Thinking about Billy rocking up early one morning at Steve's house and hearing the muffled sound of Metallica coming through the open windows. So he wanders in, a little confused, only to find Steve in the kitchen making breakfast while Jump in the Fire blares out from the fancy music centre in the living room. And Billy just watches for a moment, leaning on the doorframe, a soft smile growing on his face as Steve bobs along to the rhythm of the music, flipping pancakes and pouring out coffee and occasionally mumble-singing a little, "Jump in the fi-yah," under his breath as he works.
And when Steve finally notices that he's being watched- jumping back with a hand on his heart and a Jeez Louise, the very picture of a Midwestern grandpa- Billy can't help but tease him a little, plucking that fresh cup of coffee right out of his hands and purring, "Nice tunes, Stevie. Looks like I'm rubbing off on you in a whole other way, huh?"
But Steve's answering smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, and it takes more than a little bit of Billy's gentle coaxing before he sheepishly admits that, sometimes, when he wakes up alone and the emptiness of the house feels a little too much, he'll grab one of Billy's left behind tapes, set it playing nice and loud and just kinda... pretend that Billy's there too. Pretend that he's only a couple of rooms away, sprawled out on the Cassina couch, getting a little too into one of Mrs Harrington's Harlequin romances and blasting his music out with no regard for the neighbours. Cause it feels a little less lonely that way.
And Billy has to rein himself in from punching a hole through the drywall of the kitchen.
Because he's been trying so damn hard to pretend that all he wants from this is something casual. He's been trying so hard not to fall, and then, when that ship sailed immediately, trying even harder not to let on just how deeply he has fallen. He's been forcing himself to get out of Steve's bed the moment he's caught his breath, shoving on his boots and lighting a cigarette and practically hurling himself down the stairs without even risking a backwards glance because he knew that, if he gave into the temptation of actually taking any of the morsels of affection that Steve is so willing to hand out, well, he'd lose himself entirely.
But now Steve is looking at Billy, all big doe eyes and pouty lips and saying, "It's dumb, I know, but it...it just makes me miss you a bit less, I guess."
And Billy is lost. Entirely.
But he can't say that he really minds. Not when Steve's already found so much of him and apparently declared it something worth keeping.
So he stops pretending.
And the next time the mid-morning sun fills the Harrington's kitchen, it falls on Steve making breakfast. For two this time. And it also falls on Billy standing right beside him, pouring out two mugs of coffee before leaning over to pepper a whole constellation of kisses against Steve's exposed shoulder. And this time the only music they need is the soft crackle of the transistor radio on the counter, a gentle hum of The Beach Boys asking, "Wouldn't it be nice?"
Because this is Fluff Friday, and I’m in the mood for some, well this is a Fluff themed starter call. Like/reblog this means you want a fluff themed starter call with my muses.
Please do note to specify the muse, or no starter will be made. If you can’t think of the muse, just say open. But no comment about it will mean I WILL not write a starter.
Regulus’ birthday gift to James when they’re apart for spring holiday
James scans the title, ‘Don’t Go Far Off’. As his eyes start to follow the first sentence, he jumps. A voice pushes its way into his thoughts. He looks around the room, sure he’ll find Regulus standing somewhere beside him. How else could he be hearing his voice so clearly? When his eyes leave the words of the page the voice suddenly stops. For a moment he wonders if he’s going mad with longing, until he returns his focus to the poem and the voice begins again.
Regulus’ voice is quiet and soft, like a parent reading a story to a child. He continues reading, line after line, as Regulus’ polished inflections recite the words aloud in his head.
‘Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --
because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.
Don't leave me, even for an hour, because
then the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart.
Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;
may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.
Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,
because in that moment you'll have gone so far
I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?’
James is floored as he reads the poem again, then one more time. The spell of Regulus’ voice drifts over each heartbreaking word. As he reads the last word of the final line, a tear falls onto the page as Regulus’ voice fades. He quickly wipes it away, fearful of disturbing the charm imbibed on the page. He brings his hand over his mouth, overwhelmed by how personal this gift is. Another link between their souls no matter where they are physically. He takes a deep breath in an attempt to not lose his composure completely.
He flips the page, curious if any of the other poems will be spelled with that velvety voice. A piece of parchment is slipped in between the binding of the next pages. He pulls it out slowly, afraid to crinkle even the corner. He holds his breath as he reads Regulus’ own musings that he’s hidden among someone else’s words. It begins with no address, only a matching sun marked at the top of the parchment.
‘If you aren’t in shock from receiving a book written by a dead muggle for your birthday, I hope you were able to find the correct page. These are the kind of words you deserve to hear, and ones that I give to you in place of being able to write them myself. I would in fact wander the earth to find you. If allowed, I will follow you to every corner, to anywhere or to nowhere. Anywhere that pleases you. I would always come back for you.
Happy Birthday, with all the love in the pages of this book, plus one more that I add myself.’
At this rate I'm going to spoil my entire next Duchessrry fic. Oh well. Hope you enjoy the cute :D
Louis led his omega into the ballroom proudly, and, much to their luck, the next dance started just after they arrived. They glided across the dancefloor, smiling at each other as they danced. Louis could hear whispers from other couples around them, and if he strained his ears, from others around the room as well.
“They make a beautiful pair,” one person mused. Louis had to agree.
“Lord Tomlinson is lucky to have snatched up that beautiful omega,” said another. Louis smirked at that. Lucky he was indeed.
“The Styles boy was claimed at his first ball? He must be special.” Louis smiled to himself, and at Harry. Harry was definitely special. The most special.
“What are you smiling about?” Harry teased him.
“You, darling.”
Harry flushed. “Oh?”
Louis hummed, smiling wider as they spun around and Harry’s cream-coloured skirts swished prettily. “You look beautiful, and everyone here knows it. I’m lucky to have found you, Harry.”
Harry smiled and bravely rested his head on Louis’ shoulder, just for a moment, but a moment nonetheless. Louis’ heart warmed under his breastbone, a low rumble beginning to emanate from his chest before he tamped it down. Not here. Not now. They would be able to share their respective purrs later, privately. Louis snuck a gentle kiss to the side of his head before he lifted it back up.
“I’m lucky, too,” Harry murmured back, sweet as ever. Louis could simply burst.
Harry was perfect.
Hello friend! Thank you for bringing some much-needed fluff ❣️I’m formally requesting some non-lip kisses (on noses, on shoulders, whatever you’re feeling)
Happy Fluff Friday! Thank you for the prompt @tooindecisivetopickaurl 💜
Simon was cold. OK, Simon was always cold, but usually he had three layers on as well as his coat. Today, for some ungodly reason, he had agreed to a walk by the lake with only two layers, and no gloves. Alright, it was supposed to be spring and the sun was out, but no amount of squeezing at Wille’s hand was warming that up. He had to stop.
“I’m freezing,” he complained, pouting up at Wille, who just looked amused.
“Do you want to go back?” He started rubbing Simon’s fingers in his hands, one at a time.
“No, but—” Simon grumbled, and wrapped his arms around Wille under his coat. Wille had a coat on. It was all so unfair.
“If you put those blocks of ice up my jumper again, I swear….” But Wille’s lips were pressing into Simon’s hair, and his hands rubbed his back, trying to warm him just a little, so the threat didn’t get very far.
“Mmph,” Simon pressed his face into Wille’s chest, rubbing his nose against his hoodie. And he had a hoodie! Come on, really?
Simon raised his head and grazed his nose against Wille’s, who pulled a face.
“I think we should go in, even your nose is cold.” But he kissed the tip of Simon’s nose anyway, making Simon giggle, despite his determination to be grumpy about this.
“You have so many clothes on,” he muttered.
Wille raised an eyebrow. “I mean, when we go back inside I don’t have to.”
“Nooooo…. I mean, yes. Obviously. But share?”
“Ohhh. OK, hold on.”
Wille shrugged off his coat, handing it to Simon for a moment, then pulled off his blue hoodie. Handing that to Simon, and taking his coat back, he smiled. “Don’t say I never give you anything.”
Simon pulled it on, putting the hood up and making sweater paws with his hands. It was so warm. He shivered. “Ohhhh my god.”
“Better?” Wille held out his hands.
Simon raised his paws, and smiled. Wille grinned, taking them and kissing the fabric where it was pulled over Simon’s knuckles.
“You. Are. Adorable.”
“You are.” Simon hid back in Wille’s coat again, finally relaxing as he warmed up a little.
“We should definitely go back,” Wille whispered into his hair. “I think you said something about stripping?”
“You, not me.” Simon said, laughter muffled in Wille’s shirt. “I’m never taking my clothes off again.”
Until later anyway, when he was warm inside again, grumpy mood forgotten, and Wille had fallen over his own feet attempting a stripper routine. That boy always made him feel warm again anyway, so it was really only fair.
2 Years before the main plot
Words: 2820
cw: alcohol mention, romance
Was originally tagged on my main by @zmwrites for #FridayKiss, and it more or less got out of hand! Thanks for the tag!
Tagging back my taglist under the cut!
“Out! I will kill you, Batista!” The bartender hollered over the bar’s thrumming bass, tagging on a string of what Ryker could only assume were Spanish curses. The balled up filthy rag was next. Garnet managed to slide back over the bar, sloshing the stolen glass of water before turning to offer the man a slurred comeback in the same language, even blowing him a kiss.
Ryker shook his head at the show before turning back to his drink he’d been nursing. He’d known it was a mistake to order the last one, that even for a Friday night he shouldn’t be getting too drunk.
But he already was.
“Congrats, Captain!” Valetta popped up beside him, clutching the stolen glass of water and giggling. Her swaying balance finally propped up against the bar. “Knew you’d get the promotion. If it was me, you’d been captain, like, ten years ago.” She lifted her glass for a cheers, completely missing his cup before taking a sip.
“Yep, keep drinking,” Garnet reached over, urging the bottom of the glass up. He was surprisingly the more sober of the two. “Congratulations, Ryker. I wanted to come over before we head out.” He motioned down to Valetta, making a slicing motion at his neck concerning her drunken state mouthing: She’s done.
“Pfft, we?” Valetta giggled as she pulled the glass away.
“Yep, we are leaving. I’m getting you a cab home.”
“My home is the dance floor!” She cheered, nearly tipping her glass over as she sat it on the bar and bolted for the crowd.
“No!” Garnet barked, taking after her. “How are you so fast?!” Ryker chuckled, turning back to the bar. He was Captain now, with his own squad –a very good squad at that– his own office, and a decent raise. But it severely lacked something.
A partner.
He turned to look the place over. It was crowded, an unofficial celebration for his promotion that included a good deal of day shift, as well as dispatchers, and anyone else who had overheard. But there was no word from any of the Breaching team. Nothing from Ives. Ryker had been able to pretend he was happy that Ives had gotten a “promotion” onto a breaching team, but it was getting more and more difficult with how little of him he saw anymore. There were more text messages than actual verbal conversations these days. But Ryker had known he was something like training wheels for Ives, and now that he was Captain, he was expected even more to be professional.
Besides, it wasn’t like Ives could drink.
After pouting some more, he finally convinced himself to pay off his tab and hit the road. He went ahead and text Garnet, asking him to let him know when he got Valetta home, and that he was turning in early. Then, knocked back the last of his drink and slid off the stool. Sure enough, his balance was wobbly, giving himself a moment to decipher depth before heading for the door.
There were a number of rideshares parked at the curb, but he ignored them, being only a few blocks from his apartment and something about being inebriated didn’t let his brain trust anyone being within close proximity. Blame it on military training. Besides, it was barely raining, and even if it was dark it was cool and quiet.
His phone buzzed and, thinking it was Garnet worrying over him, he fought to get it out of his pocket. Squinting at the light of the screen, he stopped walking, holding it out farther as he swayed.
Ives
I’m sorry I missed your promotion, but I wanted you to know I’m proud of you.
Ryker stood there stupidly, squinting at the text to make sure he was reading properly.
Ryker
Thnks Wat are yu doing awake?
Ives
Currently, I’m running maintenance.
Are you alright?
Ryker
p3achy! Y?
Ives
It’s after midnight and your texting is clearly obverse to your character.
Ryker
its friyay
* Friday
He cursed finding it near impossible to walk and text. He’d never been good at it and now drunk? Forget it.
we should hangout som time
we can stilL do that right
?
I know some places
Ives
Ryker, are you drunk?
Ryker
no
maybe
some ish
Ives
You shouldn’t be walking home alone if you’re drunk.
Ryker stopped dead in his tracks as a chill ran up his spine, unable to keep himself from looking around. He'd taken one of the back streets to avoid traffic and people –to not be seen. But there he was, peering around in the dark unsure how Ives knew that.
Ryker
???
How dyou guess?
Ives
I started tracking your wristband as soon as I realized you weren’t entirely yourself.
Ryker
Friggin wizard
Ives
Hardly, Captain.
Ryker
shit i miss you
There was a lull in response and Ryker was almost sick with the realization of what he’d just done. He fumbled to try and think of something to say knowing a simple “whoops, wrong conversation” wouldn’t cut it.
Ives
You made a left when you should have turned right to get to your apartment.
Ryker made an immediate pivot to turn the other way, face going red even if he was completely alone.
Now left.
Ryker
yu should just come hng out
Ives
Don’t cross the street here, please move back onto the sidewalk.
Please, please, please, Ryker said in his mind. Please come see me. I want to hear you say you’re happy. Congratulations. Anything. Just come talk to me. Instead he stabs out:
Ryker
i’m a profsional coffin dodger
Ives
Ryker, please?
And what the hell was he supposed to say to that?
Like a kid, he shuffled back up over the curb and continued taking directions. He was sure if he really had to think about it, he wouldn’t have needed them. But it’d been months since he’d had this much interaction with Ives, and he was drunkenly desperate enough to take whatever he could get.
When he finally reached his apartment, the texts stop and he had to convince himself not to sit on the sidewalk and cry like a child. The drunk part of his mind wanted to, but he coaxed himself to the side entrance, fumbling for his keys. After several minutes his hazy brain finally got the right fob, tapping it repeatedly against the wall. There was no beep, no entry. It wouldn’t scan. Thunder rumbled across the sky and with it rain started to pour.
Congratulations, "Captain". Icing on the shit-cake.
The rain stopped, someone had his wrist, lifting the fob to the actual sensor on the wall. The little LED bulb turned from red to green and the lock clicked. As the mystery hand reached for the doorknob, Ryker tilted his head, turning to find Ives standing there.
“Oh shit,” Ryker burst, laughing as he threw his arms around Ives’ neck. Some part of his brain was screaming at him to stop, panicked, but it was like yelling from the far end of a very long tunnel. He was too caught up in the happiness of seeing him there. “Hey!”
“Hello,” Ives said, one hand patting Ryker’s back.
“Thanks,” Ryker finally pulled himself away, staggering back to be caught. Ives frowned at him, his other hand holding the umbrella to keep them from getting drenched, head tilting in confusion.
“Are you alright?”
“Great!” Ives’ face never moved much, seemingly expressionless, but there were faint changes Ryker detected –even drunk. Doubt. He wasn’t buying what Ryker was hacking. He pulled the door completely open, ushering Ryker inside. “What’re you doin’ here?” He so eloquently slurred as Ives stepped in, shaking out the umbrella before closing it.
“You invited me over,” Ives blinked, smoothly turning his head to look at Ryker nearly causing his knees to give. Quickly propping the umbrella near the door, Ives moved closer to catch the shift of Ryker’s balance. He wrapped an arm around Ryker’s middle and pulled one of his arms over a shoulder to help lead him to the stairs.
“Ch’yeah, but how so fast?” he couldn’t stop from smiling.
“I walked. You hardly live more than three blocks from the station,” Ives explained, moving slowly as if helping reteach Ryker how to maneuver up stairs. It made him lean against Ives, able to feel the humming of his inner workings that only seemed to happen when he’d stressed himself.
He didn’t walk. He ran. The thought was douse of sobriety, feeling his face go hot as a laugh burst from him. It was a bit too loud, echoing sharply throughout the stairwell.
Pax, the domotic system, recognized them and let them in without the need for a key, but instead of Ives dropping him off at the door, he continued to help Ryker inside.
"Good evening, GW-IV5.02.036," chimed the disembodied voice of Pax, "you are recognized on the Domotic Safelist. Welcome."
"His name is Ives," Ryker interrupted, "don't use his government name. C'mon, man."
"My apologies, Ives."
But Ives was too concerned with giving the apartment a look over, assessing in great detail the best place to go. "Couch," Ryker announced, taking a massive stride towards it, pulling Ives along. The second step managed to trip him up, Ives catching him again and foregoing bracing him to simply pick him up off the floor.
Ryker snickered through his panic, grasping at the shoulder of Ives' long sleeve undershirt. "Jesus!"
"No, it's me, Ives," he said plainly.
"Okay," Ryker snorted, gripping tighter as Ives leaned down, gently sitting him on the couch. All Ryker could think of was how Royston had won over BloomingTek's board by explaining Ives' potential for Breaching. With the grip strength to rip off fortified doors, hydraulic capacity to lift cars and brace against explosives, Ives was meant to be harsh and terrifying. But here he was, exhibiting more gentleness than Ryker had ever seen any human in order to sit his drunken ass on the couch.
He disappeared only to return with a glass of water. "You should rehydrate to avoid a hangover in the morning," Ives explained. Only then did Ryker get a good look at him. Standing in the middle of the living room he looked strangely out of place without a uniform. He still had the padded pants from his riot gear, but instead of the armored vest had only a long sleeve t-shirt.
“How much have you had to drink?” Ives’ question refocused Ryker’s attention, smirking at how much it sounded like a roadside sobriety test.
“Too much,” Ryker admitted, sipping on water. Ives agreed with a nod.
“I’m sensing a .014 on your breath, twice the legal limit.”
“S’why I didn’t drive, officer.” Ryker snickered, already knowing he was going to see the text messages in the morning and regret the entire evening anyway. He might as well make it worth it.
Ives toed the coffee table closer, sitting down on the edge, and Ryker was sure there was a smirk on his face. “I’m certain you’ve drowned any synapsis attempting to pass through your hippocampus—”
“Don’t lecture me in WebMD. Not when you look that good.” Ryker grimaced, slouching further on the couch.
“Meaning you will most likely not remember this.” Ives finished, clasping his hands.
“I’m not gonna forget you,” Ryker blurted. “Are you kiddin’ me? I can’t forget you –trust me, I’ve tried. I’ve been through all eight stages of grief.”
“Five,” Ives softly corrected.
“Denial, anger…”
“Bargaining,” he supplied.
“Yeah! Bargain bin, depression and acceptance. All of it.” He was glaring at Ives, well, not at him. He was trying to stop the prickling behind his eyes that was becoming almost painful.
“Alright,” Ives whispered, starting to stand. Ryker sat himself up in a hurry, chest aching at the realization he was losing him again.
“Tell me you’re happy,” he rushed over the words, hoping they came out understandable. He craned his head back to look up at the giant, holding one another’s stares. “You’re happy, right? You like it? Royston was right and you fit there better?”
Ives continued to stare for a moment until, slowly, with that same painful gentleness, he placed a hand on the side of Ryker’s face, kneeling down. “No,” was his answer. “No, I’m not happy. I do not like it. I don’t fit better there.”
"Then why'd you go?"
This answer was a sad smile and some part of Ryker's brain knew what was being said. It was just lightyears away and didn't hit yet. While his drunken brain was buffering, Ives' touched the other side of his face as well, effectively holding it between his hands. Ryker melted into it, eyes lidding forcing tears out and down his cheeks.
“You should come back,” Ryker got the words to string together, watching Ives lean closer. “I never wanted you to leave.”
“I know,” Ives pressed lips to the corner of Ryker’s mouth, soft and a little dry, and distinctively cool. It reminded Ryker’s drunken brain of silicon. Fingers combed through his hair, towards the back and up for his crown, effectively sending a chill down Ryker’s spine. He felt the floor tilt, unsure what the cause was until his back met the couch.
He turned into Ives’ touch, properly lining up their mouths for a kiss, only Ives withdrew. “No, I’ve done enough,” he whispered, and it was then Ryker felt the hand on his chest, pressing him over to lie properly on the couch. “You’re drunk. I shouldn’t be doing this.”
“I’m okay,” Ryker said because for the first time in months he was. There was still one of Ives’ hands on his face, thumb sweeping lazily across his cheekbone, beneath his eye. “I don’t want you to leave again.”
“I may not be here but I’m not leaving you,” Ives was saying, reaching into Ryker’s pocket and retrieving his phone. “You can always talk to me here if I’m not around.”
“Not the same,” Ryker turned his face into Ives’ hand. “I need your help. I can’t do this new job by myself.”
“You aren’t by yourself. You have a team, one of the best teams. And you can call me for anything you need.” Ives was talking to him, blindly working on Ryker’s phone.
“Wh’re you doing?”
“I’m destroying evidence, deleting our texts.”
“Oh. That would be an awkward talk. Thanks.” He was fighting to keep his eyes open, foggy brain and the soothing rhythm of Ives’ thumb making it one for pay-per-view. “I get nervous around you.”
“I know,” Ives hummed.
“It’s because I like you.”
“...I know. I like you too, very much. That's why I came tonight.” Ives sat the phone on the coffee table next to his water, leaning closer to press a kiss to his temple. “I miss you.”
“Stay,” Ryker frowned as his eyes became too heavy, “then stay.” Ives said something, soft, lost in the muffle as sleep crept in, feeling his cheek go cold. Then nothing.
Sunlight pierced his eyes like a nail to the brain. Even the wrinkle of his face made him hurt. Eventually, he got his eyes to open, peering across the living room until his optical nerve recognized the coffee table. On it sat a cup of water and a pack of dissolving aspirin. He shoved himself up on an elbow, grimacing a squint towards the kitchen finding it empty.
"Pax," he blurted around a dry tongue. The ceiling chimed to alert he was listening. "Is Ives here?"
"Negative. You have no visitors."
Ryker fumbled back around noticing his phone on the coffee table. He picked it up, shuffling through his call log and texts. He saw where Garnet had texted him in the middle of the night, a picture of Valetta waving from her doorstep, and then a text that Garnet was home. There were others from a few people who hadn't made it to the party.
One of which, had been Ives.
I’m sorry I missed your promotion, but I wanted you to know I’m proud of you.
Ryker stared at it awhile, scratching his head, absently touching the corner of his lips. Finally, he hit the call button, lowering the volume and pressing it to his ear. It rang and rang. And rang.
"Good morning, Captain," Ives whispered.
"Hey," he chuckled and paused awkwardly as if being dumped out of auto-pilot and not entirely certain why he had called. "I, uh, I got your text, thanks." He used his teeth to open the aspirin, dumping them into the glass.
"You're welcome. We had a call late yesterday afternoon and I wasn't able to make it. But I'm excited for you. You're a fantastic fit."
"Thanks," he sloshed the glass at another span of dead air. "Hey, Ives...?"
"Yes?"
"You, uh, you wanna hang out some time?"
"I'd be happy to."
#FridayKiss Rules: post a smooch between your OCs for Friday. It can be as light as a peck or intense as a makeout. It can be romantic or platonic or familial. As long as a smooch takes place it’s free reign!
I'm gonna cheat and tag my taglist if anyone would like to take part!
Taglist: @irnalia, @waysofink, @ashen-crest, @spacetimewraithwrites, @dustylovelyrun, @idreamonpaper, @abalonetea, @jaimistoryteller, @kaiusvnoir, @writeouswriter, @reininginthefirewriting, @concealeddarkness13, @athenixrose, @asomeoneperson (Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed)
This was for a fluff prompt, which was “sleep”. Dad-Splinter and Raph getting head scritches makes me soft, so I drew this. Decided to go with a blue color palette just cuz
