chiming of the Alexa alarm. “No, no, no, turn it off!”

           “You have to say its name, dearie,” a tired Henry grumbled in response. You could feel him pull you tighter, deeper into his warm arms. “Alexa, stop the alarm.” The alarm stopped right after.

           “It’s currently 6:20 AM. The weather in London, England, is currently 6 degrees Celsius and will be sunny for the rest of the day. There are no unread emails for your .edu or gmail.com account. One package, containing 3 makeup brushes and dog treats will be arriving to 102…’

           “Will she shut up?” You groaned in response, turning back into Henry’s warm body. The room was freezing cold, and the dog had already gotten off the bed.

           “I don’t think she’s done yet.” In a single second, the opening riff of Back in Black started playing. “Alright, love, you actually need to go.”

           “No,” you grumbled. “Fuck class, I don’t wanna go to class. I hate it anyway, and I don’t wanna sit there and listen to my history professor talk about an asshole and defend his work when it’s already shit anyway.” Henry chuckled, sending another wave of heat through your body, making you want to stay even more.

           “You won’t get to argue your vulgar point if you’re late.” You sighed and started to sit up, yelling at Alexa to stop playing music. “Go, darling, otherwise I won’t get out of bed either.”

           “You’re such an asshole in the morning,” you responded, wrestling yourself onto the floor. A gigantic ball of fluff followed you, expecting his breakfast. “Can I borrow a hoodie? Left mine in the laundry.”

           “Which you only did so you can borrow one of mine. They should all be clean, just find one that can cover the bruises on your neck.” You sighed, spying a hoodie from a charity Rugby match Henry had done the month before, and after slapping deodorant onto your under-arms you pulled it on over her sports bra. You hoped it would be enough. Quite honestly, you didn’t care who saw the hickies on your neck. Anyone who was going to see was an adult who should act like an adult about it. Your hair would have to do since it wasn’t too greasy, and after deciding just to leave it down, you finished up in Henry’s adjoining bathroom and walked back to the bedroom.

           “Covered?” You asked.

           “Yep. Leave me your keys, take the Merc, and I’ll pick it up from the shop after my workout, I want them to check the paint on the hood, too.” He looked you up and down, sitting up in bed as you walked over to give him a kiss.

           “Thanks, babe.”

           “You look beautiful,” he responded with a smile.

           “I do not.”

           “You do!” Without bothering to look at the back of the sweatshirt, Henry got out of bed and went into the bathroom. You yawned as the massive dog zoomed down the stairs, waiting for breakfast. Kal sniffed around as you set foot on the stair landing, probably wondering why your vanilla perfume was mixed with the scent of Henry’s strong aftershave. Truth be told, you were glad. It was a comforting smell.

           “Be a good boy, Kal, Papa’s gonna feed you in a minute.” The dog panted in excitement and went to go stand by his water bowl, where he would inevitably drool for the rest of the time until Henry came to feed him. You placed your things from the dining room table, your makeshift desk, into your backpack, refilled your water bottle, and took a few seconds to exchange your keys with Henry’s keys. With another glance around the house, making sure you didn’t leave any chargers behind, you walked out the front door and began to adjust Henry’s car to fit your height. You felt like something was off, but you couldn’t describe it. Instead you went to go get your coffee and find a place to park before your frightfully early class.

           “You look knackered,” a voice said behind you as you finally climbed out of the car an hour and a half later. It wasn’t the first time you’d borrowed one of Henry’s cars, but at least it was the humblest of the three he had. The McLaren wasn’t something he even trusted himself to drive sometimes, he’d finally gotten rid of the Clio collecting dust at his parents’ house, and the Aston was his precious baby you didn’t dare go near. But you were endlessly grateful he let you borrow the Merc. You just wished it wasn’t so flashy. It was ten times flashier than the seven-year-old Hyundai you’d inherited from your mother. Especially in the parking spot right in front of the building ten minutes before class where people could see you getting out of it. The voice who’d spoken was Anna, your best friend, and supposed roommate if you ever came home.

           “Trust me when I say that man needs a new coffee machine, because I’m sick of having to leave the house at seven in the morning to go buy some,” you groaned in response, swinging your backpack over your shoulder. It was heavy as hell, but you were carrying most of your things in it because you didn’t have time to go back to your barely lived-in dorm room. Your other hand held your gigantic coffee, the biggest one you could buy because apparently British people preferred caffeine-free tea in the morning. People called you absolutely crazy for getting cold drinks when it was cold outside, too, but you didn’t care.

           “You realize your neck is completely purple, right? I doubt an espresso machine is the reason you’re so tied.” You scoffed at Anna’s statement. In reality it hadn’t been crazy sex keeping you up for the past few nights – you’d been working so late that Henry came up to you the night before and wouldn’t stop biting at your neck until you agreed to come to bed, hoping it would embarrass you into having better sleeping habits. But sex was a much better story.  

           “Is it really bad?” You asked.

           “No. Not from the front.” Anna started walking backwards up the building’s staircase, opening the door for the two of you. Your classroom was the first one on the left, a massive auditorium, because everyone had to take the History of Wagnerian Opera class for some stupid reason. You took your normal places in the bright room, taking your laptops out onto the desks. You fully expected to have to plug it in, but Henry, the ever helpful boyfriend, had plugged it in when he found it half dead the night before.

           “Had a rough night, did you, Yankee?” Another voice asked behind you. It was Isaac, another student you’d been friends with from the moment you stepped on campus.

           “What on Earth gave you that idea?” You asked as you took a sip of coffee. Isaac leaned closer, looking down at the back of the sweatshirt you were wearing. The hood barely covered the top of the lettering on your back. It read Cavill in white letters, and underneath it was the number 01. It was obviously customized, and well-loved judging by the fading English rose that was the logo for Henry’s favorite team. It was about three sizes too large, too, adding to the evidence that the hoodie didn’t belong to you. Isaac and Anna knew you were dating Henry, but most people had no idea. It wasn’t like you were hiding it, because you weren’t. Henry just wanted to protect you from the craziness that came with dating him, including paparazzi and prying eyes that would try to find their way into every little thing you did with or without him. You hadn’t signed an NDA or anything, but Henry was insistent on protecting you for as long as he could. You were fourteen years younger than him and he loved you dearly and nothing could change that.

           “You do realize that the back of your hoodie says HIS name on it, don’t you?” Isaac said quietly, hoping no one else in the auditorium heard.

           “What?” You asked in response. You could feel your face going red.

           “It says Cavill 01.”

           “Oh, shit.” You couldn’t take it off because the only thing you were wearing underneath it was a thin sports bra, and of course Henry’s car was so spotless on the inside that there was no chance of there being an extra shirt in there. Come to think of it, he’d been lounging around in the sweatshirt the night before. Shit, you thought. How could you miss it? How could you screw up that badly? What if this ruined everything?

           “Oh shit is right,” Anna remarked.

           “Does my hair cover it?” Isaac looked down at your hair. The lecture was about to start, but the thought of maybe losing Henry over a hoodie made you want to sit in the corner and cry.    

           “No. Neither does the hood.” You sank lower into the seat.

           “Maybe people won’t care. Cavill’s a common last name here.”

           “No, not really. And I think they will.” You sighed, crossing your arms against your chest.

           “Just don’t mention it to anybody and wear your bag when you can. Problem solved.”

           “I’ll get you something else later,” Anna cut in. In reality everyone already knew something was up. You had mentioned a few times, offhand, that you had almost moved into your boyfriend’s house and was commuting from Kensington. And you mentioned one day that he was an actor, much less that he was one of the most well-known actors in the entire world. Your phone had his name as Hank, and even though the connection wasn’t immediate, it was still enough to make someone think of the name Henry. Damn the British and their overly common name diminutives.

           “I swear to God, I’ll strangle whoever even thinks about it,” you sighed in response, putting your head down until the professor started class. You didn’t need to take notes quite yet, and pulled up the messages between you and Henry. The last night it was just on my way, got the food! And you are an absolute angel. Drive safe. His name wasn’t completely revealed at the conversation.

           We have a problem. Henry started typing immediately.

           You didn’t crash the car, did you????

           No, but that probably would’ve been better…

           Please explain.

           Promise you won’t get mad?

           What’s wrong???

           I picked up your hoodie from last night and it has your name on the back and it hides my neck but it has your name on it and there’s nothing under it so I can’t take it off and I’m freaking out because you don’t want people to know and I’m sorry, I just screwed up so bad. I’m such an idiot.

           It’s okay. Calm down. You’re not an idiot. You’re an absolute moron and I love you anyway

           I’m so sorry. I know you didn’t want anyone to know.

           The only reason I didn’t want anyone to know is because I didn’t want anyone to make you upset because I’m stupidly in love with you and people will try to tell you otherwise. It’ll be okay. If they find out they find out. Don’t worry about it. Really.

           I feel like an idiot now.

           I’m sure you look better in it than I do anyway. Don’t worry about it, love. I’ll see you at home and we’ll figure it out.

           Thank you.

           I love you!!!!

           Love you more dimples.

           You smiled a little, sitting back into your chair and starting to type out notes about the dark undertones within Ride of the Valkyrie. For the rest of class, it was fine. But you couldn’t lie and say you weren’t nervous for your next class. Isaac wasn’t there to back you up, and Anna sat on the other side of the room because you always distracted each other. You were on your own, taking in the scent of Henry’s aftershave that was left on the sweatshirt from the night before. It helped you calm down at least a little, even if the name on the back made you nervous. You sat lower in the chair than usual, but it didn’t stop at least one person knowing.

           “You like Henry Cavill too?” Elizabeth, the most annoying person on Earth (and a completely mediocre pianist with no sense of emotion who only got in because her father works for the royal family), said as she strained to read the sweatshirt on the way to her seat.

           “Yep.” You tried to play it off and wipe out the conversation before it even started. Never before had you wanted to listen to your old white professor rant about other old dead white guys. “He’s a good actor.”

           “I’m, like, so in love with him,” Elizabeth responded. Henry rolled his eyes every single time you said a word about Elizabeth, but you’d never tell her that. “Like, he’s just so dreamy.”

           “Oh, yeah,” you responded without even thinking. “He’s gorgeous.” You didn’t even realize what you said until Elizabeth’s eyes danced with a grin that matched her mouth.

           “You know him?” She exclaimed.

           “I mean, um, yeah, my internship…” you tried to cover, but it definitely didn’t work.

           “Shut up, you know him? Or, oh my gosh, is he the guy you’re dating?” You could tell that all of the color drained from your face and the room suddenly felt hot. You weren’t going to lie about it, but she would also be one of the first few people to know. And it wouldn’t be long before she blabbed her mouth to her followers.

           “I heard he likes younger girls anyway,” Ellen, the girl who sat behind Elizabeth, said. That was the cue for you to realize that everyone else was listening, too, and they couldn’t just mind their business. Your hands shifted uncomfortably inside the pocket of Henry’s sweatshirt. The room was definitely getting warmer.

           “Yeah,” you responded quietly. “We’ve been dating a few months and didn’t want to tell anyone yet. But you figured it out, so congrats.” You swallowed a lump in your throat. On the one hand you were glad that it wasn’t going to be a secret anymore. You didn’t want to hide how much you loved the curly-haired idiot who was too large for his own good.

           “Oh my GOD!” Elizabeth said excitedly. She was a little too loud with it. You just turned back around and pulled out your phone, hands shaking from the anxiety of what Henry had said. He said you were good enough, but what happened when the world was able to judge you?

           Well, Elizabeth figured it out. Not long until she spills to her 22 followers. And then their 22 followers.

           At least I can post that picture you took with me on the beach…

           The ugly one where I almost drowned after? Nooooo please!!!

           Oh that’s not what I was thinking about, but now that you mention it, my fingers might just slip…

           This conversation is DONE, fat Cavill! I swear I’ll punch the dimples right out of you.

           You underestimate me, little one.

           Cavill, this class is an hour long and I swear if I get out and you did something I will make you sleep on your own couch for the next year.

           Guess you’ll just have to fight me when you get home…

           With that, the conversation was over. Most people in the room didn’t seem to notice or care, but Elizabeth and Ellie did. Your friends didn’t for the most part, but you would assume some would turn on you. And you could tell that they were going to do whatever they could to make sure everyone knew that they knew before anyone else. It was strange to think that Henry was being so cool with it, that he wanted there to be a before people knew and an after. You shut your mind off and did your best to focus, even though it wasn’t very well.

           You got up at the end of class and packed your things, ready to brave the library until your next class, but you exited the room and there was someone standing at the entry hallway. Henry. And he was holding another coffee in one hand, and draped on his other arm was a shirt. He’d never been in public with you without some stupid disguise on, much less to bring you coffee in between classes.

           “Henry?” You asked, slightly too loudly. Elizabeth and Ellen turned toward you, but you blew past them to see Henry. He was grinning, from ear to ear.

           “So apparently, according to the internet in the past few minutes I’ve been in the car, I’m cradle robbing. Apparently you’re Instagram-model material, which I could’ve told you,” he said. “I brought you another coffee for dealing with bullshit, and I brought you another shirt in case you want to change.”

           “Can I keep this one?” You asked, looking down at Henry’s that you were still wearing. “And you didn’t post the bad picture of me yet?”

           “No, I was waiting for your approval,” he responded. He reached for his phone and handed it to you, and it was opened to a set of pictures he hadn’t posted yet.

           @henrycavill: The real Mission Impossible is getting her to stay still long enough to take a picture with her favorite old man. To be clear, though; she is MINE and I couldn’t be happier. I will sword-fight ANYONE to defend her honor!!

           It was a series of five pictures, all of them the two of you together, some of them cuter than others, and you just grinned. You couldn’t believe he was okay with everything, and you couldn’t believe that he was actually standing there with you, braving the people in your class just to hand you a coffee and offer you a shirt.

           “I love you,” you said quietly. He smiled in response. “Really.”

           “I love you too. I don’t care who knows.” You laughed and hugged him tightly, even though he was still holding your coffee. “But I do want the Merc back, your car is outside.”

           “Whatever you say, cradle-robber.”

A/N: I’m in an opera history class right now and it’s so frustrating that I’m definitely taking it out here. I hope the person who requests this loves it as much as I did because omg I love this 😭

#henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill imagine

[anika-ann]

Errare Humanum Est - Epilogue

The Dakrness and the Light

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2)  x Supernatural

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word count: 3530

Summary: There are loose ends to tie; with Sam and Dean... and other friends. You really thought the times for rendering you speechless were gone. 

You were wrong.

Warnings: swearing, brief angst, guilt trips, brief talk on religion, fluff

Story masterlist

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True to your words, you decided to ask the experts on weird people appearing out of nowhere and shooting light from their hands about the strange experience you had; an encounter that resulted in you gaining your memories back.

Sam and Dean were ecstatic when you told them about remembering everything – including the time you had spent with them though, one set of memories not replacing the other.

After enough cheering via your Skype call, you sent the footage.

The silence stretched as the brothers watched the recording, their eyes wide with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. They seemed spooked, shocked, perplexed and quite a bit fascinated too, to be honest. Steve’s arm around your waist tightened, both of you holding your breath in anticipation.

Oh God, who was the woman? Was she a friend of Rowena? Worse, was she a friend of the King of Hell they had mentioned? Who-

“Holy shit,” Sam finally exclaimed, making you blink in shock. Since when Sam swore? Admittedly, you hadn’t spent that much time with them, but-?

“Quite literally,” Dean conceded, squinting at the screen again as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. You were sure you were about to burst – or at least that your heart would beat its way out of your chest with how forcefully it was hammering against your ribcage. “I thought they went under? Or, you know, up?”

“So did I.”

“Guys? We’re not following. You know who or what this was?” you asked them breathlessly, unable to bear the suspense anymore.

Sam cleared his throat and apparently closed the video, because they were following you with their gaze again.

“Uhm yeah. That was God’s sister who paid you a visit.”

Your heart positively stopped for a second-- and then you laughed self-depreciatingly. Don’t be stupid, hey don’t mean that literally.

…they couldn’t, right?

“…is that a euphemism for something?”

“Nope,” Dean accented the ‘P’ and shrugged for a good measure, knocking the air out of your lungs. And of Steve’s, probably freezing his brain along the way, because his figure went absolutely rigid behind you.

“God’s sister?” Steve parroted and you were sure he wasn’t even breathing at that point.

“Yeah. Her name’s Amara. I’m pretty sure she had a crush on Dean,” Sam explained casually as if it wasn’t a big deal.

God.

And God’s sister-

--wait, what? A crush? Huh?

“Dude. Come on!” Dean called out exasperatedly, hint of red pulsing in his cheeks.

“Like… the actual God’s sister? God, the religion figure… and his sister?”

“Yeah. Amara. The Darkness. God’s sister, whatever. We helped them to solve their family issues a while back,” Dean confirmed, a smug smile tugging at his lips at your disbelief.  

“I beg your pardon?” Steve blurted out, as if reading your frantic thoughts.

It was a lot to chew to begin with, but did Dean really just call her The Darkness? Why weren’t they freaked out by that?!

Sam sighed. “It’s complicated. Look, she also brought our mum back from death, but from what we know now, from what she said to you, it looks like Chuck brought you back and Amara thought you should also have your memories. Don’t worry about it, we’re used to this kind of crazy.”

It took you several moments of the wheels in your head turning before you connected the dots and actually registered what he was saying.

Wait, whoa, whoa, whoa, that would mean that Chuck was… the brother. Which made him… which made him-

“God’s name is Chuck?” you choked out at the same time as Steve questioned a different exclaim of Sam’s: “Don’t worry about it?”

“Yeah. Chill. Be grateful,” Dean shrugged it off as if he didn’t notice your confusion and struggle to comprehend why on Earth God would bring you back from the death and his sister (the hell-- heaven?) stopped by to return your memories on top of that.

“Hey, are you okay? You look a little pale there,” Dean hummed, eyebrows furrowing in actual concern.

Yeah, no shit. I’d like to see your face if you found out that you were saved by—oh, wait, you actually might have…

“It’s… that’s a lot to chew.”

“Come on, you already knew you rose from the dead, this can’t be-“

Sam covered his brother’s mouth with a hand, annoyed look on his face before he smiled at you compassionately. “We know. But we’re serious. There’s nothing we can do about that, just enjoy what you were given. You both have your soulmate back. Be happy.”

“Though I gotta say, my heart is broken. I was holding out for you,” Dean teased you, having wrestled free from Sam’s grasp.

“Dean!”

To be fair, Steve didn’t even flinch at such suggestion, knowing Dean’s flirty nature already, and you were pretty sure he even rolled his eyes.

“Kidding. Call us if you need help, okay?”

“Can I call to just check up on you?” you pried carefully, unable to help the warm smile slowly spreading on your lips as they slapped their hands over the other’s, Sam’s trying to shut his menacing brother up.

They stopped at instant.

“Uhm… yeah?” Dean hummed, clearly surprised, while the younger brother charmed a sweet smile.

“Good. Be careful, guys. I mean it. Let an angel watch over you. And look after him too. Send him my best wishes.”

“We will. We’ll see you, Fire Princess,” Dean winked at you and you huffed. Jerk.

“I hate you,” you murmured, waved at Sam and shut the laptop close, shaking your head.

Steve’s lips found the crook on your neck, nuzzling his face there then.

“Do you understand any of the things they said?” you slightly shifted, your lips catching his halo-like hair, your back leaning onto his chest.

“Nope.”

“And you don’t care,” you stated when he kissed your skin again

“Nope,” he confirmed cheerily, pulling your back to make you lie down on the bed. You complied, ending up on your side, spooned by his warm muscular form. “Besides wanting to know what Fire Princess means, I’m just happy to have you back, doll. You’re all that matters.”

“Steve…”

You heart fluttered in your chest, chasing heat to your cheeks at his sweettalking.

“I mean it. I’m not letting go of you, ever. If I have to lay down my shield, I don’t care. As long as I have you… I have everything I need.”

“Steve, I…” he eased his hold a bit when you squeezed his hand, allowing you to turn and face him. His eyes burned with sincerity, the way you remembered they always did when trying to convince you about something you found hard to believe – usually concerning his feelings. “I… I don’t-“

“I love you. And I mean it. Just say the word.”

“But I… I can’t be enough, Steve. That’s-“ you protested, your head spinning at the thought.

He couldn’t be serious. Could he? Steve had a heart of gold and fighting for the good cause in his blood. He couldn’t stop. Or maybe he could, but at what cost? How long it would take him to realize what a mistake he had made? And what if he blamed you then? Worse, what if someone on the team would get hurt in his absence and he would blame you for that?

Rationally, you knew the last scenario was of zero probability, because Steve would definitely hold himself responsible, no one else, but that only proved your-

His thumb tenderly traced the shape of your lips, eyes seemingly bluer than usual, as if he forced them to change their colour just to look more genuine and innocent, unable to lie.  

“You are. I spent weeks thinking-- thinking that I lost you – because of what I did, no less – and nothing mattered anymore, not really.”

“You love your job,” you stated slowly, incredulous that he was actually considering it. You tried hard to push the rise of hope and annoyingly adoring feelings towards him that bloomed in your chest.

He couldn’t do that, stop that, you bitch, he was not just yours- it wouldn’t be your choice to make-- but that was just wrong--- what if he got fed up with you-

“I loved my job – mostly because it was the only thing familiar in this century. The job was my life. And look where it got me.”

“Face to face with me, resurrected?” you teased with an awkward attempt at smile, unsure of what to make of this conversation and the mess of feelings it stirred within you. Steve only raised one corner of his lips at your silly joke. “No, seriously. I love you too. I love you and that’s why I can’t let you quit, not for me. You’re Steve Rogers. You’re Captain America. It’s like giving up your half.”

“I’ve done that once,” he muttered darkly, looking away. “And you took the other half with you.”

Tears pricked in the corners of your eyes at the reminder of why he might in fact could be able to give up on his job; because of the terrible sorrow it had brought him when making the impossible decision in his title’s favour.

You weren’t naïve, not that much at least. You both knew that that particular situation would have never happened if he was doing literally anything else for living.

You sighed, cupping his cheek and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Okay. We’ll think about it and talk about it later, alright? Now I just want to kiss you and cuddle you for eternity.”

His lips curled up in a brilliant smile that always made you smile back automatically, making your whole body pliant and feather-light.

“That is the best plan ever, darling,” he praised, planting a kiss to your forehead, indeed snuggling closer, leading your head to hide under his chin. Gosh, you loved when he did that, engulfing you, protecting you from the whole world.

“Thanks, Mr. Rogers.”

“No. Thank you. Thank you for coming back to me.”

You smiled against his throat, kissing his Adam’s apple. “We’ve been over this, I didn’t exactly-“

Hand still in your hair, he guided you from your favourite spot with light pull, only so he could shut you up with a kiss.

You sure as hell didn’t resist and lazily returned the affection, content to stay in that moment forever.

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In real life, moments like that didn’t last forever. Sooner or later, duties and decisions came knocking.

Decisions were hard, especially when coming back from the dead and having to choose if you should keep it secret or not for instance and oh so many more things that needed to be dealt with; which was exactly the reason why you had been avoiding it, but that couldn’t go on for much longer.

For the moment, you decided there weren’t many people to confide in, but there were still some that deserved it.

A priest of the church where your own little altar was placed was one of them, mostly because of the meeting you wanted to hold there. Then again, officially it had been Steve who invited Ryan to a safe place with little information on the reason behind such action.

Steve had warned you he hadn’t spoken to him since before your death, but it could never prepare you for the cold welcome he had got when they came face to face, while you were hiding in the shadows.

“Captain Rogers,” Ryan greeted him stiffly, voice even and sharp enough to cut deeply and precisely with that particular addressing. You and Steve had talked; you knew he had troubles coming to terms with the title after he had lost you despite burying himself in his work and making it look like it was the exact opposite.

“Ryan. Thank you for coming.”

“Why am I here? What do you want?”

Was it just you or did Ryan sound really annoyed as if he couldn’t leave this encounter soon enough? What happened to him?

“I needed to talk to you about something important,” Steve replied softly despite your best friend’s attitude.

Ryan scoffed, crossing his arms on his chest. He was a bit thinner than you remembered, but that might only be the outfit he was wearing; the sweater looked a size too big for him to begin with.

“I have nothing to talk about with you, Steve. Frankly, you being here in this very church is like a sick joke. You weren’t here when it counted. What held you? Work, I imagine?”

Even you winced at the cruel words. This didn’t sound like the man you were best friends with. Was he truly so angry with Steve? Or was it because his heart was still heavy with grief? You didn’t know whether to be touched, angry back or just sad.

And what did Ryan mean by Steve not being here when it mattered?

“It wasn’t like that-” Steve tried to explain and for the first time, his voice cracked, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Imagine that. All of them were here. All of the freaking Avengers came to her funeral-“

Oh. Oh. You had no idea what to make of that. Steve had kinda forgotten to mention that fact to you. You should have figured; he did warn you they hadn’t spoken since before your death. Shit.

Unlike Ryan, you knew it wasn’t the lack of sorrow that had held Steve back from coming – even without him telling you so, it was clear as day to you.

“-even the one from another planet. But you? Her soulmate? Gosh, Steve… what’s your excuse?”

The question was clearly meant to sting and one single glance at Steve told you that it did precisely that; his eyelids fallen shut, his hands balling into fists.

“Do you really need to ask?” Steve chuckled bitterly, forcing himself to relax his hands. You more heard the tears in his voice than saw them from your spot behind the pillar and your heart ached. “How could I show up, Ryan? After what I did? How could I look into your eyes, to her parents’ eyes? I killed her, Ryan. Don’t you think for a second that I don’t feel guilty or regret it every single day. What I did, why I… I-”

“You don’t need to explain yourself, Steve. I understand why you made the choice you did…” Ryan interrupted him with a sigh and a sideway look, almost as if in conciliatory manner. “But that doesn’t mean I hate you any less for it. Or that I don’t blame you for her death. Because I do. It was your fault.”

Ouch.

“I know. And I understand. You have every right.”

Well, this was going splendidly. Another guilt trip for Steve and hostility from your friend. Just peachy. You seriously considered just walking in regardless Steve’s plea for you to wait for his signal.

“And yet I’m grateful for the weeks you spent together. You made her happiest I have ever seen her. It’s funny how I can hate you for it at the same time,” Ryan added then, his eyes turning compassionate and kind, only a shadow of sorrow remaining.

“Life is that way sometimes. But… I didn’t come here to ask forgiveness, Ryan.”

“Good, ‘cause you’re not getting any. Why are we here then?”

Now this sounded more like Ryan. The corner of your lips rose in a tinniest smile.

“Because she always said you were her platonic soulmate. She trusted you with everything. And you deserve to know.”

“Deserve to know what?”

“That miracles happen,” Steve said simply, not making any sense to the other man. Drama queen. Then again, God had probably saved you, so he wasn’t exaggerating.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Is that why we met in a church? Some weird symbolism to… to what?” Ryan sputtered, getting impatient. You almost walked out right then. But you trusted Steve to prepare your friend better for the shock now.

“No. We met here because I believed it was a safe place and you wouldn’t have come to the Tower.”

“Safe place?” Ryan asked warily, eyeing his surroundings suspiciously, his gaze shifting to your soulmate again. “For what?”

You cleared your throat, deciding this was the moment and stepped out. Ryan’s eyes bulged, his face drained of all colour.

“Hello, Ryan. Long time, no see,” you offered a teary smile and he blinked, your name falling from his lips breathlessly and with thousands of questions unspoken.

His gaze flickered to Steve, who smiled at him tightly, gently beckoning to you, encouraging him.

Ryan took several shaky steps and you stopped, letting him cross the distance in his own pace, getting him a chance to back away when feeling like it. On the inside, you wanted to run to him and let the man engulf you in a hug and never let go, but you realized what kind of a shock it must have been.

Hell, you were still coming to terms with it.

“Baby?” he whispered, voice trembling and breaking on the single word. You didn’t bother blinking away your tears, only nodding.

At that, Ryan erased the distance in two long strides, throwing his arms around your neck and sobbing right in your ear. His breath hitched when you hugged him back; as if he had been expecting this was only a trick.

It wasn’t.

“Hey, Ry-Ry,” you rasped, your sob nearly in sync with his, which was ridiculous.

He withdrew then, framing your face with his palms, his eyes travelling all over you.

“I saw you die,” he choked out, incredulous, awed.

“Yeah, lots of people did,” you agreed, covering one of his hands with yours. “It’s a long story.”

His blown-up irises widened further. “Was that… some kind of a cover-up? Did you- how could you not tell-?!”

“It wasn’t a cover-up!” you hurried, shaking your head as his arms fell from you. ”I died, Ry-Ry. I told you it’s a long story.”

“I have time,” he mused, still starring at you, measuring you from head to toe, perplexed and teary.

“Then maybe you should sit down. Before what I tell you knocks you flat on your ass.”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

A smile was tugging at Steve’s lips at their interaction. Ryan was amazed, naturally, and Steve could relate; having her back was everything. He hadn’t been lying to her when he had told her he would lay down his shield if she asked him to. He would do anything only if it meant she would meet his gaze like at that exact moment, tears and laughter in her eyes, her lips spreading in that beautiful smile that tugged on his heartstrings.

“Steven,” the priest appeared at his side, voice low so he wouldn’t disturb the reunion. “Why don’t you join me in the back? Let the two friends catch up?”

Steve could stay right there, watching you explain the insane story, but perhaps he shouldn’t. Your best friend deserved your undivided attention and Steve would be happy to let you do so. God knew that while you were bickering and joking with the rest of his team and friends – now your friends too, no doubt – you weren’t beaming as much as you were at the moment. You needed your own time with Ryan.

“I… I suppose I should. Thank you, Father, for allowing this,” Steve expressed his gratitude, only for the other man to nod and give him a kind smile.

“Well, your friend had a point about symbolism here. Miracles do happen.... Speaking of those. I have someone who I would like you to meet.”

Steve blinked in surprise, but followed Father Lantom, trustful.  “…alright. What is it, Father?”

“It might come as a shock,” the priest warned him as he stopped in front of the door Steve was familiar with; Father had invited him over for coffee before, but Steve always refused, not wanting to abuse his hospitality.

“My soulmate came back from the dead, Father. I doubt anything can shock me at this point.”

The older-looking man chuckled, his hand laid on the handle. “I’m tempted to make a bet, but I must maintain the façade of an honourable man.”

“Father Lantom… what are you talking about?” Steve gulped, something icy creeping up his spine, his heart speeding up in anticipation.

Surely, the man wouldn’t do anything to hurt Steve. The idea was ridiculous. So why was Steve so nervous all of sudden?

“James? May we enter?”

There was no answer and if there was, Steve couldn’t hear it over the pounding in his ears. A crazy idea, old hope that he could never allow himself to feed because people who died stayed dead, even in this insane world, rising in his chest and suffocating him.

James?

Miracles?

The door opened with a creak and Steve only needed a glimpse to freeze in the doorway, his heart stopping, brain short-circuiting. The world swayed of its place and there was a crushing weight on his chest, crushing and vertigo-inducing at the same time, frantic memories of a friendship that should have lasted until the end of the line flashing in his mind, an agonizing memory of watching the fall, completely helpless.

Steve didn’t know how, but the name left his lips without him remembering forming the simple word; a word that felt like a prayer.

“…Bucky?”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Bonus chapter ;)

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

I know, I know! A cliffhanger. But it’s a nice one, right? A little hopeful, a little teasing your imagination; think about it like a post-credit scene ;) 

I can promise a bonus and a short multichapter fic ending this whole soulmate series.

Thank you for reading and your support, every comment means the world to me :-*

#fanfiction #supernatural #marvel #steve rogers x reader #soulmate au #steve rogers x you #steve rogers soulmate au #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers soulmate #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #captain america soulmate au #captain america soulmate #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #team free will #castiel #spn x mcu #mcu x spn #mcu #avengers #supernatural au #errare humanum est #anika ann

[thiswasinevitableid]

Hi!!!!!!!!!! I just saw your playlist for the indruck rockstar au so naturally I had to go and reread the whole entire thing in one go this morning and I just wanted to say how much I Love it and the way you write that whole scenario, especially with the way you incorporated the music lyrics??? (Especially since you wrote a bunch of those????) chefs kiss. I was wondering if you had ever written or planned out any of the sternclay that happened before this story took place because the way you described what we got of how they got together sounded so amazing and I would Die to hear their point of view. Hope you have a wonderful weekend!!!!!!!!!

Thank you so much! I’m really proud of that fic, and it seems to have been one a lot of folks really enjoyed. And well, when you asked this, it got me thinking. So here’s a brief history of how Stern and Barclay got together in this universe. Heads up: it is NSFW

That didn’t go as planned. 

Joseph only meant to alert The Cryptids to the fact their manager was clearly skimming off the top and downplaying offers for further connections in the business before turning every ounce of charm he could muster on Barclay. He came to fuck bigfoot, not change careers. 

Now he’s packing up the second of his two suitcases, conversation with his parents still ringing in his ears. They’re not taking the fact that he’s dropping out of college to manage an up and coming, horror rock, very gay band particularly well and have tried twice to talk him out of it. Which is why he’s glad he went through all the bureaucratic steps before calling them. 

He’s never been more terrified or excited in his life. He’s sure he can do this, he’s already booked them four more gigs in a logical tour path, found a better system for making their merch, and is tracking down a promising P.R lead. It’s the close quarters that scare him the most; he’s certain he could charm Barclay for an evening, could get the others to like him enough to hang around back stage once or twice. But for months on end? What if they think he’s prissy, or too perfectionistic, or too normal?

What if Barclay hates him?

------------------------------------------------------

“I must admit, I’d have thought you would have made a move on Joseph by now.” Indrid says before pulling a sweater on over his head. It gets caught on his glasses, and he flails until Barclay helps it the rest of the way down. They’re somewhere south of Madison, the van cutting a lonely path down the dark road; it’s so late, and they’re on one of those vast, distinctly midwestern stretches where there’s nothing but night sky and fields. Jake drives, tapping the wheel in time with the radio while Joseph sleeps in the passenger seat and Vincent sprawls on the far back one.

“Kinda weird to hit on your manager, right?” Barclay peers warily around the passenger seat to be double sure the manager in question isn’t listening. He isn’t, lips parted slightly and dark hair falling in his face as his sleeping body is tilted this way and that by the motion of the car. 

“Not when the manager looks like that and has already broadcasted his eagerness to fuck you.”

Barclay can’t really argue that first point; Joseph walked into that sorry excuse for a dressing room looking like centerfold come to life. There’s a certain kind of fan of theirs who spends their daily life buttoned up and following the rules, and Joseph struck him as exactly that kind of self-repressing, well groomed gym bunny. They’re always the most fun fans to fuck, in his experience. Couple that with the fact Joseph was (is) hot and willing, Barclay would have happily called dibs on the van for an hour to fuck him senseless that first night. But now…

“I dunno, he hasn’t really flirted with me since we met. And even then he didn’t flirt much.”

“The lecture on Haye’s deficits did start about two seconds after he entered the room.”

“Yeah” Barclay sighs fondly at the memory, “maybe he’s just not interested now that he’s seen me offstage.”

“Or maybe you’re both acting from the same vein of professionalism. Which is not terribly punk rock.”

“I’m being myself” Barclay grumbles “that’s-”

“The most punk rock thing you can be.” Indrid finishes, nodding sagely. Then he smirks, “but that doesn’t change the fact Joseph wants to get into those leather pants of yours. Why do you think he keeps recommending the stage outfits that involve them?”

“Hey, I like that look too. It’s my idea as much as it’s his.”

“Mmmmhmm.” Indrid yawns, rests his head on Barclay’s shoulder.  Then he sings in his ear “Baby you got the clothes, baby he’s got the romance, you’ve got the moves so while you’ve got the chance, you wanna get in his pants, you wanna get in his pants, you wanna-”

Barclay elbows him sideways onto the seat, making them both giggle like they’re ten and wrestling on the trampoline in his backyard. 

“Enough with the prophecies, Mothman.”

“That was hardly a prophecy.” Indrid sticks his legs into Barclays laugh, “but very well. I will leave you to pine for as long as you please.”

Barclay spares another glance towards the front of the car.

“I’m not pining. I just want him to like me.”

A snore in reply, Indrid out with his arms sprawled in different directions. Barclay chuckles softly, roots around for one of their two pillows, and settles his head against the window. He doesn’t shut his eyes right away; instead he watches the lights of distant houses and stars race past, melding into the reflection of Joseph’s sleeping face.

------------------------------------

“I bought us ten more minutes, I cannot believe they didn’t warn us this was a double appearance. I’ll-” Joseph finishes shutting the van door and promptly grips it so hard it leaves an indent in his palm. 

The band is in various states of rapid undress, trying to get back into their first set of outfits, and smack in the center of the tableau is Barclay, naked from the waist down.

“-I’ll be more thorough going, um, going forward. See you all backstage.” 

He can’t scramble out of the vehicle fast enough, finds one of the two functioning bathrooms in the place and locks himself in without a second thought. Leans against the graffiti coated door and shoves his hand down pants, a little embarrassed at how turned on he is just from one peek at Barclay’s dick. That doesn’t stop him from picturing it as he shoves two fingers into himself and jacks off like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get. The smell of two kinds of smoke, the half dead bulb, the din of the crowd gathering in the building all make him harder; he’s so desperately horny for his bassist he’ll make himself cum in a shitty dive bathroom. The thought has him moaning, and he covers his mouth with his free hand as he cums. 

With a much clearer head, he washes his hands and leaves to round up his band. It’s better this way, better for him to get off alone than put Barclay in a weird position by his manager coming onto him. That’d be weird for everyone; this way is much easier.

Ten minutes later, standing in the shadowy steps and watching The Cryptids perform, Barclay growling and sweat-soaked, giving Indrid a messy, open-mouthed kiss when the singer initiates it, he knows it won’t be easy at all.

---------------------------------------------------------

They’ve done it; Joseph helped the others successfully sign with Amnesty Records, securing them a re-release of their first album at higher quality and with wider distribution, a massive U.S tour, and more money up front than any of them have ever seen. Amnesty sees promise in them, and Barclay knows they can deliver. They celebrated for two nights solid, and now reality sets in; Indrid is locked in a hotel room, writing like he’s possessed by the ghost of several rockstars at once, Vincent and Jake are trying to find places to live now that they’re based in Atlanta, and Barclay…

Barclay is standing in a half-furnished apartment that doesn’t belong to him. It belongs to Joseph, currently hopping on and off the phone while Barclay waits for dinner to arrive. In a perfect world he would have just cooked, but given how Joseph’s been the last few weeks, he’s worried that gesture of intimacy might freak him out. The manager was in meetings all day and is still in his suit, a forty dollar one they bought in a strip mall at the edge of town. On him it looks like it cost a thousand dollars just for the slacks. The slacks Barclay is failing very hard at not staring at. Joseph isn’t even twenty-one, but he’s been working deals like a pro, and it is the hottest fucking thing Barclay has ever seen. 

He tries distracting himself from his unhelpful gay thoughts via distressing images. All he comes up with is having to steal Indrid’s phone from him after the singer called his family for the first time in almost three years. Whether that was to deliver a final fuck you or toss a hail Mary of reconciliation their way, Barclay isn’t sure. All he knows is he watched Indrid’s face take a turn, old hurts smothering the spark in his eyes, and he took the phone away while someone yelled on the other end of it. 

“How are your parents taking it?” Joseph looks up from the laptop on the kitchen table where he’s entering dates into a calendar. 

Barclay smiles, “Good. Pretty sure they’ve told everyone in the family the good news. Alice can get a chain email out like nobody’s business. They say they love me and are proud of me and that I have to promise to still come home for Christmas every now and then.”

Joseph smiles back, open for a moment before a guard slips back up. Barclay tucks his hands in his pockets, psyching himself up. He has to do this. He has to know.

“Have I, like, made you angry or something? You’ve just been standoffish lately.” 

“Working out everything for the contract has been so stressful I’m not sure anyone but the execs have seen much of me.” The answer is well-rehearsed. 

“Oh.” Barclay nods, hands still in his pockets and shoulders slouched. 

“And, um, and they haven’t gone away. My feelings for you.” This answer is far quieter, the other man looking up from the screen with fearful eyes. 

“That’s a...bad thing? But I, uh, I, like you too. I like so fucking much.”

A little puff of laughter, “I can tell. Believe me, I can. It’s just that being your manager is different than being a random fan looking for a hook-up; I might  want something you’re not ready to give, or vice versa, and if we rush into things it could fuck up everything you guys worked for. Everything we worked for.”

Barclay cautiously steps forward, “What if we took things slow? Like, really slow.”

Hope sneaks into the corners of Joseph’s eyes, “What would that look like?”

“Like we go step by step, with first dates and like, hand holding and shit. We can take as long as we want; I mean, unless you’re planning on ditching the next big thing in the music world, think we’re gonna have plenty of time to spend together.”

“I like the sound of that.” 

Barclay circles the table as Joseph stands. He cups his cheek, running his thumb up his cheekbone.

“Hey.”

“Hi” Joseph’s eyes have taken on a distinctly Bambi-ish shape. 

“You wanna go get dinner tomorrow?”

The other man loops his arms around his shoulders, “Absolutely.”

Their first kiss comes less than twenty four hours; they may be taking it slow, but there’s only so much two men who’ve been pining in the confines of a van for months can take. It’s soft and popcorn scented and Joseph holds his hand the entire time. 

---------------------------------------------

Joseph waits in the dressing room, ears ringing from the sound system and the screaming crowd. It’s the first time The Cryptids have played any sort of true arena, and they sold out the show a week in advance. 

Barclay clomps into the room in his combat boots, grinning as soon as he sees him. He’s dripping with sweat, his eyeliner is a little smudged, and even though he isn’t the lead vocalist, he has enough backing vocals that his voice is a touch raw when he speaks. 

“Fuck that was fun.”

“You all did so well. I, this is going to sound corny, but I’m so proud of you.”

“Should be proud of yourself too, babe. Without you, we’d probably still be playing no-name bars in Des Moines or Fresno.”

“Managing is easy when the talent’s this good.” He runs his hands up Barclays’ fishnet-clad chest. 

“Take the compliment, blue eyes.”

High on pride and the knowledge that at least a third of the crowd would commit a felony to take his place, Joseph pinches Barclay’s left nipple, “No.”

Barclay growls, grabbing his lapels and yanking him into a salty, toothy kiss. He moans in reply, drops his hands down to undo Barclay’s fly so he can grind against him, feel him getting hard through his dress pants. 

“You really wanna do that here, babe? Don’t wanna make our first time all soft sheets and candlelight?” Barclay rubs the top button of Joseph’s shirt between his thumb and finger. 

“Yes, I want you and I want you now” 

Barclay lunges, shoving him back until his ass hits the dressing room table.

“Fine” he grunts, getting his cock out while Joseph kicks one leg free of his pants, “can’t take a compliment, gonna take something else.”

“OHmylord, fuck, fucking finally.” He thunks his head back against the mirror as Barclay sets a ferocious tempo. 

“Shit, you feel even better than I thought you would, and I’ve been, fuck, thinking about it for a long fucking time. Ever since you walked into that shitty dressing room in those tight shorts and shirt with my name on it.”

“Nnhng” He spreads his legs wider at the memory.

“Oh you fucking like that, don’t you babe? That why you wanted to do this here? So I could treat you like the horny fucking fanboy you really are?”

“Yes, ohmylord, yes, yes.” He can’t feel anything but the points where they connect, can’t hear anything beyond Barclay’s growls in his ear and the slap of skin on skin.

“Fuck” Barclay pulls his hair with one hand, shoves his knee further up with the other, “shoulda known, even with that fancy suit all you wanna be is my fucking toy.” It’s a snarl, the hottest sound he’s ever heard and he drags Barclay into another kiss, amazed that he feels close to cumming already. 

Knockknock.

Barclay turns his head towards the door, Joseph muffling his panting breath in his shoulder. 

“Uh, who is it?”

“Mothman. The winners of that drawing are back here to meet us.”

“Shit” Joseph hisses, starting to sit up only for strong hands to trap him in place. 

“Cool. Uh, gimme like” Barclay looks down to where his cock is buried into Joseph, “three minutes?”

The smile in Indrid’s voice is unmistakable, “Of course. I still need to find Vincent. See you soon.”

“Three minutes seems optimisticAH, ohgod” He holds on for dear life as Barclay fucks him with sharp, deep thrusts. A calloused hand finds his dick and Joseph bites down on a broad shoulder to keep from alerting everyone in the vicinity to his impending orgasm. 

“That’s it babe, cum for me, cum on my cock in a backroom like the horny, needy thing you are.” Barclay stills his hips, hand working with slick, messy movements until Joseph cums. He doesn’t wait for him to finish all the way before slamming into him for ten of the best seconds of Stern’s life and cumming with a deep moan. 

“Fucking-A that was good.”

“Good is an understatement.”

“I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too.”

A kiss on the head as Barclay helps him onto the ground, a flurry of putting their clothes into a rough approximation of order. Then Barclay kisses him again as Joseph strokes his hair. 

“Offer of soft sheets and candlelight still stands.” 

Joseph holds him tighter, smiling against his neck, “I guess we know what we’re doing tomorrow night.”

----------------------------------------------------

It’s the last day of recording the tracks for “Blood on the Mirror” and the mood is bittersweet. After this, there’s one more tour and then The Cryptids go their separate ways. It was time, everyone but Indrid and Jake ready to move on to other projects, and Joseph is already on board to manage Indrid’s solo career (“I’d trust it to no one else, Joseph. I mean it”). All the same, when the final track is deemed done, everyone applauds and embraces like they’re going off to war. 

He heads down to his office to finish reading over venue contracts while the band packs up, but he only gets through one before Barclay appears. 

“Hey, blue eyes.”

“Hi, Bigfoot.” Joseph stands and comes to the door to kiss him, “are you already set to go home.”

“More or less” Barclay rubs his arm, his most consistent anxiety tell, “uh, there’s just one thing I gotta ask before we leave.”

Hushed voices down the hall, but no one there when Joseph looks behind him to check. When he turns back, his hands fly up to cover his mouth. Barclay is down on one knee.

“I, uh, I know this might not be the most, uh, traditional spot to do this but it feels right. I’ve just been thinking about how a huge chapter of my life is coming to a close and there’s this whole new, exciting, terrifying blank page where I have to write the next one. And I, I realized that I want you to be in that chapter with me, and the next one, and the one after that. So, uh, what I want to know is: Joseph Stern, will you marry me?”

He nods, not trusting his voice to come out with intelligible words. 

“Oh thank god.” Barclay springs up, cupping his face and spinning him in a kiss. Joseph laughs as whooping cheers echo towards them. Indrid, Jake, and Vincent, are peering around the nearest corner, beaming.

“Indrid is for sure going to say I told you so the second he gets me alone” Barclay chuckles, “I was so afraid you’d say no because things will be kind of up in the air for the next few years.”

Joseph turns his face back towards him, “You’re right, they will. But I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend them with.”

#agent stern/barclay #sternclay #rockstar au #TAZ amnesty

[kyber-kisses]

Hymn (Part 2)

Winchester brothers x Sister!reader (Platonic)

wanna start from the beginning? Here is the Masterlist!

Warnings: cursing, its mostly fluff my dudes.

Summary: Y/N Winchester has wrestled with demons ever since her mother died, but when her younger brothers lives are in danger it’s their souls she fights to save, because isn’t that what a big sister should do?

A/n:OK so i may or may not be in love with writing this series, but whatever. This fic is based on the lyrics from joel porters Hymn. Hope you guys enjoy and feedback is greatly appreciated!

Dean woke up in a cold sweat, his eyes straining in the utter darkness of his room while his breathing rate slowly began to steady from where it had been seconds ago. Shifting on the mattress he flicked on the bedside lamp and slowly sat up, his black sleep shirt clinging to his skin.

“Fuck.”

Dragging a shaky hand down his face, he took a deep breath. It had been a long time since he had that nightmare. He had hoped it had gone away completely but apparently his mind wouldn’t let it go. . . Then again it was a memory. Just a memory. A terrible, horrible memory. and some memories just don't go away.

Glancing over at the clock on his nightstand he found that he had slept in, which was unlike him. The neon red numbers telling him that it was a quarter past ten. Sliding on his robe, he made his way for the door, the only thing on his mind being a cup of coffee

. . . Until he halted in his tracks and looked back.

It was still there. Then again where else would it be? Even though the back wall of his room was covered in an arrange of weapons, your hunting rifle stood out among the rest like some sort of sad centerpiece. How he had kept hold of it all these years was beyond him.

He paused for another second before backtracking and slowly taking it off the wall. Your rifle had been your prized possession, and your aim unparalleled. His dad used to say he had never seen someone so young shoot so well. Shifting the gun in his hand, Dean let his thumb trace over your name. You had carved it into the stock when you first got it, using Deans favorite pocket knife for the job.

Miss you.

Almost two and a half decades. That how long you had been gone. He thought losing his mom had been hard, but then you thrust your rifle into his arms and disappeared out that damn motel room door and he never saw you again. That was when he really broke.

Quickly wiping the stray tears from his eyes, he put the rifle back in its place, turned off the lights and headed for the kitchen. Coffee. He needed coffee.

His body went into autopilot and before he knew it he was walking through the threshold of the bunkers kitchen, making a beeline for the coffee pot.

“Well look who finally decided to roll out of bed.”

“Shut up.” Dean grumbled, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“You okay?”

Dean hummed a response as he poured himself a cup before sinking down into the seat across from his brother. “Yeah, yeah- I uh, just had some really weird dreams.”

“I don’t wanna know-“

“They were about Y/N.”

That was all it took to fully gain the youngest Winchesters attention, his eyes peering over the edge of his coffee cup mid sip. There was a pause as he swallowed. “Y/N?”

“Yeah- it uh-“ Dean pinched the bridge of his nose like it physically pained him to think about it. “It was the night she disappeared. Everything was the same, down to you doing your fucking homework to her teaching me how to shoot her damn rifle.”

“You remember all that?”

“You don’t?” Dean dropped his hand from his face to send his brother a bewildered look.

“I mean, I remember bits and pieces but not every little detail.” Sam shrugged, going back to his coffee.

“That was one of the worst nights of my life.”

Sliding his laptop away from him, Sam folded his arms across the top of the table. “What else do you remember?”

This time it was Deans turn to shrug, eyes fixating on the black liquid in his cup. “Her running out the door and leaving us in the motel room, Her screaming, Dad coming back and going into a full blown panic- I don’t think I had ever seen him so afraid.” Dean swallowed thickly, swirling the contents in his mug. “I remember him just leaving us there so he could look for her. And then he was gone for hours and when he came back all he had was her flannel. The thing was in tatters and covered in blood.”

“I kinda remember that.” Sam nodded, his eyes going to the matching bracelets on his and Deans wrists. Bracelets being a loose term. In reality they were just bits of fabric Dean had salvaged from your flannel later that night. It was one of the few things left of you that they had. “I just mostly remember dad crying after he thought we had gone to bed. It happened every night for weeks.”

“Yeah.” Dean could feel his emotions bubbling up inside him again. His dad had spent months tearing apart the state and the surrounding ones looking for you. But they always came up with nothing.

You were just gone. Like you had been snatched out of thin air.

Dean remembered the months and even years that followed after that so well. They were hard. His big sister was gone and everything felt so much scarier. . . And then dad came to the conclusion that you were dead and that was that. Except Dean refused to believe it. You were so tough and brave, there was no way you could be dead. You couldn’t be dead, he would say constantly. You just needed finding. He kept saying that because he had to believe it. Because being the boy who’d lost his mother was one thing, being the boy who’d lost his mother and sister something else entirely. But as the years went on, he slowly began to lose hope and then one day he just woke up and believed it.

You were dead. If you were alive you would have been home by now. You would have fought every monster in the country if you had to to get back home to them. And if you weren’t back by now, you weren’t coming back ever.

Dean sniffed, feeling the familiar burn in his nostrils telling him tears were coming. Trying to mask it he rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand again. “I miss her.”

“I know. I do to.” Sam sighed, watching his brother try not to break down in front of him. Sam had loved you as much as Dean had but to Dean you were his hero. You always had been. While Sam looked up to Dean, Dean had always looked up to you.

“I’m starting to forget her voice.” Dean suddenly admitted, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “I don’t mean to. . . But it’s fading away.” Slowly rising from his seat, Dean headed for the door. “I hope you can still hear her.”

As Sam watched his brother disappear back down the hallway, he let his mind wander before pushing out of his own seat to go in search of something long forgotten.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

A few hours later Sam found himself wandering towards his brothers room, laptop folded underneath his arm.

“Hey, Dean?” Rapping his knuckles on the door, he leaned against the wall waiting for a response.

“What?”

Taking it as a sign he twisted the handle and nudged open the door, peering into the brightness of Deans room. His brother was seated at his desk, cleaning one of the many guns that usually sat silently on his wall.

“Wait, is that Y/Ns-“

“Rifle. Yeah.” Dean sighed, leaning back in his seat to admire his work.

“I don’t know why you still clean that thing. Neither of us use it. The last person to shoot it was her.” Stepping through the doorway, he walked towards the desk, smiling faintly at the sight of your carved name in the stock.

“Gives me something to do. It’s kinda relaxing actually.” Wiping his hands on his jeans, Dena turned his gaze towards Sam. “What’s up?”

“Oh, uh I found something. C’mon I wanna show you.” Nodding towards the door Sam beckoned his brother to follow, which thankfully he did.

“This better be fuckin worth it.” Dean sighed, his footsteps echoing down the bunker hallway as he followed Sam towards the library.

“Oh trust me, I think it will be.” Adjusting his laptop underneath his arm, Sam stepped up into the well lit room. “Do you remember that old camcorder Y/N used to carry around? The one that we thought broke forever ago?”

“. . . Yeah, why?”

“Well, I dug it out of storage. Turns out, not broken at all.” Sam chuckled, opening up his laptop as he plugged the camcorder into the computer with a usb cable, the screen suddenly lighting up.

“You know, I don’t even remember what’s on here.” Sinking down in the seat besides his brother, Dean leaned forward to watch as Sam worked on pulling up the footage.

“If you break a limb doing this your gonna be the one to tell dad how it happened.” Your voice suddenly echoing through the speakers of the laptop, catching Dean off guard as he sat up straighter.

“I’m gonna be fine! Please Y/N!”

“This is a terrible idea.”

A small smile spread over Deans lips as you suddenly set down the camera walking into view. Dean couldn’t have been more than ten in the footage. An even younger Sam momentary running past as you helped Dean get situated in Bobby’s old hammock.

“Promise you won’t break any bones?”

“Yes.”

“Pinkie promise?” You held up your hand, pinkie extended so Dean could wrap his own around yours.

“Pinkie promise.”

Deans smile steadily grew as the memory came back. Dad has dropped the three of you off at Bobby’s for the weekend and when Dean found out he had a hammock his little boy brain went into overdrive.

“Can you spin it all the way around?”

“All the way around? Bub, your gonna fall out if I do that.” You shook your head before giving into defeat and pulling the hammock back to get it going.

“I won’t! I got this!”

It was proven the exact opposite a minute later when the hammock on the screen arched into a full circle swing, proceeding to send the middle Winchester child flying backwards into the bushes. A six year old Sam screeched with laughter somewhere off camera.

A full bellied laugh escaped Dean as he threw his head back, Sam chuckling besides him.

“I can’t believe I forgot about that! Y/N spent like ten minutes trying to clean all those cuts I got from the friggin bush.” Dean wheezed wiping at the tears still in his eyes. “Was I always that dumb?”

“Bold of you to assume you still aren’t.”

“Hey-“

As the footage quickly switched both brothers lit up again, this time watching as you balanced a seven year old Sam on your shoulders on the end of a weather worn dock.

“Wait- was this the summer we stayed in lake county?” Dean leaned forward on his elbows, eyes bright.

“I think so. Dad worked several cases in that area that year.”

“Y/N, please don’t jump-“ little Sam let out a whine, arms wrapping around your head in fear that he might fall.

“Don’t jump? Don’t jump?! Well now I feel like I should just for the heck of it!” You mused, dangling one foot over the water, hands still wrapped around Sam’s ankles.

“No!”

“Uh-oh, I’m loosing my balance-“ you laughed, feeling Sams grip tighten.

Your playful antics were quickly cut short as Dean blurred into view, his little feet thundering across the dock as he rocketed towards you, laughing. Your head quickly spun around in unison with Sams, both sets of eyes widening as he charged at you.

“Dean, No!”

But it was too late. The blonde rascal came barreling into you and the three of you went over the edge with a series of shrieks and laughs, a spray of water hitting the dock as you went down.

That was all it took to get both brothers laughing again, Dean leaning back in his seat as he gripped his side.

“God, I can’t remember the last time- the last time I laughed this much-“ he panted through chuckles.

“Well there’s several hours of footage on here, so don’t pass out from laughing too much.”

Deans eyes widened as the last of the laughter faded on his lips. “Wait, are you serious?”

“Yeah. Guess Y/N wanted to make sure we had some sort of home videos to watch.”

Letting out a content sigh, the older Winchester nodded. He hadn’t realized until now how much of a childhood you had actually given him and Sam before running out the door. He was grateful.

“Well uh, what else is on here?” Turning back to the screen, Dean leaned foreword on his elbows watching as the footage continued to play.

It didn’t take long for them to realize how much of their childhood you had actually captured. From the time you took them skiing while dad had worked a case in Estes Park to when the three of you dressed up as the three musketeers for Halloween. It was all there. Almost every second of footage filled with full belly laughter and embarrassing moments. That’s how your old camcorder quickly became Deans favorite item in the world.It was a pocket of good memories. A pocket of childhood innocence.

They were closing in on hour two of of the footage while watching you and Dean completely wipe out while tubing that the jade eyed Winchester felt something suddenly shift in him. His laughter slowly petering out along with his smile. The sudden silence catching Sams attention as he looked way from the screen, his own chuckle slowly stopping.

“Dean? You okay?”

He drew in a breath before nodding slightly. “Sam, I think we should go back.”

There was a pause as the youngest of the Winchesters processed what his brother had said. “Seriously, are you sure? We haven’t-“

“Been back there in almost two decades? I know. I just— she deserved better.”

“She totally did.” Sam nodded in agreement. “ I can go pack a bag if you want and we can be out of here in thirty?”

Yeah, that sounds good.” Dean sighed, sucking in another breath. He shouldn’t have gotten all sad about the videos, but the sudden thought that you weren’t around to help make more new memories tore him up inside.

Before leaving, Sam paused in the doorway to turn around one last time. “You know, we should show those to mom at some point. I have a feeling she would really get a hoot out of them.”

“yeah, she totally would.”

SPN Taglist:

@familybusinesswritingbro​​​​​​@a–1–1–3 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​​​​​​​ @music-is-all-i-need @agusdoti​​​​​ @callmekda​​​​​​ @jordangdelacruz​​​​​ @orphiceseum​​​​​ @andthatsmyworld​​​​​ @marvelfangirllll​​​​​​ @fandomnerdespressourself​​​​​​ @gladiosamicitias​​​​​ @castielsangelsx​​​​​ @lxstgxrl-ck​​​​​ @tis-i-the-wayward-idgit @amendoise @phoenixuprisingsstuff​​​​​ @ericalynne007 @kaitlaitlaitl​​​​​​  @totallyluciferr​​​​​​ @supernaturalenchanted​​​​​​ @dolanfivsosxox​​​​​@supernatural-ocs @emptycanvasposts​​​​​ @akshi8278​ @defenderrosetyler​​​​​​ @heyyy-hey-babyyy​​​​​ @idksupernatural​​​​​​ @vicmc624 @all-will-be-well-love@busy-bee-angel-misska @starsandmidnightblue​​​​​​ @lilulo-12fanfiction​ @beanie-beebo​​​​​​ @xoxoaudreymarie​​​​​​ @greenarrowhead​​​​​​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​​​​​​  @mysticalfuncollectorus​​​​​ @brebolin​​​​​ @biahblue​​​​​ @noahandthegiraffe​���

HYMN Taglist:

@biahblue​ @brebolin​ @noahandthegiraffe​ @psych0crybaby​ @beetears​ @supernaturalenchanted​ @skyelikestowrite @leej2468​ @vicmc624​

#dean winchester imagine #dean winchester #dean winchester x sister!reader #sam winchester x sister!reader #Sam Winchester #sam winchester x reader #SPN #spn x reader #supernatural #bi-danvers writing

[megstudies]

I might be depressed: an essay

I wake up, and the first thing I think is “I can go to bed at 11 o’clock.” It’s 8 now, so that’s twelve hours plus three, 15 hours. I can go to bed in 15 hours. Every day feels the same. The whole world paused last March, and we haven’t picked up again. It feels like everything is happening on 0.5 speed. Ironically, I only watch recorded lectures sped up now. I wonder if I do that because I don’t want to waste time, or because I’m itching for anything that feels like it’s fast. Anything that pushes me to keep up, keep moving. I can go to bed in 15 hours.

Once I’ve established that, I get up. I shower. I toast a bagel. I know a bagel isn’t the best way to start my day, and I feel guilty for it, like I’m failing my body already. But it’s something, it’s energy. I wrestle with my mind, justifying my choice to myself. I eat half the bagel and five raspberries from the container in the fridge. I feel like I need a nap. 14.5 hours. 

I sit down in front of my computer. 9am zoom class with my favourite prof. It’s a small class, only about 10 people, all from the same major. All cameras are off. It doesn’t feel worth it. I have a small burst of energy, anger. It is so hard to feel like this education-- this experience-- is worth the tens of thousands of dollars a year I am paying. I remind myself that I’m not paying for the experience, I’m paying for the privilege and necessity that is a post-secondary degree. The energy I had is replaced by a yawning expanse of apathy. What can I even do about it? If I drop out I’ve wasted endless amounts of time and money to work a minimum wage job for the rest of my life. If I take a year off, I have to start paying back my loans. There’s not a lot of options. Class is over, 12.75 hours left. I open Word and start a paper.

At 2:00pm (9 hours), I have the overwhelming desire to be in bed. I’ve been fighting it all day, but it just doesn’t seem worth it any more, why not be in bed? It’s a nice day out, beautiful even, despite the wind. This fact doesn’t make me want to go outside. Really all it does is make me feel guilty for not enjoying the weather. I sit with my back to the window. 

3:00pm, another lecture. This class has nearly 75 people enrolled. 50 attend the zoom call. 7, including the professor, have their cameras on. I am not one of them. I have facebook open on my laptop, the zoom call minimized. I scroll while I listen to the lecture. The third article is about COVID-19. I close the window. 

741741. “BRAVE”. I text a crisis line. And I feel ridiculous, because it’s not like it’s that bad, right? There are people that have it much worse than I do. And yet, I don’t know where to turn. This pause has gotten inside my bones. Made my own self and my own time feel heavy. It’s so hard to take a deep breath and settle into the moment when it feels like this moment is never going to end.

I heard Matt Haig talking once (I listen to any interview of his I can get my hands on, he makes me feel known, which is oddly comforting for someone who doesn’t like to share), and he said that he was feeling suicidal, not in the way that he wanted to end his life, but in the way that he didn’t really see the point. When the person on the other end of the crisis line asks me if I am safe, I can say “yes” without hesitating. But when they ask if I have had thoughts of suicide that quote pops into my head. No, I don’t want to be dead. But it’s hard to really want to be alive right now. 

I’m sobbing now. Sitting on my bed, tissues beside me, my nose raw. They ask about my support system. I have wonderful friends, I have a mom who loves me no matter what. But I don’t want to go to them with this right now. There is so much guilt in my heart about putting these things, these feelings, these worries on my friends’ plates too. I am so grateful for them, but I want to feel independent sometimes, even when it’s talking to someone outside my circle. I made this choice, I’m doing it for me.

They ask me what I like to do. I remember that I haven’t eaten since the bagel this morning, and I know I have vegetables in the fridge. I tell them I like to cook, and that I like to read. I’ve been reading Jane Fonda’s memoir lately, My Life So Far. I finished Grace & Frankie and wanted something more. These three things: food, my book, and Grace & Frankie. I know they all make me happy, and I can feel it, just a little. It’s a dull prodding in my belly, the feeling that I want more than sitting here. A feeling of responsibility to myself. Or maybe I’m just hungry. 

I get up. I wash my face. I heat up the stove and make a stirfry. While it’s cooking I pour myself a glass of water and read about Jane’s childhood. I think this book is here for me at the right time. 

I don’t feel peaceful, I don’t feel happy. But I feel like maybe if I sleep that tomorrow will be better. I doubt it, but it’s possible. 

I put on Grace & Frankie while I fall asleep. Something to distract me. I smile, these ladies are so talented. I realize that’s the first time I’ve smiled today. It’s 10:50pm. I can go to bed.

Things I Reference:

Crisis Text Line: US/Canada (741741), UK (85258), Ireland (50808)

For More Hotlines Visit https://www.suicidestop.com/call_a_hotline.html

My Life So Far, Jane Fonda

Grace & Frankie on Netflix

Reasons to Stay Alive, Matt Haig

Notes on a Nervous Planet, Matt Haig

“How to Fail with Elizabeth Day” S10, E2, with Matt Haig

#essay #writing #mental health #university #online uni #uni student #student essay #creative writing #depression #anxiety #resources #zoom university #zoom lecture #zoom student #study break #studyblr #studyblr gets real

[calumcest]

if these walls could talk (they’ve seen way too many things)

[ao3]

before i begin i have to give two huge thank yous: firstly to @miguelclifford for beta-reading this fic, for her comments, ideas, motivation and general company/conversation over the past few days and also for writing that excellent malum fic the other day yes i’m still thinking about it this fic is completely indebted to you and your wonderful mind and secondly to @5sosnsfw for letting me scream in agony about this fic for the past 4 days because i just could not stop writing no matter how much i wanted it to END and for being so incredibly supportive of every single thing i do you are truly both such wonderful individuals and this is the first time in my life i’ve been glad i wrote That Fic because i would not have met u otherwise

-

The announcement comes late, at eight p.m., interrupting radio and TV broadcasts and flashing up on phone screens.

Due to the current pandemic, the state is now on mandatory lockdown for three weeks. All citizens have until midnight to return to their places of residence. Those outside after midnight will be subject to severe penalties. Further information to follow.

“You have to leave,” Ashton says. “You have to go.” Luke blinks. “They’re locking down the state.”

-

luke gets stuck at ashton's during lockdown

-4 hours 

The announcement comes late, at eight p.m., interrupting radio and TV broadcasts and flashing up on phone screens.

Due to the current pandemic, the state is now on mandatory lockdown for three weeks. All citizens have until midnight to return to their places of residence. Those outside after midnight will be subject to severe penalties. Further information to follow.

Ashton sees it when his phone lights up obnoxiously, distracting him from the song he’s halfway through perfecting on drums. He picks it up, annoyed, intending to turn it around so it can’t distract him anymore, but the notification catches his eye. 

“Shit,” he says, reading the notification a second and third time, just to make sure. “Shit, shit- Luke!” He scrambles to his feet, throwing his drumsticks onto the floor with a loud clatter,  taking the stairs back up to the ground floor two at a time, clutching his phone. “Luke!”

“Yeah?” Luke’s voice is muffled by walls, but Ashton can hear it’s coming from the living room, so he slams open the door, wincing a little at the sound the handle makes when it hits the wall. Luke, sitting cross-legged on the sofa, Star Wars playing on the TV, throws him a look of surprise at the urgency clearly written all over Ashton’s face. 

“You have to leave,” Ashton says. “You have to go.” Luke blinks, and Ashton doesn’t miss the brief hurt that flashes across his face. “No, not like that, I’m not kicking you out. They’re locking down the state.”

“What?” Luke asks, confused. Ashton thrusts his phone into Luke’s face. Luke scans the notification, eyes widening, and stands up so abruptly he sends Ashton’s phone flying onto the floor. “Shit, shit, sorry, I-”

“Fuck, don’t worry, get your stuff together,” Ashton says, picking his phone up and electing not to tell Luke about the new crack running from the top left-hand corner to the middle of the screen. 

“Shit, Ash, I can’t,” Luke says, forehead creased, running a hand through his hair. “I’m never going to make it that far in four hours with everyone else on the road.”

“Well, you’re not if you just fucking stand there, are you?” Ashton says, agitated. “I’ll get your stuff from down here.” Luke hesitates for a moment and then nods, running out of the room, and Ashton hears him thundering up the stairs to the guest room he’s been staying in.

Ashton swears under his breath as he tries to remember what the fuck Luke actually brought with him. He picks up the hoodie that Luke had slung over the arm of the couch, wrestles his phone charger out of the wall, and tucks the notebook full of lyrics Luke had brought for Ashton’s approval under his arm. Twisting on the spot, he looks around the room wildly for anything he might have missed, and decides it won’t be anything important if he has missed something, nothing that can’t be replaced- 

“Oh, shit,” he mutters, spotting Luke’s laptop, and clutches it close to his chest. That’s got to be all the important stuff now, he reckons, so he sprints up the stairs to the guest room to see Luke shoving all his stuff haphazardly in his bag.

“Bathroom?” Ashton asks, dropping everything in his arms on the bed, and Luke shakes his head, grabbing the hoodie and stuffing it in his bag. Ashton nods, running to the bathroom to grab Luke’s toothbrush, toothpaste – he hadn’t brought any mouthwash, had he? No, just the toothbrush and toothpaste – and is halfway back to the bedroom when he remembers Luke’s fancy electric razor and rushes back to the bathroom to grab it.

“Fuck,” Luke says, when Ashton gets back in and crams the bathroom items into Luke’s already overflowing bag. “Fuck, check the traffic, I have to pee.” Ashton pulls his phone out as Luke runs out of the room, getting up his Maps and calculating the route to Luke’s house.

Shit.

Six hours.

“Luke!” he shouts. “Luke, you have to leave now, bro. It says six hours.” The toilet flushes, and Ashton hears a faint “ Six ?” over the sound of the tap running. The door to the bathroom flies open, revealing an incredibly harassed-looking Luke Hemmings, hands dripping with water.

“I don’t have six hours,” Luke says.

“You can make it across the state line in four if you leave now,” Ashton says.

“Not if the traffic increases!” Luke sounds panicked now.

“Well, get a fucking move on then!” Ashton says, equally panicked. Luke nods, pushing past Ashton with wet hands to grab his bag from the guest room, and sprints down the stairs, Ashton in tow. 

“Fuck, where’d I leave my car keys?” Luke mutters, patting his pockets frantically.

“Put your shoes on, I’ll look for your keys,” Ashton says, grabbing Luke’s bag off him and shoving his hand in to feel around the bottom. It only takes him about ten seconds, by which time Luke’s straightening up, shoes on, and he slaps the key into Luke’s hand and runs to the door to open it. 

“Shit,” Luke says, running to his car and chucking his bag in the passenger seat, shutting it with a slam. “Bye, Ash, thanks for having me, love you, all that.” 

“Love you,” Ashton echoes. “Get home safe. Let me know. I’ll stay up.” Luke nods, pulling his car door shut, and doesn’t even bother putting his seatbelt on before backing out of Ashton’s driveway. Ashton feels his heart clench with both fear and worry, and watches Luke roar down the street until he turns the corner.

Fuck.

 ------- 

  -3 hours 

“Shit, Ash,” Calum says, when Ashton calls him half an hour later, having had a cup of tea to try and calm his nerves. “Is he going to make it back?”

“I don’t know,” Ashton says, biting his lip. “I fucking hope so. He should make it across the state line by midnight, depending on traffic.” There’s a distant mumbling at the other end of the line, and Ashton hears Calum informing Michael about what’s going on.

“…if he didn’t fucking live in Vegas,” is all he catches Michael saying, and, not for the first time, Ashton wholeheartedly agrees.

“Put me on speaker,” Ashton says. He hears some tapping, and then the static becomes a little more tinny. “Mike?”

“Hey, yeah,” Michael says, and Ashton can imagine the crease of worry between his brows. “So you said he should make it across the state line before midnight?”

“Depending on traffic,” Ashton reiterates, biting his fingernails – a habit he’d kicked, like, seventeen years ago.

“And if he can’t?”

“Well, I don’t know, maybe they’ll be lenient?” Ashton says.

“In America?” Michael sounds sceptical.

“You have a point,” Calum says.

“At least you two are together,” Ashton says, trying to focus on the positive. “Look after yourselves, yeah? Stay indoors.” He can almost hear Michael rolling his eyes.

“Right, like we have a choice,” he says.

“You know what I mean.” 

“Yeah,” Calum says, in that soothing voice he uses to calm them all down. “Try not to worry, Ash. He’ll be alright.”

“Will he?” Ashton says, ripping a hangnail off. It fucking hurts, but he’s kind of glad for the distraction.

“If I can get stranded in Bali and Michael can get stranded on his own in America Luke can handle being stuck in California,” Calum says.

“Yeah, but it’s a lockdown,” Ashton says.

“Even better,” Michael says. “He can’t do anything stupid.”

“Where would he go, though?” Ashton’s nervous train of thought is interrupted by a beeping, signalling someone’s trying to get through, and he holds his phone away from his ear to see it’s Luke. “Shit, he’s calling me. I’ll ring you back.” He doesn’t even wait for Calum and Michael to answer before picking up Luke’s call. 

“Luke?” he says.

“Ash?” he hears, Luke’s voice echoing and distant in his car. “Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, I can hear you,” Ashton says. “Where are you?”

“I won’t make it,” Luke says. “The I-15’s totally backed up, I can’t even get onto it. Everyone’s trying to leave.” Ashton’s stomach drops.

“Fuck,” he says. “Can you get back to mine? You can stay here. 

“Are you sure?” Luke says. 

“‘Course,” Ashton says, the knot of worry in his stomach tightening. If Luke can’t even get onto the I-15, what if he can’t make it back to Ashton’s?

“Alright,” Luke says. “I’ll call you when I’m near, then. Fucking hell, what the fuck?”

“What?” Ashton asks anxiously. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, sorry, some guy just cut me off,” Luke says. “I’ll call you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ashton says. “Drive safe.”

“Will do,” Luke says. “See you soon.” The line goes dead, and Ashton swallows, dialling Calum back.

“What’d he say?” Calum demands, picking up after half a ring.

“He’s not going to make it,” Ashton says. “Can’t even get on the I-15. He’s coming back here.”

“To LA?” Calum asks.

“Yeah, to mine,” Ashton says.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Calum says, and Ashton can hear the relief flooding his voice.

“I know,” Ashton says. “I hope he can get back here.”

“Of course he will, he’s got three hours. He’ll be alright, Ash. Breathe.”

“I’m breathing,” Ashton grumbles, but the knot in his stomach loosens a little at Calum’s calming tone.

“Want me to stay on the phone?” Calum asks gently. Ashton thinks for a moment, and then shakes his head, momentarily forgetting that Calum can’t see him.

“No,” he says. “I think I’m going to, like, clean my house, or something. Burn off this nervous energy. Thanks, though.”

“No worries,” Calum says. “I’m here if you need me.”

“Thanks, Cal,” Ashton says, exhaling and hoping that Calum can’t hear that it’s a little unsteady. “I’ll text you when he gets here.”

“Alright,” Calum says. “I’ll tell Mikey. He’s not going to say it, but he’s really fucking worried.” Ashton snorts. Typical Michael.

“I’ll talk to you later, yeah?” he says.

“Love you,” Calum says.

“Love you,” Ashton echoes, and there’s a click as Calum hangs up.

Fuck.

 -------

  0 hours 

Ashton hoovers the entire house, dusts the living room and is halfway through dusting the kitchen, trying his best not to look at the clock (which by now has ticked past eleven p.m.), when he hears the faint sound of a car getting closer and closer. He throws down the duster, runs to the front door and yanks it open just in time to see Luke’s car pulling into his driveway. The tension in him dissipates entirely when Luke steps out of the car with his bag slung over his shoulder, raking his fingers through his bleached curls. Ashton almost sinks to his knees in relief.

“Hi,” Luke says, sounding tired but smiling nonetheless. Ashton pulls him in for a fierce hug, shakily breathing in the scent of warmth and Luke . Luke hugs back immediately, dropping his forehead on Ashton’s shoulder and inhaling deeply. Ashton’s not sure which of them is more relieved that he’s back. 

“C’mon,” Ashton mumbles after a moment. He doesn’t want to let go but is starting to feel the cool March breeze make the hair on his arms stand on end, and he shivers involuntarily as he stands aside to let Luke past. 

“Huh,” Luke says, wandering back into the living room. “This is cleaner than it was four hours ago.” Ashton snorts.

“Had to find some way to pass the time,” he says.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Luke says, an edge of nervousness in his voice. It kind of breaks Ashton’s heart a little bit, that even after all these years Luke still doesn’t quite believe he’s good enough.

“Fucking hell, Luke, of course not,” Ashton says. Luke grins, eyes crinkling around the corners, and Ashton can’t help but grin back.

“Looks like I’m your new roommate, then,” Luke says.

“Perfect time for me to house-train you,” Ashton says, dodging the swat Luke sends his way. “I’m going to call Cal back, let him know you made it here. They were worried about you.”

“Were you all on the phone talking about me?” Luke says.

“Yeah, about how fucking stupid you are for buying a place in Vegas when everyone else lives in LA,” Ashton says. Luke pulls a face.

“I don’t like LA,” he says.

“Well, you’re going to have to learn to,” Ashton says, pulling his phone out of his pocket and dialling Calum. The phone rings once, and then there’s the scrambling sound of someone answering.

“Ash?” It’s Michael. “Is he alright?”

“Yeah,” Ashton says. “He made it back.” Michael swears under his breath.

“Thank fuck,” he says. “Calum was really worried.”

“Yeah, sure, Calum was really worried,” Ashton says pointedly. Michael never picks up Ashton’s calls after a single ring.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Michael huffs. “I’m going to tell Cal. Tell Luke he’s a fucking idiot for buying a house in Vegas.”

“Will do,” Ashton says. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Michael says, and Ashton hears a distant Cal, baby - before the call cuts out.

“What’d Calum say?” Luke asks, throwing himself down on one of Ashton’s sofas and kicking his shoes off. Ashton frowns.

“It was Michael,” he says. “He said you’re a fucking idiot for buying a house in Vegas. And put your shoes in the hallway.” Luke rolls his eyes, but gets up and pads out to the hallway, shoes in hand.

“I told you, I don’t like LA,” he calls, and Ashton follows him, leaning against the doorframe as Luke slots his shoes neatly in Ashton’s shoe rack.

“Well, you’re stuck here now,” Ashton says. “Might as well get used to it.” 

“Well, technically I don’t need to get used to LA, since I can’t leave the fucking house,” Luke says, stifling a yawn. “Actually, I think I’m going to head to bed. I’m fucking exhausted.”

Ashton nods, still wired from the adrenaline.He knows he’s going to crash in about half an hour and should probably get his teeth brushed and skincare done before that happens.

“I should sleep too,” he says, watching Luke stretch and yawn and thinking it might be the cutest thing he’s seen all day. “You know where towels are, and everything.” Luke nods, holding the back of his hand to his mouth as he yawns again. “Alright, well. See you in the morning, then,” Ashton says, starting upstairs as Luke goes to retrieve his bag from the living room. 

“Night, Ash,” Luke calls back. “And- um. Thanks for letting me stay. Again. It means a lot.”

“Shut up, Luke,” Ashton says fondly, pausing on the stairs. “You know I love spending time with you.” There’s a moment of silence from Luke, and Ashton takes another step before he hears a slightly shy-sounding: 

“Not as much as I love spending time with you.” 

Ashton grins, rolling his eyes and blaming the curl of warmth in his stomach on the remnants of adrenaline, and heads upstairs.

 -------

  9 hours 

When Ashton wakes up the next morning, he immediately rolls over to check his phone. He’s got about fifty texts in the group chat, a bunch from his mum asking him to call and tell her he’s okay, and a couple of notifications from his news apps.

California state lockdown explained: 5 things you need to know.

CA on lockdown – citizens can only leave their house for food.

California lockdown: What does it mean for you?  

He clicks on the first one and quickly scrolls through the news article. As far as he can tell, he can only leave his house to go grocery shopping and get medication. Fucking hell.

He scrolls over to the group chat, quickly skimming through the messages – Luke and Michael bickering about cereal, Calum trying to talk about the lockdown, Luke and Michael turning to squabbling over the lockdown – and then clicks out of his messages and into his FaceTime, dialling his mum with no expectation of her picking up, since it’s half three in the morning in Sydney so she should be at work. To Ashton’s surprise, however, she picks up after two rings.

“Ash!” she says, sounding tinny, looking dark and pixelated. “Thank fuck you’re alright."

“Hey, mum,” Ashton says, frowning. “Aren’t you at work?" 

“I am, but I had to talk to you, sweetie,” his mum says, moving into some light, and Ashton can see that she’s in her work uniform. “Are you alright? Have you got enough food? What about the other boys?”

“I’m alright, mum,” Ashton says, aiming for soothing. “I’m home, and they’re letting us out for food anyway. Luke couldn’t make it back to Vegas, though, so he’s staying with me.” His mum makes a sound of motherly distress. 

“Oh, no,” she says. “Poor Luke. Poor Liz – I’ll have to give her a ring tomorrow. What about Mike and Calum?”

“They’re alright,” Ashton says. “They’re at home.”

“Well, at least you’re all safe,” his mum says, sounding relieved. “It’s fucking scary, isn’t it?” Ashton shrugs, the duvet rustling as he moves.

“Kind of,” he says. “I don’t know. I don’t feel like it’s going to be any different than normal. Especially for Michael,” he tacks on as an afterthought. His mum laughs. “How about you? What’s it like in Australia? Are you, Harry, and Lauren alright?”

“Oh, it’s not nearly as bad,” his mum says. “I’m worried about the people in here, though – I don’t want to be bringing anything in. I’m keeping watch over Harry when he washes his hands after going to the loo.” Ashton snorts.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t trust him,” he says. He opens his mouth to add something else, but is interrupted by his bedroom door slamming open. Luke’s standing in the doorway, grinning cheerfully, holding two mugs of coffee. 

“I made you coffee,” he says. “Oh, sorry, are you on the phone?” Ashton nods, turning the phone around so Luke can see his mum.

“It’s mum,” he says, and Luke brightens, waving at the camera.

“Hi, Anne!” he says. “How are you?”

“Hey, Luke!” Ashton’s mum says. “Ash told me you couldn’t get home.” Luke nods as he walks over to the bed, setting the two mugs down carefully on Ashton’s bedside table. Ashton loves him. 

“Yeah, I tried driving back last night but couldn’t even get on the highway,” he says, sitting down on Ashton’s bed.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Ashton’s mum says. “At least you’re with Ash – I’m sure that’ll make your mum feel better.”

“Well, at least someone’s happy about it,” Ashton says, earning himself an elbow from Luke. Ashton’s mum laughs.

“Listen, I’ve got to head back to work now, sweetie,” she says. “I’m so glad to hear you’re alright, though. Stay safe, please.”

“Will do,” Ashton says. “Speak to you soon, alright, mum? Love you.”

“Love you, Anne,” Luke says.

“Bye, boys, love you,” Ashton’s mum says, waving, and then Ashton’s screen goes blank.

“She’s so sweet,” Luke says, stretching out next to Ashton.

“Did your mum call?” Ashton asks, and Luke nods.

“All she wanted to know was that I wasn’t on my own in Vegas,” he admits, and Ashton snorts.

“Yeah, I’m not surprised,” he says. Luke scowls. 

“I can live on my own," he says, indignant. "I can cook pasta. And make coffee.” As though he’s just remembered, he reaches over to the bedside table and hands Ashton one of the mugs. He looks so proud of himself that Ashton’s heart melts a little.

“You just have to press a button on the machine,” he says, but he’s grinning as he takes a sip. 

“Actually, I have to press, like, three buttons,” Luke says. “And then put in two teaspoons of sugar and a splash of milk.” Ashton doesn’t think his stomach should be full of butterflies at the fact Luke remembers that, but whatever. It’s early, and he’s probably still half-asleep. 

“Fuck, you’re right,” Ashton says, slapping a hand to his forehead. “Sorry, Gordon Ramsay, I take it back. That’s a Michelin star operation right there.” Luke scowls again, and swats Ashton’s arm lightly. 

“I can’t believe I’m stuck with you for the next three weeks,” he says. 

"You’re stuck with me ?” Ashton says. “Sorry, whose house is this?” A grin unfurls on Luke’s lips.

“It’ll be mine by the time I’m done with it,” he says.

 -------

  1 day, 13 hours 

Luke wanders into the basement while Ashton’s drumming the next afternoon. He stands idly in the doorway, simply watching until Ashton finishes the song and pulls off his headphones. 

“You good?” Ashton asks, breathing heavily. Luke nods, sitting on one of the beanbags on the other side of the room.

“Just wanted to hear you play,” he says. “I’m bored.” Ashton rolls his eyes, but sets his headphones to one side.

“You’re already bored?” he says. “We’ve got three more weeks of this. Minimum.” Luke groans, tripping his head back and thunking it against the wall.

“Don’t remind me,” he says, closing his eyes. “Play something else.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, Old Me,” Luke says.

“Why don’t you get a guitar?” Ashton suggests. “Play with me.” Luke shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says, not opening his eyes. “I just want to watch you, for a bit.” Ashton cocks his head.

“Yeah?” he says, feeling something oddly warm coursing through his veins. He really should get aircon for the basement. 

“Yeah.”

“Alright,” Ashton says, reaching for his headphones.

He drums his way through Old Me, and then Thin White Lies for the hell of it, only setting his headphones aside when Easier comes on shuffle, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand and throwing Luke a glance. He’s staring at Ashton. It’s a look that Ashton’s never seen on his face before, eyes following the heavy rising and falling of Ashton’s chest.

“You alright?” Ashton asks. Luke blinks, snapping himself out of whatever headspace he was in, and nods.

“It’s hot in here,” he says.

“Yeah, I haven’t got aircon down here yet,” Ashton says, a touch apologetically. Luke cocks his head.

“You’re pretty hot too,” he says.

“Yeah, sorry,” Ashton says sheepishly, grinning as he wipes his forehead again. Gross. He needs to wash his hands. “I’ll shower after.” Luke catches his eye, and Ashton’s not sure if he’s imagining the soft pink blush creeping across his cheeks.

“I didn’t mean like that,” Luke says, and he sounds a little unsure of himself.

“What?”

“Never mind,” Luke says, all in a rush. “I’m going back up. Gonna try and write.” Ashton frowns but nods, watching Luke as he pulls himself up from the beanbag and starts back up the stairs.

Ashton doesn’t think any more of it, because Luke often says things that don’t make sense, just puts his headphones back on and scrolls to Red Desert.

 -------

  1 day, 18 hours 

“I’m hungry,” Luke announces at half-past six.

“Okay,” Ashton says, focused on the screen in front of him. Why can’t he fucking overtake the bastard next to him?

“Ash,” Luke says, and there’s a definite pout to his tone.

“Yeah?”

“I’m hungry.”

“You’re twenty-three, Luke,” Ashton says, eyes still not straying from the screen. “Do you need chaperoning in the kitchen, or something?” There’s a moment of silence from Luke, and Ashton throws him a brief glance to see his expression. He looks a little torn. 

“I just thought it’d be nice if we ate together,” Luke mumbles after a moment. Ashton can’t help the smile that unfurls on his lips, accompanied by a warm feeling in his stomach. 

“A day into lockdown and you’re already getting domestic,” he teases, sensing Luke’s embarrassment and wanting to push a little further. He sees Luke scowl in his peripheral vision.

“Fuck you,” Luke says, but he doesn’t mean it. “I’ll go and make myself dinner, then.” He stands up to leave, but Ashton reaches out and catches his leg as he walks past, making him stumble and fall into Ashton’s lap. Ashton squawks, trying to wrestle his controller out from underneath Luke, but it only makes Ashton’s car spin in circles on the track, and the race finishes just as Ashton gets his controller back in his hands. 

“Look what you did,” Ashton says accusingly, pointing at the screen. 

“You did that yourself,” Luke says, blinking up at Ashton from his lap. “You’re not very good at videogames.” Ashton flips him off.

“C’mon,” he says, pushing at Luke’s back with his knees. “I’m hungry now, too.” Luke stands up obediently, holding out a hand for Ashton to pull himself up with, and he tugs with such force that Ashton almost stumbles into Luke. 

“Jesus, when did you get that strong?” Ashton mutters, steadying himself, and Luke grins bashfully. 

“I told you, I’ve been working out,” he says, heading to the kitchen. Ashton follows in his wake, frowning. 

“Yeah, but not like that,” he says. “What are we making?”

“What have we got?”

“Uh…I can make a Thai curry?” Luke nods enthusiastically, hopping up on the counter and letting his legs dangle. “You’re helping me though, dickhead. I’m not a maid.”

“C’mon, Ash,” Luke whines. “You know I can’t cook.”

“Well, lockdown’s the perfect time to learn,” Ashton says, bustling over to the fridge and taking out the ingredients he needs. “You can cut up the chicken.” Luke wrinkles his nose but hops back off the counter and saunters over to the cutting board Ashton’s just placed out, pulling the chicken breasts out of the container and grabbing a knife. 

“How big?” he asks. Ashton looks over from where he’s chopping spring onions.

“Little strips,” he says.

“That’s not a size,” Luke says, frowning, but he starts chopping anyway. Ashton watches him from the corner of his eye just to check that he’s cutting it properly, taking in the way he’s furrowing his brows in concentration, biting the corner of his lip where his lip ring used to be absent-mindedly. He misses Luke’s lip ring.

“You ever think about getting your lip re-pierced?” Ashton asks, and Luke looks at him in surprise.

“Not really,” he says. “Why?” Ashton shrugs.

“It was cute,” he says.

“Maybe I’ll have to get it re-pierced, then,” Luke says. “If you think it’s cute.” Ashton scowls, certain Luke’s taking the piss.

“I’m trying to compliment you, arsehole,” he says, finishing with the spring onions and moving on to baby corn. “Can you get the coconut milk and curry paste out of the fridge?”

“I’m trying to let you,” Luke says, pushing the chopped chicken further up the counter to make room for the coconut milk and Thai green curry paste. Ashton’s not really sure what he means by that, so he chooses to ignore it. “What now?" 

“Rice,” Ashton says, nodding at the cupboard above Luke’s head. Luke reaches for the one next to it. “No, the one right in front of you. No- Luke, the one right in front of you. To your right. Right, Luke, that’s left. Ri- yes, that one. Top shelf. Jesus.”

“I’m not good at directions,” Luke says, reaching up for the rice. Ashton’s eyes fall to the sliver of skin that gets exposed as his shirt rides up, smooth and pale.

“You need to buy shirts that fit you,” he says.

“My shirts fit me,” Luke says indignantly, as he tugs the hem down. “See?” Ashton rolls his eyes fondly. 

“Put the kettle on,” he says, leaning over the hob to grab the cutting board with the chicken on and scraping it into the pan. It sizzles satisfyingly, and Ashton pokes it around with the spatula, leaning back against the counter. Luke watches him wordlessly, eyes following Ashton’s hand as it moves back and forth.

“You have such long fingers,” he comments after a moment, just as the kettle boils. He reaches over and fills the pan with the rice, without Ashton even having to prompt him. 

“It’s a gift,” Ashton says, drumming his fingers on the spatula.

“To who?” Ashton cocks his head. 

“Whoever I decide,” he leers, waggling his eyebrows up and down and expecting Luke to laugh. Luke, however, bites his lip and looks steadfastly away from Ashton to the rice. Ashton decides not to comment, just adds the curry paste and stirs it around a little before adding the coconut milk. 

“This smells good,” Luke says, after a while.

“Shocking,” Ashton deadpans. “Something that takes more than two seconds to cook actually smells good?” Luke grins.

“I’m looking forward to eating your cooking for the next three weeks,” he says. Ashton flicks a drop of coconut milk at him, and Luke flinches away with a quiet squeal.

“I’m not your maid,” Ashton reiterates, dumping the onions and baby corn in the mixture and turning the heat down to a simmer.

“Shame,” Luke says, grinning. “I’d love to see you in a maid outfit.” This time Ashton lets the spatula go and rounds on Luke, darting his hands out to tickle him before Luke has time to pull away, and Luke shrieks, collapsing in on himself with giggles and pleas for mercy. Ashton doesn’t relent, feeling Luke’s legs buckling and grabbing him around the waist with one arm to steady him as he keeps tickling, until Luke’s pleas start coming out more gasped and sincere, at which point he lets go and lets Luke sink to the floor, breathless and red-faced. 

“You’re a bastard,” Luke says, between pants, but he’s grinning. Ashton holds out a hand for Luke to pull himself up on, and Luke takes it, wobbling a little as he stands upright. He makes to let go of Ashton’s hand, but Ashton holds on, using it to pull Luke close to him and wrap his arms around Luke’s broad shoulders. Luke immediately hugs back, slotting his chin into the crook of Ashton’s neck, and Ashton grins as the soft, warm scent of Luke goes straight to his head. 

“I would look sexy in a maid outfit, though,” he murmurs, and he feels Luke’s laugh reverberate through his entire body.

“You look sexy in anything,” Luke mumbles, pressing a kiss to Ashton’s shoulder. Ashton’s grin widens. 

“Even my blue jumpsuit?” Luke groans.

“Okay, except in the blue jumpsuit,” he says, and Ashton squeezes his waist, making him squawk and jump away. Ashton steps back to the hob, stirring through the curry and deciding it’s probably done now. 

“Grab us some plates,” he says, nodding at the cupboard with the plates in as he turns off the heat – that, at least, Luke knows. Luke nods obediently, fetching two plates out of the cupboard and traipsing into the dining room to put them on the table. 

“D’you want a drink?” he calls, as Ashton grabs some heat-protecting mats and carries the rice and curry into the dining room.

“Yeah, just some water,” Ashton says, passing Luke on his way back to the kitchen. He settles down in his seat, inhaling the aroma – Luke’s right, it does smell fucking good – and waits for Luke to return with his glass and a jug of water.

“I’m so fucking hungry,” Luke says, eyeing the curry with the look of a man who hasn’t eaten in weeks, not a man staying in a house with a fully-stocked fridge. 

“You can wash up,” Ashton says, helping himself to a big serving of rice and curry.

“You can dry, then,” Luke counters. Ashton opens his mouth to respond, but his phone buzzes next to him, and he glances over to see another news notification.

CA lockdown expected to last three months.

“Oh, fuck,” he says.

“What?” Ashton slides his phone over to Luke, whose eyes widen as he reads the notification. 

“Shit,” he says. “I don’t- I don’t fucking have anything with me. I literally have, like, four pairs of underwear here.” 

“We’ll have to go clothes shopping,” Ashton says.

“The clothes shops are all shut, idiot,” Luke says. Oh, fuck. 

“Oh, shit,” Ashton says. “Uh. Is Target still open?”

 -------

  3 days, 16 hours 

Two days later, they’re standing in Target, having queued for forty minutes just to get into the store. 

“I don’t like any of these,” Luke says, pulling a face as he fingers the arm of a plaid shirt.

“I think we’re a bit beyond shopping for taste,” Ashton says, grabbing, like, seven black shirts and chucking them in the shopping trolley. He throws in some pink, red, and blue ones for good measure, too, because Luke can’t be dressed in all black every day. “Are any of these jeans going to fit you?”

“Probably not,” Luke says, but he thumbs through the sizes and throws five pairs of black jeans in the trolley anyway. Ashton takes two out and replaces them with blue jeans. “I’m going to have my ankles out for the next three months.” 

“Raunchy,” Ashton says, sweeping some white shirts in. “You’re making me swoon.” Luke scowls as he throws in a bunch of socks, and they move to the next aisle, where Luke immediately brightens as he spots the brightly coloured, patterned button-down shirts. 

“I like these,” he says decisively, picking up a few and holding them against himself.

“Well, there you go,” Ashton says, grabbing a bunch and putting them on the pile of clothes in the trolley. “You pick out some shirts you like, and I’ll go find underwear.” He rounds the corner into the next aisle, and picks out five different packs of briefs for Luke, carefully selecting the most obnoxiously patterned ones he can find (and one pack of black ones). He goes back into the last aisle to find that Luke’s cleared out half of the rack of the patterned button-downs, and rolls his eyes as he throws the underwear in the shopping trolley.

“Are we done?” he asks. Luke nods, and Ashton pushes the (considerably heavier) shopping trolley in the direction of the tills. 

“Hang on, I want chocolate,” Luke says, and disappears off to the left before Ashton even has time to protest about having to haul the fifteen kilos of clothes onto the conveyor belt on his own.

“Get me Skittles!” Ashton shouts after him, because it’s the least Luke can do, which earns him judgemental looks from two middle-aged women nearby, and starts unpacking the trolley onto the conveyor belt. This poor cashier.

“Good afternoon!” the cashier chirps.

“Sorry about this,” Ashton says apologetically, as the cashier takes in the mountain of clothes with wide eyes. “My friend couldn’t get back home before the lockdown, so he has to buy himself an entirely new wardrobe for the next three months.”

“No worries, sir,” the cashier says cheerily, and starts scanning.

“I got you two bags,” Luke says, skidding up to the conveyor belt. “And I got myself a good amount of chocolate, because the less we can go outside the better. I got you some chocolate too.”

“Thanks, Luke,” Ashton says, and Luke grins at him as he dumps the seven hundred items in his arms on the conveyor belt behind his new clothes

“Stocking up?” the cashier asks, and Luke laughs, a little embarrassed. 

“Trying to butter my friend up,” he says, batting his eyelashes at Ashton, who narrows his eyes as he starts on his second bag of clothes.

“For what?” he says suspiciously.

“You’ll find out,” Luke says. 

“No, no, I don’t like that,” Ashton says. “What have you done?” 

“Nothing!” Luke says indignantly. “Well. Not yet.”

“Not yet?”

“That’ll be two hundred and thirty dollars, sir,” the cashier says. 

“Fucking hell,” Luke says, digging around in his pocket for his wallet. “I’m going to have to stream CALM like, five hundred thousand times.” Ashton laughs, bagging up the sweets and chocolate and dropping it on top of the five bags of clothes.

“Thanks,” he says to the cashier, Luke echoing him, and they head back to the car.

“What did you do?” Ashton demands, as soon as they’re out of the store. Luke stares at him, wide-eyed and innocent.

“Nothing!” he says, but there’s a glint in his eyes that Ashton doesn’t like the look of. “I haven’t done anything. Yet.”

“I have zero qualms about kicking you out of my house if you fuck with my kit,” Ashton warns, loading two bags into the car.

“Michael and Calum would take me in,” Luke says dismissively, pulling a bar of chocolate out of the bag of sweets and hopping into the passenger seat.

“They wouldn’t be allowed,” Ashton calls, dropping the shopping trolley back off at the return point they’d thankfully parked close to. “Plus, I don’t think you’d want to third-wheel them for the next three months.”

“True,” Luke says, when Ashton gets into the car. “Honestly, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend three months cooped up with than you.”

“Funny,” Ashton deadpans, looking over his shoulder as he reverses out of the bay.

“Who said I was joking?” Luke says, a touch defensive, but when Ashton turns to look at him, he’s buried in his phone.

Whatever, Ashton thinks, debating for a split second whether or not to ram into the woman who just walked obnoxiously close to the back of his car. Luke says strange things sometimes.

 -------

  6 days, 10 hours 

Ashton’s woken up on Friday morning by the buzz of low voices, muffled by the walls. He blinks blearily, trying to get the sleep out of his eyes, and rolls over to check his phone. There’s nothing particularly exciting, so he decides to be productive, get out of bed, and make himself a coffee before his shower.

He realises the voices are Michael and Luke’s when he gets close to the kitchen, bare feet padding silently on the tile, and he’s about a foot away from the door when he hears his name.

“-tell Ashton,” Michael’s saying, voice tinny from the internet connection, so Ashton does what any sane person would do when they hear their name come up in conversation between two of their best friends – he eavesdrops.

“I can’t,” Luke says, and he sounds distressed. “I’m telling you, Mike, I’ve tried. I’m trying. I can’t just say it.”

“Why not?” Michael asks. 

“I don’t have the balls,” Luke says. There’s a staticky sigh from Michael. 

“Well, you can either keep dropping hints that he refuses to take, or you can tell him,” Michael says. Luke groans, and Ashton hears the scraping sound of a chair on tile. 

“How the fuck am I going to survive three months here?” he says, and Ashton’s stomach drops.

Of course, it’s not exactly the most unexpected thing in the world, but it still kind of stings. Ashton probably wouldn’t want to spend three months cooped up in a house with Michael or Calum, but he’d thought things were different with him and Luke. He’d never had a problem with the idea of spending three months together, twenty-four hours a day, and he’d just assumed that Luke felt the same. But it stands to reason, really – nobody really wants to spend three months straight with only one person, do they? It’s not something he should take personally (even though he definitely is) – just because Ashton can’t get enough of Luke’s company doesn’t mean the feeling is mutual. 

“…still think you should just tell him,” Ashton catches Michael saying, and tunes back into the conversation, stomach still unpleasantly heavy. 

“I can’t,” Luke says. “What if he says no? And then I’m stuck here for three months?”

“He won’t,” Michael says reassuringly.

“You don’t know that,” Luke says, and he sounds upset now. “Fuck, Michael. How the fuck do I end this?”

“You tell him,” Michael says. “Or, like, you just keep feeling like this until the lockdown’s over.” 

“Fuck,” Luke says, and Ashton decides he’s had enough, he’s going in for his fucking coffee, fuck Luke Hemmings and his backstabbing. He pushes the door open, and Luke jumps, immediately looking fearful.

“Morning,” he says, aiming for cheerful, but Ashton hears the edge of anxiety in his voice.

“Morning,” Ashton returns, trying for a smile. “Hey, Mike.”

“Hey, Ash,” Michael says. “I should probably head now, anyway.”

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Ashton says, breezing past Luke into the kitchen and busying himself with turning on the coffee machine so he won’t have to look at him. “Just making a coffee, then having a shower. Won’t be a minute. Sorry for interrupting."

“It’s your fucking house, dude,” Michael says, amusement clear in his tone. “I really should go, though. Cal’s got some elaborate obstacle course set up for Duke, and I’m planning on tempting him awry with treats.” 

“You’re such a dickhead,” Luke tells him, but the edge of anxiety is still in his tone and he doesn’t seem fully focused on Michael. Ashton wishes the coffee machine would hurry up.

“Well, someone’s got to keep Calum on his toes,” Michael says. “We’ll talk soon, though, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Luke mumbles. “Bye, Mike.”

“Bye, Ash! Love you,” Michael calls. 

“Love you too,” Ashton shouts back, and then there’s silence. 

“Hi,” Luke says, suddenly at Ashton’s shoulder, and Ashton’s going to implement a wear-shoes-on-the-tiles rule so that he can hear Luke coming. 

“Hey,” Ashton says, eyes on the coffee machine.

“Are you alright?” Luke asks, touching Ashton’s elbow gently. Ashton shrugs, the motion displacing Luke’s hand.

“Look, it’s okay if you don’t want to be here,” he says eventually, when it becomes clear Luke’s just going to wait until he has an answer, and figuring it’s best to get it over with sooner rather than later. 

“What?” Luke sounds genuinely shocked, and Ashton tears his eyes away from the fascinating drip-drip-drip of the coffee to Luke’s face.

“I know it’s not ideal, being stuck together for three months,” Ashton says, and a look of hurt flashes across Luke’s face.

“Oh,” Luke mumbles, averting his eyes. “I- sorry. I’m imposing, aren’t I?”

“What? No, Luke, I- fuck, no. I just…I heard you talking to Michael,” Ashton admits. “About, like, how you can’t be here for three months with me.” Luke’s look of hurt immediately turns to one of sheer terror.

“You…uh, what did you hear?” he asks, aiming for nonchalant, but the complete draining of blood from his face gives him away. Ashton would feel pretty guilty if he were caught saying he didn’t want to spend time with Luke to Michael too.

“Enough,” Ashton says, and it comes out a little bitter. He clears his throat, and tries again. “Like. We can figure something out. You can have the upstairs floor, or something. I’ll stay in the basement.” 

“What? Ash, fuck, no- it’s your house, and-”

“Well, for the time being it’s your house too,” Ashton says.

“No, I’m- look, I meant what I said the other day,” Luke says, carding a hand through his sleep-tousled curls. “There’s no one I’d rather spend three months stuck in a house with than you.” Ashton frowns.

“Luke, it’s okay,” he says. “You don’t have to, like, lie to me, you’re my best friend and-” 

“No,” Luke interrupts. “I mean it, Ash.” He sounds so sincere, looks so earnest, that Ashton has no choice but to believe him. Luke’s a shitty liar, and Ashton always knows when he’s not being truthful. 

“Okay,” he says slowly, because if that’s the truth, then- “Then what was all that about?” he asks, inclining his head back towards Luke’s phone on the table. 

“That? Uh,” Luke says, eyes widening. “Nothing.”

“You’re a terrible liar.” 

“Okay, something, but not that,” Luke says, looking a little guilty. “Definitely not that I don’t want to be here, ‘cause I do.”

“Okay,” Ashton says after a moment, and with a little difficulty, because Luke’s allowed to keep secrets from him, even if it hurts. “You promise? Because I don’t want you to be uncomfortable here.”

“I’m not,” Luke says hurriedly. “It’s nothing like that. I promise.” The knot in Ashton’s stomach loosens considerably, and he nods.

“Okay,” he says again, and this time he even manages a smile. 

“Are we good?” Luke says anxiously. Ashton slides his arms around Luke and pulls him in for a tight hug, resting his cheek on Luke’s shoulder and pecking a kiss behind his ear. 

“We’re good,” Ashton says, savouring the way Luke’s arms automatically slip around Ashton’s waist and pull him tighter, flush against his body, so that Ashton can feel Luke warm against every inch of him. 

“Mm,” he says, sighing contentedly. “I could stay like this all day. Wouldn’t need to pay my heating bills.” 

“I think my neck would hurt from leaning down to your height,” Luke says, and Ashton pinches his arm.

“Dickhead,” he murmurs, and then he’s interrupted by the coffee machine beeping obnoxiously. Reluctantly, Ashton disentangles himself from Luke, reaching over and turning the machine off.

“I’m going to get dressed,” Luke says, and if Ashton’s not mistaken, he’s blushing slightly. Weird.

“Yeah, I’m gonna take a shower,” Ashton says, blowing on his coffee to cool it down a little.

“Can I watch?” Luke says, voice innocent but eyes mischievous. Ashton’s not really sure what to do with that. 

“You want to watch me soap up my balls?” he says, raising his eyebrows as he takes a sip of his coffee. Luke shrugs, a little pink-cheeked.

“Could always just do it for you,” he suggests, and Ashton, mug still in his mouth, aims a kick at his shin which Luke doesn’t quite manage to dodge in time. “Ow, fucking hell.” 

“Don’t mock my ball-washing routine,” Ashton says, pointing at Luke accusingly. “Never had any complaints so far.” 

“I was offering ,” Luke says, and Ashton rolls his eyes. 

“Sure you were,” he says, starting in the direction of the bathroom. “Go and get dressed. I’m going to shower.” 

“Leave the door open,” Luke calls after him, and Ashton laughs. 

“Fuck off,” he shouts back, smile evident in his voice, expecting to hear Luke laugh too, but he’s silent. 

Weird. 

 ------- 

  1 week, 1 day, 18 hours 

It only takes about a week for Ashton to remember why they have a blanket ‘don’t let Luke choose the movie’ rule. 

“No, Luke, I’m not watching fucking Frozen with you,” he says, for the fourth time in about two minutes. 

“Why not?” Luke demands, pouting slightly. Ashton tries not to think about the exact hue of his pink lips. 

“Because - y’know what, actually, I don’t think I need to justify myself on that one,” Ashton says. “Can’t we watch, like, Family Guy, or something?” 

“Wanting to watch Family Guy definitely requires justifying,” Luke says stroppily. “Or possibly a lobotomy.” Ashton scowls at him.

“Alright, how about Pulp Fiction?” 

“That’s so fucking long,” Luke groans.

“Oh, fuck, I forgot,” Ashton says, slapping a hand to his forehead. “We’re so busy. We have so many plans. We couldn’t possibly watch a three hour long movie.” Luke scowls, and throws a cushion at him.

“I have a suggestion,” he announces. Ashton throws him a wary look, chucking the cushion back at him. 

“If you say Frozen again-”

“Frozen 2,” Luke says, a smug look on his face, and Ashton’s had enough. He launches himself across the coffee table and onto Luke, landing haphazardly in his lap and reaching out to tickle him. Luke squeals, bucking his legs into Ashton’s arse uncomfortably, and squirms underneath him, trying to get him to stop. Ashton wrestles Luke back with his spare hand, pinning his arm to the back of the sofa as he gets his legs on either side of Luke, positioning himself so that Luke can’t move his legs. He doesn’t relent with the tickling until Luke’s red-faced and gasping for air.

“You bastard,” Luke says, breathing heavily, but he’s grinning. A curl’s fallen into his eye, and Ashton brushes it away without thinking, catching the way Luke’s breath hitches slightly on the intake as he does it. He hopes Luke’s not, like, developing asthma from the LA air. 

“I’m not watching Frozen,” Ashton says, watching Luke blink at him. He’s got such pretty eyes. “Or Frozen 2,” he adds quickly, seeing Luke open his mouth. Luke closes his mouth again, frowning. 

“It’s the least you can do after attacking me like that,” he says, still a little breathless. 

“Don’t give me reason to attack you, then,” Ashton says, grinning. Luke’s eyes are really fucking blue up close, he thinks. He doesn’t remember his lashes being that long, either.

“What?” Luke asks, and Ashton blinks, shaking himself out of it.

“Huh?” 

“You were staring.” Ashton feels colour rising to his cheeks. 

“I wasn’t,” he says. Luke looks amused. 

“You were,” he says. “What?” Ashton shrugs, not quite sure why he’s uncomfortable. It’s only Luke, after all, and it’s not like he doesn’t compliment Calum or Michael in his head too. 

“Your eyes are fucking gorgeous,” he says, and Luke smiles, a small, shy smile that Ashton hasn’t seen in far too long. 

“Yeah?” he says, sounding pleased, eyes lit up. Ashton suddenly thinks he would compliment Luke until his dying breath if it’ll keep him this happy. 

“Yeah,” Ashton says, tucking yet another stray curl behind Luke’s ear. “You’re really fucking pretty, Luke.” Luke ducks his head, embarrassed, but Ashton can see his grin and the crinkling in the corner of his eyes, and his heart swells at the knowledge that it’s because of him. He loves making Luke smile. 

“You’re just saying that to try and get in my pants,” Luke mumbles, and Ashton laughs. 

“This whole pandemic thing has been an elaborate set up,” he says, rolling off of Luke’s lap and feeling a sudden coolness on his thighs at the loss of contact. He shuffles down the sofa and rests his head on Luke’s lap to make up for it, blinking up at him. Luke leans down a little, a slight smile tugging at his lips. 

“Hi,” he says, voice soft. 

“Hi,” Ashton says. 

“Please don’t look up my nose,” Luke says, and Ashton snorts. 

“Sexy,” he deadpans. Luke grins.

“You look cute like this,” Luke says, and Ashton’s stomach swoops pleasantly. He likes compliments (and apparently, a little voice in his head says, he really likes them coming from Luke). 

“You’re just saying that to try and get in my pants,” Ashton retorts, and Luke’s eyes glint playfully. 

“Is it working?” he says. Ashton huffs out a laugh. 

“I mean, at this rate,” he says, referring to his incredibly long dry spell and hoping Luke gets the gist without him having to elaborate further. 

“Charming,” Luke says mock-angrily, shoving Ashton off his lap and almost off the sofa. “I’m only an option when no one else is.” Ashton, steadying himself on the sofa, looks up, worried he’s actually hurt Luke’s feelings - because Luke can be kind of sensitive about these things - but sees his eyes twinkling. 

“C’mon, baby, don’t be like that,” Ashton jokes, shuffling back onto the sofa and throwing Luke a pleading look, because there’s no room for him to lie down if he can’t curl up in Luke’s lap. Luke sends him a righteous glare, but moves his arms out of his lap, and Ashton wriggles back into it happily. 

They lull into a comfortable silence for a moment, and Luke brings his hand down to stroke through Ashton’s curls almost absent-mindedly, gazing at the TV with a thoughtful expression. Ashton pushes into Luke’s hand, eyes fluttering shut with a contented sigh - no one ever plays with his hair, and he fucking loves it. He could easily stay here for the rest of the day, he thinks. 

“Would you?” Luke blurts suddenly, breaking the silence. 

“Huh?” 

“Would you,” Luke repeats, and it sounds like he’s steeled himself for whatever response Ashton’s going to give. 

“Would I what?” 

“Fuck me.” Ashton’s eyes fly open. “I- as in, like. Hypothetically. Not, would you fuck me, as, like, a request.” 

“Yeah, I got that,” Ashton says. “I- where’s this coming from?” Luke shrugs, fingers scratching against Ashton’s scalp. Ashton can almost feel the heat emanating from Luke’s face.

“Would you?” he repeats stubbornly, despite the fierce blush on his cheeks, not letting Ashton dodge the question. 

The thing is, Ashton’s thought about it a few times. Mostly when he was younger - when he realised he was into boys, when he found out Luke was into boys, when he found out Michael and Calum had been fucking behind their backs since they were, like, sixteen - but he doesn’t think that’s particularly unusual. He’d been a fucking teenager, for Christ’s sake - another human being was pretty much all it’d taken back then. 

But there’ve been a few flashes in more recent years - when Luke’s wearing some particularly tight pants, when he’s sweaty and panting after running around on stage for two hours, when he’s sleepy and his voice is all low and husky. Ashton still doesn’t think it’s that weird, privately, because he’s going through a dry spell and Luke is objectively hot, but he thinks it’d probably be weird to tell Luke that. 

On the other hand, he doesn’t want to tell Luke no, because Luke’s sensitive and would probably take that to mean that he’s the most hideous person alive, or something. And he can’t go for the ‘but we’re friends!’ route - he’s fucked one too many of his friends for that shit to fly. So Ashton’s left with no choice but to tell the truth. 

“Hypothetically?” he says. “Yeah.” Luke blinks, looking almost shocked at Ashton’s answer, as though he’d been waiting for Ashton to say no. Ashton kind of wishes he had, now. 

“Yeah?” Luke echoes. Ashton shrugs, and gazes steadfastly at the ceiling. 

“You’re really fucking hot,” he says, and immediately regrets adding the qualifiers. You’re hot would have sufficed.

“Yeah, but…” Luke trails off. 

“But?” It’s Luke’s turn to shrug, and Ashton waits it out, but Luke doesn’t say anything else. Ashton doesn’t think that’s fair, so he says: “Would you?” 

“Would I?” Luke says, moving his fingers down to scratch just over Ashton’s ear, and Ashton can tell he’s stalling for time. 

“Fuck me, dickhead,” Ashton says. Luke swallows, and Ashton tries not to think about that given the current circumstances. 

“‘Course,” Luke says, and somehow, it’s different when Luke says it. Ashton saying he’d fuck Luke - well, yeah, that’s a given - but Luke saying he’d fuck Ashton? That puts a whole different dimension on things, makes him wonder just how much Luke’s thought about it, what he’s thought about, when he’s thought about it- 

“Yeah?” is all he can muster in response, mind racing. 

“Hypothetically or not,” Luke says, all in a rush, as though he’s had to build up the courage to say it. Ashton doesn’t quite understand what he means, but whatever. 

“So you think I’m fit?” Ashton says, grinning, and Luke scowls down at him. 

“We were having a moment,” he says, but there’s no heat behind his words, and his cheeks are still tinged with pink. 

“We’re still having a moment,” Ashton says. “I think you’re hot, you think I’m fit. That’s a moment.” 

“Why don’t we fuck, then?” Luke says, and Ashton laughs, but Luke doesn’t. 

“C’mon,” Ashton says, pulling himself out of Luke’s lap with a little difficulty. “Let’s actually watch a fucking movie.”

“So...Frozen or Frozen 2?” Luke says hopefully. 

 ------- 

  1 week, 5 days, 14 hours 

Ashton doesn’t think about the conversation again for a good few days. 

It’s not until he’s on FaceTime with Calum, catching him up on the previous few days, that he thinks about it again. 

“So,” he says carefully. “Luke and I had a bit of a...uh, conversation the other day.” Calum’s eyebrows fly up into his beanie. 

“Yeah?” he says. “About what?” 

“He asked me if I’d fuck him,” Ashton admits. “As in, like, hypothetically, not like he was asking me to.”

“And?” Calum says. “What was the verdict?” 

“Well, obviously,” Ashton says, as though Calum’s an idiot. “Who wouldn’t fuck Luke? You’d fuck Luke.” 

“True,” Calum admits. “Although, for the purposes of my relationship, I wouldn’t fuck Luke.” 

“But hypothetically,” Ashton says. 

“Hypothetically,” Calum agrees. 

“He said he’d fuck me too,” Ashton says. 

“Well, yeah,” Calum says, with an air of well, duh. “I’d fuck you.” Ashton wrinkles his nose. 

“Well, don’t,” he says. 

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Calum says, rolling his eyes. “So? You’ve got nothing else to do during quarantine, have you? Fuck him.” Ashton chokes on his next breath. 

“I- what? Cal- fuck, no, are you- what?” he splutters, and Calum grins. “I don’t- he’s not- we- I don’t see him like that! It’s hypothetical!” 

“Sure,” Calum says easily. “Hypothetical. Got you.” Ashton hates him. 

“I hate you,” he tells Calum, who just laughs. “Fuck you. I’m confiding in you.” 

“I’m offering you advice,” Calum says. “Fuck him.”

“No, Cal!” Ashton says. “I don’t want to. I just would.” 

“Why not?” Calum says, and before Ashton has time to respond, adds: “And don’t say because you’re friends, because that’s not stopped you before. Or because it’ll fuck up the band, because I’m fucking Michael, so that ship has sailed.” 

“Ew,” Ashton says, scrunching his face. “I don’t want to think about you fucking Michael.”

“So don’t,” Calum says. 

“I can’t help it when you talk about it,” Ashton says, images flashing up in his mind. “Ew. Ew. Gross.” He pauses for a second, and then, out of pure curiosity, to make sure his mental image is correct, asks: “Michael tops, right?” Calum bursts out laughing.

“‘Course he does,” he says, eyes twinkling. “I’m a massive sub, Ash.” 

“Okay, that I didn’t need to know,” Ashton says. 

“You already knew it,” Calum says. 

“Yeah, but I hadn’t connected it to Michael,” Ashton says, shuddering. 

“Don’t be rude about my boyfriend,” Calum says evenly. “And stop avoiding the question.”

“I’m not avoiding the question,” Ashton protests weakly, because he’s definitely avoiding the question. Calum just raises his eyebrows again, and Ashton sighs. 

“I just don’t see him like that,” Ashton says. “Like. Anyone would want to fuck him. Anyone would want to kiss him. Anyone would want to, like, hold his hand, take him on dates, suck his dick, because it’s fucking Luke, y’know? He’s just-” he breaks off, noticing Calum giving him a strange look. “What?” 

“I don’t want to do that, Ash,” Calum says. 

“Well, I’m not saying I want to, just that I would,” Ashton reiterates. 

“You know whose hand I wanna hold? Who I wanna kiss, take on dates, all that shit?” Calum says. 

“Who?"

“Michael.” Something twists uncomfortably deep in Ashton’s gut. 

“Yeah, well. You would say that, wouldn’t you?” he says, but Calum’s still got that look on his face. 

“Yeah,” he says, tone unreadable. “Guess I would.” He gives Ashton an odd look, one that makes him feel oddly exposed, but then the moment passes, and he’s grinning again. “Hey, did I tell you about the obstacle course I set up for Duke?” 

 ------- 

  2 weeks, 1 day, 16 hours

“Hey,” Luke says, popping his head around the door to the basement. Ashton’s in between songs, scrolling through his music to find something he thinks he might like to learn. “I’m going shopping. Want anything?” 

“I’ll come with,” Ashton says, putting down his sticks and pulling his headphones off. “I’ve got a whole list.” 

“Yeah, I’ve got the list,” Luke says, waving the piece of paper Ashton keeps next to the microwave. 

“I’ll come anyway,” Ashton says. “I don’t trust you shopping on your own.” Luke frowns. 

“Why not?” he says, more than a little petulant. “I shop for myself in Vegas.” 

“Yeah,” Ashton says pointedly, thinking about Luke’s fridge stocked full with alcohol and ready meals. Luke’s frown deepens. 

“Whatever,” he huffs. “I can shop.” 

“For alcohol,” Ashton says, getting up and starting towards the stairs.

“Yeah, what else do I need?” Luke says breezily, stepping aside for Ashton to pass him. Ashton snorts, and shakes his head. 

“Do I smell?” he asks, knowing he’s been sweating. Luke leans in, close enough that Ashton can smell his cologne and fresh linen and soap. It makes him feel a little dizzy. 

“Nah,” Luke says, straightening up. “Let’s take my car, it’s got more space in the boot.” Ashton nods, pulling on the first shoes he can find (which might be Luke’s, given that they feel slightly too roomy), and following Luke out to his car. 

“You got the list?” he asks, when Luke sits down in the driver’s seat, and Luke lifts his hips to fish the piece of paper out of his pocket. Ashton tries not to let his eyes wander, mind flashing back to that conversation. He clears his throat, as though it’s going to push the thoughts away, and Luke throws him a strange look as he passes Ashton the paper. Ashton chooses to stare steadfastly at the list, pretending he’s totally enraptured in bananas, onions, bleach, lube- wait, lube?

“Lube?” Ashton says, before he can stop himself. Luke, pulling out of the driveway, blushes. 

“I didn’t bring any,” he says. “Didn’t know I was gonna be stuck here for three months. And, like. I’m not about to ask you for yours.” 

“What d’you need lube for?” Ashton says, without thinking. Luke bites his lip, blushing an even deeper shade of red, and Ashton realises exactly what the lube is for.

“Are you seriously gonna make me say it?” he asks. Ashton wasn’t going to, not until he’d seen how embarrassed Luke is. 

“Say what?” Ashton asks, feigning innocence. 

“To- for, uh. Wanking.” Luke’s cheeks are single-handedly heating up the entire car. 

“Oh,” Ashton says, conversationally, unable to stop the smug grin that creeps onto his face. “Like, so it’s not dry? Couldn’t you just use spit?” Luke makes a small noise somewhere between a cough and a choke. 

“Ash,” he whines. “You know what.” 

“Do I?” Ashton says, grinning widely. He’s not sure why he wants to push Luke’s buttons like this - he’s pretty sure if Michael had written ‘lube’ on a shopping list he would have just pulled a face and not mentioned it. It’s probably just the amusement of seeing how flustered Luke gets. 

“Oh my God,” Luke mutters. “To finger myself, Ash. Happy?” Something curls low in the pit of Ashton’s stomach hearing Luke - Luke - say those words. 

“That’s not why you upped the number of cucumbers on the shopping list, is it?” Ashton says, frowning at where x1 had been crossed out to say x3. Luke splutters. 

“No, you fucking- I hate you,” Luke says, turning into the car park. “I just- I like cucumbers.” 

“I’m sure you do,” Ashton says, grinning.  

“Fuck you,” Luke says, but he’s smiling too, and the curl in Ashton’s stomach licks up at him again.

(It takes Ashton all the way through the fifty-minute queue and five minutes into standing in the meat aisle of Walmart to realise what that curl of heat in his stomach was. 

Arousal.) 

 ------- 

  2 weeks, 1 day, 18 hours 

“Hey,” Ashton says over his shoulder, as they’re ambling through Target, Luke trailing behind him so they can stick to keeping the sanctioned six feet of distance between themselves and other shoppers. “Should we paint your room?” 

“Huh?” 

“Well, I’ve been wanting to redecorate that room for ages anyway, and it’s not like we have anything better to do.” He turns the shopping trolley into the paint aisle, and rounds on Luke with raised eyebrows, questioning. 

“Fuck, yeah,” Luke says, happily. “That sounds sick.” Ashton grins, and steps around the shopping trolley to the tins of paint. 

“What colour d’you want?” he asks. 

“It’s your house, dude,” Luke says. Ashton’s not sure he likes being called dude by a guy he’d fuck. Hypothetically. 

“Yeah, but I never use that room,” Ashton says, waving his hands dismissively. “You’re literally the only person who does, because everyone else lives in fucking LA.” 

“Are you sure?” Luke says, still a little hesitant. 

“Yeah,” Ashton says. “As long as you don’t pick, like, bright red. That’s bad for the psyche.” Luke snorts. 

“What the fuck?” he says. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” Ashton insists. “I read it somewhere.” 

“Yeah, probably in a book about kale, or something,” Luke mutters, loud enough that Ashton knows he’s meant to hear it, so he chooses to ignore it. 

“I like pale yellow,” Ashton says. “How about that?” Luke wrinkles his nose. He’s got a really fucking cute nose, Ashton notices. 

“It’s gonna look like someone pissed on the walls,” he says. 

“My bedroom’s pale yellow,” Ashton says, affronted. Luke throws him an innocent smile, and Ashton scowls and flips him off. “Fuck you. My room does not look like someone pissed on the walls.” 

“Whatever you say,” Luke says, and Ashton hates him, just a little bit. 

“Alright, fuck, let’s paint my room too,” Ashton says, still scowling. “God, you’re a terrible guest. You can’t just stay in someone’s house and insult it.”

“You should get some more paintings for your living room and hallways,” Luke puts in, as though Ashton hadn’t spoken at all. 

“Sure, let me just access my bottomless bank account,” Ashton says sarcastically, picking up a tin of paint. “How’s pale green?” 

“I was thinking baby blue,” Luke says, another tin in his hands. 

“Well, I like pale green,” Ashton says stubbornly, because Luke can’t get all the wins here. 

“Good thing we’re decorating two rooms, then, isn’t it?” Luke says, amusement glittering in his eyes. Ashton can’t think of a good retort to that, so he just dumps like, seven tins of the paint in the shopping trolley, and Luke does the same with the blue paint. 

“Have we got brushes?” Luke asks. Ashton furrows his brow, trying to remember. 

“I don’t think so,” he says. “I think I lent them to Cal and Mike when they were redecorating.” Luke nods, picking up a handful of brushes and chucking them in the trolley. 

“Anything else?” Luke says, and Ashton shakes his head. Paint and brushes, that’s all you need to paint a room, right? “Cool. Let’s get out of here. After stopping in the chocolate aisle,” he tacks on as an afterthought. He grabs the trolley and heads off, leaving Ashton to shake his head fondly and follow in his wake. 

 ------- 

  2 weeks, 4 days, 20 hours  

It takes another 3 and a half days until they get all the furniture out of Luke’s room, Luke bitching every time he has to pick up anything heavier than a fucking pillow. The room looks odd when it’s empty, their voices reverberating strangely in a very un-homey way.

Ashton digs out some masking tape and tapes up the light switch, the doorframe, the skirting board, the window frame, anything he doesn’t trust Luke to successfully avoid painting over, while Luke places old newspaper across the floorboards. 

“I don’t get why we couldn’t just move everything to the middle of the room,” Luke whines, stepping over the pouffe that had stood in the corner of his room that’s blocking the doorway rather than picking it up and moving it like a rational human being. 

“Move the fucking pouffe,” is how Ashton responds, and he can almost hear Luke rolling his eyes sulkily. He stomps over to the pouffe and places it about two feet away sullenly. “Because you’re literally incapable of not making a mess of anything.” 

“I am not,” Luke protests, walking back over, picking up a paintbrush and dipping it into the paint. He whips around to face the wall, and paint splatters across the wall, floor, and Ashton in the process. “Whoops.” 

“Exactly,” Ashton says pointedly, and Luke flicks more paint at him. 

“C’mon,” he says. “Before the paint dries out.” 

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Ashton says, but he dips his own brush in the paint and paints a big streak at eye level. It’s oddly satisfying, actually, the smooth movement of the brush on the wall. 

They paint in silence for a while, Ashton working methodically in sections, Luke just painting big fucking streaks here and there with zero regard for whether it’s evenly distributed or not. Whatever, Ashton thinks - he can always go back and fix it later. Plus, it’s Luke who has to live with it, not Ashton. 

(He’s not really sure when this room became ‘Luke’s room’ in his mind, but he finds he’s perfectly fine with it.) 

“We should put some music on,” Luke remarks after a while, and Ashton nods. 

“Speaker’s in my room,” he says. Luke nods, setting down his brush and heading out. Ashton hears a thump and a pained squawk, and figures Luke’s walked right into the pouffe he hadn’t properly moved out of the way.

“I told you to move it!” he calls. 

“Fuck you!” he hears back, muffled by the wall, and grins. Luke walks back into the room a few minutes later, frowning at the phone in his hand, and sets the speaker down by one wall. He fiddles with his phone for a minute then sets it down next to it too, the sound of All Time Low suddenly filling the room. 

“Really?” Ashton says, raising his eyebrows, but he’s grinning. ATL never get old. 

“Well, we’re touring with them soon, aren’t we?” Luke says, shrugging as he picks his paintbrush up again. “Can’t hurt to refresh the memory a bit.”

“Refresh the memory?” Ashton asks. “Luke, you know ATL’s songs better than our own.” 

“Guilty,” Luke says, not sounding guilty at all, and painting a big stripe next to the square Ashton’s currently working on. “Can’t help that they’re better than us.” 

“I don’t know, some of Dirty Work kinda sucks,” Ashton says. Luke makes a noise of outrage. 

“I’m telling Alex you said that,” he says. 

“He agrees with me,” Ashton says.

“He’s just saying that because he thinks you’re cute,” Luke says. 

“He thinks you’re cuter,” Ashton says nonchalantly, dipping his paintbrush back in the tin.  

“He’s wrong,” Luke says immediately. Ashton rolls his eyes but says nothing, not wanting to play into Luke’s insecurities, choosing to fix the uneven bottom of the streak Luke had just painted instead. 

They cycle through a few of Luke’s favourites - ATL, Blink - and then Best Years comes on. Ashton barely even realises until he hears Luke singing softly next to him, completely oblivious as he’s totally focused on painting. It sends something strong coursing through Ashton’s veins - a big fucking rush of love, because Luke’s so fucking talented, and he’s so proud of him, so proud of them, loves Luke and loves seeing him like this, disarmed and candid. 

“I love you,” he blurts, when Luke moves to humming instead of singing. Luke looks at him in surprise. “Fuck, sorry.” He laughs, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. Bit of a weird thing to just come out with like that. “I’m just. You’re so fucking talented, and I’m so proud of you.” A smile unfurls on Luke’s lips, big and happy. 

“You’re adorable,” he tells Ashton. “I love you too, obviously.” And oh, okay, that’s different. Ashton doesn’t usually get a rush of adrenaline hearing that. 

“Yeah?” he says, kind of wanting to hear it again, a little hooked on the high. 

“Yeah,” Luke echoes, and Ashton finds himself a touch disappointed that he leaves it there. 

“I’m glad you got stuck here for lockdown,” he says, instead of the please say it again that’s on the tip of his tongue. 

“So am I,” Luke says, still smiling widely. “You would’ve gone insane on your own.” Ashton throws him a glare. 

“Arsehole,” he says. “I handle being on my own just fine, thank you very much.” 

“Oh yeah?” Luke says. “What about that time we all went home for Christmas and you stayed here? You were texting me every two minutes asking to call.” 

“That’s different,” Ashton insists. “Christmas is a time to be with people.” 

“Sure,” Luke says, a smile curling around his words. “You just can’t get enough of me.” 

“Right,” Ashton says, sarcastically, while his mind tells him yeah, he’s right. You kind of can’t. He’s not quite sure why a little ball of anxiety settles in his abdomen following that thought. “You definitely weren’t third on my call list after Calum and Michael, or anything.” 

“I know I wasn’t,” Luke says smugly, “because firstly, Calum and Michael are always together so if anything, I’d be second on your call list, and secondly, I was with Cal and Michael half the time and my phone rang first.”

“Great,” Ashton says. “All of you hanging out without me. And you wonder why I have trust issues?” 

“You don’t have trust issues.” 

“I do now.” Luke rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. 

They paint quietly for a while longer, listening to Luke’s playlist scroll through - Christ, he still listens to a lot of old emo anthems - until Luke puts down his paintbrush with a dramatic sigh.

“I’m tired,” he complains. “What time is it?” Ashton pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks the time. 

“Ten,” he says, surprised at how fast the time has gone and how little of the walls they’ve actually managed to paint. “Want to move your bed back in here?” Luke pulls a face. 

“I’d rather sleep on it in the bathroom,” he says, because it’s the closest space that could fit the bed that they found, and so naturally, that’s where it is. 

“Well, I might want to shower in the morning,” Ashton says. “Why don’t you just share with me?” 

“You sure?” Luke says. Ashton shrugs. They’ve shared beds so many times before - shared bunks on the bus, even - so how would this be any different? 

“It’s not like we’re not used to it,” he says, which makes him remember something - Luke’s a chronic duvet hogger. “Just bring your own duvet.” 

“I don’t hog,” Luke protests, but he disappears into the bathroom and returns with the duvet in his hands anyway. 

“You better not have picked that up with your paint-covered hands,” Ashton warns, and Luke throws him a sheepish grin. 

“Oops?” he offers. 

“Dickhead,” Ashton mutters. 

 ------- 

  2 weeks, 4 days, 23 hours 

Sharing a bed with Luke at home is strangely intimate. 

It takes Ashton until they’ve squabbled over who gets which side, whether they should turn the main light off or not and what time to set the alarm for until he realises that it’s because it’s not sharing a bed, it’s sharing his bed. 

“Your bed is comfy,” Luke remarks, duvet tucket up to his neck. He kind of looks like he’s been beheaded. 

“You look like your head’s been cut off,” Ashton tells him. Luke grins, tucking the blanket in tighter to maximise the effect. “Yeah, I got, like, some special memory foam mattress topper.” 

“I should get one,” Luke muses. 

“When you finally get back to Vegas,” Ashton agrees. 

“God, my house is going to be, like, so dusty,” Luke groans, turning onto his side. Ashton rolls over to face him. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I bet you’ve never actually fucking cleaned it, have you?” 

“I’ve hoovered before,” Luke protests. Ashton rolls his eyes, expecting nothing less. 

“You’re disgusting,” he tells Luke, who just grins at him. 

“At least I’ve been picking my towels off the floor,” he says. 

“Oh, right, at least you’ve been doing the bare fucking minimum,” Ashton says sarcastically. 

“For you,” Luke says pointedly, and something about the earnest look in his eyes sends the words straight to Ashton’s heart. 

“I’m honoured,” Ashton says, trying his best to ignore the way that his heart’s suddenly in his ears. He swallows, as if that’s somehow going to control his heartbeat, and he sees Luke’s eyes follow the line of his throat. It does nothing to help the pounding in his ears. 

“You should be,” Luke says, still gazing at Ashton’s throat, and it comes out as a murmur. His eyes flit back up to Ashton’s eyes, ocean blue meeting hazel. 

It strikes Ashton, all of a sudden, how close they are. His nose is almost touching Luke’s, maybe all of four inches apart, and he realises with a jolt that if he wanted to, it would be all too easy to lean forwards and press his lips to Luke’s. 

To kiss Luke. 

And, worst of all, he wants to.

A wave of panic crashes over him as soon as the thought crosses his mind, and he pulls back sharply, suddenly. Luke frowns, a little crease appearing between his eyebrows, and Ashton wills himself to not find it endearing. 

“I- uh, I’m tired,” Ashton lies, not even convincing himself, trying to ignore the way his palms are sweating and his mouth is going dry. 

“Oh,” Luke says, sounding a little sad, and Ashton’s heart aches. “Well. Night, I guess.” 

“Night,” Ashton says, too quickly, rolling over so his back is to Luke and switching off his side light. After a moment of silence, he hears shuffling on the other side of the bed, and Luke’s light clicks off too, leaving the room in darkness. 

Ashton tries to even out his breathing, tries to make it sound less shaky, but the panic is rising in him, pressing on his chest and settling like a hangover in his stomach. Breathe, he tells himself, trying to slow his racing mind. Breathe. 

What the fuck was that? Ashton doesn’t think about kissing Luke, not like that. In the odd fantasy, sure, sometimes out of pure curiosity, but not like that, not when it’s real and intimate and Luke’s gazing at him with those baby blues, not when it means anything. He presses the heels of his palms to his eyes, as if it’ll erase the thought from ever having existed in his mind. 

He doesn’t want to kiss Luke. It probably wasn’t about wanting to kiss Luke, it was about the hypothetical possibility. The wanting probably just came as an instinctual continuation of that train of thought. And that’s not weird, because it’s a natural jump to make when there’s a hot man that he’d definitely fuck four inches from his face. It’s probably also compounded by the fact that Ashton hasn’t had sex in, like, well over a year at this point. He’s still a fairly young man, after all - hormones definitely still have to be playing a factor here. 

Yeah, he tells himself, breathing a little easier now. It wasn’t about wanting to kiss Luke - it was just that had he wanted to - which he didn’t - he could have. And there are so many mitigating factors that mean it was a perfectly normal thought to have, given the circumstances. 

He rolls onto his back trying to convince himself of that, or, failing that, to clear his mind and think of anything else, and eventually drifts off into an uneasy sleep. 

 ------- 

  2 weeks, 5 days, 12 hours 

The problem is, Ashton’s never been able to hide anything from Calum. 

The minute Ashton answers Calum’s FaceTime the next day, Calum leans forwards, a crease between his eyebrows. 

“What’s up?” he asks immediately. 

“Good morning to you too,” Ashton says, trying for light and humorous. 

“What’s wrong?” Calum says, ignoring Ashton’s comment as he adjusts his bucket hat. He’s sat in his garden, as he always seems to be these days, hair lighter every time Ashton sees him. 

“Nothing,” Ashton says, looking around to check that Luke isn’t in the kitchen. He isn’t, but Ashton figures he can’t be too safe, so he takes his iPad and carries it down to the basement. Calum’s silent while Ashton walks, just waiting, until Ashton throws himself down on a beanbag and swallows. He can tell Calum. Calum won’t say anything.  

“I think I might be fucked, Cal,” he says, sounding hopeless even to his own ears. 

“Why?” Calum asks, gentle and calming. Ashton puts his head in his hands. He doesn’t want to say it out loud. If he says it out loud, it becomes real. If someone else knows about it, it takes on a form that he can’t control, and Ashton doesn’t know if he can handle that. 

“I don’t- I can’t,” he says, helpless. 

“Is it Luke?” Calum asks knowingly. Ashton just nods. “Oh, Ash.” 

“I don’t know why,” Ashton says. “I- I don’t understand. I don’t think of him like that.” He doesn’t sound very convincing, even to himself.

“It’s okay,” Calum says soothingly.

“I don’t get it,” Ashton says dully. 

“I kind of figured this would happen,” Calum muses, but he’s not gloating, and it doesn’t make Ashton feel worse. “I mean, you two, cooped up in a house together for three months?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ashton says, aiming for affronted, but it comes out wobbly. Calum smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“You two are idiots,” is all he offers as a response. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Ashton says, and a hysterical laugh bubbles out of him at that, because yeah, nothing fucking happened, and he’s already freaking out. “Nothing. I just-” he takes a deep breath. It’s only Calum, he tells himself. Calum knows. Calum understands. Calum didn’t have an easy time admitting to himself that he liked Michael. “I...I think that maybe, I, uh. Wanted to kiss him.” 

The words hang between the two of them for a moment, and Ashton wishes he could push them back down. 

“Okay,” Calum says, calm and even. 

“Okay?” Ashton says, voice about an octave higher. “Cal, I wanted to kiss Luke. Like. We were so close.”

“To kissing?”

“No, just physically,” Ashton says, biting his thumbnail. 

“It’s okay,” Calum says. “It’s okay to want to kiss him.”

“No it’s not,” Ashton says. 

“Alright, why isn’t it okay?” Calum asks. “Let’s break it down.” 

“He’s my friend,” Ashton says. 

“You’ve fucked loads of your friends, Ash,” Calum says, like Ashton knew he would. 

“He’s in the band, though. I don’t want to fuck up the band.” 

“I’m fucking Michael,” Calum says. “We’re in the band.” 

“That’s different,” Ashton says. “You were fucking before the band.” 

“You didn’t know that, though,” Calum says. “Plus, we nearly broke up when we were twenty-one, and you didn’t notice.” Ashton gapes at him. 

“What? ” He’s absolutely aghast, all thoughts of kissing Luke suddenly wiped from his mind. “What the fuck? When?” Calum shrugs. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “Point is, you and Luke didn’t even know. We’re adults. We can get through shit like that.” Ashton doesn’t want to push, but he just can’t wrap his head around-

“I don’t get it,” he says bluntly. “You and Mike, you’re...you’ve never spent a day apart. How could we not notice you nearly breaking up?” Calum raises his eyebrows. 

“Because, like I said, we’re adults,” he says. “Yeah, it’d suck for a while, but we’d get through it. We can all be mature about these things.” Privately, Ashton’s not sure whether Luke can without Calum and Michael making him fall in line. Calum seems to know what he’s thinking, and adds: “Yeah, Ash, even Luke. He might be a whiny brat, but he’s our whiny brat.” 

“Look,” Ashton says, mind still spinning about the idea of Michael and Calum almost breaking up, and him not even noticing. “This is all- this is jumping a lot of steps. I just- I wanted to kiss him, okay? But, like. That doesn’t mean I want to date him.” 

“Don’t you?” Calum asks, cocking an eyebrow. 

“No!” Ashton protests. 

“You don’t want to fuck him?”

“Well, I mean, I would, but-”

“You don’t want to kiss him?”

“I just said I did, but-” 

“You don’t want to hold him in public so everyone knows he’s yours? Take him to shows you’ve got absolutely no interest in just to see him happy? Watch shitty movies with him just to see him laugh? Compliment him until he’s smiling like a fucking idiot? Watch him play guitar for hours on end just because he’s so fucking talented, and you love him so much?” 

“Alright, Cal, I get it, you want to suck Michael’s dick,” Ashton says loudly. “God. You’re a fucking romantic.” Calum laughs, broken up by his terrible internet. 

“I’m just describing things I want to do for him,” he says. “And I can tell you with absolute certainty that I’m in love with that boy.”

“I’m not in love with Luke,” Ashton says. 

“Maybe not,” Calum allows, “but you want to date him.” 

“I don’t- I don’t think I do,” Ashton says carefully. 

“That’s already a step closer than two minutes ago,” Calum notes. 

“Fuck,” Ashton says, panic swirling threateningly in his chest again. “I don’t- I don’t want to date Luke. Do I? No. I don’t.” He doesn’t sound sure of himself, though. He doesn’t feel sure of himself, not after listening to Calum, because he knows, deep down, that he wants to do those things for Luke too. 

But that doesn’t mean anything, he thinks immediately. They’re friends. The line is so fine. 

“Fuck,” Ashton says again. “God, Cal, I don’t know. How do I even know if I like him like that? Where’s the fucking line?”

“It’s tough,” Calum says, a crease between his brows. “Believe me, I know.” 

“How did you do it?”

“I thought about it,” Calum says. “For a long, long time. I mean, I was also trying to figure out my sexuality at the time, which probably contributed a lot to that. But I had to sit down and be honest with myself, stop making excuses and finding explanations or ways out - did I want a relationship with Michael, did I just want to fuck Michael, or was I just confused and frustrated and latching onto him?” Ashton bites his lip. 

“Excuses and explanations?” he asks, and his voice sounds kind of small. 

“Yeah,” Calum says. “You know, ‘oh, it’s just because we’re best friends, I’m a teenager with hormones, I’m going through a dry spell’, that kind of stuff.” He’s giving Ashton a look as he says it, as though he knows those are the exact same things Ashton’s been telling himself. 

“Fuck you,” Ashton says weakly. He doesn’t need to say anything else. 

“Think about it, Ash,” Calum says gently. “I’m always here if you need to bounce off someone.” 

“Thanks, Cal,” Ashton says, and he means it.”I just- I’m scared. It’s Luke.” 

“I know,” Calum says, and of course he knows, he knows better than anyone else. “We’ll figure it out. Promise.” 

 ------- 

  3 weeks, 3 days, 17 hours 

It takes another four days to get Luke’s room painted, mainly because Luke’s a diva who demands snack breaks every half-hour, and then another day after that to convince him to put the furniture back in the room, because Ashton’s sick of manoeuvring around the bed in the bathroom to shower. Ashton doesn’t have time to think about The Situation because he wakes up next to Luke, spends all day painting with Luke, and then goes to bed with Luke. He barely has time to breathe on his own, to answer Calum and Michael’s texts without Luke seeing what he’s typing, so he pushes the thoughts to the back of his mind and resolves for it to be a problem for Future Ashton. 

“Can we put the bed opposite the window?” Luke asks, when they start moving the furniture back into his room. 

“Sure,” Ashton says. 

“And the wardrobe by the far wall, and the desk next to it,” Luke says. 

“And the pouffe?” Luke considers for a moment. 

“To the right of the window,” he decides. “We should get a mirror, too. A floor length one.” Ashton smirks, not even registering the ‘we’. 

“Need something to wank to?” he asks. Luke throws him a mischievous grin.

“Not in this house,” he says, and then before Ashton has time to process what the fuck that means, he’s carrying on. “I think we should do the wardrobe first, because it’s going in the corner, and the bed last.” Ashton nods, filing Luke’s comment away in his mind alongside the other problems Future Ashton has to deal with, and bends down to pick up his side of the wardrobe. 

It takes them a solid hour to move all the furniture back into the room, largely because Luke’s fussy and wants things to change angles, wants the desk moved about thirty times and directs Ashton around with the pouffe so much that he eventually just drops it next to the window and tells Luke, more than a little irritably, to fucking move it himself. 

“You realise we’re going to have to do all of this again for your room?” Luke says, when Ashton comments that he’s so fucking glad that’s over. Ashton groans, tipping his head back against the freshly painted wall. 

“Yeah, well, it’s not going to take seventeen years to put the furniture back in my room, because I’m not a fucking prima donna,” he says. 

“I’m not a fucking-” Luke’s cut off by the loud sound of his phone ringing. “Prima donna,” he finishes, swiping on whoever’s calling. “Hey, Mike.” 

“Hey,” Michael says. “Where are you? Aren’t you at Ashton’s?” 

“I am,” Luke says, swivelling his phone around to show Ashton. 

“Hey, Mike,” Ashton says. 

“Hey,” Michael says, frowning and putting his face close to the camera. “Where the fuck is that?”

“Luke’s room,” Ashton says. “We redecorated.” Michael sits back, raising his eyebrows. 

“‘Luke’s room’?” he echoes. “Since when does Luke have a room in your house?” 

“No one else uses this room,” Ashton says. “No one else was stupid enough to move to Vegas.”

“Yeah, that was pretty fucking dumb,” Michael says. 

“Alright, fuck you,” Luke says, turning his phone back to face him. “Did you ring me just to bully me, or what?”

“No, but it’s an added bonus,” Michael says. “You guys must be going insane if you’re fucking redecorating.” 

“We’re doing Ashton’s room too,” Luke says. “Pale green.” 

“Nice,” Michael says approvingly. “We’re trying to teach Duke to bark on command.” 

“‘We’?” Ashton says sceptically. 

“Okay, I, and don’t tell Calum. The phrase is ‘best boyfriend’, because I’m sick of Calum referring to himself like that. I’m hoping making Duke bark every time he says it will stop him doing it.” Ashton and Luke both laugh. 

“He’s going to fucking hate you,” Luke says fondly. 

“He already does,” Michael says casually. “What’s new with you guys? Besides auditioning for Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.” 

“Nothing, really,” Luke says, with a shrug, casting a glance at Ashton, who shrugs back. “There’s only so much you can do in lockdown.” 

“True,” Michael says. “It’s shit not being able to annoy you every day.” That’s as close as they’re going to get to an I miss you, and they both know it.

“Love you too, Mikey,” Ashton says, at the same time as Luke says, “You’re allowed to express affection towards us, Mike, you know that, right?” 

“Shut up,” Michael says, but Ashton can hear the smile in his voice. “This is why I’m doing my lockdown with Calum, and not you two.”

“You live with Calum,” Luke says. 

“Yeah, and this is why I don’t live with you,” Michael says. “Anyway, I called because I wanted to know if you wanted to play something.” 

“Yeah,” Luke says. “Ash, can I use your desktop?” Ashton shrugs and nods.

“You gonna go on Twitch?” he asks Michael. 

“Might do,” Michael says. “You gonna watch?” 

“Maybe,” Ashton says.  

“You should join,” Luke says. “Get the viewers up.” 

“Fuck, yeah,” Michael says. “C’mon, Ash. We have to get our bills paid.”

“Twitch’ll only get your bills paid,” Ashton points out. 

“That’s already half the band.”

“I’ll think about it,” Ashton says. “I want to play for a bit, first. Haven’t had a chance in almost a week because of painting this room.” 

“How did it take you that long?” Michael wonders, and then immediately answers his own question: “Oh, right, Luke. Fucking diva.”

“I’m not - hey!” Luke says indignantly. 

“I bet you bitched about carrying the furniture in and out of the room,” Michael says knowingly. 

“It was fucking heavy,” Luke mumbles grumpily, getting off the bed and walking towards the door. “I’m going to log on now. What d’you want to play?” 

“Fortnite’s always a crowd-pleaser,” Michael says as Luke walks out of the room. Ashton follows a few paces behind him, peeling off at the top of the stairs to go down to the basement. 

“Have you told him yet?” he hears Michael say just before Luke slams the door to Ashton’s office shut. He wonders briefly what Luke’s supposed to tell who, before seeing that one of his toms has somehow fallen over and forgetting the train of thought entirely. 

 ------- 

  3 weeks, 3 days, 20 hours 

Ashton plays for a good forty-five minutes before he’s got most of his pent-up energy out, and he wanders upstairs to see what Luke’s up to. He can hear yelling from the office, so he assumes he’s still playing with Michael, and heads in to see Luke, headset on, leaning forwards in concentration. 

“Hey,” Ashton says. 

“Ash!” Luke says, pulling the headphones down to his neck and flashing Ashton a winning smile that definitely doesn’t make him slightly weak at the knees. “Hang on.” He reaches over and unplugs the headphones, and the room is suddenly filled with Michael swearing colourfully. 

“Hey, Mike," Ashton says. “Game going well, I see.” 

“It’s your fucking fault,” Michael shouts. “Luke got distracted when you came in, and died.”

“Oops,” Luke says, not sounding sorry at all. 

“Dickhead,” Michael says. Ashton walks over to Luke, hovering at his shoulder. One of the monitors has got Fortnite on it, big and bright, and Ashton can see Michael and a very fast-moving chat on the other one. 

“How the fuck do you read this chat?” Ashton marvels. 

“I don’t,” Michael says. “I can’t read.”

“This is why we need Ashton here,” Luke says. “Only one who finished school.”

“Is Ash gonna play?” Michael asks. 

“No,” Ashton says. “I fucking hate Fortnite, you know that.” 

“Aw, c’mon, Ash,” Michael wheedles. “For the fans. For the views. For getting my bills paid.” 

“I’ve been streaming CALM for like, a week,” Ashton says. “That’s paying your bills.” 

“And yours,” Michael remarks. 

“I need my bills paying,” Ashton says. “I’ve got extra costs right now.”

“Oh, yeah,” Michael says. “Luke and Ashton have been sort of social-media-MIA, so you guys probably don’t know that they’re spending lockdown together.” Ashton kind of hates the way Michael made it sound like a choice. 

“Luke got stuck in California,” Ashton says, as an explanation, as he watches the chat somehow start moving even faster. 

“Yeah, and now they’re redecorating Ashton’s house together,” Michael says, and Ashton can see the smirk playing on his lips. It makes a hot flash of annoyance flare up in him - Michael’s doing this on purpose, riling him up, playing into the fans’ hands. 

“Have to find some way to pass the time,” Luke says, and he sounds surprisingly calm. 

“Yeah, how are you spending lockdown, Michael?” Ashton says. 

“Me? I’m doing great,” Michael says. “Training Calum’s dog.” 

“To do what?” Ashton’s pushing it, he knows. Michael and Calum haven’t come out yet, not officially - they haven’t said anything either way, and Ashton knows Calum would rather it stayed that way. He doesn’t like his private life mixing with his public life. 

“To obey commands,” Michael says smoothly. “Tends to be what you train a dog to do.” Ashton wishes Michael had never had PR training. 

“I’m going to tell Calum to train Duke to bite you,” he says darkly, because he can’t say you’re an arsehole without confusing everybody and probably causing some insane conspiracy theories about how the band’s about to break up to pop up online. 

“My ankles are terrified,” Michael deadpans. 

“Play with us,” Luke says to Ashton, gazing up at him pleadingly. Ashton swallows. Saying no to Luke’s puppy dog eyes has always been a challenge, even when he didn’t want to kiss him. 

“I don’t have anywhere to sit,” he says weakly. 

“Luke’s lap is right there,” Michael puts in. Ashton’s going to scream at him on FaceTime the moment this stream is over. 

“I’m too heavy,” Ashton says. 

“You sit on my lap all the time,” Michael says. 

“You’re sturdier than Luke.” 

“Hey,” Luke and Michael say at the same time, both affronted. Luckily, as though God’s sensing Ashton’s distress and is sending him a lifeboat, Ashton’s phone starts buzzing in his pocket, and he fishes it out to see it’s Lauren calling. 

“Lauren’s calling,” he says, already halfway to the door. “I’ll speak to you later.” 

“Say hi from me,” Luke says. 

“And me,” Michael says. “Bye, Ash.” 

“Bye, guys!” Ashton calls, to whoever the fuck is on the stream (he doesn’t understand Twitch at all), and heads to his bedroom to take Lauren’s call, resolving to pay for her prom dress, or something. 

 ------- 

  3 weeks, 3 days, 22 hours 

Ashton’s phone buzzes continually through the movie he’s watching with Luke, Michael trying to FaceTime him at least six times until Ashton just turns his phone onto airplane mode and settles back to watch the rest of the film. He catches Luke frowning at him in his peripheral vision, but by the time he’s turned to look at him Luke’s eyes are focused on the screen again, and Ashton shrugs it off. 

He turns his phone back on again when Luke says he’s going to get ready for bed, and he has even more missed calls from Michael and some from Calum (which is probably Michael knowing Ashton’s ignoring him). 

Michael US New can we talk? 

Michael US New i’m sorry if i took it too far on twitch

Michael US New i didn’t know it was a big deal  

Michael US New  ash come on don’t be childish 

Michael US New call me back when you can 

Michael US New love you

Ashton sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, because he really can’t be fucked to have this conversation now, but he knows it’s childish to keep ignoring Michael for something so small and he doesn’t have an excuse to anymore, now that the film’s done. He swipes on one of Michael’s missed FaceTimes, and Michael picks up after three rings. 

“Are you done ignoring me now?” he asks evenly, and Ashton feels guilt starting to creep into his annoyance. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, because he is. It was childish. He almost adds I was watching a movie with Luke , but stops himself, because that’s just an excuse, and Michael would know it. 

“I’m sorry,” Michael says sincerely. “I didn’t know it would upset you that much. I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.” Ashton thinks that’s probably only half-true, because Michael loves pushing people’s buttons, pushing them too far, and doesn’t have a clear definition of boundaries because Calum’s so fucking zen that Michael can pretty much push him to the very edge before he tells him it’s enough. 

“It’s okay,” Ashton says, because it is - it’s not Michael’s fault, technically. It’s just Ashton overreacting to their usual banter. 

“Why’s it a big deal, though?” Michael says. “You’ve never cared before.” Ashton swallows, tugging on one of his curls. 

“Have you talked to Calum?” he asks. 

“Well, yes, we live in the same house,” Michael says. 

“I mean. About.” He swallows again. “This.” Michael frowns. 

“No,” he says. “If Calum doesn’t think I need to know, he doesn’t tell me. And that’s okay.” Ashton’s suddenly filled with a rush of love and affection for both Michael and Calum - Calum, for not telling Michael, his best friend, his boyfriend, his everything, what Ashton had told him, and Michael for being okay with Calum and Ashton, two of his best friends, keeping secrets from him. 

“Okay,” Ashton says. “I, uh. I don’t think I’m ready to tell you yet.” 

“Okay,” Michael says with a shrug, and it’s that easy. “But you know I’m here if you need me.” The guilt washes away the rest of the annoyance, and Ashton suddenly feels a bit sick. 

“I’m sorry,” Ashton says, hoping Michael understands what he’s apologising for. “I- fuck. I love you, Mikey.”

“Love you too,” Michael says, smiling fondly, and it’s a real, genuine smile, one that makes his eyes light up. It makes Ashton kind of see why Calum’s willing to go to the ends of the earth for Michael. 

“I miss you,” Ashton says. 

“I’m not surprised,” Michael says breezily, and Ashton rolls his eyes. “I miss you too, Ash. It’s not the same without you here.” 

“I know,” Ashton says, sighing heavily. “We should have just, like, all gone to yours, or you guys come here, or something.” 

“You want to hear three months’ worth of me and Cal’s sex life?” Michael asks, a smile tugging at his lips. Ashton pulls a face. 

“Fuck you,” he says. “I’m being cute here. Why’ve you got sex on the brain all the time?” 

“You would too if you were dating Calum,” Michael says. Ashton hears something on Michael’s end of the line that sounds suspiciously like Michael, baby, how long are you going to leave me tied up here? 

“What the fuck?” Ashton demands. “Did you call me halfway through having sex with Calum?” 

“Not quite halfway through,” Michael corrects, a mischievous grin on his face. “And technically, you called me.”

“You’re disgusting,” Ashton tells him. “I’m hanging up now.” 

“Probably for the best,” Michael agrees. “I’ve, uh, got places to be. Love you, Ash.” 

“Love you too,” Ashton says grudgingly, because he does, despite himself, and ends the call, trying his best not to think about what’s just happened, or what’s currently happening in the Hood-Clifford household. 

Gross. 

 ------- 

  3 weeks, 4 days, 1 hour 

It’s 1 a.m. when Luke knocks at his door. 

“Hey,” he says, peeking around the door. “Are you asleep?” 

“Yes,” Ashton says, just to be difficult. 

“Shut up,” Luke says automatically, shuffling into the room. He’s wrapped in his duvet, and looks incredibly...well, soft is the only word Ashton can think of. 

“What?” Ashton asks, rolling onto his back letting his forearm rest on his forehead. 

“I can’t sleep.” 

“And that’s my problem because…?” Luke bites his lip. 

“Can I sleep here?” Ashton blinks. “I mean. It feels weird sleeping without you, now. But it’s okay if you want to sleep alone. Obviously.” A warm feeling floods Ashton’s stomach, and he tries to will it away.

“If you want,” he says, as nonchalantly as he can manage. Luke’s face splits into a grin, and he shuffles towards the bed, flopping down on it when Ashton shifts up to make room.

“I even brought my own duvet,” Luke says, blinking at Ashton earnestly. Ashton’s treacherous mind flashes an image of him leaning down and pressing his lips to Luke’s softly in front of his eyes. 

“You did,” is all he can manage in response, trying to quash the fear rising in his chest. 

“Hey,” Luke says, eyes fluttering shut, and now that Ashton’s close he can see how sleepy Luke looks. “Stop thinking so much.” 

“I’m not,” Ashton lies, swallowing hard. 

“You are,” Luke says serenely. The dim light of the moon and light pollution is falling on Luke’s hair through a crack in the curtains, illuminating his soft blonde curls. Ashton thinks he looks a little bit like an angel. “Stop it. Go to sleep.” Ashton huffs out a laugh, hoping the edge of hysteria is only audible to him. 

“It’s not that easy, golden boy,” he says, aiming for sarcastic. A small smile finds its way onto Luke’s lips. 

“Golden boy,” he echoes. “I like it when you call me that.” 

“Go to sleep,” Ashton says, because he doesn’t trust himself to say anything else. 

“Golden boy,” Luke says again, smile audible, and he rolls onto his other side. 

Great. Well. Ashton’s not going to sleep tonight. 

 ------- 

  4 weeks, 13 hours

“Mike and Cal want to FaceTime tonight,” Luke says over lunch. “Apparently Michael’s really missing us. Calum suggested watching a movie together, or something.” It reminds Ashton of the conversation he’d had with Calum last week, which, in the midst of his badly-repressed romantic crisis, he’d somehow completely forgotten to tell Luke about. 

“You know Calum told me they almost broke up three years ago?” he says. Luke gapes at him. 

“What?” he says, mouth open in shock. Ashton nods as he brings another forkful of spaghetti into his mouth. “Mike and Cal?”

“Yeah,” Ashton says, when he’s finished chewing. “Did you know?” 

“No,” Luke says emphatically, now looking somewhere between confused and shocked. “What the fuck?” 

“I know,” Ashton agrees. 

“Why? When? What the fuck? What happened?”

“I don't know, he didn’t say,” Ashton says. “I was just so surprised that I never noticed.” 

“Well, I didn’t either,” Luke says. “Does that make us terrible friends?”

“Probably,” Ashton says. “Or it makes them good liars.” 

“They are good liars,” Luke muses. “God, I’m- I don’t even know what to think. What the fuck? Cal and Michael?” 

“I know,” Ashton says fervently, taking a sip of his juice. 

“How did that even come up?” Luke asks. Ashton shrugs. 

“Can’t remember,” he lies. Luke looks at him for a moment, and Ashton knows that look - it’s the should I, shouldn’t I look that Luke gets when he wants to say something but isn’t quite sure how to say it. 

“D’you think it would have fucked up the band?” he asks eventually, and his tone sounds a little too casual. Ashton shrugs, staring down at his pasta rather than meeting Luke’s eyes. “Like. Two people in the band dating, and then breaking up.” Ashton swallows, and reminds himself that Luke doesn’t mean what Ashton wants him to mean. 

“I don’t know,” he says, and then, feeling a spurt of courage: “Do you?” 

“I don’t know,” Luke echoes. “I hope not.” 

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” Ashton says, because there’s no way Michael and Calum are breaking up now, and they’re the only two people in the band dating.  

“I guess it doesn’t,” Luke says, frowning down at his plate and stabbing at his pasta a little moodily. 

Ashton chalks it up to Luke being the last to find out about Michael and Calum, because he doesn’t like to be left out. He doesn’t really think it warrants that kind of a response, but Luke likes to overreact, so he lets him stew and finishes his pasta. 

 ------- 

  4 weeks, 4 days, 12 hours 

Ashton’s not sure why it’s been over a month since he last picked up a guitar. 

He’s been drumming, laying down some raw beats that he likes the sound of, and he’s even been fiddling around on his piano in the basement, but the first time he thinks about guitar is when he goes upstairs for some water after a particularly hard drumming session and hears Luke strumming and singing, muffled by closed doors. It’s soft, a little tentative, which is usually the mark of Luke writing. 

Ashton knocks on the door and Luke stops abruptly. 

“Yeah?” he says. Ashton cracks the door open and peers around. Luke’s sat cross-legged on the sofa, blonde curls falling in his face, Ashton’s second-favourite guitar in his lap. 

“You writing?” Ashton asks. Luke nods. 

“I’ve been writing for a few weeks,” he says. “When you drum.” Something about that sends a stab of hurt straight to Ashton’s heart. 

“D’you not want me to hear?” Ashton says, trying for nonchalant, but he hears the accusatory note in his own voice. Luke shrugs, a little uncomfortable. 

“I usually write the first bits alone,” he says. “Don’t usually show you guys until I have a little more of an idea where it’s going.” Ashton nods, swallowing away the bitter taste in his mouth. 

“Makes sense,” he says, because it does, even if he doesn’t like it. “Well. Let me know if there’s anything you want me to listen to, yeah?” Luke nods, and Ashton knows that’s his cue to leave. 

“You should use the Martin,” he adds, as he makes to leave; an olive branch. 

“I left that one for you,” Luke says. “In case you wanted to play. I know it’s your favourite.” 

Ashton thinks he might die. He’s never wanted to kiss anybody this much in his life, he’s pretty sure. 

“Oh,” he manages to get out. “That’s. Really thoughtful.” Luke shrugs, looking somewhere between embarrassed and pleased. “You can use it, though. I’m- uh. Going back downstairs.” Ashton turns on his heel and walks out, not throwing a backwards glance at Luke in case he does something fucking stupid like stride back over and kiss him. 

When he gets back to the basement, he picks up his phone and sends a text to Calum. 

Me I’m fucked 

Calum’s typing bubble appears immediately.

Calum US You want to talk about it? 

Ashton squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t. He doesn’t even want to think about it, just wants to fill his head with drums and make his muscles ache and tire himself out so he can just go straight to bed later, fall asleep and not have to dwell on any of this. 

Me No

Calum US Do you think you SHOULD talk about it? 

Ashton hates him. 

Me Yes 

Calum US Okay 

Calum US You know where to find me when you’re ready  

Ashton does, and he thinks it’s probably the only reason he hasn’t collapsed into a panicking mess on the floor. 

Me Love you

He sets his phone down, picks up his headphones, and loses himself in the music, letting the pain in his muscles drown out the panic in his mind. 

 ------- 

  4 weeks, 4 days, 18 hours 

In the end, it’s only three and a half hours until Ashton caves and rings Calum, who picks up after two rings. 

“Drummed yourself out?” Calum asks, even though Ashton’s not even sat at his kit. Ashton hates how well Calum knows him. 

“Fuck you,” he says. 

“What happened?” Ashton sighs. 

“He didn’t use my Martin,” he says helplessly. There’s a beat, and then-

“Sorry, I think your wifi’s cutting out,” Calum says. “All I heard was he didn’t use your Martin.”

“That’s all I said,” Ashton says. 

“Right,” Calum says slowly. “So. Let me get this straight. Luke didn’t use your favourite guitar, and...that made you want to fuck him?”

“Kiss him,” Ashton corrects. Calum rolls his eyes. 

“Oh, sorry, forgot we had to keep it PG,” he says. 

“He was writing,” Ashton says, electing to be the bigger person and ignore that comment, “and he used my Strat because he thought I might want to play and he knows the Martin is my favourite, so. He left it for me.” 

“That is kinda cute,” Calum admits. 

“I know,” Ashton moans. 

“Have you thought about it?” Calum asks. Ashton shakes his head. “C’mon, Ash. All you ever fucking do is think. Why not?” 

“Because he’s here,” Ashton says. “And- and what if I do like him? Or what if I think myself into liking him? What am I supposed to do then?” 

“That’s step two,” Calum says gently. “Step one is just figuring it out for yourself. Don’t overcomplicate it.” 

“I don’t want to figure it out,” Ashton says sullenly. 

“I know,” Calum says. “But that’s kind of why you have to. It’s not going away by not thinking about it, is it?” Ashton hates it when he’s right. 

“You know, I’m older than you,” he says moodily. “I know better than you.” Calum laughs. 

“Which is why you came to me for advice,” he says. 

“Fuck you,” Ashton says again, and Calum grins. 

“I-” he cuts himself off, looking up and over the camera. “What?” There’s the sound of someone shouting at him. “Can it wait a second? I’m on FaceTime.” There’s another pause. “With Ashton.” 

“Don’t mind me,” Ashton grumbles. Calum looks down at him again. 

“Sorry, it’s Mike,” he says, as if it would be anyone else. “Wants me to come in for dinner.” 

“You can go,” Ashton says. 

“Nah, he’s just being a bitch,” Calum says. “Cooked a fucking casserole, like he wasn’t the whitest person alive already.” He looks over the camera again. “I’ll be five minutes, Michael, it’s not going to go cold!” 

Ashton can make out the sound of Michael yelling: “It’s already going fucking cold!” 

“You’re so fucking melodramatic,” Calum calls back. 

“Fine, fuck you,” Michael shouts, and his voice is getting closer. “I’m going to date someone who appreciates my cooking.” Calum rolls his eyes, and then Michael’s coming into the frame, throwing himself down on the outdoor sofa next to Calum. 

“You’re making my casserole go cold,” he says accusingly, looking at Ashton. 

“It’s not going to go cold in five minutes,” Ashton tells him. Michael scowls, and Calum slips an arm around his waist, mindless and easy. Michael leans into Calum’s touch, resting his head on Calum’s shoulder. 

“Exactly,” Calum says, pressing a kiss to the top of Michael’s head, because physical touch from Calum is always a guaranteed way to bring Michael out of a strop. Michael huffs, but wraps an arm around Calum.

“I’m never cooking for you again,” he declares, but they all know that’s a lie. 

“Ashton will send me food,” Calum says, fingers threading through Michael’s hair. “Won’t you, Ash?”

“No,” Ashton says. “I’ve got my hands full trying to force Luke to do something more than make toast.” 

“See?” Michael says, looking up at Calum. “Be thankful you’re not living with Luke.” Calum rolls his eyes back, but he’s smiling fondly. 

Something about their interactions makes Ashton feel kind of empty. He sees Michael and Calum like this all the time, every day, but it feels like it’s the first time he’s actually seeing their interactions - the absent-minded touches, the fond looks - and it makes him ache a little. He wants that. He wants someone to look at him with that kind of affection, to touch him like that without even thinking about it, to share that kind of intimacy and love with. 

He tries his best not to let his mind wander to fantasies of having Luke’s arms wrapped around him whilst he’s cooking dinner, Luke curled up in his lap whilst a movie plays on the TV, Luke pressing a soft kiss to his forehead before they fall asleep, but the thoughts are so loud and pervasive, making Ashton squeeze his eyes shut as if it’ll wipe his mind clean. 

“I should go,” Ashton says, a bitter taste in his mouth all of a sudden. “I’m not sure I want Luke to be in the kitchen on his own.”

“Fucking hell, you’re not actually letting him cook, are you?” Michael says, sounding a little alarmed. “He told me he was helping, but I assumed that meant, like, laying the table, or something.” 

“I’m not his fucking mum,” Ashton grumbles. “Plus, he hasn’t burnt the house down, yet.” 

“Yet,” Calum says pointedly. 

“If he does, let me know, so I can bring my ice cold casserole over and heat it up again,” Michael says, throwing daggers at Calum. Calum just rolls his eyes again. 

“Alright, fucking hell,” he says. “Text me, Ash?” Ashton nods, finger already hovering above the ‘end call’ button. 

“Text me too,” Michael says. 

“No,” Ashton says. “You’ll just send me stupid memes that make no sense.” 

“Y’know, the fans have a point when they call you a boomer,” Calum says. Ashton scowls. 

“Fuck you,” he says. “I’m hanging up now.” 

“Good,” Michael says. 

“Fuck you too,” Ashton says. “Speak to you soon,” Calum says, pointedly, raising his eyebrows. Ashton doesn’t like what he’s implying.

“Fuck you, again,” Ashton says, and hangs up.

Fucking hell. 

 ------- 

  4 weeks, 6 days, 21 hours

The floodgates finally open two days later, despite Ashton’s best attempts to keep everything sealed away tightly in boxes in his mind labelled ‘Don’t Think About This’ and ‘You’re Just Going Through A Dry Spell’. 

They’re sat on the same sofa watching Harry Potter, because they’re sharing a bowl of popcorn and Ashton got sick of getting up every thirty seconds to grab another handful and just threw himself down next to Luke. 

“This is my favourite one,” Luke says off-handedly, when Harry goes into Diagon Alley for the first time. “Like, it’s so happy.” 

“There’s literally an attempt on his life at the end,” Ashton says. 

“Well, it’s happier than the others,” Luke says defensively, reaching for another handful of popcorn. 

“That’s not really a high bar,” Ashton points out. 

“Alright, what’s your favourite then?” Luke asks, watching Harry and Hagrid in Gringotts. 

“The last one,” Ashton says. 

“That’s the saddest,” Luke says. 

“No, they win the war.” 

“Yeah, but, like, hundreds of people die.” 

“Alright, it’s bittersweet,” Ashton allows. Luke rolls his eyes, shoving the rest of the popcorn in his hand into his mouth. Ashton should probably find it disgusting, but he doesn’t. 

They watch in silence for a while longer, Luke totally enraptured in the film, despite the fact they’ve seen it about forty times on Michael’s movie nights. It’s not until Harry’s in the Forbidden Forest in detention that Luke’s hand snatches out and grabs Ashton’s tightly. Ashton looks down, and then up at Luke’s face, hoping the surprise will outweigh the tension in his expression. 

“Don’t like this bit,” is all Luke offers as an explanation, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the screen.

“Well, stop watching, then,” Ashton suggests. 

“I have to watch,” Luke says. Ashton doesn’t think that makes any sense. 

“It’s not like you don’t know what happens,” Ashton says, and Luke’s grip on Ashton’s hand tightens as Harry stumbles across the hooded figure drinking from the unicorn. It kind of fucking hurts, so, just trying to get rid of the pain, Ashton turns his hand around so his palm is facing Luke’s, meaning their fingers tangle together loosely. Luke slots his fingers in between Ashton’s with purpose, making the hair on Ashton’s arms stand on end, but when he chances a look at Luke, he’s still focused on the film. 

Harry gets away, as he obviously always does, but Luke’s fingers don’t move out of Ashton’s. Ashton tries not to think about what that might mean, but his mind is in overdrive for the remainder of the film. Luke’s probably just forgotten, he tells himself, as he stares through the TV, not taking in any of the movie. He’s so enraptured in the film, he’s probably just not realised his fingers are still linked to Ashton’s. 

That theory, however, is out of the window when Harry approaches Professor Quirrell in front of the Mirror of Erised. 

“Why the fuck would you walk towards him?” Luke says, lifting their joined hands to indicate to the screen. 

“He’s a Gryffindor,” Ashton says, proud of how steady he’s able to keep his voice despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins. 

“Worst house to be in,” Luke says decisively. “No sense of self-preservation. No wonder Harry keeps having near-death experiences.” 

“Yeah, well,” is all Ashton can muster weakly in response, but it doesn’t seem to matter, because Luke’s already making a noise of frustration as Harry gets all the way up to Quirrell. 

Ashton swallows, trying to get some moisture back into his mouth, and wills himself not to think about the sensation of Luke’s hand, warm and slightly calloused in his own. 

“I love that movie,” Luke says passionately, when the credits start rolling, forcing Ashton back into reality. Luke’s got a happy little smile on his face, eyes lit up, and Ashton, thoughts having been on Luke for the past forty-five minutes, really, really wants to kiss him. 

So, instinctively, he does. 

He leans forwards, not thinking about what he’s doing, and cups Luke’s jaw with his free hand, eyes fluttering closed as he presses his lips to Luke’s. They’re soft, so fucking soft, and he can feel one of Luke’s curls brushing against the hollow of his eye, and he’s just so fucking overwhelmed with Luke, the feeling of Luke against him, the scent of Luke around him, the warmth emanating from his body, Luke, Luke, Luke. 

It’s a split second, but it feels like forever, the spell only broken when Luke makes a little noise - surprise? Distress? - and tilts his head, giving Ashton a better angle, and fucking kisses back. 

Ashton springs back, realisation hitting him like a sickening, ice-cold wave. 

He’s fucking kissing Luke. 

“Uh,” he says intelligently, taking in Luke’s red, spit-slicked lips, his wide, blue eyes, his dumbfounded expression. “I. Fuck.” Ashton jumps up, balling his hands into fists at his side, and stalks out of the room and into the basement. He got up too fast and his vision is swimming, but he pushes through it, figuring if he faints and falls down the basement stairs and dies - well, at least he won’t have to deal with the aftermath of what he’s just done. 

He sits down on one of the beanbags opposite his drum kit, the light of the basement suddenly too bright and making his head hurt, heart pounding in his ears, palms sweating, mouth dry. He can feel himself starting to hyperventilate, can’t even keep up with all the thoughts in his mind, and takes deeps breaths, exhaling and inhaling shakily. Breathe, he tells himself. Just fucking breathe. 

With fumbling hands, he slides his phone out of his pocket and dials Calum, who doesn’t pick up at first. 

“Fuck, c’mon,” Ashton mumbles, dialling again. Still nothing. Fuck. This is some sort of cosmic joke. What the fuck is he doing, anyway - he’s in fucking lockdown, it’s not like he’s busy. 

Ashton dials a third time, and this time, thankfully, Calum picks up. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, crease between his eyebrows, as he walks swiftly out of his living room and into the kitchen. 

“No,” Ashton says. 

“What happened?” Calum asks soothingly. Ashton reminds himself, again, to breathe. 

“I kissed Luke.” Calum blinks. 

“You- you kissed him?” Ashton nods, swallowing hard. “Okay. Breathe, Ash. Breathe.”

“‘M breathing,” Ashton says, but he does it anyway - in for seven, out for eleven. 

“Okay,” Calum says calmly. “D’you want to tell me what happened, or?” Ashton shakes his head. “Okay,” Calum says again. “D’you want me to talk?” Ashton nods. “Alright. Mikey and I are doing some garden-scaping, can you believe? I cut a fucking hedge today. I’ve never done anything that domestic in my life. We made a veggie lasagne for dinner - or, well, I made a veggie lasagne for dinner, and I made Michael a normal one, and Michael bitched about it not tasting the same because he thought I’d just made a veggie one for the both of us. He’s still sulking about that, actually.” Ashton huffs out a laugh at that, heartbeat slowing a little. That sounds like Michael. “I’ve been writing a bit, but nothing major. I’m using this as a bit of a break, trying to clear my mind, get myself back in a headspace I’m happy with. Michael seems to think ‘lockdown’ is synonymous to ‘play as many videogames during your waking hours as possible’, though. That’s why I made him start on the garden-scaping, actually. It’s the only way I can get him out of the house, and he’s starting to glow in the dark.” Calum pauses, and Ashton exhales again, far less shaky. 

“Thanks,” he says. 

“Always,” Calum says sincerely. “So? What happened.” 

“I don’t know,” Ashton says. “I- we were watching Harry Potter, and then he got scared, and held my hand, and then- he didn’t let go, and. I kissed him.” 

“Right,” Calum says. “Look, I know this is, like, emotionally distressing for you, and all, but who the fuck gets scared of Harry Potter?” Ashton laughs, a little hysterical. 

“I know,” he says emphatically. 

“So, he didn’t let go of your hand?” Calum says. Ashton nods miserably. 

“And he definitely didn’t forget he was holding my hand,” he adds. “He used our hands to point at the TV.” 

“Oh, Ash,” Calum says, with a sigh, closing his eyes. “You- you’re, like, new levels of stupid.” 

“I know,” Ashton says, because he knows he’s a fucking idiot for kissing Luke - he doesn’t need reminding. “I didn’t mean to kiss him.” 

“And? Did he- what did he do?” 

“He- I don’t- I mean, it seemed like...he kissed back?” Ashton says uncertainly. Calum pinches the bridge of his nose, and inhales deeply. 

“So why is this a problem?” Ashton gapes at him. 

“Are you even listening to me?” he demands. “I kissed Luke.” 

“Well, you said he kissed back,” Calum says. 

“I don’t know if he did,” Ashton says, distressed. “It just seemed like it.” 

“You- fucking hell. Ashton, will you listen to yourself? You kissed Luke, and he kissed b-” Ashton makes a noise of protest “-okay, probably kissed back.” 

“It’s just, like, what you do when someone kisses you, though,” Ashton says. “Like. It’s polite.” Calum puts his head in his hands. 

“You think Luke kissed you to be polite?” 

“Okay, not- fuck, not polite, but, like, on automatic pilot,” Ashton says hurriedly. 

“Fucking hell, Ash. This conversation has shaved a solid five years off my life,” Calum tells him. “And? How did you leave it?” 

“I, uh.” He knows Calum’s not going to like his answer. “Ran out?” 

“Ran out?” Ashton blinks sheepishly. “Christ. Make that ten years.” 

“It’s not funny,” Ashton protests, even though neither of them are laughing. 

“I know,” Calum says, voice softening again. “You should talk to him.” Ashton shakes his head. “Ash, you’ve just kissed the guy. The least you can do is talk about it.” 

“No,” Ashton says immediately, even though he knows he should. “I’m stuck in a house with him, Cal. It’ll be so fucking awkward.” 

“So, what, your grand plan is to just...avoid him? Move into the basement?” Ashton nods miserably. “That’s fucking stupid, and you know it. That’s going to make you both miserable.” 

“It can’t be any worse,” Ashton says, picking at a loose thread on his jumper. Calum frowns. 

“Look, I’m not going to intervene,” he says, “yet. But you have to talk to him.” 

“What do you mean, yet?” Ashton says, a shade indignantly. 

“Well, it’s my fucking band too, isn’t it?” 

“Nothing’s happened!” Ashton says. “The band’s fine!” Calum shoots him a look. 

“Talk to him,” he says. Ashton’s shoulders slump. “Hey. You’re alright, Ash. I’ve got you.” 

“I know,” Ashton says. “I love you.” 

“Love you too,” Calum says. “Go and get your boy.” 

“He’s not my boy,” Ashton says, but Calum’s already hung up. “Fuck you,” he says to his contact list, before pocketing his phone again and standing up, taking a deep breath to steel himself. 

It’s just Luke, he tells himself as he walks back up the stairs. He talks to Luke all the time. This isn’t going to be any different. 

Luke’s not in the living room where Ashton left him, and Ashton has a brief moment of panic as he takes the stairs two at a time, thinking Luke might have left the fucking house in lockdown, but he finds Luke in Ashton’s room, pillow and duvet in hand. He looks like a deer in headlights when he sees Ashton in the doorway. 

“What are you doing?” Ashton blurts, cursing inwardly as soon as the words have left his mouth, because that’s not what he came here to say. 

“I, uh. I think. I should probably sleep in my room,” Luke says, biting his lip. Ashton’s stomach sinks. 

Fuck. Ashton’s fucked things up. 

“You don’t have to,” he tries. 

“I should,” Luke mumbles. Ashton feels sick. 

“Okay,” he says. Luke breaks the gaze first, busying himself with gathering all his belongings, which are strewn across the room by now - phone charger next to Ashton’s, book he’d been reading on the bedside table, pyjamas crumpled on the floor like they always are - and walks over to the door. Ashton, not quite processing what’s going on, takes a second to move aside, and it’s the most uncomfortable second of his life. 

“Night, then,” Luke says, awkwardly. 

“Night,” Ashton echoes, and he can do nothing but watch helplessly as Luke trails into his room and shuts the door behind him. 

Fuck. 

 ------- 

  5 weeks, 8 hours 

Ashton, predictably, doesn’t sleep a fucking wink. 

He drags himself out of bed at eight a.m., figuring he’s just fucked on the sleep front, and tiptoes to the shower, ears straining in case Luke’s already awake. He hears Luke’s door open at quarter past over the sound of the rushing water - boiling hot, but Ashton can’t even feel it on his skin - and stands under the stream until his skin is wrinkled, waiting to hear it shut again. It does at half past, and Ashton gets out, towels himself off quickly, and all but runs back to his room, shutting the door behind him as quietly as he can. 

He’s not hungry enough for breakfast, the conversation of last night still weighing down on his stomach, and when lunchtime rolls around, he finds he’s not hungry enough for that either. He spends the whole morning replying to emails he’s been ignoring, forcing himself to find something that takes so much of his concentration that he can’t think about Luke, and has actually caught up on all of his admin stuff by three p.m.. That, however, leaves him with only two choices - risk going downstairs to the basement, or stay in his room indefinitely and hope the lockdown ends before he starves to death. 

Ashton’s dithering is interrupted by a buzzing on his bedside table, and he looks over to see Calum calling him. He lets it ring out, because the second-last thing he wants to do right now (after ‘talk to Luke’) is relive last night. 

Calum, though, is persistent, and despite Ashton turning his phone over so he won’t see it light up, it keeps buzzing, eventually irritating him so much that he just picks up. 

“What,” he snaps. Calum arches an eyebrow. 

“Afternoon to you too,” he says. 

“What,” Ashton repeats, no kinder than before. 

“What happened?” 

“He hates me,” Ashton says flatly. “So.” 

“I’m sure he doesn’t,” Calum says. 

“He told me he should sleep in his room again. And I said he didn’t have to, and he said he did. So.” Ashton shrugs, as if it’ll dull the searing hurt that’s seeping into every pore of his body. 

“Oh, Ash,” Calum says, and he sounds genuinely sorry. 

“Don’t,” Ashton says dully. “I don’t want to hear it.” Calum nods, biting his lip. 

“Is there anything I can do?” he asks. Ashton shrugs again. 

“Surgically remove my emotions?” 

“So you do like him?” Ashton huffs out a humourless laugh. 

“I think we’re a bit beyond that debate, Cal,” he says. Calum’s expression softens. 

“I’m sorry,” he says honestly. 

“It’s okay,” Ashton says. “It is what it is.” 

“D’you want to go?” Calum asks. Ashton nods. Talking is just tiring him out. “Okay. But- don’t shut yourself away, okay? You’ve got me, and Mikey. We love you.” 

“Love you too,” Ashton mumbles listlessly. Calum hesitates, like he’s going to say something else, but then just sighs. 

“I really do love you,” he says. 

“You too,” Ashton says. Calum sends him another sad smile, and then Ashton’s staring at his lock screen. Somehow, even though he’d wanted Calum to go, he feels even more lonely now, his bedroom feeling even more empty. He doesn’t want to call Calum back, though, because he knows it’ll just be more sad smiles and worried sighs, and he’s got nothing else to do in his bedroom that’ll take his mind off Luke so he braces himself and gets out of bed to go to the basement. 

His heart is pounding as he jogs downstairs, not relenting until he’s slammed the basement door shut behind him a little louder than he’d wanted to and made his way over to his kit. He pulls his headphones over his head, puts his music on shuffle and then skips at least fifteen songs until he finds one he actually knows on drums, and starts playing. 

He forces himself to put his all into playing, so focused on getting the fills just right that he doesn’t have time to think about Luke, switching songs to something harder anytime he catches his mind wandering, keeping himself occupied. He’s exhausted by the time he looks at his phone and sees it’s eight p.m., running on zero sleep and zero food, and he’s got a headache from not drinking enough water. He is pretty fucking thirsty, especially after playing for hours, so he pads up the stairs and stands by the door to the basement for a moment, listening for any sounds from the kitchen. He doesn’t hear anything, luckily, so he chances it and slips out hesitantly, speed-walking over to the sink and grabbing a glass. 

He gulps down three glasses of water and is just filling up the fourth when he hears a sound behind him and whips around in shock. 

“Uh,” Luke says, looking around the room wildly. He looks a mess, Ashton notes. “I, um. Making dinner.” 

“Oh,” Ashton says. “Sorry. Uh, I was getting water.” He holds up the glass, as if it’ll end the sheer fucking awkwardness of this interaction. “Sorry. I’m- um. Going back upstairs.” Luke just nods, biting his lip, and stands aside for Ashton to walk past. Ashton catches a brief, faint imprint of Luke as he passes him, slightly stale cologne and soap, and it makes his heart ache. 

He only realises when he gets up to his room that he hasn’t eaten a single thing today, and, despite still having no appetite, thinks he’ll probably pass out if he doesn’t, so digs out the only thing he has in his room - a bar of chocolate - and forces it down himself. He washes it down with the glass of water, wishing he’d taken a bigger glass, and settles back down in bed, feeling the exhaustion catching up with him. Fucking finally. 

He rolls over, not bothering to close the curtains or plug his phone in, and lets himself drift off into an uneasy, dreamless sleep. 

 ------- 

  5 weeks, 1 day, 13 hours 

Ashton doesn’t get up until midday, and then plugs in his dead phone and fucks around on his laptop a bit until he can no longer ignore the growling in his stomach. He hasn’t heard Luke’s door since he woke up, which either means he’s been downstairs the whole time, or he’s holed up in his room, which Ashton prays is the case. He feels a bit woozy as he goes downstairs - he supposes a chocolate bar isn’t really enough to tide an active twenty-five year old man over for a whole day - and decides to just put the kettle on and make some pasta, sinking down into a chair because he doesn’t trust himself to stand up for the length of the time the kettle takes to boil. 

He eats listlessly, not liking the feeling of the food in his mouth and forcing himself to swallow, eating as fast as he can with the ever-present threat of Luke coming downstairs hanging over his head. He makes it safely, though, even managing to wash up and put his pan away before slinking upstairs. He hears Luke’s door click open a few seconds after he’s clicked his own shut, and his stomach flips unpleasantly - conclusive proof that Luke’s actively avoiding him. 

It’s another few hours before Ashton realises he really, really needs to piss, and he hadn’t been paying attention to whether or not Luke had actually come back earlier, so he gives it until he’s pretty much ready to wet himself and then bolts out of his room - straight into Luke, who’s coming up the stairs. 

“Hi,” Luke says, a little nervous. Ashton groans inwardly. This is not the fucking moment. 

“Hi,” Ashton says, eyes flicking to the bathroom door. 

“Can we talk?” Luke says. 

“Uh,” Ashton says, looking towards the bathroom again. “Can it wait?” Luke looks a little taken aback. 

“Oh,” he says, in a small voice. “Uh. I guess.” Ashton nods curtly, mind on nothing but how badly he needs to fucking empty his bladder, and pretty much sprints into the bathroom, sighing in relief as he finally gets to the toilet. 

He starts thinking about what Luke had said as he’s washing his hands - for thirty seconds, of course - and a sense of dread settles in his stomach. What’s Luke going to say? Is he going to end the band? Say he wants to move back to Australia, get away from Ashton? 

Ashton dawdles drying his hands, not wanting to face whatever Luke’s going to throw at him, but eventually, when his hands are starting to actually get exfoliated by the towel, he drops it reluctantly and unlocks the bathroom door, ready to knock on Luke’s door. Just as he’s raising his hand, though, he hears a soft murmur of voices from inside - Luke, and a female voice. He can’t make out what they’re saying, because Luke’s speaking incredibly quietly, but it sounds like it could be Liz on the phone if the accent’s anything to go by. Ashton’s stomach twists. He’s probably getting advice on how to tell Ashton he doesn’t want to be in a band with him anymore. 

He walks into his own room quickly, shutting the door as silently as he can, and flops down onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling and feeling equal parts incredibly sorry for himself and sick. 

He’s well and truly fucked things up. 

 ------- 

  5 weeks, 4 days, 15 hours 

The next few days continue in pretty much the same pattern. 

Ashton gets up and showers, during which time Luke goes downstairs and makes himself breakfast. Ashton waits for Luke to come back before he leaves the bathroom and gets himself brunch, and then waits for Luke to go down to make lunch until he can slip into the basement. Luke makes sure to be done with dinner by eight so Ashton can go upstairs and cook for himself, and then they both spend their evenings locked in their respective rooms. 

It’s fucking miserable. 

Ashton hasn’t had any human contact in, like, four days, and he’s struggling, so he can’t even imagine how Luke’s coping. He can sometimes hear the soft murmur of voices floating through the wall but always puts his headphones on, not wanting to think about Luke ringing around telling people he’s quitting the band as soon as lockdown is over because Ashton came onto him and made things fucking awkward. 

Calling Calum helps, a bit, because he gets it, and he just sits there in silence, going about his day and saying nothing, just so Ashton isn’t sat, desperately lonely, in his room or in the basement. But it’s not the same, and Ashton finds he’s not just missing human contact - he’s missing Luke. 

He misses the way they’d bicker over dinner, how Ashton would try and force Luke to take more of a responsibility in cooking and Luke would pout and refuse, misses the way Luke’s face would light up when Ashton complimented him, misses the light-hearted way Luke would tease him for taking two showers a day, misses the warmth of Luke next to him in bed and his blue eyes blinking sleepily up at Ashton in the morning. 

It’s fucking pathetic. Ashton’s never been so broken-hearted, not after any of his breakups. He’s deflated, listless, lifeless. 

On the fifth day, however, he’s jolted out of his moping in the late afternoon by a hesitant knock at his door. 

“Yeah?” he says, heart suddenly beating too fast, because it can only be Luke. The door opens, revealing an anxious-looking Luke standing in the doorway. 

“Hi,” Luke says. 

“Hi,” Ashton says, swallowing hard. He looks fucking gorgeous, and Ashton wants nothing more than to reach out, pull him close. He’s suddenly very aware of how disgusting he must look - he’s barely changed out of his pyjamas for almost a week. 

“I, uh. Need to speak to you,” Luke says. Ashton’s stomach bottoms out. 

“Please don’t leave the band,” he says, all in a rush. “I’m- I’m sorry. Just. Please.” Luke’s brow furrows. 

“I’m, uh. Not leaving the band,” he says, and Ashton feels a wave of relief so strong wash over him that were he not lying down, he thinks his knees would buckle. 

“Oh,” he says. “Well. Good.” They stare at each other for a moment. “Uh. What was it that you wanted to talk about?” 

“Oh,” Luke says, as though he’s just remembered, and shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot. “I’m. Going.” 

“Going?” Ashton’s confused. 

“Yeah,” Luke says nervously. “To Mike and Cal’s.” 

“But you- we’re in lockdown,” Ashton says. 

“Well, I’ve been here long enough that I can be certain I’m not contagious, and the same goes for Mike and Calum,” Luke says. “And I’m not going to leave the house at all after I go to theirs, just in case, and I’m going in my car, so.” He shrugs, and Ashton’s stomach sinks. 

“I’m sorry,” Ashton says. “I- fuck. I didn’t mean to fuck things up.” 

“It’s okay,” Luke says, sounding a little sad. “You made a mistake. And, like, you can’t help how you feel.” 

“I don’t want you to go,” Ashton blurts, even though that’s fucking obvious, given that he fucking kissed Luke. He scrambles out of bed, lurches to his feet, and takes a step towards Luke before thinking better of it. Luke probably doesn’t want to be near him right now. 

“I- what?” Luke sounds a little confused, and Ashton opens his mouth to respond, but is interrupted by Luke’s phone ringing. Fucking typical. 

“Sorry,” Luke says, and he has the grace to look embarrassed as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. “I- fuck, sorry, I really should take this. It’s Michael.” 

“Oh,” Ashton says. It kind of stands to reason, because Luke’s about to go to their house. As Luke swipes on his phone, Ashton’s own phone starts buzzing on his bedside table, and he reaches over to see it’s Calum. Fuck it, he thinks, as Luke waits for his phone to connect - if Luke’s going to talk to Michael, he can talk to Calum.

“Don’t fucking come here!” Michael’s voice yells, all of a sudden, making both Luke and Ashton jump. 

“What?” Luke says, sounding bewildered. “Why no-” 

“Don’t let Luke leave!” Calum shouts, and Ashton nearly drops his phone in surprise. 

“What th- are you okay? Are you sick?” Ashton’s first thought is fuck, are they ill? Have they got it? 

“I’m sorry, Luke,” Michael says, all in a rush. “I promised I wouldn’t tell Cal, but he mentioned something, and we both-” 

“Is that Michael?” Calum says, and Ashton looks down to see him rushing from their bedroom into the living room. “Mike, are you calling Luke?” 

“Yeah, I have to-” 

“I’m on the phone to Ashton,” Calum says. 

“I’m with Luke,” Ashton says. 

“Oh,” Michael says. “Well. That makes things easier.” Luke’s phone beeps, and Ashton looks over to see that Michael’s hung up and shuffled into frame on Ashton’s phone. “You guys have to talk to each other.” 

“Mike,” Luke says, and he sounds pleading. He throws Ashton a nervous look. “Don’t.” 

“No, you have to fucking tell him,” Michael presses. 

“Ash, I’m sorry, I didn’t tell him, but Michael worked it out, and-” Calum starts, but Michael interrupts.

“You guys are fucking-” 

“Michael.”

“-okay, you’re not the most intelligent, how’s that?” 

“What the-” Ashton starts indignantly, but Michael cuts him off. 

“Luke, tell him,” he says. 

“Mike, I told you-” 

“Ash,” Calum says, much gentler than Michael. “Why did you kiss Luke?” Ashton blanches. 

“What the fuck?” he whispers, because this wasn’t part of the fucking deal. He told Calum in confidence . And sure, Ashton knows, Calum knows, and clearly Luke knows, which is seventy-five percent of the room, but still. It’s a forbidden topic. 

“Why?” Calum pushes. 

“Cal,” Ashton says weakly, because he doesn’t think he can take this kind of humiliation in front of his two other best friends. He’s steadfastly not looking at Luke - he doesn’t think he could handle the shame. 

“Why?” Calum asks again, firmly. No one speaks for a good few seconds, and the tension hangs thick in the air.

“Because I like him,” Ashton mumbles eventually, when it becomes clear no one else is going to speak. 

“Fucking finally,” Calum mutters. 

“You- what?” Luke sounds absolutely nonplussed. 

“I like you, okay?” Ashton says, feeling like a fucking fourteen year old. He’s still staring at the floor. “I- I didn’t, and then I did, and. Then I kissed you. And you didn’t, like.” He shrugs, wishing whatever sins he’s committed in his life would all catch up to him at the same time and God would smite him on the spot. 

“But- you ran away,” Luke says, still sounding perplexed. “And when I tried to talk to you, you- you didn’t want to.” 

“What?” Ashton says. “When?” 

“You ran to the bathroom,” Luke says. 

“I- fuck, Luke, I needed to piss,” Ashton says. 

“Oh,” Luke says. “But. You still ran away.” 

“I was scared,” Ashton says. “Like. If I’d fucked things up, with you, with the band.” 

“Oh,” Luke says again, and Ashton finally chances a look at him. He looks baffled, but a small smile is spreading across his face. 

“Luke?” Michael prompts. 

“I, uh.” Luke swallows, smiling properly now. “I like you too?” 

“Fucking finally,” Michael says, sounding relieved, and then Ashton’s phone beeps. 

They’re alone. 

“You- what?” Ashton’s not quite sure what he’s just heard. 

“I- I thought you knew how I felt, and you regretted it because you ran away, and you didn’t feel the same as me, because I- don’t make me say it again,” Luke says, a pleading note to his voice, but he’s still smiling. “Do you- do you really?” 

“Really what?” 

“Like me,” Luke says, sounding like a fourteen year old. 

“Yeah,” Ashton says boldly.  

“Oh,” Luke says, full-on grinning now. “Oh.” 

“And- and you like me?” Ashton says. “Like, romantically?” Ashton has to be sure that he’s understanding this correctly. 

“Ash, I’ve been trying to hit on you for the past six weeks,” Luke says, rolling his eyes, still grinning. 

“You have?” Ashton says, surprised, and then- oh. Oh. Luke watches the realisation dawn on Ashton’s face, and snorts. 

“Yeah,” he says pointedly. 

“Oh,” Ashton says, a warm feeling starting to unfurl in his stomach, a smile forming on his lips. 

“Yeah,” Luke says again, and they stand there for a moment, grinning at each other. 

“So,” Ashton says, a little nervously. “I can kiss you?” 

“Please,” Luke says emphatically, and Ashton laughs, elation bubbling in his chest, and crosses the room in two strides to kiss Luke. They’re both still grinning, lips pressed together awkwardly, and Ashton’s momentum makes Luke stumble backwards a little. He finds his balance quickly, though, and wraps an arm around Ashton’s waist, pulling him closer, and Ashton tilts his head a little to give him a better angle. Then - finally - they’re properly kissing, Luke’s lips slotted soft and warm against Ashton’s. Ashton slides one hand to the nape of Luke’s neck, resting in the nest of curls there, and slips the other around Luke’s waist, trying to imprint this moment - the feeling of Luke against him, around him - in his memory forever, atom for atom. 

They kiss a little tentatively at first, unsure what the boundary is, what’s okay, but the tension soon drains from Luke’s shoulders and he kisses a little more desperately, a little more like he has something to prove. Ashton tries not to think about the little keening noises Luke’s making, tries not to let them go straight to his dick, but kisses back harder, steadying Luke with the arm around his waist when it seems like he might stumble again. 

Eventually, the kiss turns slow, languid, easy, as it really sinks in - Ashton’s kissing Luke, and Luke’s kissing back. Something’s burning warm in Ashton’s stomach, heating him from the inside out, spreading through his veins like lazy flames, making him smile into the kiss, and feels Luke smiling against his lips too. 

Eventually, Ashton breaks away, a little breathless, and he’s not sure whether that’s because of the kiss or because of Luke. 

“Fuck,” he says, dropping his head onto Luke’s shoulder and pressing a soft kiss there. 

“We just kissed,” Luke says, and he sounds kind of awe-struck. 

“We did that, like, last week,” Ashton points out. 

“Shut up,” Luke says, and it’s fond, and it sounds like Calum speaking to Michael, and Ashton doesn’t think he’s ever been happier. 

“So,” he says hopefully, drawing back a little to look at Luke. He kind of likes that Luke’s a little taller than him, likes that he feels a little small and protected in Luke’s arms. “Does this mean you’re going to sleep in here again?” 

Luke just grins at him. 

 -------

  8 weeks, 3 days, 13 hours 

“I am not moving that fucking bed out of your room,” Luke says pointedly, drying the glass Ashton hands him with a tea towel. 

“Well, I’m not having my bed get splattered with paint because you don’t know how to handle a paintbrush,” Ashton shoots back, scrubbing a plate. Luke scowls at him. 

“I know how to handle a fucking paintbrush,” Luke says sulkily, putting the glass back in the cupboard, and then brightens a little as he smirks, and adds: “I know how to handle a lot of things.” 

“The truth not being one of them, apparently,” Ashton says, dodging the towel that Luke swats in his direction. “C’mon, Luke. We’re stuck at home, we’ve watched every film on Netflix, we’ve fucked ourselves raw - we’ve run out of condoms, actually, is that on the shopping list?”

“Yeah,” Luke says.

“Right,” Ashton continues, “we’ve fucked ourselves raw, we’ve decorated your room, we’ve written songs, and we’ve already got the paint.” Luke groans, tipping his head back in frustration. 

“I don’t want to have to spend a whole week dodging a bed in the bathroom again,” Luke says. 

“Well, if you’re not such a fucking bitch about it this time, it’ll be done in less than a week,” Ashton notes, handing him the last bit of cutlery to dry off and draining the sink. Luke flips him off after drying the cutlery, placing it back in the drawer and hanging the tea towel off the front of the oven. 

“I was not a bitch about it,” he says petulantly, but he’s slipping his arms around Ashton’s waist as he says it, resting his chin on Ashton’s shoulder. It sends a thrill shooting through Ashton’s body, the same thrill he’s been experiencing for a good three weeks now - Luke is his, now. Still his best friend, still doesn’t pick up his fucking towels in the morning, still stomps away from an argument and then comes running back a few minutes later, but also more, also the man who kisses Ashton’s temple softly when he thinks Ashton’s asleep, who moans so fucking prettily when Ashton’s in between his thighs, who reaches for Ashton’s hand when he’s scrolling through his phone, just because. Ashton hums at the thought, tilting his head to one side to make room for Luke, and slots his wet fingers in between Luke’s, who makes a noise of disgust. 

“Gross,” he complains, and Ashton grins, spinning around in Luke’s grasp and looping his arms around his neck, letting his fingers trail cold and wet down Luke’s spine. Luke shivers and squirms, but doesn’t try to pull away. “Stop it, ew.” 

“Say you’ll help me move the furniture out of my room,” Ashton says, wiping the back of his fingers on Luke’s neck. Luke brings his shoulders up to his ears in an attempt to stop Ashton’s hands moving. 

“Fine, fuck, I’ll help you move the fucking bed,” Luke says, and Ashton stops, and leans up to press a chaste kiss to Luke’s lips. 

“That’s all you had to say, sweetheart,” he says, and Luke smiles at him, bright and mischievous. 

“I said the bed,” he says. “You’re on your own with the wardrobe.” 

“Arsehole,” Ashton says, but he’s grinning too. 

“Actually, I’ve been thinking,” Luke says, and he sounds a little nervous. 

“God, you’re getting experimental,” Ashton says, earning himself another scowl from Luke. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Luke says. “I kind of like LA, now I’ve got you here.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Ashton says, trying not to look like his heart is bursting at the idea that he’s the reason Luke’s changed his mind on LA. “Are you going to buy yourself a place?” Luke bites his lip. 

“Well,” he says, and it dawns on Ashton what he’s saying. 

“Oh,” he says, a smile creeping onto his face. “Luke Hemmings, are you asking me to ask you to move in?” Luke drops his forehead onto Ashton’s shoulder. 

“No,” he says weakly, sounding embarrassed. Ashton shrugs his shoulder, forcing Luke to move his head back up. 

“You are,” he says teasingly. “You want to live with me.” 

“I do live with you,” Luke says. 

“You know what I mean,” Ashton says. 

“Fuck you,” Luke says, but there’s no heat behind the words, just a touch of self-consciousness. “You can just say no.” 

“I’m not saying no,” Ashton says. 

“Well, it doesn’t sound like you’re saying yes.” 

“Alright, how does this sound?” Ashton says, using his arms around Luke’s neck to pull him closer. “What should we do with the spare room?” Luke frowns at him for a moment, then, as realisation dawns on him, a slow smile spreads across his face. 

“Yeah?” he says. 

“Yeah,” Ashton says. “I mean, we already live together. Plus, you have a house in Vegas, and I want a holiday home.” Luke snorts. 

“I think we should turn it into a studio,” Luke says, and it takes Ashton a moment to remember what he’s talking about. 

“I have a studio,” he says. 

“Yeah, in the basement, you fucking vampire,” Luke says. 

“How much money do you think I have?” Ashton demands. “I can’t just rebuild my entire studio upstairs because golden boy wants to catch some fucking rays.” He doesn’t miss the way Luke’s lips quirk up at ‘golden boy’. 

“Okay, how about a gaming room?” 

“You don’t even play that much,” Ashton says. Luke rolls his eyes. 

“Fucking hell, alright, a sex dungeon,” he suggests sarcastically. Ashton opens his mouth, and then shuts it again. 

“You know what?” he muses, grinning when Luke sighs dramatically. “Alright, how about an office?” Luke frowns. 

“You have an office,” he says. 

“Your office,” Ashton says. Luke blinks, and then smiles. 

“Oh,” he says, sounding way too happy for someone talking about offices. “I mean. I’d rather just have a desk in your office.” Ashton rolls his eyes then, hard. 

“You’re fucking impossible,” he says. “I guess it’ll just have to stay a guest room.” Luke pulls Ashton tighter to him, their bodies pressed against each other top to toe. 

“You better not be planning on inviting any other hot young men living in Vegas around,” he says warningly. Ashton blinks up at him, a small smile unfurling on his lips. 

“I’ve already got the best one,” he says, and Luke grins at him. 

“You’re a fucking romantic,” he says. 

“Yeah, he’ll be here soon,” Ashton continues, eyes glinting, and Luke squawks indignantly and squeezes Ashton’s waist, making him squeal and squirm in Luke’s grasp. “Dickhead,” he says, when the sensation fades. Luke just grins, and presses a kiss to Ashton’s forehead. 

“I love you,” Luke says, and Ashton’s not quite sure how he means it, but that’s okay. 

“I love you too,” Ashton says, and he’s not quite sure how he means it, but that’s okay. 

#lashton #malum #5sos slash fanfiction #5sos slash #i am sooooo fucking glad this is out of the way #now i can focus on other things #not my essays! dont get it twisted! #i have other Fic Ideas

[psycho-slytherin]

Strangers ch. 40

You’re confronted during your workday, and meet up with the guys for dinner. Later, you and Yoongi wrestle with what you’ve learned.

Pairing: Idol!Yoongi x Actress!Reader

Word count: 3k

Genre: fluff, angst

|mlist|

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You rub anxiously at Starry Night, letting the dull roar of the subway distract you from a whirlwind of thoughts. 

You haven’t slept since leaving the interview with Detective Kang yesterday. How will you muster up the cool head of your character, Ji-Woo, while knowing what you know? As you exit the subway station near the film studio, the brisk spring breeze that hits your back causes you to flinch– you hear her laughing, the sasaeng that pushed you in, and you feel the freezing water envelop you, you’re drowning, dying–

No. C’mon, y/n. No, you’re not. You tap your foot on the ground, as though to prove to yourself that you’re standing on solid, dry land. 

If this gets any worse, you wonder, staring around at all the people unaffected by the cold, how will I ever leave the house?

You should really start focusing on your writing degree– authors don’t have to leave their warm nooks.

You should start focusing on any degree, if you’re being honest. You’re turning into the slacker you promised you’d never become; when’s the last time you’ve even thought about school? 

 Doesn’t matter. Just do well with acting, and you won’t need school ever again.

You arrive onset, and Yoongi is nowhere to be found. On top of that, you see your costar Jeongyeon strut over to you. Great.

“Y/n, darling~” She coos brightly, though her eyes sparkle with something less than kindness. “No Yoongi today? I thought you spent all your time together.”

This fucking fake relationship. You grit your teeth, giving into the anger that lately seems to warm you. “It’s eight in the morning, darling. I don’t know what you think of me, or Yoongi, but given that we live separately– in completely opposite directions, in fact– we’re not going to show up every damned day together!”

“Ooh, someone’s feeling testy, huh?” Jeongyeon replies, not missing a beat. “Did you have a fight with him? Trouble in paradise already?”

Your blood begins to boil as you stalk towards her. “You little–”

“Hey, sweetheart.” Before you can reach out to strangle your coworker, you feel long fingers lacing with your own, and someone pressed up against your side. 

“What were you guys talking about?” Yoongi asks, his tone jovial. Meanwhile, you’re far too distracted by the fact that he’s holding your hand. You can feel the fury leave you, replaced by Yoongi’s warmth.

“Just how cute you two are!” Jeongyeon is quick to reply. “Y/n is so lucky to be dating a celebrity like you, Suga.”

Yoongi then does something so surprising that you don’t manage to react: he leans down and presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I think I’m the lucky one. I’ll see you two onset, okay?”

Affection for your friend blooms in your chest; his timing couldn’t have been better.

“Mhm!” Jeongyeon waves as Yoongi pads to wardrobe. As soon as he’s out of earshot, her smile falls. “Lucky bitch.”

“I’d say jealousy isn’t a good look on you,” you fire back, “but it sure is prettier than your personality.”

“Y/n! Jeongyeon!” Your director, Avery, yells from across the busy film set. “Why aren’t you in costume? Go!”

You and Jeongyeon jump. “Yes, ma’am!”

Soon enough, you’re hand-in-hand with Yoongi, gliding through the choreography you’d been taught. It’s a big scene for the main characters, so you and the rest of the cast need to simply… fade into the background. Your gown swishes and swirls around you, matching perfectly with Yoongi’s noble formalwear. 

The music is soft, and the movements so much the same, that you find your thoughts drifting.

“I’m sorry that Jeongyeon is bothering you,” Yoongi says eventually. “That might be my fault.”

“What do you mean?”

“I kind of know her. We met at an awards show last year… Namjoon said she might have a crush on me,” he says sheepishly. “Hopefully that little charade put her off.”

“Right.” Charade. All a charade.

You’re treated to another few minutes of quiet as the cameras train on the main characters.

“What’s on your mind?” Yoongi murmurs, his back to the camera.

“Lisa,” you admit. “I’m really worried.”

“You never did call me after your meeting with that detective. How did it go?”

“Er…” you swore to confidentiality. Are you allowed to tell him? But Yoongi has kept you a secret for the better part of a year, you know you can trust him. Besides, you promised– no more lies. “I’ll tell you after work, okay?”

“Sure. If you’re feeling up to it, we can actually have a group dinner with the guys.”

You smile. “Perfect.”

A full workday later, you sigh with exhaustion. That commercial you filmed with Wonho should be coming out soon– your paycheck for those two days of work are what you’d earn after three weeks as a barista. And Moon Over The Sea is paying you even more. Who needs school?

Lisa… Once you arrive home, you text her phone, just as you’ve been doing in the day since leaving the meeting with Detective Kang. She’s missing… but she’s not. You saw her… but maybe you didn’t. She’s okay… unless she isn’t? Again, the message goes undelivered.

You decide to try something else, instead calling up one of Lisa’s housemates.

“Hello?”

“Seulgi, it’s y/n.”

“Y/n! Hey, how are you? How’s your leg?”

That’s right, she hasn’t seen you since you dragged yourself, half-dead, to her door. 

“Much better, thanks,” you reply as you sit on your bed, stretching out your left leg to see the jagged scar running down the length of your calf. It could easily have been your head that collided with the rough rock. “I was wondering if you’ve heard from Lisa?”

“You know, I was going to ask you the same question,” Seulgi replies casually, and you feel your heart sink. “I haven’t seen her in weeks– it’s not much of an issue since she’s set up automatic rent payments, but like, she never told us she was going off somewhere, you know?”

You bite your lip. “I know. Can you let me know if you hear from her?”

“Sure thing. I wouldn’t worry, y/n, she’s probably at her parents’ house or something.”

“Yeah, p-probably.” You nearly choke on the lie. She’s missing, you want to scream. She’s missing, and there’s so much I need to know.

“–Which I thought was weird,” Seulgi is saying.

You tune back in. “What was that?”

“Just that she left her laptop here. Maybe she got a new one? I don’t know how I’d survive without my computer, you know?”

“Huh… yeah.” Maybe her laptop could give you clues to Lisa’s disappearance. “Seulgi, do you mind if I swing by to pick up Lisa’s computer? Might as well bring it to her folks.”

“Good idea. See you soon.”

You check your watch. You have a couple hours before your dinner with BTS. Might as well get that done. Besides, with Lisa gone, you’re at a loss for how to organize new jobs– you know you should start looking for another manager, but to do so is to admit defeat on Lisa’s behalf.

Soon enough, you’re at Lisa’s doorstep, the doorstep on which you found yourself after your trek from the river those short weeks ago. 

Seulgi welcomes you in: “Hey! Irene and Wendy are out, but Yeri’s got a friend over, so it might be a little loud.”

“It’s fine– I just need the computer.” You know which door is Lisa’s, and you quickly let yourself into her room. It’s just like you remember from the last time you were over: BTS posters plaster the wall, and your heart aches to see Yoongi’s face staring at you. You think a Jimin poster has been replaced with that of Jungkook, but otherwise… 

Where are you? You spot her laptop on her desk and flip it open. It’s still charged, but– dammit. Password-protected. Short on time, you grab it, slipping it into your bag. Detective Kang told you not to worry, to let the police do their jobs, but you’re not trying to solve a crime; you just want your friend back.

You can examine its contents later, once you’re at the guys’ apartment. You have just enough time to head back and change, and before long you find yourself in the elevator up. With your new status as Suga’s ‘girlfriend’, your days of sneaking in through the back door are over. As long as you leave before it gets too late, and the security guards do their job in keeping the sasaengs back, you’re golden.

“I brought snacks~” you sing as the elevator slides open. You felt embarrassed when you first became friends with them– what could you bring to make millionaires happy? But these guys are such dorks, they love everything you arrive with. This time? Salty crackers and pretzels for after-dinner snacking.

“Y/n-ie’s here!” You’re suddenly surrounded by Namjoon, Seokjin, Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook. Yoongi is in the kitchen pouring himself some wine.

“Hey, guys.” You feel yourself tearing up. After the stress of the last few days, you’re grateful for your friends.

“Aww, don’t cry! We ordered takeout!” Jungkook says, bouncing on his heels.

Seokjin sighs. “That’s a pretty good reason to cry, dummy.”

“Takeout sounds awesome,” you laugh, shrugging out of your coat. You’re still wearing three layers, and their apartment is warm; you’re safe from the cold for now.

“Jeez, aren’t you boiling?” Hoseok asks, plucking at your plush sweater.

You flinch before regaining your sass. “You’re just jealous that I’m hotter than you, Hobi.”

“If she wants to stay warm, let her.” Yoongi says, approaching. “We can eat in the living room, it’s warm there. Should we watch a movie?”

The guys whoop in agreement. 

“Let’s watch Midsommar,” Taehyung suggests as the eight of you settle in the living room. You race Yoongi to steal his favorite armchair, but he manages to snag it just before you.

“How about Once Upon A Time in Hollywood?” Namjoon asks. “I think it’s been subtitled already.”

“I heard really good things about 1917,” Jungkook adds. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Yoongi shrinking more and more into himself– that’s right, you remember with a start, he hates scary movies. And all three suggestions, in some way or another, are certainly scary. Cults, war, and murder? Yeah, no.

You catch his eye. What do you want to watch? You mouth silently. In lieu of a response, Yoongi smiles and shakes his head, sending you a clear don’t-worry-about-it signal.

And yet… half an hour into Midsommar, Yoongi stands up, looking pale. “I’m gonna… go get something.”

When he doesn’t come back after fifteen minutes you make your own excuses to the guys before going to knock on his door. “Yoongi?”

The door creaks open, and Yoongi lets you in. “Caught me, didn’t you?”

“Eh, I’d rather hang out with you than watch a movie anyways,” you reply, flopping onto Seokjin’s bed.

“Well, while we’re here…” Yoongi says casually, “Want to tell me what went on with Lisa?”

You gulp, at last letting yourself dwell on the events of yesterday. “She’s been missing for three weeks. Or maybe two weeks. Or maybe two days? She hasn’t shown up to classes, hasn’t slept at her apartment, and hasn’t contacted anyone.” Except me. “She bought a plane ticket to America but never boarded the flight. And her credit card…” you take a deep breath. If nothing else, this is something you need to share with Yoongi.

“Yoongs, Lisa’s credit card was found at our lamppost.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it was…” it’s suddenly difficult to draw breath. “Yoongi, they found it right next to the lamppost.”

Yoongi’s brows knit together as he clearly tries to process your words. “But… you worked at the cafe down the street. She could have been visiting you, or just going for coffee. Right?”

You nod. “That would make sense, but the last charge on her card was after I’d already quit at the cafe. And…” you look down. “There’s something else.”

Yoongi stares at you, and you fidget with Starry Night, stumbling over your words. “Her- that is, she… She…”

Silently, Yoongi rises and walks over to the light switch, flicking it off and plunging the both of you into darkness.

“Y-Yoongs…?” You call quietly, and you feel a warm hand resting on your own.

“Is this better?” He asks, his voice echoing in the dark.

“I- yeah.” You relax a bit, knowing no one’s eyes are on you, you’re safe. “Lisa’s phone, it had been switched off for weeks, but on Friday it was turned back on…”

Detective Kang slides the laptop over to you. “We were able to pinpoint its location to somewhere on this block. We don’t have traffic cameras near these buildings, so we can’t confirm, but do you know of any reason she might be in this area?”

Your heart stutters at the familiar street view. “I was working there.” You grab the laptop and lean closer to the screen, as though you might see inside the buildings. “That’s… where I was filming the commercial. She dropped me off there!” Your hands begin trembling, making it difficult to point. “Detective, I was inside that building when she texted me. Right… right there.”

“And you say you used to work down the street from where we found her credit card?” Detective Kang clarifies.

“Yes. Detective, do you think she could be in danger–?”

“We can’t draw any conclusions. But do you think there’s anyone else who saw Lisa on the day she dropped you off?”

“I don’t know. She stayed in her car.”

“Okay. Ms. L/n, You can’t tell anyone about this case, alright? We’re not sure of what’s going on, but we in the Missing Persons unit have a handle on it. And if Ms. Manoban contacts you again, please let me know right away. Record it, if you can– it’s possible she was threatened or otherwise forced to see you on Friday.”

You feel tears begin to well in your eyes. Lisa, threatened? “I understand.”

“Oh, y/n.” You feel Yoongi’s arms wrap around you as he sits beside you on Jin’s bed. “She’ll be okay. I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

“What I need…” you whisper. “I need you.” 

Yoongi’s arms tighten around you. “Y/n?”

You straighten up. “You. You’re good with computers, right?”

Your friend lets go of you, clearing his throat. “I– kind of, why?”

“I have Lisa’s computer. She left it at her apartment. It’s password-protected…” you falter. As her best friend, you should know Lisa’s passwords. She knows all of yours, but she’s always been careful with her passwords, and you’ve never asked. Why did you never ask? “I was hoping you might be able to help.”

“Aish, I’m not a magician, y/n.” You hear Yoongi getting up to turn the lights back on and you blink weakly as the sudden brightness blind you. “But I’ll do my best, okay?”

“You’re amazing,” you say gratefully, pulling the computer from your bag.

“Ya know,” Yoongi says as he opens the laptop, “I’m pretty sure you’re the programmer of the two of us.”

“Huh?”

“You’re a whiz at HTML.”

You giggle. “Yoongi, I learned HTML for Tumblr. For you.”

“What, really?” Yoongi laughs in disbelief. “Damn, first you’ve got me as your ringtone, then you go and learn programming for me too?”

You shove him playfully. “Help me with the computer, dork.”

“Alright, alright. Let’s try the obvious stuff first.” With your help, Yoongi tries Lisa’s name, birthday, student ID number, first pet’s name, and a bunch of others. Eventually, and with Midsommar still playing down the hall, you sit back and groan.

“Some hacker you are.”

“I never said I was a hacker, y/n, I’m just good at guessing passwords.” Yoongi rubs his temples, brushing his messy black hair from his eyes. So pretty.

“How about her bias?” He says eventually. “She likes Jimin, right?”

“Ah- yeah! Try his name!”

You spend another ten minutes on every variety of Jimin’s name and birthday that you can think of. None are successful, and you begin to despair. You know you should have just taken it straight to Detective Kang, but you just want to be useful for once. Your mind drifts back to Lisa’s bedroom. She’d replaced a Jimin poster with Jungkook… wait. Jungkook! You reach over and snatch the computer from Yoongi’s grasp, quickly typing in Jungkook, jungkookie, jeonjk, jeonjeongguk, and again, everything else under the sun. Eventually, out of sheer desperation, you type in jk010997– his birthday. You hold your breath as the computer finally unlocks, revealing its desktop. 

There’s a photo open on Lisa’s desktop. When you see it, and register it, a wave of pure terror washes over you, so powerful that you fall off the bed with a thud and scramble across the room. “That’s… that’s…”

“Y/n! What is it, what’s wrong?” Yoongi says, alarm ringing in his tone. “Are you okay?”

“It’s her,” you mumble, more to yourself than anything else. Your breaths have turned shallow, and you can feel an episode coming on. Cold. Cold. You’re so cold.

“Her? That’s not Lisa, y/n, what’s going on?”

You point with a shaky finger at the computer screen, upon which a photo of a smiling redhead is displayed. “It’s her. She tried to kill me.”

#bts #bts au #bangtan #suga #yoongi #min yoongi #bts yoongi #bts suga #bts fluff #bts angst #bts drabble #bts series #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #yoongi drabble #yoongi series #yoongi au #idol!au #actor!au #yoongi x reader #bts fanfic #bts fic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fic #suga fanfic #idol!yoongi #fluff #angst #suga au

[lazydoodlesandfanfic]

Growing Up ( Dean & Sam X Sister!Reader)

Characters: Dean & Sam X Sister! Reader

Universe: Supernatural

Warnings: None

Note: I ended up writing this as a short story instead of as HCs

Request: Headcanons for being the Winchester's younger sister and idolizing both of them. Wanting to be as cool and relaxed as Dean and as collected as Sam?

Your brothers were your entire world. When you were born, your eldest brother was a teenager and your dad was away all the time, so you spent your childhood being raised by your brothers. Despite only being half a sister and the huge age difference between you, the two never treated you any different and made sure you were looked after. By the time you were about to become a teenager, your dad was dead and your brothers started working together to not only hunt but to make sure you were looked after still. 

It was no surprise they had such a big influence to you. When they had to leave you behind at a Motel or with Bobby or later at the bunker, then by the time they’d gotten back you were in one of their beds, wearing some part of the other’s clothing. When you got a little older, they ended up giving you their shirts that you preferred, and you wore them religiously. Sam could still remember when you were really upset one day and you told him that one of the shirts had worn enough to rip, and he spent the night sewing it back together, and he asked Dean if he had any other shirts he would be willing to part with, and they got you a new stash.

Your brothers had tried desperately to keep you out of the hunter life, but they had to teach you how to protect yourself in case something did happen, as well as give you numbers of people to call if they never came home for some reason. They had Castiel swear that if anything happened to them, that you were his top priority, and he had no problem accepting this- you were a good kid that Castiel was quickly fond off. Dean even argued you befriended him quicker than your brothers could. 

“Sam have you heard this?” Dean had asked, coming into the same room as Sam, who was sat at the table, glancing up from his laptop. Behind him was you, who had your arms crossed, today wearing one of his old shirts that clearly didn’t fit you, not that you cared. Dean was pointing back at you, and you slapped his hand away. “Baby sister doesn’t think she’s a baby anymore.” 

“Oh really?” Sam asked, closing his laptop as Dean wrapped his arms around you to keep you in place. 

“I didn’t, I just said I’m too big to be carried anymore.” You defended yourself. You didn’t mind being called the baby sister. Being called the baby meant that they still saw they had to look after you, keep an eye on you. They wouldn’t expect you to go out into the world by yourself and be entirely independent, and you sure as hell didn’t want to be away from your brothers, feeling like you were alone in the world. 

“Oh really? Come here, chipmunk!” Sam got up, motioning his hands for you to come closer. Dean laughed, giving a little shove to get you to him, and he promptly put an arm under yours, and one under your legs and heaved you up, and spun you around, making you scream before laughing. 

“My turn, I want to prove I ain’t an old man yet.” Dean asked, opening his arms and Sam put you in them. “There we go! God you’re not much different from when you were still a bundle of blankets.” He teased. 

“What are you doing?” Your brothers turned, letting you also see Castiel looking confused at the sight, Dean still refusing to put you down. 

“Proving our sister is still a baby.” Dean answered in a matter of fact tone, finally putting you down, in which you elbowed him playfully so he started to wrestle you, Sam starting to help you.

Hope you like it! If you have any questions, please send them in! 

*Not my gif

TAGS: @waywardemo @meadow-melody  @imnotsure15 @courtneychicken  @graysonmalfoy @bellero @captain-peanut-at-your-service @likiyoshi-lijie @aesthetjic @originalpottervengerlock @supernatural-pan @esoltis280 @lena-stan-xavier @lady-of-lies @sebstanismylife @macbetheliza @mandywholock1980  @kleptomollyiac @cdwmtjb8 @caswinchester2000 @determinedpines 

#supernatural #Sam Winchester #dean winchester #castiel #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x fem!reader #sam winchester x sister!reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x fem!reader #dean winchester x sister!reader #x reader #x fem!reader #x sister!reader #reader #fem!reader #sister!reader #one shot #writing #story writing #question #request #ask questions #ask me anything #send me stuff #send me asks

[wahbegan]

Desecration (for anon)

All right here it is I ended up getting so many ideas of ways to go with the plot that the dirt under the nails ended up being more of a recurring thing than a focal point but whatever enjoy

Here’s the smell of blood, still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.

-Macbeth, Act V: Scene I

Laßt die todten ruhen.

-Ernst Raupach

Lana was trying to get a promising femur fully unearthed when she heard Dani chime in behind her: “You know, this place is what J.K. Rowling named Harry Potter after. Well, I mean, you know, not THIS place, but just Potter’s Fields in general, I guess.”

“Yeah, that is so totally fucking fascinating, are you gonna come help me with this or what?”

Dani obediently jumped in the grave beside her, though grave was a bit of a loose term. Most of the burial sites around here were above-ground, and for good reason. When the flood waters had come, this place had been torn up and churned into a mass of mud, sink holes, and exposed bones. Which made it perfect.

Who would notice a few missing? It wasn’t like the corpses would feel the absence.

Lana and her sister were grave-robbers by trade, though they would never refer to themselves as such when asked. They were witches in a marketable sort of way, selling morbid curiosities to like-minded spirits and using them to adorn their apartment.

It was spiritual in a sense. It was an active deed of rebellion against the old religions and ways of thought that put these people in the dirt and forgot about them. It was a connection to the Earth and mortality...and it was a bit of fun, besides. Nobody robs graves because bones look cool.

But it helps.

Aesthetic witches, they would call themselves when making a sale. Profaning the sacred for fun and profit. But not the sacred to them. That’s what made it okay. These bones were sacred to a different time, a different religion. An oppressive artifact from dark times past that hated women and gay people.

In short, these were only sacred to the enemy. And besides that, just bones. It was Dani and Lana’s full belief that graveyards exist for the vain conceit of the living. An idiotic practice. Nobody living benefit from the dead staying in the dirt. Digging them up, however...

These particular bones’ rest had already been fairly thoroughly upset by nature, which seemed like a sign if there ever was one. The storm revealed the bones, and the moon herself smiled down and illuminated them, leading them surely and steadily to uncover more of the skeleton the femur belonged to. They’d become desensitized to the ghoulish nature of their work, the almost comical air of Gothic horror that surrounded them. In truth, it was nights like this they deliberately sought out to go gathering materials to turn into geode holders.

“Fucking Hell, that’s part of a spine. Hip bone, femur, spine...this guy’s looking great! Please have an intact skull, please have an intact skull...”

Dani was working farther up, uncovering smashed ribs and bits of sternum. “Nothing yet, Anal.” 

The pet name had always incensed her, mainly because she couldn’t think of a good enough comeback. Dani’s a hard name to make fun of. Dandy? Danny boy? She usually just settled on kid, despite only being 3 years older.

“Then shut your ass up and dig more, kid. Any of those ribs look good? Got a shoulderblade?”

“No, the femur looks like the best part, maybe the hip bone. The rest of him is all smashed to shit. Kinda looks like...”

She paused and frowned a bit, her mind seeming to drift off to do its own thing somewhere else.

Lana crouch-walked over to her and gave her a playful shove to bring her back to herself. “Like he got fucked up, yeah, probably was. Here, I’ll do this end, you just work on getting that hip bone the rest of the way out.”

Dani obeyed quietly and continued to work in silence. Lana was too focused to really notice how strange that was until later.

Right now, she was focused on prying up the thick, sticky Earth where she felt this guy’s skull had to be. It was hard work, grime working its way into the lines of her hand and under her fingernails. She kept prying and pulling at roots, certain it had to be there. 

This is right where it should be if the rest of his skeleton is here, there even seemed to be a bulge or a change in consistency of the Earth like it was packed in, and-

As she had clawed at the latest fistful of dirt, her fingernails had scraped down bone. It was an unpleasant sensation, and her nerves jangled a bit. She had to pull her hand out of the dirt and shake the unpleasant feeling out of it, but the look on her face was triumphant as she turned to look at her sister.

“Guess what I got, biiiitch?”

Dani looked up, still seeming in a bit of a daze. She had wrestled the man’s pelvic girdle out of the ground and was cleaning it off in her lap. “Huh?”

“The skull, dumbass!”

Dani returned to her usual self a bit, sarcastically craning her head to look around Lana and frowning. “I don’t see any skull...”

“Oh, fuck off, I’m working on it.”

It took several more minutes to get the thing out of the ground. It felt unusual: the wrong shape, the wrong texture. It was definitely a skull, but...

When she finally pulled it free, she understood. She held it in both hands, just staring at it in dumbfounded awe for a moment. Whoever this was, or had been, was hideously deformed. One eye socket was intact and full of thick dirt, but on the other side there was no depression at all. One nasal cavity was crooked, looking like it was about to collapse in on itself. 

But the most remarkable thing were the growths. Rough, almost tumorous growths of bone protruded around the back left quarter of the skull, running up to the skullcap and around the left side of the face almost to the missing eye. Overall they seemed to form one irregular mass, giving the head a lopsided, half-sunken appearance. They were coarse, almost jagged to the touch, overlapping and stacking on each other like some kind of plant or fungal bloom. Like coral.

Then she noticed the scoring. Lines on the bone. Not natural ones. Incisions cut into it. Someone had sliced this man’s face to pieces. As she turned it in her hands, she saw the probable cause of death: a hole straight through the back of the cranium, almost perfectly square. A stake hammered through it, most likely.

Lana felt like it was Christmas morning.

She was still staring in silence as Dani turned over the pelvis and mused behind her. “Hmm...think it’s a woman, actually.” Dani had dreams of being a forensic anthropologist that were on the back burner for now. Mainly because it was exactly what she did now, but she’d be celebrated instead of given strange looks and possibly arrested.

“Fuck that. Come look at this.”

“Fuck that?! Well, excuse me for trying to be-woah. Holy shit.”

“Yeah. Holy shit.”

They both stared in measured awe for a moment before grinning at each other as Dani threw her arm around Lana’s shoulders and kissed her cheek.

“This is our Golden Ticket, Dan. I can feel it.”

In the end, they only took the skull home with them. They left the ribs, hips, and leg where they lay in the mud.

Neither of them noticed how dark it had gotten. The moon had gone out on them.

Dani sat cross-legged on their rolling chair, scrolling through articles on her laptop, which a decal helpfully informed all and sundry was located on Elm Street. Lana was still cleaning the skull slowly, meticulously. It was hard work, and she didn’t want to put even one nick on the thing. 

“God damn it, wish we had some of those beetles. You find anything yet?”

“Shhh, shut up Anal, I’m working here.”

Lana rolled her eyes, even as she smiled a bit. She put it down to the fact that she was the younger of the two, but Dani seemed to get a little too into the stuff. She took it seriously in a way Lana just didn’t, couldn’t. She’d outgrown that phase. She knew Dani would too, eventually, wouldn’t pore over articles online so meticulously trying to figure out who it was they dug up, the exact history and superstition behind all their morbid little artifacts. The thought almost made her sad. She really could be a great Forensic Anthropologist if that’s what she wanted.

She put the brush and pick down and looked at her hands absently while she waited for the kid to come back with something interesting. They were almost black, filth-encrusted. Her skin was darkened in general, but it was the lines of her hands and fingerprints that the grave soil really threw into sharp relief. And her fingernails. Under the tips, in her cuticles...she hadn’t thought she’d gotten that much dirt on her hands while she dug.

“God, my hands are fucking filthy.”

Dani didn’t look up. “You know, a very long time ago, people invented this wonderful thing called soap, and if you mix it with water, do you know what happens? It’s really amazing.”

Lana made as if to punch her and then walked to the bathroom sink and started scrubbing.

The water going down the sink was almost black. Must have been the rain. She made a mental note to avoid digging in the mud in the future. The water ran translucent black, but somehow she STILL wasn’t getting it-

“Hey, get in here! I think I got something.”

She ran out of the bathroom so fast that she barely dried her hands, and didn’t see the dark stains left behind on the towels. 

“All right, so,” Dani was thrilled enough with her discovery she didn’t even wait for Lana to say anything or get all the way over to her, she just started dumping. She was like that. “I haven’t got a name, but I was looking at old medical cases involving disfigurement or deformity. Turns out, first of all, I was right. It was a woman. See? I don’t even need no fucking doctorate! Anyway, I think this is our gal.”

The old monochrome photograph showed the side of a tent, presumably that of a travelling freak show. There was a bearded woman, conjoined twins, a little man, a man covered in thick fur-like hair...and on the far right, sitting in a chair, a black woman with one eye, a collapsing nose, and a swollen, lopsided head. 

She had no hair on the deformed side, and the scalp looked rough and uneven in texture. From the photograph, it was clear her arms and the lower half of at least one leg were swollen and malformed as well.

“So THAT is a travelling sideshow that moved throughout the South at the end of the 19th Century. Apparently, her deformity started out relatively minor, but as she grew, her bones kept...” Dani looked away from the screen and nodded at the skull. “Doing that. I think it’s called...ossification? Atypical osseous growth? I’m not exactly sure. Anyway, like I said, her name’s not listed, but she was apparently something of an object of fascination to a white surgeon who lived right around here, one...Robert Ender, who wrote a first-hand account of his research into her affliction, but it’s behind a fucking paywall. Of course. Anyway, in 1893, says he paid the circus owner a lot of money for...her?”

“For her? What do you mean ‘for’ her?”

Dani was squinting at the screen, still reading. “Hold on, I don’t know, to study or something? Aw, what if they got married, wouldn’t that be-”

“What? Kid?”

Dani’s eyes looked different, the excited light had gone out of them. She suddenly seemed much older than she was, looked tired. Tired and a bit sick. She continued reading in a monotone voice. “Ender paid the circus owner an enormous amount of money to study her affliction. Medical experimentation on black women was on the wane since the end of slavery, but since she was a side show performer, and this WAS the deep-ass South...” she trailed off for a moment before continuing.

“He made several surgical incisions into her head and face and vivisected her. She eventually died during a trepanation. There was a minor scandal, but charges were never pressed and Dr. Ender kept his position in society. Her body was buried nameless in the Potter’s Field.” She cast her eyes down. “That’s what I saw...you know, in the ribs. It looked like they had been cut one by one. By shears, you know? Peeled back.”

There was silence between them for a moment before Lana grinned and patted her sister on the back. “Jesus, great job kid! That’s...incredibly fucked up, but look at us! We got a minor celebrity here. We can put her story everywhere. I’m not sure I want to sell her.”

Dani cringed at the words “sell her.” She chewed her lip for a moment in a way Lana had come to know well over the years. It was her designated “i’m going to say something that will upset you and trying to pick my words carefully” face.

“Lana...I don’t think I’m comfortable with this.”

“What are you talking about?!” Lana laughed a bit, still not taking her very seriously. “You’re the one who wants to go pro with grave-robbing, what’s the problem?”

“We shouldn’t keep it.”

“All right, I mean, if you REALLY want we can sell it, it just seems like a was-”

“That’s not what I mean.” She paused again, then looked Lana in the eyes for the first time. “We should put it back.”

“What?! Put it back? What, you think her ghost is coming for us?”

“You’re not listening!” her voice had a force in it that it almost never contained, and Lana was taken aback. “I’m not scared of it. It’s just so...sad.”

“Honey,” Lana put her hand on her sister’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “She’s already dead. There’s nothing we can do. But we can tell her story! We can make something out of her death, right?”

“We don’t even know her name.”

Lana stared at the skull, considering for a moment. “What about...Octavia?”

Dani cocked her eyebrow, but made no response. 

“Yeah, Octavia! That’s a good name, right? Hey, Octavia,” Lana turned towards the skull on the counter with a friendly wave. “You cool if we take some pictures of you and put them on the internet? Not that you know what that IS, but...” she turned back to Dani, expecting a begrudging smile. There wasn’t one.

She just shook her head slowly, then looked over at the hand Lana still had on her shoulder. “Jesus, woman, I thought you washed your hands.”

Lana herself took a good look at them for the first time since she’d come out of the bathroom. If anything, they looked dirtier. She glanced under her nails to see a thick black line of accumulated dirt. “I did! I don’t know why this dirt’s so stubborn. Wait here,” she sighed and returned to the bathroom.

As she scrubbed, watching black dirt flow down the drain, she heard Dani get up and move around. “Hey, I’m going out for cigarettes. You want anything?” 

Lana poked her head around the doorframe. “I thought you were quitting!”

Dani just shrugged and continued out the door.

It made her a bit angry, in all honesty. The kid was overreacting, which wasn’t that unusual for her. They had more than one fight in the past caused by Dani being too sensitive about strange things. But this was different. It was always petty shit, big dramatic blow-outs of the kind that siblings had, but that always blew over when they admitted they were both being assholes.

But Dani had looked at her with real reproach. With something accusatory in her eyes. She thought it was wrong. She thought Lana was a bad person. 

The black kept flowing down the drain, and Lana scrubbed her hands harder. “Fucking thing...”

It wasn’t like none of the bones they’d taken before hadn’t been from people who died badly or had bad lives, was it? They were dead now. That was one thing the two had always agreed on. They were dead, and the dead have no use for their bodies. 

She looked at her hands, which felt raw. Dirty as ever. She grabbed a towel and scrubbed it over her hands and fingers. By the end, it was badly stained, the individual fibers clotting together. 

But her hands were dirty. And there was that black under her fingernails.

“God DAMN it, how...” Lana felt a rush and a drop in her stomach, like she’d just fallen off a cliff. Something was wrong.

She was at the desk now, fumbling through implements, grabbing the pick she’d been cleaning the skull with to take it to her nails. She picked it up and stared.

The skull was dirty again. More than dirty. Its eye was packed with soil, just as it was when she first found it. 

She stared, clutching the pick in her nerveless hands. In a moment the shock would wear off and she would truly panic, but for now, her brain was still trying to make some kind of rational sense of it, trying to parse what it was seeing. In a sort of faraway daze, she noticed a furtive movement under where the skull rested. She was dimly aware she was going to regret turning it over, but that didn’t mean she could stop herself.

A massive Devil’s Coach Horse scuttled out, raising its abdomen in a threat display and opening and closing its jagged mandibles at her. The panic broke forth.

Lana screamed and back-handed the thing, trying to brush it off the desk. It flew directly at her face, buzzing. She flailed and swatted blindly around her head in a panic, only to receive a painful pinching sensation in her forearm. It had sunk its jaws into her flesh and was holding there tightly.

She dropped the skull. She could punch herself in the face for doing it, always treated her bones better than that, would never risk breaking it, but it was a reflex. She dropped it and swatted at the horrible black beetle, only to make contact with her own skin.

The buzzing had stopped. The beetle was gone. So, too, was the dirt. The skull lay innocently on the floor, cleaned off, staring at her.

She stood there for a moment, breathing raggedly, hands shaking. “I’ve lost my fucking mind. I’ve gone...and lost...my fucking mind.”

She looked at her shaking hands intently. She closed her eyes and opened them again. She shook her head, bit her tongue and took deep breaths. But after all, the dirt was still there. The one thing that hadn’t left.

She lifted her pick up again off the floor. She didn’t dare touch the skull. She worked it under the crescent of her fingernails, scraping and tugging at the accumulated filth. It came free easily enough, she noticed. There was plenty of it on the tip of the pick and raining down on the floor. The problem was it kept coming back. She could see it now. As she pulled one line of dirt from beneath her nail, another seemed to seep out and take its place.

Jesus Christ, where was it all coming from?

She turned the sink on high, as hot as it would go, and got her pocket knife. She wasn’t thinking rationally, it was just animal panic and desperation to get the damned dirt out. She worked the blade under her nail until it flared with red hot pain. 

She worked through her other nails, digging and stabbing underneath, biting down to keep from crying out as more and more dirt came out. Black was running down her fingers now, a translucent black like the dirty water going down the drain.

There was a source, there had to be a source.

“Fuck it.” Lana growled and wrenched a nail free, then another. She started screaming again as she saw what was underneath. There was no blood, no exposed bed of nerves. Just more dirt. Black powder. She dug at the miniature dirt beds in her fingertips with the knifepoint, prying more and more loose before giving up, throwing it down on the floor in frustration. 

She wrung her hands under the water, trying to get it out, trying to get anything out at all. It was helpless, the water just kept flowing black, there was nothing but dirt underneath her skin and her nails. The pain was unbearable. She felt light-headed, on the verge of passing out, but she couldn’t stop. Not now.

Dani was only gone for about 15 minutes, but was already too late. There was blood everywhere. Running down the sink to the floor, on the mirror, on the knife. The sink was full of nails, and the water that ran past them down the drain was pink. Lana was slumped across the far wall of the bathroom, barely conscious. There was no skin left on her hands. She had scrubbed it off.

Dani didn’t ask her any questions. Not as she drove her to the hospital, not when she regained her consciousness. Not ever. What she did was take her in, leave her with the doctors, and drive straight back to the Potter’s Field. 

What she did was put the skull back exactly where she found it, and say a tearful apology, and beg for mercy for her sister.

She told Lana later, as she was visiting her in the mental hospital she’d been referred to. She said it unprompted. Worded it gently, like she didn’t suspect damn well what had happened. “Hey, Anal.” She rested her hand on top of the gauze covering her older sister’s. “I, um...look, don’t be mad, but I got rid of that skull while you were recovering. It...I really wasn’t comfortable with it, you know, and I just thought that-”

“Thank you.” Lana’s smile was weak, but real. “I’m sorry.”

It was almost the last time they ever spoke of it. Once, as Lana caught Dani glancing forlornly at the gloves she had taken to wearing, the subject came up again.

“It’s not your fault, kid. You know that.”

“I stormed out on you because I was upset. That was dumb.”

“Yeah, well, if I’d listened to you...you know. I was just...excited. Felt like we found something real, you know?”

Dani let out a bitter laugh. “We did. Lana? Do you ever wish we did tell her story?”

Lana considered it for a moment before slowly shaking her head. “I think, maybe...maybe it wasn’t our story to tell.”

#writing #not sure i like this one as much as the others actually but i've been working on it for god damned AGES so #skimping on the editing for now oops

[someplace-that-is-else]

‘Go into a Room Too Fast, the Room Eats You: How I Fell into the Expanse’

If I was being honest…I had never forgiven them.

 By them, I mean the Sci-Fi Channel. For what? Cancelling Sliders. It had been my favorite sci-fi show of all time. It was the one that resonated with me. It was a show that inspired me to write. So much so that I did my first fan fiction, fiction done by a fan for a show.

 Then there was Farscape. I had no intention of watching that either. Especially after losing Sliders to it I believed. And who would watch a show that was essentially Muppets in Space. Or so I thought. But boy, did it prove me wrong! After avoiding it for the majority of its first season, the finale episodes…and the introduction of a certain leather-clad half-Scarran…caught my eye. I slowly, but surely was hooked…until that was cancelled, too three years later. Never again, I thought.

 Since my ‘never again’ pledge, the Sci-Fi Channel had changed. After years of allowing itself to devolve into a channel full of constant movies, reality tv, and wrestling (Wrestling? Really?), SyFy (the name they decided to rebrand themselves as) finally decided to get back to what their purpose was supposed to be: sci-fi…old and most importantly NEW.

 One of the new shows was The Magicians. I remembered seeing the book when I was still living in Little Rock, Arkansas in the local library. I never knew it would become a show. More fantasy than sci-fi, but I liked it. Usually it was on Wednesdays.

 One Wednesday I happened to be home. I saw the new episode. And then I felt lazy. I allowed my television to stay on the same channel rather than turn it.

 I had been looking down. My ears still heard dialogue and sound effects. But I was not paying attention. Then a boom sounded off. I looked up. There was someone on some planet. They were in a space suit. All hell was breaking loose. It was intercut with space. Then I remembered that The Magicians was scheduled with another show called The Expanse. I texted my friend Lee about it since I remember she had mentioned it in passing.

 “Turn off the television,” she texted.

 “What?” I texted.

 She said I couldn’t watch it. That I had to go back and watch it from the beginning. I thought she was being silly on one hand. On the other hand, I wanted to see what happened in the scene that I had just watched. In any case, I turned the channel.

 But…I was already intrigued.

 About A Girl…Or Is it? The Expanse Season 1

 The Expanse took place in a future where Earth and Mars were vouching for power with a people in an asteroid belt (called Belters) caught in the middle. That was what I first started to get as I started on Season 1. Great world building in my opinion, complete with their own ways of speaking, dialogue, and traditions.

 And Season 1 was also a slow burn.

 A detective on the hunt for a missing rich girl.

 A man and his crew who get framed for something they did not do and make an unusual discovery. 

A female politician who swore like a sailor who stumbled onto an intergalactic conspiracy. What did they have in common? They were all part of the same story…the discovery of an alien element called the protomolecule.

 Not that they realized it. Yet.

 If I had to label the first season anything in terms of a genre, I would call it a mystery. Viewers were right there with Detective Miller (played in perfect noir by Thomas Jane) as he went in search of Julie Mao, the daughter of the rich man. Yeah, there was spaceships due to the frame-up on James Holden and his crew. There was the hint of aliens, but for the most part The Expanse stayed very noir with the hint of a conspiracy as provided by the swearing politician Chrisjen Avasarala. As the first season ended, the storylines converged. Three different people were part of the same storyline.

 It was a storyline that I continued to follow right into Season 2. Made easy by the fact that the people who wrote the books (James R. A. Corey), it followed quite well alongside the books I heard. I also loved the world building that was going on. The politics of Earth. The culture of people who lived on the Belt. How people from Mars were which was a more military mindset than people from Earth.

 I even saw the scene that I saw that one Wednesday. It was to introduce a Martian character named Bobbie. Another storyline introduced into all of this mystery.

 And then it happened.

 I was on Season 2, Episode 5. I was about to head into work. I had gotten dressed. I was about to turn it off…

 …and the episode went left into hard core sci-fi.

 The scene I had heard was faithful to the scene in the books that The Expanse was based on. The special effects were breathtaking. The visual was stimulating. Ethereal even. And the dialogue and action were on a whole other level. And storywise, the story of Detective Miller was reaching the end of an arc.

 I went on to work. However, the scene stayed on my mind. It was the last scene in that episode. It would be hours before I was home again. Hours before I could watch the next episode. My mind was on all the possibilities of what could happen next. In that moment of seeing how my mind kept coming back to that episode’s end, I knew.

  I was hooked.

  Gone?: The Expanse Season Three and the Almost Was

 I had been late.

 And by late, I meant that I had not watched the latest episode.

 It was Season Three of The Expanse. After hinting at war between Earth, Mars, and the Belt over the protomolecule, war finally came through in Season Three. Holden and his crew (love interest Naomi, crazy mechanic Amos, pilot Alex) had turned into a nice team as well as become a family. Chrisjen Avasarala had even been roped into, joining the team for an arc.

 So of course, the SyFy Channel had to cancel it.

 Wait? What?!?

 That’s right. Like so many shows before it, SyFy was cancelling The Expanse. After rebranding themselves as a SCIENCE FICTION channel again thanks to this show, DARK MATTERS, KILLJOYS, and good sci-fi miniseries, they were cancelling what was debatably their current flagship (because a case could be made that THE MAGICIANS was that, too) show. After putting my trust in them again, SyFy had gutted me again.

 Oh, well. I guess I could try to enjoy the last few episodes of Season Three, right?

 I listened. That day I was working out from home. Meanwhile, the latest episode was playing on my laptop. Holden was in a weird environment with what was Detective Miller who SPOILER ALERT!!!!!!!...was dead and now part of the protomolecule. In hot pursuit was a team of Martians. And when they all made it to the same spot and despite Bobbie (she was part of the Martian team sent to arrest Holden…long story) playing moderator…all hell broke loose.

 And…a Martian was taken completely apart. By an ancient alien defense system. It pulled off the armor, the skin, and then turned him to matter…ash…for the planet. The acting. The effect. The music. It all came together beautifully.

 ‘Fuck me!’

 And I had stopped doing pull-ups. Jaw on floor. And I wondered again…

 …what was SyFy thinking cancelling this great show?

 ---

 Sometimes I forget.

 Times have changed since the day SLIDERS. Back in the day, fans had to accept that a show was cancelled. Or they would have to write in by letters. Or even send a signatured item.

 Not so much anymore. Since 2000, fan bases had gotten more organized. Thank you, internet, for fan bases’ ability to get organized and campaign for a show to come back. To get a network to change its mind about cancelling a show. Dollhouse. Timeless. And the fans of The Expanse…used emails and in the case of Amazon Studios, an airplane.

 As luck would have it…the president of Amazon Studios, Jeff Bezos, was a fan of the series. A fan…who wanted to see how the story ended. So…at a panel…he shocked the creators and stars of the shows (and the fans) by revealing that The Expanse would have its next season on Amazon Prime. Even better…later on…it was revealed that Season 5 was confirmed before the December release of Season Four.

 Good. A show that could pulled in the casual reader on a random Wednesday was a show that I felt had room to grow. While SyFy continued to have a bad track record when it came to actual sci-fi on their channel, I had to admit it. I was glad that I had left my channel unchanged that night. I was glad to have some hardcore science fiction that I was into. And better yet, there would be more years of it to come with nice twists, relatable characters, and situations that resonated in today’s world.

 So I was glad Lee had told me to start at the beginning. No need to rush. Let the show take its time, and you would be rewarded. And so I was.

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uEENk6_XFoA

  #theexpanse #syfychannel #syfy #scifichannel #themagicians #sliders #Wednesday #roomeatsyou #room #eats #sciencefiction #amazon #jeffbozos #detective #mystery #noir #farscape #wrestling #timeless #dollhouse #killjoys #darkmatter #tvshows #jamessacorey #books #amazonprime #fans #belters

#theexpanse #syfy channel #syfy #scifichannel #the magicians syfy #sliders #wednesday #roomeatsyou #room #eats #sciencefiction #amazon #jeff bezos #detective #mystery #noir #farscape #wrestling #timeless #dollhouse #killjoys #darkmatter #tvshows #james sa corey #books #amazonprime #fans #belters

[embarrassingsmartphonegame]

Anything (Chapter 3) - Nik Ryder x f!MC

Summary: After surviving an attempt on her life, she discovers there are worse fates than dying. And they’re all ice cold.

Warnings for this chapter: a few swear words here and there, some mentions of violence

Links to previous chapters: one // two 

Nik Ryder, ace Nighthunter, cursed and limped back to his apartment after a long night. Damn feral threw him against a tombstone before he managed to stake it through the heart. Whatever, each feral he hunted came with a pretty penny from the new local vampire kingpin, so he couldn’t complain. He ran a hand through his hair, the usually blunt edges longer and softened and thinned over time, as he went to open the door of his loft. Sunday night crept up slowly to Monday morning, and he estimated that he had at least a few hours before he had to go track down a ghoul terrorizing a tourist boat. Absentmindedly, his thoughts drifted to his next few jobs of the week, his schedule nice and packed the way he preferred it to be.

But as he was turning the key and opening the door to his dark living room, his deft ears picked up on a soft rustling sound originating from the couch. His right hand automatically flew to his crossbow strapped to his back, and he loaded and cocked it expertly as he stepped into the darkness cautiously, preparing himself from whatever monster that somehow managed to break into his place. He elusively side stepped a broken plastic curtain rod on the ground to get to the light switch. The veteran Nighthunter flicked the lights on and pointed his weapon.

“FREEZE!” But he dropped his crossbow with a loud thud. Shock painted his rugged, tired features and his mouth dried at the familiar chocolate brown eyes opening and meeting his.

==============================================

She dropped her bat. Leah groaned and pinched herself hard on her forearm. This had to be another bad dream. It was definitely not the first time she saw her father in a dream.

“Leah, this isn’t a dream.” A wise, comforting voice tilted out of the Fae in front of her. He looked exactly as she remembered him in Lamrian. Tall, regal, exuding an aura of kindness and inherent goodness...and he was supposed to be dead. But there he was, standing in the middle of her small, messy apartment in the middle of bum-fuck-where-the-hell-do-you-live-again Wyoming. His robes even glimmered lowly under the artificial white light of her living room, no evidence of a Bloodwraith attack left. He held his arms out wide towards her patiently.

“That’s what you said in the last dream too…” she replied quietly, taking a few careful steps towards him. As bewildered as she was, she was always respectful in her dreams of him, especially when they didn’t involve his death being replayed over and over again. A part of her never wanted to wake up whenever she got the pleasant ones. To her surprise, what she thought was an apparition reached out and enveloped her in his warm arms, and she knew instantly from the wholeness in her chest it was real. Her arms found his waist and she hugged him back desperately, tears running down her face for the second time that night. They stayed that way for God knows how long. Her father simply held her and let her take all the time she needed, and she was grateful for that.

“But...but I don’t understand.” Leah finally pulled away to meet his gaze. “You’re dead. Wait, does this mean I’m also--”

“No, you’re not,” Lord Elric reassured, wiping away a few tears from her mascara-stained raccoon eyes. “But I did come back here as a final gift to you, albeit temporary.”

“Does this mean you’re a ghost?”

“No, we Fae are different. I’m here for a quick visit. I’m touching you, aren’t I?” A rare smile passed over her features before she started crying again, more emotions in her chest that one night than in the previous three months. 

“I’m so happy to see you.” They sat down on her old, lumpy couch. It was strange to her, seeing a Fae lord sitting in her small living room on a couch the most unappealing shade of beige possible, even if he was her father. He sat up straight and addressed her, never letting go of her hands.

“It brings me great joy just to see your face again, my daughter. I needed to come see you tonight.” She winced at his words, wishing that she hadn’t gone out that night. Her father deserved better than seeing her in some trashy club dress that she hadn’t bothered to take off before flopping on her bed alone. She ran a hand through tangled, dirty hair in a pathetic attempt to smooth it out.

“But, Father…why are you here? Wouldn’t it be a better use of your time visiting Lady Thalissa or anyone else watching over Lamrian?” Leah questioned, guilt threatening her consciousness for the billionth time since Lord Elric died and left Lamrian for Lady Thalissa to get back on its feet. Her kind, loving stepmother was unfortunately on her long list of people she couldn’t face.

“I’m here because I wasn’t able to be your father for very long on Earth, but I’m now able to be your father for a little bit now.” A warm yet sad smile was etched on his face, and his gaze became reproachful. “May I offer you some guidance? You seem lost.”

Leah sighed; her life was such a wreck that her father literally came back from the dead temporarily just to tell her that. Great. “You’re not wrong. This probably wasn’t what you had in mind when you found out you had a daughter. I didn’t tell you that my life is really just a useless degree and a dead end job in Wyoming and that I don’t really speak to my mother, so she doesn’t know that I know about you. I’m sorry for disappointing you.”

“Leah, you’re my daughter and I love you. You could never disappoint me.” Elric stroked her hair, affection crystal clear in his actions. “I don’t care what job you have, as long as it fills you with joy, and I can see this doesn’t. And I loved Jacqueline, but I can understand why you’re not ready to speak with her.”

“This job...hell, this entire life...doesn’t give me joy. And I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t know what I wanna do with my life! It’s pathetic; I’m 25 and have absolutely no direction as to where my life is going!” At that point she knew she was most likely still drunk, since the words spilled out like a waterfall. “Oh and can I just say that you’re the only one that gets this isn’t just about Nik? I was already thinking of leaving my job even before I went to New Orleans! My life doesn’t revolve around a man!”

Elric nodded, listening intently to her babbling. “So then what changed?”

“I died.” She hated saying that. “I literally died. And I don’t exactly know how I came back to life. I’m getting really tired of my existence being a mystery. I’m just...tired. I wanted to go back to my life before I found out monsters were real, but I feel absolutely nothing.”

“You feel...nothing?”

“It’s hard to explain. I try to feel something, anything,” she continued to confess. “But I can’t...at least, not since I came back.”

“My daughter,” Elric began and squeezed her hands. “You can’t run away from what happened. You can’t run away from who you are.”

“But I don’t even know who I am anymore! A half-Fae who apparently can die and come back to life but can’t use my damn powers?!” she replied, agitated and stone cold sober at that point. 

“But you do know. You do know deep in your heart who you are and what you want, and how you’re going to get it.” Elric met her gaze again more firmly, and she squeezed his hands tighter, sensing that their time together was almost out. “It’s a matter of if you are willing to follow your heart. And I know that my daughter is strong and willing. All I want is for you to be happy; that’s all. I hope you let Thalissa know I love her and will wait patiently for her.”

“I don’t know if I can ever go back to Lamrian. It hurts too much since you’ve been gone.”

“That’s okay. But I hope you know that you will always have a home in Lamrian.” Elric’s form started to become thinner and more transparent, his hands gaseous and cold as Leah desperately tried to hold on for a little bit longer. “I love you, Leah.”

She choked on her own tears. “I love you too, Father.”

Eventually his form completely dissipated, and he returned to being only a memory in the deep recesses of her mind. Her apartment was cold and empty again, but her chest felt warm, alight with a new resolve. Leah heaved herself off her couch and opened her laptop.

==============================================

‘Leah...this is fucking ridiculous, even for you.’ The plane landed in Louisiana a few hours later. Leah hastily typed out an email to her boss that she needed to fly out of town for a sudden death in the family, knowing that it probably wouldn’t matter anyway if she decided to keep wrestling down that all too rational voice in her head and face all her fears. She checked her phone as the taxi took her to her last-minute motel, the streets of New Orleans whizzing past her like the reel of an old movie. She briefly considered texting Katherine and Cal that she was in town, but there was one stop she had to make before doing anything else.

“Best to rip the Band-Aid off first,” Leah muttered to herself after dropping her luggage off at her motel and making her way to what she heard was the best tavern in town. The door clinked open and she took a spot at the bar next to what looked like a man and a woman conversing with an equally human bartender. But she knew better.

The bartender quickly excused himself to serve his next customer, and his eyes widened in shock as he saw Leah’s face. “Leah?”

“Leah!” Ivy noticed her, squealed, and pulled her into a hug. Krom waved shyly as Garrus beamed, his hands flying to make a concoction for her. “Long time no see! How have you been?”

“Honestly…” Leah felt extremely awkward yet happy to be talking with the three supernatural beings she called friends. “Really shitty. Like, super shitty. So shitty that I’m running back to the place that literally killed me once and I don’t even have a job or plan. My life is already a series of bad decisions, so this is pretty in character for me.”

Garrus smiled and slid a pink-purple-blue-sparkle drink to her. “Well, at least you now have a drink at the best bar in town! Ever thought about bartending? That’s why you came here first, right?”

“Not that this isn’t the best bar in town,” she said as she took a sip, the alcohol immediately going to her head. “But I’m actually here for a reason. This is going to sound really, really weird considering what happened...but I need to talk to Nik.”

“My mortal…” Garrus’ handsome face suddenly looked faraway and mournful. Leah held her breath, preparing for the worst. “He’s been working...a lot. More than usual, I’m afraid. Never has time to spend with his old buddies here. And he always looks so sad, so tired.”

Ivy interjected. “We tried talking to him a few times, but he’s always so angry now too. Once I made the mistake of mentioning you and that Bloodwraith looked like a puppy in comparison.”

“He says he’s fine, but he’s clearly not,” Krom’s timid voice rang out from the next stool over, and he placed one of his stone hands over Garrus’. “He actually reminds me of me when I broke up with my ex.” 

Yikes. None of that sounded good. Leah felt immediately responsible and she sagged down on her stool. Her hands found her head, and she pushed her hair back, fighting the urge to yank on her strands in punishment. “Does he still live here? I need to at least apologize.”

“Yes he does, and I think he’s coming back from a job soon.” Garrus walked from behind the bar to the stairs leading up to Nik’s loft. He pulled out a key and unlocked it. Leah raised an eyebrow.

“Uhhh isn’t that...illegal?” ‘And really creepy?’ 

The Fae shrugged. “We supernatural don’t really follow the laws of the human world. Now go inside and wait for him.”

Ivy and Krom each sent her an encouraging grin and she walked up to his apartment. When she closed the door behind her, she immediately noticed how the apartment looked exactly the same as how she left it, but with less upkeep. Leah wordlessly picked up a cracked plastic curtain rod on the ground, surprised that it was still in the apartment, let alone still on the ground. She smiled and set it back down, remembering the first time she woke up in his weird, wonderful apartment.

Leah sat on the same couch and practiced in her head what she was going to say to him. Butterflies soared in her stomach as she waited in anticipation. At some point she turned the lights off since the light was worsening her headache. But minutes soon turned into hours, and she was eventually fast asleep, the past few days catching up to her. It was only when she heard the shout of a veteran Nighthunter and clang of a crossbow dropping to the ground that she woke up.

Brown eyes met another pair of brown eyes that coupled with a sheepish, awkward half-grin. “...Hi, Nik.”

==============================================

A/N: Surprise, I’m alive! So sorry this took so long; school has been keeping me busy and I’m still trying to strike a balance. (I say as I post this at 2am after being at school for 14 hours today.) As always, all feedback is welcome and appreciated. Hope you guys enjoyed it and the next update should hopefully be out sooner than this one rolled out!

Tagging: @furiouscloddonutpeanut @nighthunterkatherine @saivilo @samara-rani @god-save-the-keen  @xxdangerouscapri15xx @inlovewithrebels

#nightbound #nik ryder #nik x mc #playchoices #choices fanfiction #choices: stories you play #pixelberry #nik ryder x mc #nightbound nik #lord elric #garrus nightbound #krom nightbound #ivy nightbound #nightbound fanfiction #phoebe writes choices

[neverbacksdown7476]

Don’t Say It (Part 3)

Hello all! Sorry this chapter took so long. Holidays, and what not! Not my best work, but here we are. Part 4 in the works! Also, Not My Gif!

Warnings for this Chapter: Kissing? (Is that a warning?)

Part 2     Part 4

Five drinks, a sandwich, and a couple stories into the night you were starting to feel a whole lot better about Barba being your boss. Maybe it wasn’t a bond that wouldn’t last a lifetime, but it was something at least. Better yet, the tired feeling you had all day had just disappeared. Maybe you had gotten so tired that you just weren’t tired anymore.

“So, you grew up in the Bronx? You weren’t some rich kid?” You asked sipping on the whiskey that was in front of you.

“Definitely not, what about you?” He lifted the glass of bourbon in front of him, and swirled it around the glass just a bit, before taking a drink.

“Staten Island, with my three brothers.” You told him, “All older, my parents really wanted a girl.” You laughed and looked at him from the corner of your eye. Allowing yourself to check him out earlier in the night was a mistake, because after a few drinks you couldn’t stop yourself. Especially when he was being so nice.

“I didn’t have any siblings, what was that like?”

“They tortured me growing up. When we were kids it was wrestling matches I could never win, as pre-teens it was name calling, and as teens it was them never letting me date.”

“Over-protective brothers?”

“Extremely.”

“That must have been hard.”

“I guess, but I found out it can be a lot more fun sneaking around.” Your eyes seemed to have locked onto his as you said that, only being broken when his eyes flicked down to your lips, and your eyes returned the favor. Silence fell over the two of you for a moment before he cleared his throat, and you took in a deep breath, both looking away. “Enough about childhood.” You said finishing off your whiskey.

“It is very late, and we both need sleep.” Opening his wallet, he threw down some cash closing out our tab.

“I’ll pay for the cab,” he laughed shaking his head slightly.

“Come on, you payed for our drinks, and meal it’s the least I can do. Besides that, it is either that or I will get on a subway.” You tempted him further into just sharing a cab with you. He stood up, fixing his sleeves, and putting his jacket back on.

“Let’s share a cab then.” Turning away from his on your heels, you walked out of the bar. Hearing the almost silent click of his heels behind you. The air of the outside was wipping through the streets, pushing your hair all around. Through your limited vision you waved your hand at the taxi that was driving down the street. As it stopped at the curb you watched as Barba opened the door for you so you climbed in, and he followed.

Sitting on complete opposite sides of the cab you watched the buildings go by for only a moment before you looked over at the man. Hw was already looking at you, his elbow resting on the door, and his cheek resting on his hand. Analyzing you.

“What?” A smile inched across your lips

“You know, we both had a lot to drink tonight.”

“Does that mean you are planning on making a pour decision or two?”

“I really hope not,” the words had barley left his mouth before his hand was on the back of your neck. Closing the space between the two of you, his lips were on yours. You moved into the middle of the seat, resting a hand on his knee, the other resting on his chest. The kiss was by no means rough, but it wasn’t sweet either. It was needy, as if neither of you had felt something like this in a long time. Sparks shot up and down your spine, as the thrill of feeling his lips on yours took over. His tongue ran along your bottom lip, so you gladly opened up. His fingers tangling in your hair.

“We are at the first destination.” The cab driver cleared his throat, as the vehicle came to a stop. You pulled away, and your face turned bright red.

“Right, this is my stop.” Barba said with cool exterior, seeming to be that the moment hadn’t even fazed him. He adjusted his blazer, and looked to the front of the cab, “How much do I owe?”

“Oh, no, my treat, remember?” I asked, looking at him out of the corner of my eye, not sure if I could look him dead in the eye without your head exploding.

“Alright,” Even though you were only half staring at him you could see a half smile across his face, followed by an almost awkward laugh. “I will see you tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll see you.” You said, as hek climbed out of the cab, and closed the door behind him. As the cab drove away, you melted into your seat with complete devastation. What just happened? You only had about twenty minutes to relish in the moment. Admire how great of a kisser he was, how soft his touch was. Even as you climbed the steps of of your apartment complex. Leaving a trail of clothes from your door to your bed, not caring enough about the mess you were leaving, it would have to be tomorrow’s problem. As you laid in bed you were only able to appreciate for a few more seconds before falling into blissful sleep.

~~~

Walking into work that morning, there was nothing to calm your nerves. Your heart was thumping so hard against your chest as your feet carried you closer to Barba’s office, as the hundred thoughts pounded in your head.

I kissed my boss last night. No! My boss kissed me last night! I was the one who checked him out, and spent the whole night flirting with him! Were we supposed to talk about it, or pretend it never happened?”

Not having a clue what those thoughts, and your heart beating so hard you were worried everyone around you could hear it.

“Good morning, Ms. Y/L/N.” Barba’s secretary said, as you smiled at her. As much as you hated to admit it, you couldn’t remember her name for the life of you.

“Good morning,” you muttered in return. “Is Barba in already?”

“Yes, and he is waiting for you.”

Oh God. Oh  God, oh God, oh God! What did that mean?

“Thank you,” you walked into his office, closing the door behind you. There he sat behind his desk. Both of his elbows resting on his desk, and he was rubbing his temples. “Good morning.”

“Yeah, it sure is morning.” His eyes finally bolted up to mine.

“Was last night that bad?” You said jokingly, not realizing what you had said until it was already out there, too late to take it back. You watched as his lips twisted into a devious grin.

“Not particularly.” He said, causing your cheeks to turn slightly pink. “I do have a splitting headache from the task we have just been assigned.

“Task? Important I assume.”

“You don’t watch the news?”

“With what time?” You retorted and Barba chuckled half-heartedly.

“You’ll learn with this job, you’ll want to have the news playing in the background constantly.” He said, tossing a newspaper across his desk. Peaking your interests, you walked over picking it up.

“‘Unarmed black kid, shot and killed.’” You read out loud, “Killed, by cops?”

“Yes, almost a week ago.”

“Well, I did just get back into the city three days ago.”

“No excuses.” Barba said, standing up from his chair. “We have to work quick, and efficient. No room for error in this case.”

“Well where do we start then?”

“We review the interrogation from IAB, go over the files of the police officers, and then to the Grand jury.”

“Grand Jury? Where will I be, while you are trying the case to the grand jury?”

“You are going to be by my side the entire time. Except when I am actually in the courtroom, you will be sure everything out here is ready for me.”

“Alright, so the tapes, from IAB?”

“Yeah.” It didn’t take long for the two of you to get the interviews set up on his laptop, and started watching them. You were kind of thankful things seemed to be normal. Once you got to work there was no awkward silence, or even thoughts of the night before. Only the case and how much a pain in the ass it had already turned out to be.

#law and order svu #rafael barba #fanfic #barba x reader #rafael barba x reader