#today I went digging under the couch to figure out where all her springs went | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shewhowillnotbenamed1 · 4 years

Text

@ravenfan1242 You said short and it started short and well, it just became this the way only an open prompt can... I hope it’s remotely decent!!!

----

Raven leaned against the table and under her light weight, Jason could swear the solid structure shifted. From the moment she arrived, brandishing an eco-friendly tote, she was weighted down. Even after relinquishing the heavy bag, she still seemed to sag into it.

"I'm worried, Jason."

"Raven, don't be," he offered quickly. "I mean, look around you, it's fine."

"No, it's not fine." A heavy sigh exited her body. "There's something else I'm forgetting... I just feel like I should do something... Something more."

"That's pretty clear." He pointed at the huge bag of groceries on the kitchen counter. It was all organic and more than enough fodder to sustain two down and out Jason Todds for a month. Completely and utterly unnecessary. But, if you spent enough time brushing the tuxedo-covered and satin gloved elbows of the Gotham elite, you grew familiar with the concept of overcompensation. "I don't know why you're worried. I have everything I need here - and some. Oh and good morning - by the way."

Her blue-violet eyes narrowed and then ran their lap around the space for about the eighth time. "Natural light... That's the problem." She wrung her hands together. "There's no natural light... But, I should have figured that bulbs alone weren't enough."

"You think I need exposure to sunlight? That's certainly rich." Jason's chin jutted in her direction. "It really means so much coming from you." The half-demon's pallor was pretty standout in the tight black v-neck, more than usual, which was saying something. It was like someone had flipped a switch to change the settings to negative, then pointed it solely on her, leaving the colors of her skin and sweater equally inverted.

"You're vitamin D deficient - probably... Definitely. Or you will be..." Once more, she fussed about the beige corded string tote. She held up the carton of milk and then a container of yogurt, examining percentages, as if expecting these offerings to remedy the problem in the short term.

Jason half considered telling her she'd do well to down a glass or a spoonful herself, but he held his tongue. This was clearly about alleviating what she could, so as not to focus on the real problem.

"Underground to underground bunker...?" Jason stretched his arms behind his head leaning back onto the small couch in the hideout. "I can't help but consider this a vast improvement." The space was so very much like a studio. So it was practically palatial compared to his previous digs in the cemetery. He barely stifled a scoff as he contemplated yet another bitter realty. B couldn't be bothered to spring for a bloody crypt. It was probably confirmation of where he ranked. What did it matter? There was a revolving door of Robins anyway.

"So, I suppose... it can't be helped," she said somberly.

"Exactly. If you've been deep down enough, natural light becomes a cursory concern." It was meant to be an offhand remark, as he was sure she knew what lay underneath the earth's surface better than most. But Jason watched as the daughter of Trigon actually flinched. She was quivering slightly with her small shoulders starting to shake. Some part of this had to be beyond her, it was the only way for someone so powerful to seem so fragile.

Raven was the only one who could say with certainty that Jason Todd's coffin in Gotham Cemetery was empty.

The hardest part was supposed to be over, but neither of them really knew what was going to happen now.

Would he have good days and bad days? Or just all bad? What were the long-term after effects?

He could try to be proactive and take some preemptive actions. Perhaps he could borrow a leaflet from the shelf of one Raven Roth and start meditating to pinion the chaotic churn burgeoning inside him.

Steady the mind... You are neither a puppet nor a proponent of mania, or the voices inside...

He had a couple of chants he was mulling over. Raven knew the value of a good chant.

She also knew what it was like to have multiple forces pressing themselves upon her at any given time. Sometimes literally.

But the occasional moment in front of the crimson and gold strewn sky of dawn, brought her solace.

She'd told him that once, so he could believe it.

Maybe if he too could feel the sunlight, smell dewy grass, or hear the chirping of birds, it would make him feel less apart from the world. Or maybe he would just feel more strange and inhuman, like he was something indecent that didn't belong. And all the organic groceries and housewares in the world wouldn't be enough to rehabilitate the reanimated corpse of Jason Todd. Though Raven sure seemed willing to try.

Wait.

Did she really?

He sat up straight and craned his neck, not believing it. Among the health food items, Jason saw a flash of bright packaging. An orange tin of biscuits. He also spied a familiar looking paper carton. Well, well. Cigarettes.

Circumstances aside, wasn't Raven a do-gooder supreme, even among her fellow Titans? She didn't strike him as one to approve of cigarettes. They kill and all that. Though now she probably figured what was the harm? And he had to painfully agree.

In a state of delirium, he vaguely recalled mentioning something about a smoke. But how on earth did Raven find his favorite English biscuits? His weakness for Hobnobs was something he figured only Alfred knew about.

How did she always know?

Perhaps Raven had seen a small package on his place setting while visiting the manor and filed it away somewhere. In, but never out, she was Fort Knox. And like a fortress, one rarely ever knew what lay within her walls.

Hmm. A cigarette, black coffee and a biscuit for breakfast. Yes, the familiarity of it sounded comforting. Made the place feel downright homey. And suddenly Jason wanted her closer to him, to hold her, at the most. At the least, reach for her hand to squeeze it, if not to reassure her that she had done more than she could ever know.

"It's nice - the blanket... Wool, right?" He patted the soft blue throw resting over the back of the couch, another furnishing, courtesy of Raven. She pursed her lips, probably thinking he was being facetious again. "But, really. I appreciate this - and the food. Didn't I make that clear?"

"No, you didn't." She thumped the back of the couch, now hovering above Jason. "But, of course that would mean that nothing has changed."

"So..." A smirk spread onto his face, as he replayed the last fifteen minutes of their conversation. "That Vitamin D..." Raven blinked slowly, then rapidly, her expression no longer blank. "Being that you're a bit of a recluse, I always guessed that it's pretty difficult to come by... Is that by choice, or -"

"Raven?"

But the half-demon's body stood frozen like a statue. It was always so sudden and swift when it happened. Jason watched helplessly as the emotions arisen from her depths started to vanish themselves. The bloom of red left her face almost as quickly as it had come.

"Raven?"

It was utterly useless to even try. She was somewhere else now. On another plane - a private one - somewhere beyond this secret room to another. Raven was speaking with people he couldn't see and having conversations he couldn't hear. The severe line of her mouth softened and then curved over, as she bit her lip to stifle a tiny smile.

Well that was just great.

Currently, she was holding back a laugh at a joke that wasn't his. So, not people, a person. The only person it could be. And that man's timing was nothing if not spot on.

He stood up abruptly and -

Wait, was it even abrupt if no one noticed?

Who was to say?

But Jason wasn't going to sit around and wait for her to thaw. He figured he'd at least just pick up where she left off. He shot one more glance at Raven before he opened the empty fridge and filed in milk, eggs, and cheese. Huh. She'd gotten mild cheddar, not sharp.

Did anything at all get by her?

Of course, the fall of footsteps meant she was cooked. Defrosted, no longer in suspended animation. She glanced back and forth, calling out when she didn't see him.

"Jason... Jason?"

"Polo. It's not the manor. There's only one door and it's for the bathroom." That was harsher than he meant it to be. He stopped and sighed. "It was him, wasn't it?"

This was Raven, she didn't often lie, not even to spare feelings. "Yes. He... uh..." She paused for a while. Longer than was necessary. Five whole minutes went by. Was she conversing with him again? "Sorry... That was him. Dick hadn't seen me this morning and he seemed worried."

What did he somehow forget what Raven looked like?

Not likely.

Besides, didn't a mind meld render the need for that redundant? Or did theirs not work that way?

"Twice in twenty minutes, that's got to be serious."

"Well... Yes." She shrunk inwardly, holding herself tightly, amethyst orbs darted to the very corner of her eyes. It was the kind of shape someone twisted themselves into when prefacing a breach of something uncomfortable. "He wanted to make sure I was coming."

"Coming? To what - Birdy Book club?" Jason picked up another package. More cheese? Shredded and sliced in addition to the wedge. And Gods, was there crumbled in there too? He was perfectly capable of slicing or shredding or crumbling his own cheese. After all, he was well-versed in knife handling and had plenty of interesting shapes to carve things into.

Or had Raven removed all the sharp objects and replaced them with throw pillows?

"I told you." He shrugged. "You forgot? It's today." Then Raven's voice went low and quiet, as if she were about to speak about something improper. "It's the opening of the..." She swallowed. "Memorial today..."

The memorial.

His memorial.

Of course, he forgot, he hadn't wanted to think about it.

A can of tomatoes slid from his shaking palm and started to roll past his feet. The ghostly burn of verdant followed the steady path of the cylinder, until it bumped into the couch's leg, unable to go on unaided.

"Yeah..." he said after a while. When Raven didn't move, he nodded. "You should go..." He attempted what he believed to be an encouraging smile. Raven winced and Jason wished she wouldn't. He almost preferred pity. "You definitely have to go to that, don't you?"

"Well, yes I have to go. As a Titan and a friend of the family. I have to go and show my face." The half-demon avoided his gaze.

In spite everything that was thrown at her, Raven did the right thing. Why was it that he always seemed to say and do the wrong thing? He could feel a pull towards it now. Amplified. Not lulling like white noise. Loudly, it was rising, roaring in his ears. Burning, red noise.

All he could think about was why? Why this? Why today? And was he seriously unpacking groceries, when he should be in a grave?

What the hell was he doing?

When he shut the fridge, Raven was standing next to it, with her eyes glazed over, nodding at that which he couldn't see.

And she was talking to him again. In the middle of their conversation.

Perfect.

Raven was on it. She was taking care of everything. And everyone. This was best for everyone right now.

But that certainly didn't mean he had to be happy about it.

Raven would climb out of here once this was over. She could go out there and stand in the bright light - with him and their friends and family. Jason was stuck in a damned bunker and what did he get? A tin of biscuits and a pack of cigarettes. Concrete walls. Stale air. No sun. In his former life, Jason had never fully appreciated the sun or the air. He glared at the spotless, dustless, windowless room.

Was she really going to go off and fake it for the world?

And was he going to stay here underground, like he was dead - or as good as?

"Go, I'm all set here," Jason tried flatly. "You can go and put on a dress. Stand there at Dick's shoulder...let him hold your hand."

He had tried his hardest not to think about what his memorial would be like. And now, he couldn't help but picture it.

The specter of Jason Todd would hang silently above those in attendance. But since he wasn't dead, perhaps the only shadows would be cast by this latest slab of stone. Would it be a statue or a sculpture or an engraved tablet? He hoped this one would at least have a better inscription than the one in the cemetery.

Something like:

Jason Todd.

Never fully at rest in life or in death.

The war wages on.

Eternal.

A little noise ripped the image from him. Raven was staring at him with her eyes widened and shocked. She hadn't ever looked at him like that. Not even when she saw him covered in graveyard soil, suit torn to shreds, body broken. The empath faltered and took a clumsy step backward.

"Are you scared of me, Raven?" He felt worse than terrible. "Where is all that talk about not giving up and not letting go?"

"Gods. There's no doubt you're the same Jason. Still the same arrogant -" She clenched a fist. Was she contemplating shoving him? No. Ironically enough, he was too breakable.

"-ass with a selective filter, you mean?" Jason laughed, though the humorless sound of it was probably cruel. "That's crass of you, Raven. Don't they teach you not to speak ill of the dead in other dimensions? Better practice up on that custom before you step out of the town car."

"Stop it." She reached for him, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt. It was just a hair too big. Because there was a side effect that they could count on: atrophy. Notably, it was one of his least favorite. "It's not me you're mad at. But it is your day. So you can yell, or throw things, and...you can cry if you want to." Her eyes were brimming over with tears enough for the both of them.

He swallowed, wondering if it was too much, if she was taking on too much.

"Crying already?" Jason tried to smirk if not fall back into usual patterns, but he was finding it exceedingly difficult. He had never seen her cry, not even when she was brushing the dirt from his face. "Don't waste it all here. I know they're for me, but... I think you'll need to save some of those, for later."

"Yeah, I do." And then she laughed bitterly. Miserably.

She wiped her face on her sweater sleeve right as Jason felt a sharp impulse to brush them away for her. He ground his teeth. "You'll give 'em a good show - for me?"

"I won't have to, Jason." There was no need to glance at her to know the mask of Raven that everyone knew was back in place.

"Because... it won't be a show."

118 notes · View notes

papichriscnco · 4 years

Text

I Object ~ Zabdiel

For @zabdielmuch writing challenge. It’s super late but I wanted to write it anyway.

Summary: You've always been the romantic type. Expecting to get married and live a perfect suburban life but being with Zabdiel destroys that idea for you.

Part Two

You had been with Zabdiel for almost two years and even though everyone around you said things wouldn’t end well the both of you ignored their pleas for you to just stay friends. Zabdiel wasn’t the kind to settle down and get married. After his parents' messy divorce he would often say that he wasn’t sure he even believed in marriage. You were the exact opposite, infatuated with the idea of a beautiful white gown and kids, the both of you weren’t a likely pairing. At the start of your relationship, you figured Zabdiel would get over his hatred for all things wedding related or you move on from your future with a white picket fence. The longer you were with Zabdiel the more you wanted that future with him.

You had been together for six months the first time it had caused a small fight. You were laying in bed watching a romance movie when you looked up at him and said, “I can’t wait to marry you one day.” As soon as the words escaped your mouth you felt the energy in the room shift and you immediately apologised, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” you blushed moving away from his arms.

Zabdiel wanted to comfort you and tell you that he wasn’t upset and that you hadn’t frightened him like you had thought but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. As much as you needed him to wrap you in his arms, he instead decided to pour himself a drink. He didn’t respond to you and your confession, he just stood up and muttered, “I’ll be back.” You sat anxiously in the next room waiting for his return. He took ten minutes to pour himself a drink of water and you began pacing the floor. As much as your head was telling you to run out to him and talk about what just happened, your legs told you to continue pacing the floor of his apartment. When he walked back in the room, his eyes were hardened and he looked at you almost coldly. Your expression showed how nervous you were but that didn’t stop him from letting the words fly from his lips. “You know I don’t ever want to get married.”

“I-I know.” you looked down ashamed. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t remember much about the fight but you remembered the way Zabdiel sighed before walking over and hugging you. He kissed the top of your head soothingly as he rubbed your back.

“I’m sorry. I know that’s what you want.” You and Zabdiel had been friends for years before you started dating. He knew you had always pictured a wedding for yourself. From your dress to the gift that guests would take home. “I just can’t think about that kind of thing right now.”

You looked up at him smiling, grateful that he was taking you in his arms. “The next time you take that long to pour yourself a drink, I’m going to kill you,” you joked. Zabdiel laughed and you sat back down to watch the movie.

The next time it became an issue, it was because of Zabdiel. You had been invited to his cousin's wedding and you were excited to say the least. You had known his cousin for a little while and you loved weddings. You dressed up, looked amazing and felt great. Well you did until you sat down at the church. Zabdiel had a hand on your knee and every few minutes he would crack a joke at the expense of the couple. When the bride walked down the aisle, you felt tears springing in your eyes until Zabdiel began humming the Jaws theme song in your ear. You rolled your eyes, giggling at first but as the day went on the jokes hit you harder and harder.

You were sitting down about to dig into your dessert when his aunty asked Zabdiel when he was going to ‘pop the question’. You knew the question would trigger Zabdiel but you hadn’t expected him to be so rude.

“Oh gosh,” he turned to you almost aggressively, “did you pay her to ask me?” Everyone at the table watched the interaction cautiously. Your eyes turned dark and hard. You had never once pressured Zabdiel into proposing so you weren’t sure why he even bothered to ask the question. His aunty quickly jumped at your defence, “I was just asking,” she laughed trying to ease the tension but as soon as Zabdiel’s eyes left yours, you stood up quickly excusing yourself for some air. Zabdiel rolled his eyes following after you. You were practically running while he calmly followed you outside. “What’s wrong?” he asked once no one else was around. You whipped around to him, a few tears escaping your face as you patted them gently careful not to ruin your makeup.

“What’s wrong?” you retorted. “What’s wrong?” you asked again. “You just humiliated me in front of everyone. I was so excited to be here and you’ve done nothing but mock this wedding the whole day. I let it slide. Every. Single. Time.” you spoke helplessly. “But then you turned to me like I’ve been asking for a ring for months and almost scolded me like a child because somebody else asked when you were proposing to me. I’ve tried to let all of it go. The ideas and fantasies about getting married but you don’t need to throw it in my face like that Zab.”

Zabdiel wanted to speak but he was careful to make sure you had finished your speech first. Once he was positive you were done, he guided you against the wall of the venue, his hands on either side of your head and he leaned down to kiss you passionately. Neither of you were touching each other but your lips were moving rushed and in perfect unison. He knew that kissing you would calm you down so when he pulled away and carefully wiped away your tears he began speaking.

“You’re right.” he nodded, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’ve just been a bit overwhelmed today. I was nervous.” he admitted, “I was nervous that today would set you off and so I’ve been trying to-to…” he couldn’t figure out what he was trying to do but you already knew.

“You were trying to make sure I knew where you stood on it all.” you spoke sadly. His eyes looked down at yours and he could see how much this was hurting you. He didn’t want to say it but he couldn’t help but think, ‘maybe everyone was right. Maybe you would have been better as friends.’ Before he could even think of saying it you did.

“Maybe we’re just in over our heads.”

As soon as he heard the words, he knew that this wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want to be apart from you. So he quickly moved to kiss you again, this time his hands cupped your cheeks.

“I love you. I’ve never said that before but I love you.” The words had surprised you. Not only had he never told you he loved you but you knew he had never told any girl he had loved them. “Not just love but I’m in love with you.” his words were almost rushed and you weren’t sure how to respond at first but you knew how you felt.

“I love you too.” you smiled.

In that moment you had thought that was all you would need. His love. But as another year passed you found yourself often wishing that Zabdiel had the same adoration for marriage and weddings as you did. You were sitting on the couch watching another reality show when one of the contestants proposed to another. Your eyes teared up and within a few moments you were sobbing on your couch. Zabdiel wasn’t home so you let yourself have some time to mourn the wedding you had always wanted but your crying was so loud that you hadn’t realised when he walked in the door. He heard you and ran into the living room afriad for what he would see. When he looked at the TV and saw a wedding unfold, he had thought you were just emotional about the wedding so he made a joking comment.

“You're really sensitive huh?” His voice had surprised you and you quickly turned the TV off. He had expected your tears to stop but when he saw your bloodshot eyes he knew what this was about. It had been almost a whole year since his cousin's wedding and neither of you had spoken about marriage since. He had thought you had moved on but you were just pushing your feelings deeper and deeper. This was a year of pent up emotions. “Mi amor,” he spoke sadly. He wanted to hug you but he could feel how distant you were from him in his moment. The last thing you wanted was for him to hold you and tell you it was going to be ok because it wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t. You wanted to marry him and he never wanted to hear that word again in his life.

“I just can’t Zabdiel. Not anymore.” you calmed yourself down, wiping the tears away before moving into your bedroom. You took a small suitcase from under your bed, wiping away some dust before you started packing your belongings. Zabdiel walked into the room a few moments later.

“Baby,” he started but when his eyes saw you packing your bags he froze in his spot. His eyes looked from your bag to the open dresser and up to you. “W-what are you doing?” he asked.

“I told you,” you muttered looking down. “I can’t do this anymore.” your tears were threatening to spill again but you couldn’t take it. You couldn’t let yourself cry for another minute.

“So you’re just going to leave?” he asked, disappointment and anger lacing his tone.

You sighed, stopping in your tracks. “We keep doing this back and forth. I love you. I really do but I’m not ever going to be fulfilled without marrying you and I know it sounds stupid but it’s what I want. I want to get married and if you can’t do that for me then-”

“Then what?” he spat out, “you’re just going to go find someone else? I’m so easily replaced.” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “That’s why I don’t want to get married. People are replaceable and if you can walk away this easily we shouldn’t be thinking about marriage. Don’t you get that?”

His words hit you in the chest and you took a step back from the blow of them.

“You are not replaceable. I will never feel for anyone how I feel for you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you but if you can’t understand that part of that involves getting married then I can’t be with you. Getting married isn’t about just love. It’s making sure that whatever problems we have, we decide to work through them and not just break up.”

“That’s what you’re doing though! You’re leaving me instead of working through this problem.”

“Zabdiel!” you shouted. “I’ve tried to work through this for so long! It’s really hard to work through a problem alone. You’ve never tried to meet me halfway. You’ve only ever expected me to change my mind.”

He didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He knew you were right. He wasn’t sure if it was his pride or his disinterest in marriage but whatever it was, it drove him out of the room. He picked up his keys and he walked out. It was the last time you had ever seen Zabdiel. You had sent your friends to pick up the rest of your things and he never tried to contact you once you had permanently moved out. That’s why it was a surprise when you were stood in a beautiful white dress, the one you had always pictured in front of a man that wasn’t Zabdiel when he stood up from the crowd at your wedding muttering ‘I object’. He spoke softly enough that people couldn’t tell where it was coming from, their heads bouncing around the church but he was loud enough that you knew exactly who it was.

---

tag list x

@rosebud213 @sapdfrpimentel @stellastyless @cncos-baby @joelpimenteljs @lostinzabdielito @h-bea92 @marinohr @chrissycallejo @ericksmamita @mind-of-tavia @stressedkitkatttt @prettyboypimentel @la-undercover-latina @stripzabdiel

#zabdielmuch's 700 writing challenge #zabdielmuch #cnco #cnco imagine #cnco one shot #cnco fan fic #cnco angst #cnco fan fiction #cnco zabdiel #zabdiel #zabdiel de jesus

137 notes · View notes

lovehugsandcandy · 5 years

Text

Who Killed Jason Shaw? Chapter 6: Logan (RoD, Colt x MC)

Summary: Ellie visits Logan as her dad’s investigation moves along.

Rating: R (discussions of death)

Pairing: Colt x MC, RoD

Length: ~1900 words

Ellie was shocked, astounded, when she entered the silent dining room the next morning to find her dad sitting there, obviously waiting for her, table set with two full cups of coffee and two heaping breakfasts.

“Sit.”

She sat. Waiting.

“I’m sorry.”

She blinked. This was definitely not how she thought this conversation would start.

“I apologize. I lost my temper at your friend-”

“My boyfriend.”

Her dad winced. “Boyfriend, then. Planning on bringing him around for dinner?”

“Not anymore.” She crossed her arms over her chest and looked in front of her. She could hear her stomach rumbling and would die for a sip of coffee, fingers twitching, aching to reach for the food in front of her. She waited, not moving.

“Ellie. You just....you don’t know what I see. Out there, gangs feuding for no reason, kids wrapping themselves around trees. I just worry...it’s why I make sure my old cruiser in the the driveway when I drive by on night shift. It’s why I didn’t let you go out in high school. It’s why you can’t date a gang banger.”

“It’s why you forcibly pulled me out of the car?”

“I lost my head and I apologize.” He leaned closer, eyes intent on her. “But Ellie, one of them killed Shaw and Kaneko has all the motive in the world. You can’t associate with that!”

She stood up. “I’m an adult and I’ll associate with whoever I want!”

“Ellie, you’re making a stupid mistake!” Her dad stood as well, eyeing her. “He’s not worth your time. You need to go back to school and-”

“I get to decide what I do, dad. Not you. Not anymore.” She crossed her hands over her chest. “It’s my life. My choices.”

“You live under this roof, you-”

“We’re not doing this again.This didn’t end so well last time. For either of us.” She shook her head and grabbed her things. “I’ll talk to you later.” She attributed it to personal growth, the fact that she gently closed the front door behind her and he surprisingly refrained from screaming at her. Baby steps.

~~~~~

After an emergency stop for coffee, she headed out of the city proper, where the air got fresher and the homes bigger with every block, every step. Finally, she pulled up in front of a gleaming auto body shop, stopping for a second to marvel at the two-story building, definitely a leg up over Kaneko Auto Body. At this point, Colt’s shop was a clean, if mostly empty, room that housed a motorcycle and a loft bedroom; this looked like it could house a mansion.

She jumped when someone knocked at her window. Rolling it down, she stared at the lanky teenager in front of her. “Dropping your car off, Miss?”

She blinked. “Are you a valet?”

“I can drive your car through the bay doors for you if you would prefer to head right into the waiting room, where we have a television, magazines, and coffee waiting for you right though-”

“Jesus, stop.” She held up her hands. “I’m just here to visit a friend. Logan? A mechanic?”

“Ah, of course, miss.” He nodded, a obsequious mini-bow that made Ellie flinch. “I can park your car for you in the visitor lot, if you prefer.”

She blinked. If it were her car, she wouldn’t allow it, would only allow a select few, hand-chosen individuals the privilege of driving her bright pink European import. But her dad’s old cruiser? She hopped out and tossed over the keys before traipsing away. He could wrap it around a tree for all she cared.

When she floated through the automatic doors, she had to stare. The inside was as polished as the outside, cool metal as far as the eye could see. Damn. Apparently, this was how the other half lived. And, at the far bay, a familiar figure in a white t-shirt was hunched next to the grill on a pristine white Lambo.

Ellie let out a whistle as she got closer. “This place has a valet?”

“And the best mechanic in all of LA.” Logan stood up, wiping his hands on a rag before wrapping her up in a hug. She leaned in, hands tight around his waist, squeezing him tight. “ Hey, Troublemaker. How are you?”

“I’m good.” She could feel the stress leaving her body; it had been far too long since she had seen him. “How are you? These are impressive digs!”

“I mean, I can’t take any credit for it. It’s alright.” He shrugged, looking around with a grin. “Sure beats Kaneko's shop, though.”

She poked his rib. “Hey. Watch it. I happen to have a soft spot for that place.”

“You have a soft spot for the owner, you mean, one that he definitely doesn’t deserve.” He rolled his eyes. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”

She followed him, past the eager valet at the front desk, out onto the street and down a block, closer to the ocean. She could smell the salt in the air and they sat on a bench in a quiet neighborhood, overlooking a small park. As she watched a pair of kids play tag, she could almost believe that everything was normal, that they were just a couple of friends enjoying the spring day, with no murder investigation hanging over their heads.

“Alright, Trouble. How are you really?”

“I’m ok.” She studied him, the dark underneath his eyes, the way his teeth dug into his lip. “How are you?”

“I’m ok, too. How’s your dad’s investigation?”

“I don’t know.” She sighed, leaning back against the faded wood. “He doesn’t tell me anything, especially not now. He and Colt almost got into a fist fight yesterday.”

“What? When?”

“I was staking out the wake and Colt showed up and then my dad did.” She tipped her head back with a groan. “It was a mess.”

“Does he think Colt did it?”

“I think so?”

“Do you think Colt did it?”

“No. I don’t.” She opened her eyes to see him staring at her. “What?”

“He would be my prime suspect. I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time he tried to kill Shaw.”

“Logan.” She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again. She considered her options and realized that there was no nice way to say this. “Logan, you would be my prime suspect.”

“Wait, you think I did it?”

“No, no no no, Logan, that’s not what I meant.” She studied him, carefully. “But you would be the most obvious suspect. I have the phone records and, if I have them, you know the cops do too.”

“Ellie, I’m telling you, I didn’t do it.” He pivoted to face her, eyes earnest.

“I know. Aren’t you relieved he’s dead, though?”

“Hell, Ellie, of course I am. He fucking threatened me. He said he would come after me, said he still had friends in the force.”

“I know-”

“He just kept calling me and threatening me about his trial, about wanting to know where Mona was, wanting to talk to her before they both went to court.” He ran his hands threw his hair, tugging roughly on the strands; Ellie felt her heart break. “I didn’t know how to stop him but I couldn’t, I wouldn’t do kill him.”

“Logan-”

“Ellie, you know I couldn’t give up Mona. You know I wouldn’t. He wanted to kill her! And then he was gonna kill me and then he wouldn’t stop...”

The kids had moved on from tag, apparently done chasing each other around, now climbing a tree, daring each other to go higher and higher. She wondered how high they would go before one fell, before a bad decision and gravity caused them to plummet to the earth.

“I didn’t do it, Ellie, I swear.”

“I know. I know.” Could she possibly keep them all from falling? As she watched the kids climb higher and higher, laughing as they went, she didn’t know who would climb and who would fall.

~~~~~

“My dad tried to apologize.”

Colt scoffed, disdain dripping from the phone line. “Great. I guess my apology will come in the mail any day now.”

Ellie rubbed her temple and settled in deeper into her couch. “You didn’t exactly keep your cool either.”

“He dragged you out of the car. You can’t expect me to sit there for that shit.”

"Not the best ‘meet the parents’ situation.”

“C’mon, El. You know it wasn’t gonna go well regardless.” She could hear his footsteps, heavy on the concrete floor of the shop. “How’s his investigation going?”

“No idea.” The television was showing some procedural; men in black suits flashed across the screen. “He said today was the day.”

“What do you mean?”

“He said the ME would be able to make a determination on cause of death today.” The television was not captivating her attention; she didn’t want to know who went free and who was jailed on a fake crime on some fake Hollywood set.

Colt hummed. “Does he know who did it?”

“I don’t know.” She wanted to know who went free and who went to jail in her own life.

“Do you?”

“It could be anyone. Everyone.” Her thumbnail was almost completely gone, stress and worry and nerves all multiplying in her head and over her body.

Colt hummed again.

“I saw Logan.”

“Huh.” She could hear Colt’s eyes rolling over the phone. “How was that?”

“Fine. Works at a shop outside Manhattan Beach.”

“High class. What a tool.” His disdain was evident. “Do you think he did it?”

“I don’t know.” She heard a car turn down the street, closer, and turned her head, as slowly as possible. There were lights in her driveway. Her heart leapt; her dad was home. “He’s the one who talked to Shaw, I mean.”

“What did he say about that?”

“Not much.” Her dad turned off the engine and the hair on Ellie’s arms stood straight up. She turned, as unobtrusively as she could, to see out the window. “Said Shaw threatened him.”

“Wait, Ellie, Shaw threatened Logan? I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah.” Her focus was solely on her dad, closing his car door, thick manila envelope in his hand. “He told me, called a week ago, before break. I knew that,” she answered idly.

“Wait, what?” His tone was sharp but it wasn’t enough to break through, as distracted as she was. “You knew?” She had to know what was in that folder.

“Colt, I have to go.” She could hear the key in the lock. Crap.

“Wait, hold on-”

“My dad’s home, I have to go. Sorry.” She ended the call and threw the phone on the couch, pivoting to face the TV, ears intent on the footsteps behind her.

“Hi, Dad.”

He stopped and looked at her, hard. She forced herself to take a shallow breath. She was gonna throw up, every nerve in her body doing battle in her stomach. After an eternity, he nodded and headed upstairs to the study, folder held tight by his side.

Her exhale was shaky and she turned to look out the window at his cruiser, dark and forbidding in the dark of her driveway. Was no news good news?

She waited and waited but he didn’t come downstairs again. Finally, with her stomach churning, she went to bed and fell into a restless sleep, nightmares returning in full force. She could see Jason behind the wheel of his car, chasing and chasing her, gaining as she frantically pushed on the gas, red and blue lights filling the night sky around them. When she woke up, the tears had streamed down her cheeks, damp pillowcase a visual reminder of her fears.

#amy writes

19 notes · View notes

insertsmxt · 6 years

Text

Part 1: Want You Back (5sos3 Series)

You

“I don’t know what you expect me to do!” Luke yelled as he stared you down. You guys had been fighting since you got home from Ashton’s.

“I don’t know, maybe stop letting people fill your head with bullshit?” you snapped back. “We’ve been seeing each other for over a year and yet you refuse to make anything official.”

He sighed, spinning around and heading into the kitchen area. Luke grabbed a glass from one of the cabinets and filled it with water from the sink. “I’m not ready. I’ve told you that a million times.”

“You’re not ready or your management isn’t ready to have their lead singer off the market?” you posed the question.

“They don’t control me,” he ground out, clutching his glass tightly.

“Apparently the do. Ashton tells me what they say to you at the meetings. ‘Young, single lead singers are more appealing than ones tied down by silly girls’,” you quoted.

“Ashton can fuck off. We’re fine how we are.”

“No, we aren’t. We have to sneak around and lie when we get spotted together. I hate it. I want to be out with you and not give two shits about who sees us.”

“You just want the fame,” he chided.

“Fuck you. You really think I’m that shallow?” you asked and he shrugged. “I don’t care about the fame. Yes, I want everyone to know you’re mine, but I would think you’d want the same when it comes to me. I want you.”

“You have me.”

“Please, I don’t even have half of you. Management has more of a claim on you than anyone else,” you laughed.

“Then why don’t you go find someone that can give you what you want, huh?” he shouted, slamming the half-empty glass on the countertop.

You fell silent, your eyes dropping to the floor. Your fingers anxiously played with your new shirt, tracing over the roses painted on it. Honestly, the thought of leaving Luke had crossed your mind a few times, but he always knew how to draw you back in. You were scared of going back to the life you had before meeting him; a life with no adventure, no warmth, no fun.

But could you keep moving forward with a man that wouldn’t fully commit to you? Could you continue watching him live his life outside the four walls of his house as though you didn’t exist? Could you let him go off on tour, be surrounded by girls from all over the world, knowing he could technically do anything he wanted since he wasn’t officially your boyfriend?

So many thoughts drifted through your head as he stood there staring at you, his heavy gaze boring into you.

Was he worth it?

“I don’t want to be with anyone else,” you told him truthfully, raising your eyes to meet his. A glimmer of relief glinted in his blue orbs. “But...I also don’t want to be with someone who can’t commit to me. In the end, this would never work.”

Things were quiet for a few minutes after that. Luke refused to look at you, his arms crossed over his broad chest. It hurt you to say those words. The weight of them had been sitting on your chest for a while now, and part of you was elated to finally have them out in the open. The only sound in the house was Petunia’s heavy breathing.

“So that’s it then?” he questioned after another silent minute.

“Let's face it, Luke, you won’t ever change. Not even for me,” you exhaled.

“Get out,” he whispered, barely loud enough for you to make out.

“What?”

“I SAID GET OUT!” he screamed. “If you’re so done with me and whatever the hell this is,” he gestured between us, “then leave.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed, feeling the sting of tears burning in your eyes. Luke rarely raised his voice in a menacing manner, and if he did, you knew he meant every word of what he said.

He really wanted you to leave. So, with tears slipping down your freckled face, that’s exactly what you did. The last thing you heard as you closed the front door, suitcases in tow, was the sound of shattering glass hitting the floor.

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

When you left for LA to start over at the beginning of the previous year, you never thought you would have to move back home again. You figured Los Angeles was where your dreams would come true, where you could finish your college classes and then find a great job.

Meeting Luke had just been a bonus—a fLuke.

You stared out the window in your dad’s tiny living room as watched it pouring down rain. Your mind drifted away after a few minutes, taking you back to the day you met him.

It had been one of the hottest days in Southern California history and everyone was flooding the beaches. You had been sitting in the wet sand with the waves lapping at your feet since sunrise taking in the beautiful ocean view. It was your sixth day in the new city and, since classes hadn’t started yet, you decided to spend most of your free time at the beach.

People started showing up around ten that morning. Little kids squealed as they ran from their parents, hot guys started up a volleyball game, pretty girls in skimpy bikinis baked in the sun. And there you were in ripped up shorts and an old Kurt Cobain shirt, alone.

You were lost in thought, thinking about Ed Sheeran’s new album, when you heard people setting up behind you. Curious about who was making camp so close to you, you turned to check them out.

And you went into full-on panic mode.

Not even ten feet behind you were the three of the four guys who made up 5 Seconds of Summer and a few of their friends. Calum, Ashton, and Michael were shirtless with swim trunks on as they laid out towels and chairs under a huge red umbrella.

You had recently gotten into their music, thanks to a friend of yours playing it nonstop until you admitted you liked them, and now you were so close you could practically see the sweat on Calum’s tan skin.

“Hey, Red!” you heard someone shout. Your eyes were still glued to the three shirtless boys in front of you. “Red!”

Suddenly someone was squatting next to you, waving their hand in your face. You blinked a few times to shake yourself out of the dirty thoughts racing through your mind about the 5sos boys. Turning your head, your eyes fell on the missing member of the band, Luke Hemmings.

A sudden wave of heat burned through you, but you knew it had nothing to do with the weather, and everything to do with the singer perched beside you. His blond curls fell onto his forehead, his skin glistened with sweat, the muscles of his arms flexed as he leaned onto them to relieve some pressure in his legs. But his eyes, those bright cerulean orbs, were what drew you in and made your breath catch.

“Hey,” he greeted once he knew you was paying attention to him. His accent made your heart flutter.

“H-hi,” you reply, nervous. You tucked a few loose strands of your red hair behind your ear. His beauty was intimidating, breathtaking.

“We were wondering if you could take a picture of us?” Luke asked. You gaped at him.

You chuckled. The nerves were starting to die down, but the butterflies Luke was causing, though, were just starting to amp up. “Isn’t it supposed to be me asking you guys for a picture?”

“The roles have reversed it seems,” he joked, standing.

You pushed yourself off the sandy beach and followed him to the group. Everyone introduced themselves and you tried to keep your calm-ish resolve.

“Love your Cobain shirt,” Ashton complimented you. Blush rose to your cheeks. The guys laughed and then belted out the beginning of End Up Here. You shifted your weight back and forth, feeling awkward that you were getting so much attention from such big personalities.

“You’ll fit in great with us, Red,” Michael told you. In that moment, you thought he just meant you would fit in with them for the rest of the day.

You had no idea the impact that one instance in time would have on your life.

The front door opening drew you out of your memories. Your dad walked into the house humming a Black Sabbath song and taking off his work bibs so he didn’t track oil all over. Where his bibs didn’t cover, his skin was stained black from hours working on semi trucks.

“Hey, angel,” he smiled at me as he walked into the kitchen.

“Hi.”

He pulled out leftovers from dinner the day before and stuck them in the microwave. “What’ve you been up to today?”

“Homework,” you answered, keeping your responses short. Talking wasn’t something you really did a lot of these days. Your eyes drifted back outside to the breezy spring day. Today marked two months since moving home. Winter turned to spring and everything was thawing out, except your frozen heart.

“Did ya get it all done?”

“Mm,” you muttered.

“Good. Can’t slack now when you’re so close to being done,” he lectured lightly. “Only two more months until my baby girl is a college graduate.”

“Dad, stop,” you groan, knowing he’s about to get emotional.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice thick. “You just make me feel so old.”

That made you laugh a little. “You are old,” you teased.

“I know.” He grabbed his plate from the microwave and came to sit across from you on the couch. When he set the plate on the coffee table instead of digging in, you knew he had more to say. “I know these last couple of months haven’t been the greatest and moving back home sucks ass. I’m proud of you for finishing your program online and helping me out around here. You’ve turned out pretty good, if I do say so myself.”

“Thanks.”

“And I know your mom would be proud of you, too,” he added.

Your head dropped. Tears stung in the corner of your eyes, but you refused to let them out. You had been crying far too much lately and you were sick of it. Still, the words your father spoke were like a tidal wave of emotion crashing into you. It had been almost nine years without her and missing her came and went in waves.

“I know,” you whispered.

“You’re going to do amazing things, angel. I can feel it. And you don’t need a boy around dragging you down while you’re trying to fly,” he finished, then dug into his food.

His little lecture didn’t do much for you right then, but in the weeks to come, it would be the only thing that kept you moving along.

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

Luke Hemmings

He couldn’t remember what day of the week it was, or the last time he showered. He didn’t know how many days in a row he’d been wearing the same sweatpants around the house, or what the last solid thing he ate was.

Everything in his head was a blur— a jumble of useless, unnecessary shit.

Everything, that is, except for you.

Luke couldn’t play back the chords to the band’s newest song for the album, but he sure as hell could play back every memory the two of you had shared during the fourteen months you’d been with him. He could remember what your wore the day you guys met, your dad’s birthday, the way your eyes shined when you watched the sunset with him on the back porch that final night before everything was blown apart. He could remember the feel of your skin against his, the way you would moan his name as he touched you, the location of every freckle on your back.

Remembering was as easy as breathing when it came to you. The memories of you were full of life and color, while the rest of them had faded to gray.

A loud bark came from the front of the house. Luke sighed and flipped the channel on the television for the fifth time in an hour. He didn’t even bother getting up anymore to answer the door. All the guys had a key made after two weeks on Luke refusing to come to the door following the break-up.

He made a bet with himself as to whom the person showing up today would be. If he guessed right, he earned another beer—not that losing was going to stop him from drinking more. Winning just made it more satisfying. It was usually Ashton stopping in to drop off food for the day. Calum came by two or three times a week to try and cheer him up with jokes or some comedy show he found funny, but it never worked. And Michael only came by when Luke needed restocking on beer.

Other than that, his socializing didn’t extended to anyone but his mom and dad, sometimes his brothers.

The only time he left the house was to put in a few mandatory hours at the studio. The third album was coming along slowly, but Luke was just happy for the minor distraction it allowed him some days.

“Hey, mate,” Ashton said as he walked in and plopped next to him on the couch. He looked tired and pensive. A bag of food was dropped on the coffee table.

“Hey,” Luke replied, smiling to himself. He’d won his bet.

Standing, Luke grabbed the bag and headed into the adjoining kitchen. He threw the food in the fridge and grabbed another beer.

“See you’re still rockin’ the liquid diet,”Ashton muttered, his eyes now focused on the tv.

“Fuck off.”

“We need to talk,” Ashton spoke up after a few minutes. Luke sighed and ran a hand over his face, scratching at the stubble on his jawline.

“Didn’t know I was dating you.”

“Ha ha,” Ashton fake chuckled. “But seriously, I just met with management and they’re not too happy with our progress with the album. We’re behind and the tour is coming up quick. They want us in post-production by the end of the year and a song out by the end of next February, which means we need to start writing and recording.”

“So…”

“So you need to get off your ass and start really pitching in. I know you’ve had a shitty time since [Y/n] left, but it’s been six months, mate. We need you,” the drummer pleaded.

“It’s not been that long,” Luke mumbled.

“Yes, it has. How much have you drank today, seriously? It’s been six months.”

Luke stared at the bottle of Corona pinched between his fingers and wondered how so much time had slipped away. You would have graduated in May and here it was in the middle of July. Six months without you.

It hit him like a train.

Six months since he had heard you laugh, watched you dance in the shower, touched your soft skin, woke up beside you. Sometimes when he woke up in his big bed, he found his arms stretching out to your side of the bed, reaching for someone that wasn’t there. He couldn’t bring himself to delete the pictures of you on his phone or wear the shirt you always stole from him.

His chest ached. Every inch of him missed you.

He would give anything, do anything, to see you again.

“You said we need to write songs? I’ve got one in mind,” Luke told his friend, setting his beer aside and going to get his guitar.

It was time for him to sober up and get to work if he wanted you back.

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

You

The blue dress clung to your curves and made you feel beautiful, but it was a shade that took you back to a certain guy you tried not to think about often. It had been a present from your father, though, after you landed an amazing job. He wanted you to look nice for your first big work party, even if he wasn’t too excited about your job moving you back out to LA. You explained that it was your dream position, one you were beyond lucky to receive, and you missed the city.

You miss him, too, your conscious reminded you.

A sigh escaped you as you stared in the mirror. You were all done-up; hair curled, makeup applied, heels on...Tonight was supposed to be your first time around the important company executives and there you were letting him bring you down.

It had been eigh months. It was time to move on.

A chime rang through your apartment. You walked out of your bathroom and picked your phone off the kitchen table.

Issac: Your ride is here, Ms.

Ignoring the trail of thoughts you were on a minute ago, you grabbed your purse and headed downstairs. *** There were so many people here, it made you nervous. You knew Spotify was a massive company, but this was insane. Where do you even begin? Who do you talk to first? Where was the food?

“[Y/n]!” someone called out your name. You spun around and saw your co-worker, Oliver, waving you over. A smile formed as you took him in. He was very attractive and always tried to flirt with you. Usually you shot him down, but tonight you were feeling very flirtatious.

Eight months without sex will do that to you, you laughed to yourself.

“Hey, you look gorgeous,” Oliver complimented you.

“Thanks,” you said, flashing him a seductive smile. “You look pretty good yourself.”

He smirked, catching on that you were finally reciprocating his feelings. “Have any plans after this thing ends?”

“No.”

“Good.” He took a step closer to you, leaning over until he could whisper in your ear, “‘Cause that dress does look good on you, but it would look better on my bedroom floor.”

You flushed red and let out a giggle, “Oh yeah?”

He kissed your neck and it felt nice.

Something’s wrong, your brain said.

And that’s when you saw him, dressed in black pants with bright red stripes down the sides and a loose white button-up. His hair had grown out almost to his shoulders and was pushed back away from his face. Stubble on his jaw made him look older and more mature.

You could only see him from the side, but it was enough to make you weak in the knees. Oliver was forgotten and all you saw was him.

“Luke,” you whispered, pulling away from Oliver.

His blue eyes snapped to you as if he heard you say his name. Everyone else in the room disappeared. You hated the fact that he still had such an effect over you, but you also loved it.

“Who the hell is Luke?” Oliver snapped, drawing your attention back to him. He seemed pissed that you said another guy’s name when he was trying to get you hot and bothered.

You were about to reply when you felt someone standing behind you. Heat radiated off of him and it made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You didn’t even have to turn to know it was him.

“That would be me,” his warm voice filtered into your ears and made you melt. It had been so long since you heard it. You didn’t even realize how much you missed it until he spoke.

You stepped to the side and glanced between the two men. Their eyes were locked in a battle for dominance. You knew Luke would win, he always did. It was turning you on.

“Hemmings, right? 5 Seconds of Summer?” Oliver broke the silence.

“Right.” His eyes flicked over to you and he flashed you his signature smirk.

Oliver turned his attention to you. “How do you know him?”

“Uh—.”

“I’m her boyfriend, mate,” Luke interrupted.

“What?!” Oliver and you spit out at the same time.

“You heard me,” he said, winking at you. You rolled your eyes. “And I don’t like the way you’re looking at my girl.”

“Didn't know she was taken. She certainly doesn’t act like it.”

“You calling her a whore?” Luke ground out.

Oliver shrugged, a shit-eating grin on his face. “She was totally coming on to me before you showed up.”

Luke’s fists clenched tight at his sides and you knew he was about to react badly. So you stepped in.

“Let’s just go, yeah?”

His eyes fell on you, his fist unclenching. You prayed he would agree.

“Whatever,” he said, grabbing your hand and pulling you away from Oliver. *** Somehow you ended up in the passenger seat of Luke’s car, speeding down the 405. He hadn’t said a word since the showdown with your co-worker. Both his hands were tightly gripping the steering wheel as he drove.

You knew where he was taking you and it made you anxious. So you watched the dark landscape outside your window distract you for the moment.

The next thing you knew, he was parking the car in front of a place you once called home. He didn’t waste any time getting out of the car and over to your side. It took you a second to work up the courage to get out of the car. You had imagined something like this happening when you first moved home and the pain was still fresh. But this was real.

He lead you into the house, a firm grip on your wrist. Annoyance rolled off of him in waves. You kept your mouth shut. Talking would only make matters worse right now.

He had the door open and you pushed inside in no time at all. It was dimly lit, but you didn’t have to worry about wandering in the semi-dark because he had you slammed against the front door, bodies pressed flush together before you could even spot Petunia.

Luke’s hot breath fanned across your face, “Did you like making me watch you flirt with some other guy, huh?”

You stayed quiet, your eyes trained on where his shirt was unbuttoned. The pendant you bought him for his birthday last year still hung around his neck. Suddenly, his hand was at the top of your throat, fingers pinching your chin and dragging you head up so you looked at him.

“I asked you a question, princess,” he ground out. The blue in his eyes darkened. “Did you like it?”

“Y-yeah.”

The corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk, his hand sliding down lower on my throat. “Bad girl, princess.”

He squeezed his fingers and crashed his lips to yours. Instantly, you kissed back, letting your lips fall in sync with his. Your fingers wound into his curls and gently tugged. A moan escaped him and he grabbed your legs, lifting you off the ground.

Luke carried you to the living room, sitting on the couch with you straddling him, your lips never leaving his. You ground down into him, drawing a soft moan from both of you. His hands dug into your hips, bunching up the skirt of you dress, and moved you faster over his growing length.

“Fuck,” he mumbled against your lips. You hummed in response.

You dragged your hands down his shoulders and across his chest until you found the buttons of his shirt. With the first few already undone, you started where he had left off. Soon, you were pushing it off his shoulders and running your hands all over him. Running his hands up your back, he pulled you closer to him while he felt for the zipper of your dress. He found it and pulled it down.

You sat back and helped him slip the top of it off your shoulders, exposing your bare chest.

“No bra? Naughty girl,” he groaned. You smirked as he attached his lips to your right nipple. A gasp passed your lips and you rocked your hips into him harder.

“Luke,” you whined.

“What do you want me to do, princess?”

“Anything,” you pleaded.

He pinched your other nipple, making you cry out. “Be more specific.”

“Want your mouth. On me. Please,” you begged.

He didn’t hesitate. He pushed you onto the couch and ripped off your dress and panties all in one go. Luke laid himself between your spread legs and nipped his way up your inner thigh. It was frustrating the hell out of you, but you knew if you complained, he would move even slower, tease you longer.

You were two seconds from grabbing the back of his head and pushing him into your aching center when he licked a strip up the middle of your folds. You moaned in delight as he dove in, holding nothing back. He dragged his tongue from your hole up to your throbbing clit, flicking it and gently biting down. The stubble on his face scratched across your inner thighs.

You hissed and lifted your hips, needing more. His large hands slid up your things and onto your hips before pushing them down into the couch, preventing you from wiggling around. You wanted him to paint your skin black and blue with his touch.

“More,” you told him. He knew exactly what you meant and gave you what you wanted, taking one of his hands off you and sliding a finger into you. You moaned and he pumped in and out of your dripping hole while sucking on your clit. A second finger soon joined in, another whimper coming from you as he stretched you out. His other hand slid over just above your bladder, pressing you harder into the couch.

“Luke,” you gasped loudly. The added pressure of his hand up top helped him press his thrusting fingers into your g-spot.

He moved faster, pumping in and out, hitting it over and over until he had you crying out. His teeth scraped against your clit as spasms wracked your body, your toes curled, and you stopped breathing for a few seconds.

You were still coming down from your high when he sat up on his knees. His fingers still slow danced inside of you, his thumb rubbing softly against your clit. You whimpered at the overstimulation, but didn’t want him to stop.

“So good for me, princess,” he praised, bending over and pecking your lips. Drawing back just slightly, his breath ghosting across your flushed face, he said, “Think you can do that again while I fuck you?”

“Fuck yeah.”

Luke got up from the couch and slowly started stripping out of his pants. His eyes were locked with yours as you laid there watching him. He pushed them down his legs and kicked them off.

“Been hard for you since I saw you across the room in that dress,” he told you, palming himself through his boxers.

You licked your lips. Your eyes were glued to the movement of his hand. “Oh yeah?”

“Mhmm, look so good in blue, baby.” He reached his hand inside and stroked himself. His eyes closed, head tilted back, tongue swiping along his swollen lips. You bit your bottom lip hard. “Drove me nuts watching that other guy eye-fuck you. Wanted to knock him on his ass. No one fucks you but me.”

“Luke, please.”

He chuckled at your neediness, but gave in. His boxers were quickly lost, revealing his beautiful dick. Honestly, you had missed it just as much as you had missed him.

He crawled on top of you, connecting your lips in a heated kiss. Moving down to your neck, he sucked and nipped, littering your soft skin with hickeys. You could feel his hard length against your leg and you raised your hips, desperate for some friction.

“Greedy, princess,” he tsked and bit down where you neck and shoulder met. You dug your fingernails into the skin of his shoulder blades and lifted your hips again.

“Stop stalling and fuck me, Hemmings,” you groaned, frustrated.

“Anything for my girl,” he smiled. Hearing him say that made your heart flutter. He never use to say stuff like that.

He lined himself up and pushed himself inside of you. His eyes squeezed shut and you both moaned together. The feeling of him buried in you made your head spin and your body crave more.

“Move.”

Immediately, he pulled almost all the way out and slammed back into you. He did it again and again, picking the pace up with each thrust in.

“So tight. Feel so good around my cock,” he said into you ear, nipping your earlobe. “Did you miss me fucking you like this, princess? Hmm, did you miss my big cock being inside your tight little pussy?”

“M’yes. God, yes!”

“Take me so well, baby. So fucking well.”

“Faster.”

He sped up his movements, grabbing you under the ass and rutting into you. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the air. You ran your hands from him shoulders, down his back, digging your nails into him. He hissed at the pain, but it only made him fuck you harder.

“So close, babe,” you told him.

“Me too,” he replied and swooped down, pressing his mouth to yours. Your tongues moved in sync with your bodies. Pulling away, he whispered, “Cum for me, princess.”

He drove into your favorite spot, ripping a low moan from you and sending you tumbling over the edge again. Your legs shook, your walls clenched, as his name fell from your lips over and over again. A few more fast pumps and he was finding his high, too, spilling into you and moaning your name.

Luke collapsed next to you on his oversized couch. You were both panting hard, covered in sweat and your mixed cum, but nevertheless you felt amazing.

He wrapped his arm around you and rolled you onto his chest. You smiled and played with the hair there.

“I missed you,” he said into your hair.

“I missed you, too,” you said truthfully.

“I’m never letting you leave again,” he sighed.

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

Hooray for Part 1!

Part 2: Valentine ft. Calum Hood is up next.

Keep it sexy, folks.

-K

#5sos #luke hemmings #luke 5sos #ashton 5sos #5sos3 #want you back #calum 5sos #michael 5sos #5sossmut

42 notes · View notes

quicksilversquared · 7 years

Text

Lokki

Kittens normally get into at least some trouble, it’s just to be expected. But Adrien and Marinette’s kitten Lokki seems to be especially talented at causing trouble and getting into things that she shouldn’t. Sometimes it’s amusing, and other times....

Well, other times it’s just a pain.

(AO3) (FF.net)

Two months after Adrien and Marinette adopted a kitten they found in a nearby alleyway, it suddenly became much more adventurous. It became a struggle to keep the curious kitten out of rooms where she shouldn't be. She ended up in Marinette's design room more than a few times, even though they kept the door tightly shut at all times, and at least four times a week the kitten forced its way into the bathroom while either Adrien or Marinette was in it.

"Lokki, how did you get in here?" Marinette cried as soon as she stepped out of the shower and found the ginger kitten nestled in the pile of towels on the counter.

Adrien poked his head in the now-open door, which Marinette was positive that she had closed before getting in the shower. His eyes (after lingering briefly on his towel-clad girlfriend) immediately landed on the cat. "I was wondering where she went! How did you get past the door, silly kitten?" He stepped into bathroom and scooped Lokki up. "I swear, we need to get a camera on her or something to see what she's doing. She never does it when we're watching."

"I'd ask Tikki or Plagg, but they swear that she tries to eat them whenever she sees them. Hopefully she grows out of that." Marinette shifted her towel to hold it up with one hand and reached out to run a hand over Lokki's back. Her voice took on a cooing quality. "Hmm, silly kitty? You'll stop trying to eat tiny gods whenever you see them, right?"

Lokki let out a long, plaintive mew, squirming in Adrien's arms. They both laughed.

"I think that's a no," Adrien said, stepping out of the bathroom and crouching to let Lokki down onto the floor. "But probably not for long if Plagg has his way. I overheard him muttering something about making armor out of tin cans."

Marinette laughed at that. "Good luck to him, then." She paused, then gave Adrien a look. "Uh, kitty? I still need to get dressed."

Adrien glanced over at her. "Oh, yeah, you do. What are you wearing today? The red dress?"

Marinette gave him a look. "Yes, but kitty, I need to get dressed."

"Oh! Right, right, of course."

Plagg and Lokki had been having a staring contest for the last five minutes. Plagg had holed himself up on top of the fridge, and Lokki had been alternating between staring at the kwami and trying to figure out how to get up to where Plagg was. Normally Plagg would have moved elsewhere by now- the top of the fridge was a bit dusty, and the tablet that he had gotten for Christmas was in Adrien and Marinette's bedroom- but it was actually quite amusing to watch Lokki as she tried (and failed) to get up on top of the fridge. Her meows had been getting progressively more frustrated, and Plagg was actually quite impressed that Marinette hadn't come out to investigate yet. She had been working in her design room all morning, but maybe she had headphones on so she couldn't hear Lokki's frustrated cries.

"Ha, you can't reach me," Plagg sing-songed, glad that Tikki had tagged along with Adrien to his classroom. There was no way she would have let him keep taunting the cat so for so long. "You can't get up- ahhh!"

With a particularly loud meow, Lokki had launched herself up onto the kitchen counter. She paused for a moment there, eying the much shorter jump from the counter to the top of the fridge, and then with a flick of her tail she launched herself up. A paw shot out a soon as she landed to swipe at Plagg, but he immediately shot backwards out of reach. Another swipe and Plagg phased into the cabinet above the fridge, cackling gleefully at the meow of frustration that immediately followed. His and Tikki's ability to just phase through solid objects was a constant source of frustration for Lokki, and the cat would no doubt spend forever trying to figure out how to get into the cupboard-

The sound of tiny kitten claws digging into the wood at the bottom of the cupboard sounded, and seconds later the door swung open. Lokki rolled back up from her back onto her paws and stepped into the cupboard, eyes searching the area for Plagg.

With a squeak that Plagg would deny ever coming out of his mouth, he shot out of the cupboard and into the air in the middle of the kitchen. Before Lokki could turn around and try to snag him out of thin air (Plagg hadn't forgotten the way Adrien had done exactly that within fifteen minutes of meeting Plagg, launching himself off of his rock climbing wall; Lokki was more Adrien's cat than Marinette's, and Plagg wasn't going to risk her doing exactly the same thing), Plagg was zipping through the air, around the corner, through the hallway, and into the closed bedroom.

He would be safe there.

(Six minutes and forty-three seconds later, Lokki pried the bedroom door open and sent Plagg screaming into Marinette's sewing room.)

Now that she had settled in, it was obvious that Lokki was a very curious and determined cat. She could open doors and cupboards alike, which meant if Lokki wanted to get into something, she would get into it. Even a wedge shoved under the door to keep it closed was no match for the kitten's pushy paws.

(It was, however, a match for both Adrien and Marinette. On the nights where Lokki decided not to break into their room, both of them found themselves walking into the door and then fighting with the wedge for several minutes so that they could get out.)

"She's raiding the cupboard again," Plagg reported boredly, floating through the door into Marinette' sewing room. He plopped down onto her shoulder. "And getting into the food. She's fat enough already without her sneaking extras."

Marinette groaned, took her foot off of the pedal of the sewing machine, and ran into the kitchen to fish Lokki out of the cupboard before she could get into the plastic food bins that her cat food was stored in.

"You have an entire forest of cat trees to play on, you little menace," Marinette scolded with no real venom as she deposited Lokki on the couch. "Stay out of the cupboards."

Lokki let out a loud mrrow and burrowed under a cushion. Plagg floated off of Marinette's shoulder and onto a bookshelf to watch the cat play with a (fake) feather-and-bell on a bungee cord as Marinette returned to her sewing. Not ten minutes later, she was interrupted again.

"The cat is in the fridge."

Marinette groaned and quickly pinned a few things before darting out of her room and to the kitchen. "How did she manage that? The fridge door is heavy, and it's hard to pull open normally!"

"She pushed with her paws, just like she does with every other door." Plagg looked somewhat amused, and Marinette had to wonder if Lokki perhaps had a bit of help. It really wouldn't surprise her. Despite how much Plagg complained about the kitten, it was obvious that her escapades amused him. "And then she hopped in, and then the door closed on her."

Aha. That would explain the somewhat muffled yowling.

As soon as Marinette pulled the fridge door open, one very disgruntled Lokki hopped out, trailing orange juice as she went. A quick glance into the fridge told Marinette that their cat had knocked over their half-full pitcher of orange juice, spilling it all over the fridge and herself. Already there was a large puddle on the floor under the fridge that she would have to wipe up before Lokki could track it everywhere-

"You do know that the cat is getting away, right?"

Marinette squealed and tore after her cat.

Two months and seven assorted child-proof latches on the cabinets and fridge later, the number of Lokki-related incidents had decreased drastically. While the kitten spent hours scratching at the bottoms of cabinet doors (they were going to have a really hard time getting all of their deposit back when they finally ended up moving), she couldn't get in. Almost six times per week, either Adrien or Marinette wandered into the kitchen to find Lokki there, trying to force either a cabinet door or the fridge door open.

(Lokki was nothing if not persistent.)

Now that all obvious ways that Lokki could get in trouble were kitten-proofed, Adrien and Marinette were more comfortable leaving her alone at home for more than a few minutes at a time. The kitten-proofing had also meant blocking off all crevices between shelving units and the wall with foam so Lokki couldn't walk in and be unable to back out, and so she couldn't accidentally fall off a shelf and get stuck behind it.

(It had taken an entire exhausting weekend of Adrien, Marinette, Tikki, and Plagg all combing the apartment in search of places where Lokki would get in trouble.)

And their kitty-proofing had come just in time, because Marinette had paired up with a few friends from design school with similar aesthetic tastes and started a boutique. While she could technically still work from home once things were set up at the boutique, she much preferred being able to get out of the apartment. While the kwamis stayed back in the apartment more often than not, they wouldn't be able to help Lokki if she somehow got in trouble. Granted, the stretch of time between Marinette started working on the boutique and when Adrien's school year ended wasn't very long- only a week or so- but still. If Lokki got stuck, it wouldn't be very fun for her if she had to wait for several hours before getting out.

But there was no possible way for her to get stuck now, of that Adrien and Marinette were certain.

Two days before Adrien's school let out for spring break, he got a phone call right before his lecture before lunch started. He pulled out his phone, hoping that it wasn't Chloe calling to complain about something or other, because once she got started she never. stopped. talking. even if Adrien had somewhere he needed to be. He once hung up on her since he needed to start his class, and Chloe hadn't let him hear the end of it for months.

It wasn't Chloe. It was his and Marinette's home phone number.

Adrien frowned. That didn't seem right. Marinette was at her boutique with her coworkers, trying to get the place set up so that the front half would be a store area and the back would be for designing and sewing. She hadn't been planning on going home for lunch at all and at any rate, it was too early for Marinette to even be considering eating.

Curious, Adrien accepted the call.

"The cat is in the trash," Plagg informed him the second Adrien answered. "And now she's banging around making a mess."

...that was not what Adrien had been expecting.

"Well, what are you gonna do about it?" Plagg demanded when Adrien didn't say anything. "I can't help, obviously. Tikki and I tried pushing the flap open, but it's too stiff."

"The fla... wait, which trash did Lokki get into?" Adrien demanded, still trying to figure out what Plagg was talking about. The trash cans in both their bedroom and the bathroom would be easy enough for Lokki to get into, but she would be able to hop out just as easily- and besides, there would be nothing in there to interest Lokki. Marinette's taller trash-slash-scraps basket would be harder for Lokki to climb into, since it was taller, but that wouldn't explain the flap that Plagg was talking about. The only possibility left was-

"The kitchen one," Plagg reported, just as Adrien came to that conclusion on his own and let out a long groan. Their kitchen trash (and the recycling) was stored in upright containers with flaps on them to try to contain the smell. The flap pushed in, not out, which meant that Lokki was very much trapped.

And Adrien's students were already filtering into the classroom.

"I can't come rescue her now," Adrien told Plagg, lowering his voice so his students couldn't listen in as easily. Marinette had come in once to bring him a pile of tests that he had graded and entered but forgotten to bring along to return, and his students had been thrilled to see the two of them interact. They had then decided to become far too invested in Adrien's relationship, which meant that they would try to listen to any phone conversations that he had in hopes of hearing him talking to his girlfriend.

It was both kind of cute and very annoying at the same time, mostly because it meant that he couldn't use any of his pet names for Marinette when he was talking to her on the phone while at school.

"But she's complaining."

"I have class right now. Did you call Mari?"

Plagg scoffed. "Of course I did. What, did you think that I had just forgotten that you would be teaching? But she and her coworkers had to drive to this warehouse outside of the city to pick up something for the front of their shop and they wouldn't be back until four."

Adrien sighed. Of all the days for Marinette to be out of the city... "Okay, I'll come over lunch break and get Lokki out. How loud is she being?" He couldn't hear any caterwauling coming over the phone, which was a good sign, but Plagg could have persuaded Tikki to hold Lokki's mouth shut while he phoned. Even just meowing, Lokki could be very, very loud.

"Mostly just meowing. A lot."

"Hopefully she doesn't get louder." There was an unspoken don't let her yowl. Hopefully Plagg understood. "I have to go now, okay?"

"Right, right, of course," Plagg drawled. "I'll try to keep the little menace calm. Have fun teaching."

Click.

"Who was that, Mr. Agreste?" one of his students asked curiously. "Who's Lokki?"

Adrien sighed, resigned to his students' curiosity. "That was my, ah, neighbor calling. It sounds like my cat has somehow gotten herself stuck in something. Again. And she's making a lot of noise, that's how our neighbor knows she's stuck."

The entire class immediately perked up.

"You have a cat?"

"What does she look like?"

"Do you have pictures? Can we see them?"

"How old is she?"

"If we brought in cat toys, could you take videos of her playing with them?"

"What breed is she?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Adrien said with a laugh, holding up his hands. "Yes, I have a cat. She's kind of a light orange color. Yes, I have pictures, but not on me and anyway, we have class to do. She's under a year for sure, but we don't know her birthday or what breed she is because we found her in an alley. And no, please don't bring in any toys. She already has enough."

"Awwwww-"

"And now, we'll start today's lesson," Adrien announced loudly over their complaints. When the grumbling didn't abate any, his sighed and added, "And, if you are really good today, I might consider bringing in a short video for tomorrow."

The classroom fell silent.

"Okay, so that's all for today's lesson," Adrien announced seven minutes before the bell rang. He glanced over at the clock again, knowing full well that the headmaster wouldn't be happy with him for releasing his class early, but it was almost break anyway and really, surely the headmaster would understand him not wanting to leave his cat stuck an extra seven minutes when Adrien could have rescued him earlier. "And just because I really need to go get my cat unstuck from wherever she's gotten stuck now, I'm gonna let you go early today."

It was quite impressive how fast his class packed up and was out the door.

"Did we earn a cat video?" one of the last students out asked, pausing by the door.

"Yes, yes, I'll try to remember to take a short video tonight," Adrien promised, shoving a few things into his bag to take home. He couldn't just leave his half-written test at school if he was going to be gone. His student let out a shout of joy and Adrien couldn't help but smile as he gathered up his keys, even through his worry. Had Plagg and Tikki been successful in keeping Lokki quiet? They had had problems with their neighbor complaining about their loud cat before, and the last thing that they wanted to happen was get kicked out because of the complaints.

With the last of his students out, Adrien locked his classroom and then beelined for the exit closest to his car. It didn't take long for him to get back to the apartment- he and Marinette had really found the perfect spot- and then he was dashing up the stairs, hoping that Mr. Irritated Neighbor isn't home for once and won't run into him in the hallway, because then he'll just complain to the landlady about irresponsible kids pretending to be adults and coming home and slacking off in the middle of the day, like he had every time he happened to run into Marinette during the workweek. Adrien arrived at his door without incident, and then he was unlocking the door and rushing in.

"Rrr-ow!"

"Coming, Lokki," Adrien called, holding back a sigh. He raised an eyebrow at Plagg and Tikki as they zipped around a corner. "She hasn't been any louder than that, has she?"

"The neighbor banged on the wall once," Tikki reported. "But Lokki hasn't been doing anything but meowing."

Adrien groaned.

"Rrrr-ow!"

"Patience, Lokki!" Adrien scolded half-heartedly. He kicked off his shoes and hurried into the kitchen, where he could hear scratching on the side of the trash container. He pushed open the flap and a second later, Lokki stuck her head out and let out another loud complaint.

"You're the one who got yourself into this mess," Adrien reminded her as she pulled herself the rest of the way out and dropped to the floor. "So don't go compl- oh, you smell!"

He really shouldn't have been surprised. After all, Lokki had just spent an hour in the trash.

"I do not have time to deal with this," Adrien groaned. He was behind correcting tests, for goodness' sake, and then he had to enter scores into the computer, and finish making lesson plans for the few days left before break. He had also been planning on updating his teacher page, since he hadn't since the start of the semester, and he had to respond to the parents of several of the kids he gave piano lessons to, since most of them wanted to up the frequency of their lessons over the break. "Ugh, I have so much to do without dealing with a smelly cat, but I'm not going to let you wander around the house smelling like that!"

"I think she has Camembert in her fur," Tikki reported as Lokki trotted past her towards the couch. Adrien yelped and lunged to grab the cat and, holding her away from his shirt, made a dash for the bathroom. Lokki started squirming as soon as he turned the water on, but Adrien kicked the door shut so she couldn't escape. While the tub filled, he pulled the kitty shampoo out of the cabinet, struggling to hold on to Lokki as he did.

(Tikki had been right- there was Camembert in Lokki's fur. Gross.)

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Tikki asked, phasing through the door and watching as Adrien tested the water's temperature. "You said that you had to send some emails, right?"

"I need to schedule a bunch of piano lessons over break," Adrien confirmed, turning the water off and plopping Lokki in. She looked like she wanted to hop right back out, but then Tikki helpfully dropped a little rubber duck into the water and Lokki's attention was immediately diverted to it. She batted it around, chasing it around the tub just like she would with her mouse toys.

"You write down all the times the parents suggested and then make sure they don't conflict at all before answering, right?" Both kwami had seen Adrien set up the classes a million times before. "Have you done that yet? I could do that."

"I've already done that part," Adrien told her absently, reaching for the cat shampoo and squeezing a bit out. "I've figured out the appointment times, I just need to email everyone back before they decide to go elsewhere for their lessons."

"I could do that!"

Adrien couldn't help but chuckle at Tikki's enthusiasm. Still, the offer was very tempting. He didn't have a ton of piano students since he was busy during most of the school year, but still, the emails would take time. "Okay. I don't have the schedule I came up with with me right now, since I had been planning to get it done over lunch at school, but maybe you can do it this evening."

"Okay!"

"Hopefully this will keep Lokki out for now," Adrien said as he taped the ads from the day's newspaper over the flap on the trash can. It was possible that they would need something a little more sturdy for keeping Lokki out in the long-term, since she and her claws (and teeth) could probably shred straight through the paper given a whole day, but Adrien didn't have the time to find anything better. "But could you two keep an eye on her, just in case? I really don't have the time to give Lokki another bath today."

"We'll keep her away," Tikki promised. "Don't worry. But you should go. Didn't you say that you had papers to print off before your afternoon classes started? Have you done that yet?"

Adrien yelped and dashed out the door.

Thankfully there wasn't a crazy long line at the staff copy machine, so even as late as Adrien started, he was only a couple minutes late getting back to his classroom.

"Sorry, sorry, I had to go home and rescue my cat," Adrien said as he wove through the waiting students. "A neighbor heard her making a lot of noise, and I got home to find that she had gotten stuck in our trash can."

His entire class was immediately curious, and Adrien found himself bombarded with the same questions he had answered earlier. He tried to answer as best as he could as they filed past him into the classroom and to their seats.

"...and, if everyone behaves during class, I'll bring in a short video of Lokki tomorrow," Adrien finished, figuring that since it had worked so well with his class earlier, he might as well use the same promise with his other classes.

The rest of the day flew by, and then Adrien was packing up as soon as his last class got out so that he could beeline right back home. He hadn't gotten any more calls from the kwamis, which either meant that everything was fine... or that the kwamis were being run ragged keeping Lokki out of trouble. His students had all been on their best behavior, all tempted by the promise of a cat video, and for what was possibly the first time ever, all of his lessons had finished early.

(He hadn't let them all out early, though. The classes after lunch got an introduction to their next lesson so that they could dive right in the next day.)

With how well the rest of the day had gone, Adrien was relaxed as he drove home and trotted up the stairs. That was gone as soon as he stepped into the apartment.

"Watch out, Lokki's headed for you!" was the first thing Adrien heard when he opened the door. Seconds later, an orange-and-white bullet shot towards Adrien's feet, meowing loudly. He had to drop to his knees quickly to catch the cat before she shot out the door. Once she was safely secured under her arm, Adrien stood up and closed the door. Tikki and Plagg floated around the corner, looking exhausted.

"You need something better than newspaper," Plagg informed Adrien as he collapsed on the dining room table. "She shredded it in minutes and then tried to go straight back in. And then Tikki hid in there and tried scaring her away, so then she tried going into the recycling can instead and I had to try to scare her away, and then we tried luring her away from the kitchen, and then we had to play with her all. afternoon. to keep her out of there. Do you know how long you were gone? Because I don't, I lost track of time after the first hour!"

"I'll try something different tomorrow, I promise," Adrien said, setting Lokki down. The cat dashed off again, her energy somehow still through the roof despite Plagg's insistence that they had been playing with her all afternoon. "But right now, I have stuff to get done. I can sit at the dining room table and keep an eye on the trash can while you two rest."

"I'm doing your piano emails, remember?" Tikki piped up. She looked just as exhausted as Plagg did, with her antennae drooping and flying slower than usual, but clearly she wasn't about to be deterred at all from her earlier promise of lending a helping hand.

"You sure you still have enough energy to do that?"

"Well... maybe I should have a cookie first," Tikki decided as she landed on the table. "And then I can do the emails!"

Once Tikki got her cookie (and Plagg got his cheese), they settled in to work. Adrien had only just started in on the last half of the tests that he had to correct when Lokki came back from wandering around the bedroom and trotted right into the kitchen. Adrien spared her a glance, then continued on with his correcting. Quite a few of his students seemed to be struggling with the same topic, which meant that he had to make a note to return to it before they started working on concepts that built off of that particular one.

There was a thud from the kitchen as Lokki jumped onto something, but used to Lokki jumping all over things, Adrien ignored it. It wasn't until Plagg let out a loud groan that Adrien looked up and saw Lokki's rear sticking out from the trash can, partially hidden by the shreds of newspaper still taped on. He jumped to his feet right away and hurried over to pull Lokki out before she could drop all the way in.

"Didn't you learn anything from before, Lokki?" Adrien demanded as he lugged the protesting kitten into the living room. "Going into the garbage isn't fun for anyone and yes, that includes you. Now stay there, I need to get some work done."

Much to absolutely no one's surprise, Lokki didn't stay out in the living room. Adrien found himself being interrupted every fifteen minutes as Lokki clambered up onto the top of the trash container and tried to push her way in. He bought himself a bit more time by placing a chair so that the back would block the flap, and then Lokki spent fifteen minutes slowly shoving the chair away from the trash before bouncing up to make another attempt at getting in.

Adrien groaned, got up, retrieved the cat, dumped her back in the living room, and then wedged two chairs in front of the flap.

"That's not going to be at all inconvenient when you and Marinette want to go into the kitchen," Plagg commented idly as he watched Adrien. "But I bet it'll keep the cat out."

"We can do this tomorrow while I'm at school," Adrien said as he sat back down. "I'm positive that even Lokki can't move both chairs out of the way."

Lokki tried. Lokki failed. And, thirty minutes after Lokki started trying to get into the trash, the sound of kitten claws sliding against the kitchen tile and the wood of the chairs finally stopped.

Adrien smirked as he entered another grade into the computer. Sure, it had taken a while, but it seemed that Lokki had finally given up-

Click. Click. Click. Click.

Frowning, Adrien glanced over. Lokki was sitting there, batting at the flap of the trash can through the bars in the back of the chair. Every time the flap pushed back and clicked against the front of the can, she would just push it again.

And again.

"You are a little menace," Adrien informed her. "Can't you go play with your normal toys?"

"Mmmrow."

Adrien put up for all of two more minutes of the incessant clicking before he finally went over and tugged Lokki off of the chair. Grumbling, he clambered over the chairs and pulled open a kitchen drawer. Grabbing the tape from the drawer, he grabbed another section of the newspaper, wedged it between the chair and the trash can flap, and taped it on. Just for good measure, he got the flap for the recycling bin as well.

"Now let's see you try anything," Adrien told Lokki, who had been watching him intently. "Let me work in peace, will you?"

Lokki meowed.

Two hours later, Adrien had finished entering scores and had dinner heating up in the oven. Marinette had texted to say that she was running late- they had apparently run into some traffic on the way back from their errand- but that had been nearly an hour ago, which meant that she would hopefully be arriving soon.

In the meantime, Adrien decided to take a break and get the short cat video that his class had requested.

"Lokki, get the mouse," Adrien prompted as he- well, Plagg- sent the radio-controlled mouse skittering across the floor. He aimed his camera at Lokki as she watched the mouse scoot back and forth. "Oh, no, it's getting away from yo- oh, there you go." Lokki had finally pounced on the mouse. It made a small buzzing noise as she held it down. Curious, she lifted her paw again and it zipped free. She skittered after it, egged on by Adrien.

Their playtime was interrupted soon enough by a familiar laugh. "Kitty, what are you doing?"

Adrien glanced up with a grin to see Marinette standing there. With a cheeky smirk, he asked, "Are you talking to me or Lokki?"

"You, obviously." Marinette kicked off her shoes and padded over to join him as Plagg continued leading Lokki around the apartment. She curled up behind him to watch as he recorded Lokki chasing the mouse. "So? What are you up to?"

"I promised I would record Lokki for my classes if they behaved," Adrien explained. He let out a short bark of laughter as he watched Lokki suddenly lose interest in the toy, clearly finally tired out. "Oops, I think she's done for the day. She's all tired out. Finally." He ended the recording and set the camera aside. "She's been impossible all day. I wish I had her energy."

"Yeah, I heard about the thing with her getting stuck in the trash." Marinette giggled. "Would I be correct in assuming that that's what the setup in the kitchen is about?"

Adrien groaned at the reminder. "Yeah. I covered the flaps with newspaper earlier, before I left after lunch, and then she shredded that and Plagg and Tikki worked all afternoon to keep her out."

Tikki coughed delicately, looking a bit embarrassed. "Well, we might have exaggerated just a little. We did spend forever after you left keeping her away, but then she napped for a few hours before trying again. We had been chasing her around for a good thirty minutes before you came home, though."

Both Adrien and Marinette laughed at that. "I did wonder how Lokki still had so much energy left when I got back," Adrien said, grinning. "Anyway, when I got back, it wasn't fifteen minutes before she tried crawling in again. I looked over from correcting and only her rear was sticking out. And then she kept doing it."

Marinette giggled. "Poor kitty. Did you get some work done, though?"

"Mmmm. Some." Adrien clambered over the chairs in the kitchen to check on the dish reheating in the oven. "Ready for some dinner?"

"Of course!"

Adrien let the cat video run as he passed out graded exams the next day in class. He had double- and triple-checked that he had gotten the chairs back in place in front of the trash and recycling before he left, and the previous night Marinette had placed an order for some plastic flaps that could be attached over the existing ones. The new ones had to be pulled out, instead of pushed in like the ones on their current cans, and hopefully the combination of one needing to be pulled out and the other pushed in would keep Lokki out without making it too difficult for Adrien and Marinette to actually use.

A chorus of awwwing and giggles snapped Adrien out of his thoughts, and he frowned briefly, wondering what could be so amusing. As he glanced up at the screen, he suddenly realized that the sound was on... and on-screen, Marinette had just returned.

Whoops.

The video ended, and suddenly all eyes in the class were on Adrien again. He sighed and steeled himself, hoping that he and Marinette hadn't called each other by any pet names or anything or they would never get any work done today-

"Does your girlfriend really call you Kitty? That's so cute!"

This particular story was inspired by this video. Marinette and Adrien's cat was named after Loki, the Norse trickster god, and I doubled the k so it would be similar to Tikki and Plagg's names, with the double letter. It's also a bit of a reference to the original cat in the video, which was named Poki.

#Miraculous Ladybug #My writing #Adrien Agreste #Marinette Dupain-Cheng

98 notes · View notes

finding--cat · 7 years

Photo

To read the previous instalment, click here.

To read Part I, click here.

Part II: The Songbird 2.2

When Olive was four, she went through a princess phase where she refused to wear anything but dresses. Pants, shorts, skirts – none would do, none would she wear without a stage four meltdown drawing knocks on the door from neighbours asking “if everything’s okay in there?”

It went on for so many months that Z eventually donated the clothing she outgrew and they bought nothing new for her without frills or bows.

Her attention shifted gradually from Disney princesses to action heroines, and then one day, she asked to wear cargo pants to school and Z and Niall came up absolutely, shit-out-of-luck empty. And though Z managed to coax her into one of her favourite dresses, it was Niall who had to hold her hand and drag her wailing, furious self into the kindergarten classroom, and it was Niall who missed a deadline for a piece he was writing because he had to spend the next two hours driving out to the city and hitting up Wal-Mart and Target and thrift shops for every pair of discount children’s jeans, leggings, and shorts he could find in her size.

This particularly sunny Monday morning, when Olive wakes with a fresh idea of wearing a summer dress to camp like her friend Willa and Z looks up from where he’s standing over the toaster with wide, fear-rimmed eyes, Niall only has to wink at him and click his tongue. He learned his lesson from last year’s fashion fiasco, and he’ll be damned if he’s not prepared. Z thought he gave away all of Olive’s old dresses, but Niall managed to save a couple when his back was turned. Just in case.

Turns out Olive’s much taller than she was last year, and Niall is a smidge embarrassed to drop her off at camp with a denim dress that now falls above her mid-thigh with straps barely able to be buttoned in the last possible hole, but Olive insists and she rules the roost. He’ll call Trisha, Z’s mother, and ask her to take Olive to shop around at Goodwill on the weekend.

But first, he might as well drop by Gram and Gramps’ place to see if Gram can do any digging for him. Gram keeps everything, from the pot roast recipe she cut out of the back pages of the Charleston Gazette in 1979 to her runaway daughter’s baby clothes. She probably has a few dresses kicking around, and so long as they’re not too outdated (not that Niall would really know), he’ll take them for Olive. Old clothes and trinkets are about all Mandy Horan’s been good for recently.

“These here are summer dresses,” Gram tells him matter-of-factly once she’s pulled an array of options out of Mandy’s old closet. She lays them over the peacock chair in the living room, making a point to separate them from the rest. “Now, the dresses with wide straps or sleeves can be worn as they are, but for these ones with thinner straps and lower necklines, I used to dress Mandy in a little t-shirt or bodysuit underneath.”

“Done.” Niall makes a move to gather them, but Gram bars him from passing by holding out her arm.

“Not yet, mister. Now, those are the summer options. You can also use some for fall, see? You’d pair ‘em with a long-sleeved tee and tights to keep her warm.”

“Think I could’ve figured that out for myself.”

“Or you could dress her in a little cardigan overtop. Do you need any of those? I’m sure I’ve got Mandy’s around here somewhere—”

“Gram!” He grabs hold of her wrist before she can escape. “It’s okay. The summer dresses are good.”

“Now, hold on.” She eyes him disapprovingly and tsks him with her tongue. “I brought out some winter dresses, too.” She gestures to another pile deposited neatly on the couch. “These ones are a bit thicker, a bit longer. See, this one here’s made of wool—”

“I’m gonna stick with just the summer dresses for now. By winter, Olive’ll probably be off dresses again and into morphsuits or something.”

“What’s a morphsuit?”

“It’s a—nevermind. Thanks for this, Gram. I should get going. I’ll say bye to Gramps on my way out.”

“He’s having a good day.” Niall gathers the dresses on their hangers in his arms as Gram grumbles behind him, “Which should make us all happy, but I think he wakes up hoping to feel lousy as a trainwreck so he gets a visit from you and your friend Ari.”

Niall laughs. “I’ll bring her ‘round any old time. She likes him, too.”

Gram lets out a sarcastic, “Ha!”, causing him to pause and slowly turn his head with a confused frown. Gram gives his shoulder a light push and, with a wry grin, elaborates, “I don’t think it’s the sickly old man she likes. Think she might have a soft spot for his grandson.”

Niall shrugs, hugging the dresses tighter to his chest. “Maybe, huh?”

“And you, Mr. I-Don’t-Date-In-Town?”

He rolls his eyes. “She’s not from town.”

“She’s in the damn thing.”

With a chuckle, he shakes his head and moves out of the room. “I don’t know. Maybe I have soft spot for her, too.”

“Mm hmm.” Gram’s hum affirms his claim with confidence. “I see you, boy. First time you’ve brought someone new ‘round these parts since you were in high school.”

“Just friends, Gram. She’s new to town, that’s all.”

“You just be careful. She’s a nice girl, but you know newbies only ever pass through here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She leans against the doorframe as Niall slips on his shoes at the entrance. “It means,” she sighs, “don’t go givin’ her your heart, because odds are she ain’t here to stay and she’ll take it with her when she leaves.”

Niall nods robotically and then hitches the dresses over one elbow. He uses his thumb to make a cross over his chest. “Heart’s safe,” he promises, leaning forward to kiss Gram on the cheek. “Trust me. She doesn’t even want it.”

He has a piece to pull together at home about the best mobile apps to create drum sequencer tracks, but he’s driving through town and there just happens to be an empty spot across the street from Kalene’s. It takes him a couple of minutes to parallel park, and he may or may not nudge the station wagon behind him, but with the truck tucked away on the side of the road, Niall hops out, looks for traffic, and slots his keys into his pocket as he confidently crosses the street.

If he gave it more thought, he might reason that he shouldn’t feel confident at all, but that’s not his way. Gram always said his boldness would kill him – it’s certainly caused some inconveniences so far. She says he never thinks enough about how things look to other people, and that’s where he gets himself in trouble. And maybe at this point he should think about how it looks to Ari, who explicitly stated she wasn’t looking for anything with anyone in this sleepy hollow town, when he shows up at her place of work less than twelve hours after they last saw one another. Maybe he should think about how that might put her off or cause her to pull back.

The problem is that Niall’s mind has never done much of his thinking for him. His heart is his compass and he always trusts north. His brain keeps his lips shut – it controls that much – but his heart is closer to his feet, and so when he puts one foot in front of the other, it’s because his heart told them it was the right way to go.

So he doesn’t think about how it might look to Ari when he opens the door to the shop and the little garden bells jingle above his head to announce his arrival. He doesn’t think she may find him overbearing or possessive, rude to stop by uninvited or too desperate and lonely to entertain himself for a few short hours. Because he’s not any of those things. He just likes her. He’ll keep his lips from making that explicitly clear, but he figures his feet will do the talking for him.

“Now here’s a face I haven’t seen before,” comes a calm, husky voice from a table surrounded in greenery.

Niall stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans as he approaches the cash desk. “Enough with the BS, Kalene,” he says, faking a scornful expression. “You saw this face every day from first to sixth grade. You had my milk order memorized.”

“One percent on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, and on Wednesdays, you had chocolate,” she recites from memory.

Lips pressed together, Niall grins. “You mean Bon Jovi day.”

“What’s that?”

A beat passes in which he allows her to think it through. When she raises her brows, coming up empty, he elaborates, “Whoa, we’re halfway there?”

Kalene rounds the counter with a chuckle, arms outstretched. Niall returns the embrace, surprised to catch a whiff of fresh pine. When she was the milk lady at Tillson Elementary, just a teen herself, Niall recalls the familiar scent of vanilla to cover up sour milk stained into her apron.

“Here’s a face I haven’t seen before in my shop, is what I meant to say.” Kalene pulls back and arches an eyebrow as she takes Niall in. He can’t quite read her expression – though if he guessed, he’d colour her unimpressed – but his grin doesn’t falter under her scrutiny.

“That may be true,” he agrees, “but what’s a guy like me gonna do with flowers?”

“Plants, too, honey,” she corrects him, softly patting his cheek. “How about surprise your Gram with a thoughtful gift? Bring a plant to your Gramps when he’s in hospital? Decorate that home of yours with life and oxygen? And don’t even try to tell me you ain’t got a little girl at home who would’ve loved to wear a little corsage for her kindergarten graduation last spring.”

“Damn. All right,” he chuckles, “thanks for the guilt trip.”

“No guilt, just advice.” Kalene breezes past him to rearrange a ficus in the window, the fringes dangling from her long shawl grazing Niall’s arm and causing goosebumps. “Now tell me why you’re here today.”

“Uh…” he trails, removing one hand from his pocket to rub the back of his neck, “well, nothing against plants or anything, but I came by to say hi to a friend, that’s all.”

Lips pursed in scepticism, Kalene glances over her shoulder. “I know you don’t mean me.”

“Not that you’re not my friend,” he adds hastily. “You are, it’s just—”

“Ariana’s in the greenhouse,” Kalene interrupts, her slow smile curling towards dimples. She gestures vaguely toward the back of the shop.

“Right.” Niall gives her an awkward thumbs-up. “Okay. Thanks.”

“It’s her favourite place,” she continues as Niall wanders toward the plastic screen, too filmy with condensation to see through.

“Yeah?” he asks absently, squinting to see anything more than green beyond the plastic.

“You go in there, you make sure it stays sacred for her.”

He pauses, nearly tripping over his own feet as he comes to a halt. Refusing to look back, he says, “I’m just saying hi.”

“Not my business. All I’m saying is you keep her safe space the way it is, and not just in your mind – hers, too.”

Niall nods, though he’s sure Kalene’s still preoccupied fluffing up the leaves of her ficus. “Okay. I will.”

Pulling back the screen separating the shop from the greenhouse, he’s immediately hit with a wave of humidity. It’s like stepping off a plane in Florida summer after spending the winter in Wisconsin. Niall instantly wipes his brow, certain he’s already begun to perspire, but all in all, the room is nice. Once the screen closes behind him, the sound evaporates as if sucked out in a vaccuum. It’s like being in a bubble, able to see but unable to feel or hear what’s going on outside, only in tune with the rustle of the leaves.

If this is Ari’s favourite place, Niall might understand why. It’s a step inside her mind.

Subconsciously, Niall clears his throat. From where she stands next to a cluster of pink geraniums, Ari looks over. Though clearly taken aback by his presence, a smile crosses her face.

“Hey,” she greets him softly.

Tension steams from his shoulders at her calm tone. “Hey.”

Her hands fall away from the geraniums, snippers held blade-first. “Did you come to purchase a plant for your plant-less home?”

Niall hesitates. “Yeah,” he says with a grin. “Got any palm trees? I’m thinking Olive would like one right next to her bed, sleep under the fronds.”

“No palm trees,” Ari says, approaching him with a twinkle of humour in her eye. “No olive trees, either.”

“Damn. Guess I’ll just be on my way, then.”

“Sorry we couldn’t fulfill your needs.”

He pretends to walk away and then turns around with a laugh. “In all honesty, Z would probably kill me if I came home with anything bigger than a sprout.”

“How come?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs, slipping his hands into his pockets once again. “Plants, you know? Gotta water ‘em, make sure they’re warm, give ‘em lots of sunlight, replace the soil… it’s a lot of commitment.”

Ari waits for him to elaborate, but when silence lays between them, she raises her brows until there are creases lining her forehead. “You do remember that the two of you have successfully raised a child for five years, right?”

“Oh, yeah.” He slumps. “I guess kids require around the same level of care as plants.”

“Sort of.” She giggles. “So, if you’re not here for a leafy friend… what brings you?”

“Just, you know. In the area, so.” His demure shrug keeps her giggling.

“Mm hmm. Flower shop’s pretty irresistible when you’re already in town.”

“Exactly. I felt like submerging my entire body in the Amazon rainforest, so I thought to myself: go and check out Kalene’s greenhouse. Same effect.”

Ari grins again, taking her snippers out to continue her pruning. “The plants love it, though.”

“So do I. You kidding? Break a sweat every day, they say.”

“Yeah. Not sure this is quite what they meant.”

Unaffected, Niall leans against a wall of philodendrons and watches Ari at work. With her dark hair tied in a ponytail and her sleeves rolled to her elbows, she keeps her tongue poised at the corner of her mouth as she works, rooting through the leaves of the geraniums to shear their dead leaves.

“How was work last night?” she asks as she works, eyes on the plants.

“Good. Minimal heckling,” he replies.

“Are you usually heckled?”

“Occasionally. Depends on the crowd.”

“Like Luke’s crowd?”

She poses her question without much thought, so Niall tries not to be awkward in his response.

“Yeah. Those guys aren’t my biggest fans. Never expect tips when they show up for a few rounds.”

After snipping a few branches in succession, Ari tugs them out of the plant and casts them to a small bin beside her. “Why is there so much animosity between you?”

“Tffff.” Niall makes a sound upon an exhale that more of less reflects his loss of words. “It’s a small town. If someone pisses you off in high school, you hate ‘em forever.”

Ari pauses, looking upwards as a smile crosses her face. She gives Niall a curious glance. “What did you do to piss them off in high school?”

He’s not sure how she inferred correctly, but he can’t throw her off his scent now. So he ruffles his hand through his hair and brushes it off with, “Teenager stuff.”

“What’s teenager stuff?”

“It’s not just me,” he adds hastily. “They act the same towards Z if they see him in public. It’s a popular kids versus nerds situation. You never get over it in this town. You never outlive who you used to be. People remember forever, and they won’t let you forget, either.”

“You and Zayn weren’t nerds,” Ari says as if the idea is ridiculous.

“Sure we were. Not smart nerds – music nerds. Stoner nerds who didn’t play football and didn’t have a chance at getting laid. The nerds who sat at the back of the classroom and passed notes back and forth about how to sneak out of the house and get to the city for a concert on the weekend. The nerds who didn’t go to football games and tailgate parties on Friday nights because we were in my garage teaching ourselves shitty music at band practice.”

“So that’s worth them teasing you now – because you didn’t like sports in high school?”

Niall’s about to go along with it, to say yeah, it’s fucked up, but that’s how it is here, but he stops himself. “No. There’s more to it than that.”

She looks over, snippers held at bay.

He sighs. “Boondocks, West Virginia. You must know there’s some prejudice here. Misunderstandings. Hatred.”

“Of what?” she asks softly.

He folds his arms across his chest. “Z’s Muslim. One of two families in the whole town. People hate and fear what they don’t understand.” Ari’s eyes lower in sympathy while Niall hardens, gritting his teeth and emitting a cold chuckle. “Of all the people who dreamed of getting out of town after high school and never coming back, he deserved that reality the most. The shit he had to put up with growing up… real horror story, at times. That’s why it’s such a shame he’s still here. I know it kills him every day – of course, he’d never leave. Not now that Olive’s in school, got a life here.”

Ari nods, slow and sympathetic. Her lips form a narrow line as she searches for the right words, but there are none. Niall tried to find them when Z told him Mel was pregnant. He tried to find them when they moved back home. When she gave birth and left Z alone with a newborn at age nineteen. There were no words then just as there are none now. Sometimes there are no words – just dead air and numb silence.

“What about you?”

“Hmm?”

She licks her lips, the words tentative on her tongue. “What would they have against you?”

Niall gulps, holding her gaze. Something about the way she stares at him tells him she already knows the answer. His stare diverts to the plant, because even if it’s not something he’s ashamed of, it hurts to tell the story plainly.

“One day,” he begins slowly, “after football practice, they found me—”

A vibration in his back pocket is accompanied by a loud jingle. Niall jerks to the side, surprised by the sound of his phone.

“Jesus. Sorry,” he breathes, catching his breath as he fishes it from his pocket. Z’s name appears on the screen. He furrows his brows in apology to Ari as he answers. “What’s up?”

“Where are you?” is Z’s short reply.

“Downtown. Why?”

“You said you’d be here.”

“Where?”

“My dad’s. The lunch.”

“It’s not until noon—” Niall pulls the cell away from his face to check the time, eyes bugging out of his head. He draws it back to his ear. “Shit. That’s in two minutes. Okay, I’m coming.”

“You forgot?”

“No. I didn’t,” he promises. “Time got away from me. Just… save me a seat. Be there in ten.”

Z grumbles on the other end of the line, but Niall ends the conversation before he can say anything cutting.

“That was Z,” Niall explains, stuffing his phone into his pocket and gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb. “I was supposed to meet him. I forgot. I gotta go.”

Ari blinks. “Oh. Okay?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” he says with a shake of his head. “We were in the middle of something, and I just—”

“It’s okay. We’ll talk later,” she assures him with a smile.

“Yeah. Yes!” he exclaims as he begins to back up. “Can we? Talk later, I mean?”

If Ari’s put off or taken aback, it doesn’t show. “Yeah,” she chuckles. “I’m off at two.”

He hisses through his teeth. “I gotta be at Elmwood Farms at two-thirty. Pick Olive up from camp.”

“Okay.” She shrugs. “Well, maybe tomorrow we can—”

“D’you wanna come?” he blurts out. “Sorry for interrupting. I saw where you were going and I wanted to get in ahead of you.”

An explosion of laughter racks from her gut, her teeth bared in an open, carefree smile. Even though he’s in a rush and stressed, Niall can’t help grinning back – God, her smile changes the very geography inside him. He can already feel the mountains in his heart shifting to make room for it.

“Um… yes.”

Though he’s already backed up to the plastic screen, Niall freezes to raise a sceptical eyebrow. “You don’t sound sure.”

“No, I…” She throws up an arm in surrender. “I had a thing with Rosen, but we can do it later. Wedding stuff, that’s all.”

“Okay.” He’d stay and gauge her certainty and willingness, but he hasn’t got the time for it anymore. He points at her and clicks his tongue with a confidence only his heart possesses, saying, “See you at two.”

He doesn’t stick around to hear a reply. The plastic screen closes behind him, sealing Ari in her safe place and him outside of it. He hollers a goodbye at Kalene, now with a customer, as he darts around a potted bonsai and jingles the bells above upon his rapid exit of the shop.

He slams the pedal to the floor on his drive across town, texting Z his estimated time of arrival while keeping his eyes on the road. The buckles in Olive’s carseat swing and clash every time he winds around a curve.

He’s ten minutes late by the time he parks sloppily in the last available spot in the lot. He nearly forgets his keys in the ignition, but swerves around on his heel before the door has shut and grabs them with a cry of frustration. Then he sprints across the lot at the same time he tucks his shirt into his shorts, only slowing to a calm and collected walk once he’s under the sign reading Taste of Mumbai.

Niall pauses at the entrance, leaning forward on the balls of his feet as he scans the tables in the restaurant. He didn’t confirm with Z that they were meeting here, he only assumed – Mr. Malik doesn’t believe in going out for meals, but when he does, he comes here because “they serve a decent tikka masala.”

He spots the two men not because of Z, but because he recognizes Mr. Malik’s flamboyant hand gestures even from the back of his head. Z, clearly in the midst of being lectured, glances up as Niall approaches. He doesn’t acknowledge him, eyes quickly returning to his father’s face, but he scoots over on the bench as he continues to nod. It leaves enough room for Niall to slide in beside him.

“Mr. Malik – good afternoon,” he says, holding out his hand to shake.

The man drags his tongue over his front teeth with a slurp, irritated to have been interrupted. Nonetheless, he takes Niall’s hand with a small smile. “Niall,” he returns. “Zayn mentioned you might be joining us.”

“Yeah. I go nuts over these samosas. I mean, they’re nothing like Trisha’s daal—” he eyes Z with a powerful nod as he references his mother “—but for a restaurant, they’re top notch.”

Z’s father watches him carefully as he unravels the napkin containing a fork and knife and spreads it across his lap, prepared to eat. Gram would be proud – those are the manners she taught him, after all – but Mr. Malik is less impressed.

Yaser Malik is not a simple man, and that’s not something one says often in these parts. People who call Tillson City home tend to like their beer in tall boys, their cornbread fresh out of the oven, and their men simple. Then again, Yaser never intended to call Tillson City home, and perhaps that’s the source of the complexity of his character.

Yaser’s parents – Z’s Daadi and Daada – emigrated from Pakistan in the mid-1960’s. They lived in a cockroach-infested cardboard box of an apartment in Manhattan for five years while they both worked long hours doing backbreaking manual labour in factories. They were careful with their money, tracking every cent and often skipping meals and living without heat, sometimes even water in order to save up and get the hell out of there. Farmers by birth and by trade, they desired nothing more than a quiet, safe place to live where they could provide for themselves. So, once Yaser and his brothers were born, Daadi and Daada quit their jobs and bought a modest plot of land in rural Arkansas with the intention of giving their boys a better life.

In many respects, they succeeded. All of the boys grew up, went to school, and secured employment for themselves. But their lives were not easy – food was always on their plates, but poverty affected them in other ways, and they were teased in school not just because they were of a different culture but because they couldn’t afford simple things: the shoes, the clothes, the accessories all the other kids had.

Yaser ached to get out. As the youngest child, he’d never been made to work around the farm as much as his brothers, and it wasn’t in his blood. Where his brothers looked over acres of green grass and saw potential – crops, livestock, sustenance – Yaser looked at a plot of land and saw nothing. To him, it was empty space.

As soon as he was grown and educated, he said goodbye to his family and set off to his birthplace: New York City, the land of opportunity. He saw himself in crisp blazers with holographic ties, carrying his briefcase down Wall Street to make more money in a day than his family had ever had in their account at one time. He didn’t feel he was betraying his family by abandoning the farm – after all, this was what they’d wanted for their sons, wasn’t it? This was why they came to America: to be something more than what they were in a country that could provide it. If anything, he felt he was fulfilling his destiny to be a businessman in the greatest city in the world. So one day at the end of the 80’s, he packed his second-hand car bought with his own money from working at the grocer’s in town and set off to the north to become who he was supposed to be.

He never made it there. Two days into his journey, he stopped at a diner for a quick bite to eat in a town whose name he couldn’t remember and in a state too similar to his home of Arkansas to care for. His server was a young Trisha Gilbert – beautiful, funny, and warm, a native of the town for generations – and that’s where the story either begins or ends, depending on the lens through which it’s examined. Yaser was born in New York City, but he wouldn’t set foot there again until his only son, Zayn, moved into an NYU dorm with his best friend Niall for college.

Yaser is not a simple man. And Niall understands – at least, he tries to, especially when Yaser and Z butt heads. At the core of it, Yaser wants more for his son, but more is a subjective term and one he’s defined internally and only in reference to himself. He went batshit crazy when Trisha enrolled Z in voice lessons in sixth grade. In high school, Trisha would only let them have band practice at their house when Yaser was out, because his own son pissing his potential away on song and verse was too much for him to stand. And he nearly lost every goddamn marble in his collection when Z announced his intention to study music in college.

With her even temper and coaxing manner and charm, Trisha won every battle, to Yaser’s flummoxed discontent. But she lost the last one. Maybe the most important one. Z enrolled in Economics at NYU, a decision he’d made with Yaser’s support. Play your music on the side, Yaser coached him, but secure a future for yourself.

Niall thinks Economics is the reason it was so easy for Z to leave after the first year and never go back. Mel’s pregnancy helped, of course. But had he pursued music? Maybe he’d still be in the city now, signed to a record label for his killer voice and doing photo shoots for his killer looks.

Instead, he’s firmly settled where he started in podunk West Virginia with a kid attached to his hip and an insurance broker’s licensing exam to study for.

Yaser loves his son, this Niall knows. But it’s a different kind of love than the love Gram and Gramps have for him, and a different kind of love than what Z has for Olive. Yaser has vested himself in Z. If Z succeeds in Yaser’s dreams for him, then Yaser’s personal failures become worthwhile. If Z fails, then Yaser’s life counts for nothing.

While Niall is dunking his third mini samosa in tamarind sauce and Z is in the process of gulping water to dull the burn of his unexpectedly spicy pyazi, Yaser launches his operation.

“You’re too smart for this administrative nonsense,” he says, wiping his chin with his napkin and then waving it behind him in a gesture. “Don’t you get bored?”

“It’s all right,” Z says with a shrug, though his thigh tenses against Niall’s. “While I’m finishing my coursework, it’s a good way to keep my foot in the door.”

“Keep your foot in the door,” Yaser scoffs. “What you should be doing is throwing that door open, stepping inside, and saying ‘I belong here. Carve out a space for me.’”

Niall shoves the entire samosa into his mouth, blinking hard as it sears his tongue. It’s the only way to keep himself from laughing at Yaser’s instruction – Z wouldn’t slam a door or demand to be heard in a room full of unknowns if it was his last hour on earth. He goes about life quietly, like a squirrel on a roof – he’d never dream of climbing through the window for warmth or a meal so long as he can find a few acorns up there.

“They like me in the office. My boss always gives me good performance reviews; she knows I’m taking classes outside of working hours to move up in the company.” Z’s voice is mellow and practiced, a far cry from the white knuckles with which he holds his fork. “For now, with Olive still in kindergarten, it’s the perfect situation.”

“Perfect situation? What perfect situation? She gets sick and has to go to the hospital, what do you do? How do you pay for that?” Yaser demands.

“Why would she get sick like that? She’s perfectly healthy,” Z argues.

“She’s up to date on all her vaccines,” Niall chips in. “Got her vaccination card at home as proof.”

Yaser sends a bored glance Niall’s way before returning his attention to Z. “She’s a child. Children get sick. What if she falls and breaks her arm? What then? Who pays for that? What if she chips a tooth? What if she goes through a growth spurt and you have to buy her a whole new wardrobe?”

With the barrage of questions showing no sign of stopping, Niall glances timidly at Z. With eyes fixed on his father, Z does not look back – but he gulps pointedly, his rigid jaw giving way to his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His knee jiggles rapidly under the table, his jitters transferring to Niall.

“Where I am now, I can get to her right away if there’s an emergency,” Z explains. “That’s the perfect situation. Her baba’s gonna be right by her side whenever she needs him, not an hour away at a desk in the city. Don’t you see?”

“But what can you do for her? What can you offer her when she’s sick and crying?”

Z huffs and sits back in his booth, his appetizer abandoned. “Comfort.”

Under the table, Niall grasps Z’s thigh and holds it in place, willing him to stop himself from getting worked up. Z struggles at first, his knee begging to jerk.

“Comfort.” Yaser snorts. “You gonna comfort her through seventy-two hours of a sickness when you could have a doctor cure her in two?”

Z’s eyes blacken and his cheeks flush as he struggles to answer the question and quells his rage at his father for asking it in the first place. Niall decides to take over – after all, Z wanted him here for a reason.

“We do okay for ourselves, Mr. Malik,” he says as cheerfully as he can. Almost instantly, a hand covers his own on Z’s thigh. “With the two of us working steady, we bring home enough to support Olive and give her everything she needs. Z’s working towards getting licensed, and when he is, we’ll go from there – but for now, we’re making it work. And Olive’s happy and healthy and safe.”

Z interlocks their fingers and holds on tight.

“Niall,” Yaser says, finally paying him a lick of attention, “you’ve always been a good friend to Zayn – the best friend he’s ever had. But let’s not pretend you don’t have plans of your own. A future to chase. You speak as though you and my son are husband and wife, but let’s be honest: you’re a temporary fixture. I don’t want Zayn or Olive to rely on you, especially not financially. When you leave, it will be hard enough for them.”

Z’s fingers go limp. Niall swallows the lump in his throat and says, with conviction, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Of course you will,” Yaser replies with a scoff. “What, this is your life? To live with my son and care for his child? This is what you dreamed for yourself?”

Niall blinks away the sting and briefly glances at Z. He’s cringing, tongue travelling between his teeth, eyes trained to the table and unmoving, not even when Niall gives him a nudge with his thigh.

So Niall is the one who stands his ground. Gramps always said he’d better learn to do it himself because he couldn’t expect anyone else to do it for him.

“I love Olive. I treat her like she’s my own kid.”

“But she’s not,” Yaser reminds him, his voice melting into something soft and patient. Niall is thrown off by his change of tone. “And deep down, your attachment to her knows that. It’s not biological; it’s not paternal. You have your own life to live, and one day, you’ll go out and live it.”

“But—”

Yaser reaches across the table to take hold of Niall’s forearm, effectively silencing his argument. “It doesn’t diminish what you’ve done for Zayn and for our family. But Niall, understand that when I think of my son’s future, and the future of my sweet poti, I must factor you out of the equation.”

Niall stares into Yaser’s eyes and finds them hard as rock. He’s not budging an inch. He stands on years of his own dreams left out in the cold and rain like yesterday’s laundry on the line, and Niall knows it’s futile to attempt to change his perspective.

Some people, like Yaser, want the sky to crack open and the stars to rain down on them, the world to turn because they make it turn. Other people, like Niall, are happy enough to look at the stars from afar, because their orbit revolves around just one on Earth, and he’s enough.

Z keeps his hand protectively over Niall’s, but he does not say a word.

“You do all the pick-ups?” Ari asks, her hand tentatively stroking the long nose of a coppery quarter horse over the fence.

“Pretty much. Z works nine-to-five and I work from home, so.” Niall shrugs, allowing her to infer the rest. With his back to the fence and his elbows resting on the top rung, he crosses one ankle over the other. “Even if he had the time, though, he wouldn’t do pick-ups from camp. Horses make him nervous.”

He and Ari wait near the small parking area of Elmwood Farms with a number of mothers and fathers here to pick up their kids from day camp. Horses graze in the pasture, with one particularly friendly gelding taking a liking to Ari’s soft voice and gentle hand. (Niall can’t really blame the damn horse).

Ari scrunches her nose at the horse as though it can read her facial expressions. “Really?”

“Yeah. Girl we went to school with lived at Naughton Stables just down the road. When we were in third grade, she got kicked in the face by a pony.”

Ari gasps. “Oh my God. How?”

“Just one of those things. It was pretty bad, though. She had to get airlifted to a hospital in Morgantown and have facial reconstruction surgery. There was a chance she’d be braindead. It cost her parents everything and they ended up having to sell the barn. It freaked all of us out, but Z the most. Even more now that he has Olive.”

“Why on earth would he sign her up for horse camp, then?!”

Niall shrugs again, closing his eyes briefly as the breeze rustles his hair. “Her little best friend Willa is enrolled, and Z likes to keep them together – he thinks that’s important. Plus, he feels bad leaving her with his mom all day, every day during the summer. She can’t get anything done, can’t visit his sisters out of state, and it sucks for Olive, too – she gets lonely and bored. He thought horse camp was the lesser of two evils, but that doesn’t mean he likes it. He’ll be breathing a huge sigh of relief come Friday night when this is all over.”

“Stuff like that really bothers him still?”

He nods, using one hand as a visor over his eyes when he suspects the kids are emerging from the barn like a pack, lunchboxes in their hands. “Z doesn’t forget stuff like that. He has anxiety, you know? He worries about stuff, all the hypotheticals of life. Bothers him a lot.”

“Oh.” Ari sits with that for a moment, trailing the back of her hand down the horse’s nose one last time. Then she turns with Niall to meet the kids racing towards their parents, softly adding, “Poor Zayn.”

Niall eyes her pointedly. “Poor Olive. But I work on him – we work on him together, me and her.”

In the distance, he spots Olive and Willa hand-in-hand, Olive’s hairband askew and her black hair tangled and Willa’s frizzy curls even worse. Olive’s got a new bandage on her knee that Z will notice right away.

Willa goes to her mom, waiting next to the family van, and Niall and Ari approach the lot to meet Olive and a camp counselor, a girl in her late teens.

“How ya doin’, squidge?” Niall asks, crouching to her level. Olive smiles, her baby teeth jutting past her lower lip as she walks straight into his arms and rests her chin atop his shoulder where it fits comfortably. Niall rubs her back and presses a kiss to the side of her head before standing. Ari waves at Olive, who reaches out to take Ari’s hand.

“You’re Olive’s dad?” asks the camp counselor with thinly-veiled curiosity. Her eyes dart from Niall to Ari to Olive in utmost confusion.

“Guardian,” Niall corrects her. “Niall Horan – my name’s on Olive’s forms. I got my ID, if you want—”

“No, it’s okay.” She stops him as he reaches into his back pocket for his wallet, apologetic to have even suggested it. Niall’s not the least bit offended. On the contrary, he’s used to it. He and Olive look nothing alike and don’t share a surname. People have a right to be suspicious, he supposes. Better suspicious than apathetic. “Olive was great today. She rode a pony up to a trot – isn’t that right, Olive?”

“Yep. Her name’s Marigold,” Olive tells Ari pointedly.

“That’s pretty,” Ari replies. “Sounds like you had fun, Olive.”

“One thing, though,” the counselor says, cringing as if she regrets what she’s about to say. She leans forward, speaking only to Niall. “It’s a bit difficult for Olive to participate in all the activities when she’s wearing something so restrictive.”

“The dress?” Niall barely bats an eyelash. “I know. She insisted. We sent her off today with leggings, though – they’re in her bag.”

“No, of course. And she was happy to change into them when the time came. But there are only a few counselors, so if one of us has to go with her to change, that’s one less counselor watching a lot of kids. If she could come prepared tomorrow…” she trails off, hesitant to complete her sentence. She’s young and embarrassed, probably put up to this by her boss.

Niall can’t blame her, but he also can’t make any promises. “I’ll try,” he says with a sigh. He ruffles Olive’s hair and cradles her head against his hip, adding, “It’s not really up to me, though, is it Olive?”

Whether she’s been following the conversation or not, Olive confidently replies, “Nope!”

As Olive begins to drag Ari to the pickup, Niall gives the counselor an apologetic shrug. Then he pats himself down, finds his keys in the breast pocket of his t-shirt, and climbs into the truck, announcing, “Let’s rock and fu—let’s rock ‘n roll.”

Ari, as it turns out, has a few tricks up her sleeve when it comes to coercing Olive into eating her vegetables. Z, not a huge fan to begin with, doesn’t tend to include vegetables in his prepared meals. Niall, taking after Gram, relies on heavy doses of butter to add that warm southern heartiness. Neither are particularly healthy options for a five year-old. But as Niall pan-sears chicken and gets the rice simmering on the stove, Ari glazes cooked carrots in maple syrup and arranges the salad on Olive’s plate to resemble a bouquet of flowers, with sliced celery stalks as stems and cucumbers arranged as petals with a cherry tomato in the center.

Z and Niall can barely contain their shock as Olive sits at the dinner table and demolishes every last leaf and root on her plate, leaving only a few grains of rice in her wake.

“It’s the only way my sister ate veggies growing up, too,” Ari offers in explanation.

“What’s your sister’s name?” asks Olive, sucking the maple glaze off the tips of her index and middle fingers.

“Her name is Rosen,” Ari says with a smile. “My mom used to make her vegetable roses out of radishes or red cabbage.”

“Yuck,” says Olive.

“I’ll make one for you someday,” Ari tells her, unfazed. “They’re pretty – I think you’ll like them.”

Olive considers this for a moment before she changes her entire perspective, shrugging and saying, “Okay.”

Niall laughs, reaching over to pat her head and fix her hair band in the process.

After Z gives Olive a bath, he calls Niall upstairs for the bedtime ritual and doesn’t seem to mind that Ari trails after him and lingers in the doorway, arms folded across her chest and a patient smile on her face.

“The Mighty Jungle!” Olive exclaims as soon as she’s tucked into bed and propped up on her pillows.

Z looks to Niall, rolling his eyes. “How about the buttercup song instead? You like that one.”

“No, I want The Mighty Jungle!” Olive insists. “Please, Baba? Please, please, pleeeeease?”

Z sighs, collapsing on the end of Olive’s bed near her feet. Hunched over on his knees, he groans, “Niall, get me my keyboard.”

Niall’s happy to oblige, setting his guitar aside and squeezing past Ari in the doorway to fetch the keyboard from Z’s closet. He also takes the frame drum he stores in there for safekeeping, plastering a gleaming smile on his face as he blazes past Ari into the room.

Z huffs as he turns on the switch for his mini keyboard, warming up his fingers with a scale. Niall pulls forward the chair in the corner for Ari and, once she’s sitting, he perches against Olive’s dresser, a twinkle in his eye. He doesn’t mind repeating songs as much as Z does, even if they’re childish and annoying. After all, he makes a living out of playing the same songs over and over again. The thrill of performing to an audience is what makes every performance different, not necessarily the music itself.

“Ready?” Z asks, eyes locked on Niall’s.

Niall nods and counts down for him. “One, two, three—”

Z launches immediately into an unpretentious falsetto, clear and practiced. He doesn’t need more of a cue than that. They’ve played this song for Olive a hundred times, each time a rehearsal for the next. Niall laughs to himself when he thinks of how much it kills Z inside to know this performance is the one on which his daughter will most fondly reminisce when she’s older.

Once Z finishes the first bar, Niall comes in with his handheld drum, beating rhythmically and beginning to chant: “A-weem-a-way, a-weem-a-way, a-weem-a-way, a-weem-a-way…”

Olive sits upright in bed, a great big grin on her tiny face as she watches Niall’s movements in fascination. She mouths along with the chant, transfixed by the drum as she always is.

Until Z jumps in with the keyboard and the first verse. Then her eyes shift to him, and if he’s honest with himself, so do Niall’s. He doesn’t have to glance at Ari to know where her gaze falls – Z is spellbinding when he sings, captivating because of his transcendent calm and inner peace. There are no pinches between his brows as he reaches for high notes, no great gulps of breath to fill his lungs. To Z, and to Z alone, singing is as natural as breathing.

And it’s a beautiful thing to behold. Niall knows it, Ari knows it, and at five years old, Olive knows it, too. Niall likes the comfort of having two others in the room with him. The looks in their eyes cement what he’s known for so long: they’re in the presence of someone special, and Z is it.

Sometimes Z gets silly with the song, especially in the last verse, because Olive loves it and because he’s so mind-numbingly bored of it by now that he has to jazz it up one way or another. Niall knows he won’t dare be free with it tonight, not with Ari in the room, so Niall takes over, rolling his R’s like a cricket in the grass and slapping his thigh in replacement of the drum and harmonizing with Z’s crooning even though it’s a stretch for him to go that high. As always, Olive is delighted, clasping her hands together and falling back on her pillow to giggle. Z smiles as he holds a note, taking his fingers off the keyboard and reaching out to comb his fingers through her hair.

Niall manages to elongate the song by one chorus, which annoys Z enough that he promptly stops playing the keyboard when Niall dares to go for more. The song then ends abruptly in a laugh from Niall, applause from Ari, and an exuberant proclamation (“Again!”) from Olive.

“No way, jose,” Z denies her softly. “You’ll never get to sleep if we do it again.”

“Yes I will! I’ll close my eyes, see?” Olive squeezes her eyes shut tight. After exactly two seconds, she opens an eye for a peek.

“Uh-uh. How about I read you a story? That one you like about the mouse family living in a hole in the wall?”

Resolute, Olive shakes her head with a frown. “Noooo,” she whines, wounded by his suggestion. “Another song. Pleeeeease, Baba?”

Groaning, Z looks to Niall. Both of them are hopeless at putting their foot down when Olive pleads. The dangerous part is that Olive knows it and isn’t afraid to exploit it.

Niall shrugs and sets the drum on the dresser in favour of picking up his guitar. He ducks his head to swing the strap over his neck and then gets it comfortable in his lap. He strums a few chords before nodding at Z, who silently understands to follow Niall’s lead.

“How many roads must a man walk down before you call him a man?”

A smile of recognition crosses Ari’s face. Niall sees it from the corner of his eye and grins at her, satisfied that after singing the first line, Z can take the lead. He’s right – Z launches comfortably into the rest of the first verse, smoothing back Olive’s hair as he sings that the answer is blowing in the wind. Z doesn’t really care for Bob Dylan, but Niall does, and over the years Z’s picked up enough.

They know each other like that.

It’s a quiet little song, and it serves the purpose of winding Olive down after a long day. She settles back against the pillows and takes her thumbnail between her teeth, eyes on her father as he croons.

He gets stuck on the third verse, humming along to signal he’s lost, and Niall picks up where Z left off. Olive’s stare stays fixed on Z as he tucks her in tighter alongside her favourite stuffed bear, and then he joins Niall in the final chorus.

“The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind,” Niall sings to Z. “The answer is blowin’ in the wind,” Z sings to Olive.

“Even I’m sleepy now,” Ari admits, stifling a yawn as the song comes to a close. She stands, waiting for Niall to bend down and peck Olive on the cheek before following him out the door. “Goodnight, Olive.”

“Goodnight, Ari!”

Z puts his finger to his lips to shush her, smiling warmly at his daughter as Niall and Ari leave the room.

With his guitar slung around his back like a knapsack, Niall trails Ari into the kitchen. She looms over the dishrack with all the clean dishes they washed just after dinner, gathering a few in her hands and humming Bob Dylan to herself as she opens a few kitchen cupboards to determine their proper place. The sight of it sets Niall’s heart on fire, stupidly. He’s embarrassed by how much it gets to him, a person he likes performing a domestic task in his own home. Because she doesn’t have to; she doesn’t live here. Maybe she just likes him.

His head tells him he shouldn’t, but his feet propel him forward until he’s crowding in behind her at the counter and she’s spinning around to face him, their chests allowing only enough space between them so that both are able to inhale. But Niall stops breathing, really, as he looks down at her – this smart, beautiful, interesting girl – and swallows a thick lump of desire in his throat when her eyes are trained to his chest. She looks down, her hair falling over her shoulders, but just when Niall’s brain finds a way to his feet and convinces them to back away, she looks up and meets his gaze, clear and bright.

She surges up to meet him before he’s ready and her lips drag up his chin before they meet in a kiss. Niall feels no instinct to recoil and instead his hands find her shoulders to steady her, letting her open up to him before he licks into her mouth and brings his palms to her cheeks. Ari’s head tips back, one of her hands locking lightly around Niall’s wrist, the other clutching the fabric of his t-shirt in a fist. She exhales steadily onto his cupid’s bow, heart not skipping so much as a beat when she pulls him closer.

Niall feels a change, though. He feels the tightness in his chest and the whirlwind in his gut and the clot in his throat, and maybe it’s because it’s been so long or he’s forgotten what to do, but he convinces himself it’s because it’s Ari, and maybe it’s not so strange that she can light a fire in someone else even if she can’t light one within herself.

Ari parts from him slowly, her eyes fluttering open before his can budge from dreamland. Her fist knocks gently against his side and his shirt loosens in her grasp. Niall follows her gaze over his shoulder, to where Z has hopped down the stairs only to freeze, wordless, on the bottom step. Niall opens his mouth to speak, but Z shakes his head quickly and murmurs an apology before he jogs back up.

Niall doesn’t know what that means.

He turns back to Ari, whose eyes are on his, peering at him while holding an anticipatory breath. He releases a breath of his own and smiles, pulling her into him again.

She stops him, a hand on his chest, and murmurs, “I don’t want to get in the middle of anything.”

“You’re not.” Z’s moody and hesitant of warming to anyone new, but he’s made it clear that there was never anything to get in the middle of.

“You sure of that?” She raises a brow, palm flattening over his heart.

He should tell her that hummingbird beat is for her, and not due to getting caught, but Niall’s never been eloquent when it comes to expressing how he feels. His actions do the talking for him, and so he nods, one hand falling to grip her hip as his thumb traces the outline of her bottom lip like it’s a soft fleece, foreign to his skin.

He presses the lightest kiss to her lips to gauge her reaction. She doesn’t startle or pull away, but instead relaxes into him, whispering, “I like it here.”

Niall smiles to himself as a warmth, like a light from within, starts in his chest and spreads down to his toes and up to the tips of his ears, flushing his cheeks like a nip in the wind.

“Then stay?”

He’s facetious with his inflection because he doesn’t mean it as a question.

“I wish,” she breathes. Her hand drags down his chest before she looks up. “Rosen’s coming to get me. I promised her I’d lend my handwriting to address save-the-date invitations tonight.”

“Well, hot damn,” Niall mumbles, taking a hold of her hand in both of his. “Why should she get all the fun to herself?”

“Exactly.” Ari grins, her teeth a perfect line of pearls that Niall thinks, very suddenly, he wouldn’t mind sinking into his neck. “I work tomorrow, but, um… I’m free Thursday? If you’re not busy.”

“Yeah.” Niall’s embarrassingly quick with his response, but he pays it no mind. “You wanna go camping?”

She blinks. “What?”

“Camping,” he repeats. “Going this weekend. Can you come?”

“Um, no,” she giggles. “I don’t even have… I don’t have a sleeping bag or a tent or—”

“I’ve got all that stuff. Gramps used to take me all the time when I was a kid. It’s,” he shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck, “sorry, I should explain. Every summer me and the gang – a few friends from high school – we go camping up north in the state park. We’re going this weekend and I just thought it’d be fun if you came.” He pauses. Unable to read her expression, he adds cheerfully, “You’d have fun. I’d make it my personal responsibility.”

“I… really?”

He nods like an eager puppy.

“Isn’t it… like… dirty?”

“Yeah!” He laughs. “Dirty and gross and hot and uncomfortable. Forget addressing wedding invitations – this is fucking fun, I’m telling ya.”

Ari’s terrible at suppressing a smile, and Niall couldn’t be happier for it. Dimples shine through her cheeks as she agrees, “Okay. You sold me on dirty and gross.”

He tips her chin up to meet her in another kiss, murmuring, “My kinda gal.”

Once he’s waved Ari off at the door barefoot, Rosen eyeing him sceptically from her Honda Civic – it’s not his fault Olive flung a teaspoon of maple glaze on his white shirt – Niall checks a voicemail he didn’t realize he had. It’s GuitarWeekly letting him know he missed a deadline at five and to please have his article in by six in the morning at the latest.

It’s not great news, considering he not only missed the deadline but forgot about it entirely and hasn’t started the piece at all. Any other day, he’d lock himself in his room and write frantically until he had to leave for the bar, but tonight he’s on a high and figures he might as well get a little higher.

So he joins Z on the front stoop, where he’s lazily fumbling to roll a spliff on his lap, and digs a lighter from the pocket of his jeans. When Z’s got the joint dangling from his lip, Niall scoots closer to light it, waiting until the ends begin to split and fizzle before pulling away.

Z takes a long, steady drag, parting his lips just a crack on the exhale and shutting his eyes to savour it. Without a word, he hands the joint to Niall. Niall pretends it’s wintertime, that the smoke billowing from his lips and nostrils is actually just his breath in the crisp evening air. If there weren’t mosquitoes nipping at his ankles and if his shirt wasn’t sticky against his back, he might believe it was true.

He passes the blunt to Z and asks, “Everything okay?”

Z doesn’t answer, instead choosing to take another drag. His legs stretch out across the steps, and he extends his neck, tilting his head back to blow upwards into the air. Niall observes the tendons in his forearms disappearing into his skin, the curve of his back and the release in his shoulders. Sometimes Z just needs a few hits to take the edge off. He’s always been that way, ever since they were twelve years old and giving weed a try for the first time. Z heard it would help with his anxiety, and Niall went along with it because Z was too scared to try it alone; too scared to go with Chase Mulder, a senior, around the back of the high school to the wooded area to take his first hit. No matter what Chase Mulder said afterward, Niall didn’t hold Z’s hand – he didn’t. Their fingertips brushed a few times, and maybe those brushes weren’t always accidental, but as far as Chase will ever know, both boys went together out of equal curiosity.

When Niall moved in to help with baby Olive, Z said he didn’t smoke anymore. He wouldn’t for Olive’s sake. It wasn’t long before he found Niall’s stash – just a small one, just for lazy Saturdays and frigid Januarys – inside his coffee mug in the cupboard, the one Gram gave him reading Best Son Ever that he never used, not even once, because he didn’t want the cursive wording to fade in the dishwasher. There was a blowout that night, with Niall on the precipice of being kicked out of the house with nowhere to go and nothing to do, having dropped out of NYU for Z and Olive. Somehow, with the two of them screaming at each other, it culminated in a big fat J, the two of them huddled near the kitchen window to blow the smoke outside rather than step out of the door into snow.

Now Niall keeps his stash nestled between War and Peace and Great Expectations on the bookshelf in the living room. He’s never read either of those books. If Z read them before Niall moved in, he certainly hasn’t re-read them since.

Niall refuses the next time Z offers him a hit, instead choosing to curl up against the pillar holding the veranda together. His head knocks against the darkwashed wood and then comes to rest there. His lips turn downward into a pout as he picks at his thumbnail.

“You given any thought to what he said today?”

“Hmm?” Z gives Niall his attention, eyes already hooded.

“Your baba. You been thinking about what he said over lunch?”

Z flicks the ash off the end of the joint and purses his lips, heaving a sigh. He stares longingly at his car in the driveway, his car that could take him anywhere he wants but instead remains faithfully here.

“Maybe he’s right,” Z concedes. “Better than working in the mines.”

“Olive needs you,” Niall says quietly, head dropping against the pillar. “You can’t get to her if you’re all the way in Charleston. Not if there’s traffic or bad weather.”

“You can,” Z points out. “But I wouldn’t put that on you.”

Niall’s eyes shift to Z, but of course he’s not looking back. “Whaddya mean?” His tongue darts out over his lips. “You don’t believe him about me, do you?”

If Z says anything at all, the crickets’ night song overpowers him.

Niall’s upper lip curls into a sneer that he has to fight to reign in. He pushes away from the pillar, gritting his teeth and clutching his knees. “I don’t run away,” he says firmly. “Not when the people I love need me. I’m not my mother. And fuck you if you think I am.”

He stays out there with Z a few minutes longer. Neither of them say a word, but Niall accepts two more hits just to give his hands something to do other than ball into fists. He shouldn’t be surprised that Z is quiet as a whisper in the wind. He hates himself for expecting something more, but he does. Reassurance that Z knows who Niall is: steadfast and reliable. A promise that Z will keep doing what’s best for Olive. Or maybe, in the closeted portions of his mind that Niall doesn’t dare visit, he expected Z to ask him to stop seeing her. Ari.

Z doesn’t ask that of him. It’s probably not even in his realm of thought.

But Niall still wonders if that thought ever passes him by, a hair’s width from his consciousness. Moreover, Niall wonders if he’d listen to Z if he asked.

#tls #my writing #1dff #niall horan fan fiction

48 notes · View notes

welcometophu · 7 years

Text

Not Your Destiny: Chapter 8

Marked Book 1: Not Your Destiny

Chapter 8

[ Previous | First | Next ]

Ángel wakes up to the feeling of something poking him in the back, while a warm body lies on top of him, pressing him into a too-thin, too-hard mattress. He shifts, and Gabi groans, patting his chest.

“Don’t move,” she mumbles. “You’re softer than Luca’s couch.”

“Why am I on Luca’s couch?” While the couch has been pulled out as a bed, it doesn’t look as if anyone bothered to make it up. Ángel is wrapped with Gabi in a pair of blankets, with a pillow shoved under Ángel’s head. Gabi’s head is tucked against his chest, and she presses her hand against his chest again when he tries to roll away.

“We all came to one place after last night,” Gabi mumbles, patting him gently as soon as he stops trying to move. “You and Tanner and Hayley were totally smashed. Sam was kind of gone, too. Zita went home after; Danny would’ve killed her if she stayed out. But everyone else pretty much stayed here.”

“Luca’s place,” Ángel clarifies.

Gabi is silent, then makes a noise that sounds like no.

“Not Luca’s place,” Ángel tries again.

“’S’complicated,” Gabi mumbles. “It’s a really big place. But this is Luca’s couch.” She grabs the blanket, pulls it up over both of their heads. “It’s a shitty couch, but we should just keep sleeping. Easier than walking to my room.”

“You have a room and we’re… here. Did we…?” Ángel sits up, spills Gabi off to one side. He’s still wearing his jeans and his shirt, everything but his shoes. Gabi’s in sweats and a different shirt than he remembers.

“Fuck, no.” Gabi sits up, pushes her hair out of her eyes. “Ángel, I wouldn’t have sex with a guy so drunk he couldn’t think straight. Or not-straight. You may have waxed poetic about some guy’s ass last night, I don’t even know who. I sat on you to make sure you didn’t do something you’d regret. Besides. You kept saying you didn’t want to sleep alone, and Hayley and Tanner took one of the guest rooms.”

No, no, it’s okay, you guys go sleep together. I mean sleep. Just don’t. Please? I mean, I can’t tell you no, but really, maybe not tonight? It’s only been like a day, and Hayley, you’re better than that.

His own voice echoes in his head, and he winces at the memory of leaning on Tanner’s shoulder, lecturing them both. “Fuck, I was kind of an ass.”

“Kind of,” Gabi agrees. “But I don’t think they hate you. They were both pretty much plastered, too.”

Ángel falls back against the pillow, groans when the spring digs into his back just above his kidney. He closes his eyes, presses the heels of his hands against his eye sockets. “I can’t remember half of last night. After I started dancing again. After I told you guys about the soulmark ritual.” He groans again, long and loud. “And fuck me, why did I start telling you guys all my personal shit, anyway? It’s not like you care.”

Gabi rests a hand on his shoulder. “We care. Sort of. I mean, we’re stuck with you for another month, right? And you’re almost family for Maritsa and Cleto, which makes you our family once removed. Also, you should be warned for next time that Zita plus alcohol is a really potent combination for spilling your guts. You are not the first to fall prey to that. Danny won’t drink with her, and they’re married.”

Ángel opens his eyes slowly, rubs the sleep from them.

Then stops.

Because fuck.

There’s ink on his wrist: a sleek spotted cat with tufted ears and chin, poised to pounce, with a simple circle behind it. The skin around is slightly red, the color faded as if it burned into being hours before.

“What…? Oh.” Gabi leans in, sniffs at his wrist. “Yeah. It’s done now.”

He grabs her hands, twists them both. “It can’t be you. We touched—”

“Several times and it was still clouded when we talked last night, yes,” she says. “It’s not me. Hey.” She reaches for his face, cups his cheeks carefully. Her fingers are to the side of his eyes, blocking out the light so all he can see is her. “It’s okay, Ángel. You’re going to be fine. Whoever it is, they’re marked too, right? How hard can it be to figure out who got a surprise tattoo last night?”

“Unless they were drunk and think they got a real one,” Ángel says. His chest is too tight, and his hand curls into his shirt, twisting it above his heart. “They have no idea. I don’t know who it is. I touched someone last night, and it’s—they’re… fuck. I don’t know.”

“Breathe.” Gabi says, and Ángel does his best.

His skin itches, and his wrist aches like burning now that he’s seen the mark. He’s wide awake now, heart hammering, and he feels like his bladder is going to burst if he doesn’t move soon. “I need to go,” he says, and she lets him go, pulls backward to give him room.

He gets his feet on the floor, and the room spins, head pounding as he makes it upright. He grips the side of the couch for a moment, then takes a step. He stops, turns back. “Bathroom?”

Gabi points at a door on one side of the room, while the door on the other side opens. Ángel just reaches the door she pointed to when he hears Luca ask, “Is Ángel all right?” and Gabi’s whispered response.

No footsteps follow him, and that’s fine. Good.

The door opens into a hall, and Gabi yells, “Left!” so he turns in that direction. One door stands slightly open, and he hurries to it, thinking that has to be it. He shoves it further open, stopping when it smacks into someone.

Yes, it’s the bathroom.

Sam and Max are in it, one in boxers and the other in sweats, lips locked as they lean against the counter. Sam grunts at the impact from the door, and Max blinks at Ángel, pupils large and black.

“Bathroom,” Ángel manages to say, his throat tight.

Max tugs at Sam and they both squeeze through the open door, leaving Ángel just enough room to get past them and in, slamming the door behind them. He falls to his knees in front of the toilet, waits.

His stomach roils, but doesn’t empty, despite the ache behind his eyes. He closes his eyes, lowers his forehead to touch the lip, groans quietly.

“You okay in there?” Sam calls out.

“I’m not dying,” Ángel replies, even though he feels like his heart is pounding so hard they must all be able to hear it. Maybe some of them can hear it. Clan. He hasn’t confirmed it, but Gabi keeps smelling him. They have to be Clan. Right? But Clan and Mages. The Mollicones and Maritsa and Cleto.

It doesn’t make sense in his head.

Nothing makes sense.

A knock at the door. “Do you need me to get you some water?” Sam asks. “You’re probably dehydrated. You had a good time last night.”

“Heard you did, too,” Ángel mutters. “Probably better than I did after we left Antigone.” He draws in a breath, relieved that it comes more easily this time. He lets it out slowly, pushes himself to his feet. “I’m okay. I’ll go to the kitchen after this.” He pauses. “If you tell me where the kitchen is.”

“Stairs are at the end of the hall. Go down, and to the back of the house. You can’t possibly miss it.” A soft rap against the door. “And if you need something, yell. There are enough of us here. We take care of each other.”

Ángel laughs dryly. He’s pretty sure no one can take care of this.

He takes care of business, now that his stomach is no longer roiling, and washes his hands. He tries not to look at his wrist, but the ink catches his eyes every time he glances down. When he exits the bathroom, Sam and Max are gone, but Gabi and Luca are hovering in the door to Luca’s room.

Ángel crosses his arms as he walks back to them.

“It’s going to be colder today than yesterday,” Luca says, nodding at Ángel’s short sleeves. “Want a hoodie?”

Maybe asshole isn’t the right word for Luca. Maybe savior, at least right now, although Ángel suspects he’ll be back to asshole later. Ángel nods, takes the soft grey Tampa Bay hoodie that Luca offers. Luca must have arms like an ape, because the thing is too long, covering Ángel’s wrists easily, and he takes another shuddering breath once they’re hidden.

Luca holds up his hands, wrists toward Ángel. Both are blank, and Ángel nods.

“Thanks.”

“Anything to make you stop stinking,” Luca says.

“I just don’t know how I missed it. When it happened to Hayley, she jumped like something bit her. She didn’t see it happen, she felt it.”

“You weren’t exactly feeling much after the amount of beer you had in you last night,” Gabi says dryly. “You should probably start the morning with some painkillers and a lot of water, or you’re going to be miserable at the garage.”

“We leave in thirty,” Luca adds, and that’s another small punch to the gut.

“Right.” Ángel’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes. He smells a little like beer, and he’s feeling that headache coming on. And every time he looks down, he knows that his wrist is there and he’s going to see some damned cat that means something to someone else and he doesn’t know what.

And the worst of it is, he doesn’t know what would show up to signify himself, either, so he doesn’t know what to look for. If he even had any idea where to look.

He wavers, uncertain. He tugs on the sleeves, pulling them over his wrists, curling his hands inside. “Sam said the kitchen’s downstairs?” he asks, because he just needs to get away.

“Yeah, Tony’s been up for an hour already, so there’s probably food out. He does that when Sam and Max crash here,” Luca says. “It’s easier than letting them go through the cabinets. Gives us some more control over what they eat.”

“They don’t live here.”

Gabi snorts. “God, no. They have an apartment. So do Maritsa and Cleto, although honestly, they stay here half the time because this place is better, so they might as well kick in for rent. Zita lives with Danny in the suburbs. Me, Tony, and Luca all share this place, and we’ve got three guest rooms, too. Big rooms, but it’d be better if we had en suite bathrooms. I have to share with Luca and whoever’s in the guest space on this floor.”

“It’s a huge house for the area,” Luca admits. He grabs his leather jacket, shrugs into it. “I’m going out for a bit. You should eat. Shower if you want, there are towels in the closet inside the bathroom. No one will mind if you use something. But you’ve only got twenty-five minutes now, unless Tony says he doesn’t mind if we’re late.”

“I’ll ride in with Tony, give you a few extra minutes. You need to drop Tanner and Hayley off anyway,” Gabi reminds him.

Because Tanner and Hayley are here as well. Somewhere.

Ángel gestures down the hall to the stairs he can see. “I’m just going to….” He fails to finish the sentence, but Gabi nods as if he did. He doesn’t wait for either of them to reply before he walks away.

The stairs at the end of the hall go both up and down. Ángel can hear footsteps on the floor above, plus he spots a small landing only a few stairs up, and another door there. Maybe a space over the garage.

It’s none of his business. This isn’t his house, and it’s probably the only time he’ll be in it.

He really doesn’t care how big it is, doesn’t wonder where that door leads and why there are so damned many rooms.

Still, he walks up the few stairs to the landing, pauses looking out through the window, his hand on top of the low bookcase. He’s somewhere on the outskirts; he doesn’t really recognize the area, but there are other houses, mostly low and close together aside from this one. It has a yard, and with three floors he already knows it towers over most homes. With the bright grass outside, and the wrought iron fence he can see in the distance, he wonders exactly how much this house and land cost.

And how the hell three people under thirty afforded it.

The idea that Mollicone’s is a mob front drifts back into mind, and Ángel tries to ignore it. He knows it’s not true and it’s honestly a horrible stereotype, but he also knows there’s money coming from somewhere.

His fingers trail over the wood, knocking into a small statue that is on top of the bookcase. Ángel crouches down to take a closer look, snickers when he realizes that it’s a cheap ceramic knockoff of Michelangelo’s David. When he lifts it, the words Florence 2001 are written in awkwardly formed letters on the bottom. He sets it back down carefully, not wanting to destroy something that’s so obviously a keepsake from childhood.

He rocks back on his heels, lets his fingers drift over the spines of the books lining the two shelves of the case. All hardcovers, all old, and all well-read. He’s pretty sure some of them are older than he is, including a copy of a children’s book that’s so tattered that he’s afraid the binding would rip if he tried to pull it out. Still, he wonders what a book about a little girl named April and her kittens is doing here, alongside girl detectives and boy wizards, and not a few classics written long before anyone in this house was born.

The sound of laughter drifts up the stairs, and Ángel turns to go back down before he’s made a conscious decision to do so. He follows the murmur of Hayley’s voice, finds the kitchen just as Tanner bends down to lightly press a kiss to her lips. Hayley leans back against the long island, her hands framing Tanner’s face. His hands are on the marble, his body language cautiously staying out of her space except for where their lips touch. Sparks dance from her fingertips, lighting the tips of his hair.

Ángel coughs, and they break apart. A flush suffuses Hayley’s cheeks, but Tanner just grins.

“Dude, look at all the food. Real food.” Tanner gestures at the long, heavy oak table on one side of the huge kitchen. There are enough chairs to seat a dozen people, but no one is there currently. Plates line the table with bacon, eggs, fruit, bagels, along with two boxes of cereal and a carton of milk. It’s obvious that most of it has already been dug into, but there’s still plenty left.

Hayley reaches up, tucks her hair behind her ear then twists the strand around her fingertip. “Tony was down earlier, said he does this after nights like last night. He called us Gabi’s strays. Or Sam’s strays. I don’t know which, he kept changing it. He’s really cute, isn’t he? Tony, I mean, although Sam’s really kind of hot, too, and he and Max are so very hot together. Luca’s cute, too, and Gabi’s adorable, and did I hear that you slept with her last night?”

“Slept,” Ángel replies curtly, arms crossed, trying not to tug the wrists of Luca’s hoodie down. “I apparently used her like a teddy bear, or she used me as a mattress or something. And she’s kind of an asshole, and so’s Luca, but I like them. And I don’t really care how hot anyone is, I’m not looking.”

He’s not looking at anyone here, anyway. He’s touched them all before, he knows it’s not them. It can’t be any of them. Which means it’s someone anonymous out there… and… fuck. His chest tightens and he swallows hard, pressing his hand against his temple. The headache is starting to bloom, and he feels like he deserves every aching thud behind his eyes.

“Eat.” Tanner gets his hands on Ángel’s shoulders, nudges him toward the table. “Drink plenty of water or OJ or something, and you’ll be fine.”

Ángel picks up the pitcher of orange juice, heavily pulped and apparently freshly squeezed. His stomach turns.

He quietly puts a plate together of orange slices, a half a dry bagel, and grabs a bottle of water. He pushes Tanner’s hand away when Tanner tries to offer eggs for protein. “If I eat eggs right now, I’m going to puke,” Ángel mutters, and Tanner steps back.

“Are you okay?” Hayley asks softly, and her sparks prick along his spine when she touches the nape of his neck.

Ángel shakes his head quickly, regrets the motion immediately after. “Not really. I’m just going to go—” He trails off, not really sure where to go, but there’s a door on one side of the kitchen and he can see the sun streaming in through the window on it. He gestures with his plate. “There. I’m going out there.”

“Is it us?” Hayley asks, and Ángel turns so quickly that she has to grab his plate before it hits her.

He stops and they stand there, her hands curled around the edges of his plate before he pulls it back slowly. “It’s not you,” he says, and it’s only a minor lie. It’s them, and that kiss he just saw, and the fresh mark on the inside of his wrist that makes his arm feel heavy. It’s everything from the last few days and weeks. “I just need air.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Hayley says softly.

“I want you guys to give it a chance,” Ángel responds, and that much is true. Very true. He doesn’t want to distract them. He just… he just needs to breathe.

Footsteps, and Ángel’s attention shifts to the entrance to the kitchen. Tony stands there, brows drawn together in a deep frown. Tony’s gaze skips across Hayley, comes to rest on Ángel. Tony stares at him for a long second before his eyes drop, skimming over Ángel from head to toe. The corner of Tony’s lip curls slightly, and Ángel tugs on the sleeves of Luca’s shirt.

Tony crosses his arms, thumbs peeking out from the holes in his long sleeves. “Hayley. Tanner. Luca’s dropping you off. Ángel, Gabi and I will open the shop. Ride in with Luca.”

“I was going to.” Ángel gestures with his plate at the door to the outside. “Right now I’m just going to eat. Out there.” He licks his lips, inhales roughly and twists to force himself to turn away.

“Dude,” Tanner says softly as Ángel touches the door knob.

“I’m fine,” Ángel repeats, voice low, not giving him a chance to say anything else before he escapes, the door slamming shut behind him.

It’s definitely chilly outside, cold enough that he’s glad he’s wearing a hoodie, although compared to the temperature he left behind in New York, it’s balmy. Ángel sinks to sits on the step, sets the plate down with a clunk beside himself. He knows he needs to eat, but his stomach is churning, and the idea of putting anything in it does not appeal.

He needs to know more about the mark.

He fishes his phone out of his pocket, swipes to unlock it, and stops before opening the browser. There are three unread messages that must have come in sometime late in the night.

That’s okay, but next time let me know earlier.

I know you’re an adult, but still.

I worry.

Papi. And Ángel never went home.

He scrolls back in the conversation, finds the start of it.

Papi, heading to Antigone with the people from work. Tanner is bringing Hayley. They will bring me home.

Ángel remembers sending the original text from Luca’s car on the way to the restaurant. When Papi hadn’t replied immediately, Ángel had switched his phone to silent and forgotten about it, until later. Much later apparently, after Papi sent a text Ángel doesn’t remember reading at midnight: Ángel, where are you?

At least it looks like he replied to let Papi know that he was staying at Luca’s. He must’ve passed out before the new messages came in. He quickly types out a message for the morning.

I know, and I’m sorry. I was drinking, and Luca was our DD, and everything’s fine, except I’m hungover and going to work now. We’ll drop off Tanner and Hayley with his truck so he can bring her home.

Ángel presses send and shoves the phone in his pocket, leaving the sound off. Papi won’t be thrilled, but at least he knows they’re all alive, and that’s what’s important right now.

He presses the tips of his fingers to the bridge of his nose, tries to stave off the headache that is blooming rapidly. He’s hungover. He’s marked with ink he doesn’t understand, and he has no idea who he touched. And right now, he feels like shit. He twists open the bottle of water he carried out. He’s pretty sure that there isn’t much that’s going to help right now, but at least he’ll be hydrated.

[ Previous | First | Next ]

#welcome to phu #welcometophu #not your destiny #phu marked #marked

7 notes · View notes