I Hope You Think It's Tragic

Branded [Jovin] [Standalone]

Sun, 07 Sep 2008 08:04:16 GMT

Title: Branded [Standalone]
Author: Jennifer (crazy_x_deppie)
Fandom: Jonas Brothers
Pairing: Jovin
Disclaimer: Like I really freaking own these people.
Rating: PG-13? Yeah...
Summary: He was going to prove that Joe was his, and no one else's.
A/N: First post in a while, man... :D

"Why does it have to be so dark?"

"Hmm?" Kevin replied, continuing with his scribbling. He pulled away and slipped the cab back on his red sharpie, clicking it closed and tossing it to the side before picking up the orange one.

"Don't use dark colours, use light ones," Joe whined, squirming around in his seat.

"Why does it matter?" Kevin replied airily, popping the cap back on the orange one and switching to the yellow. "Hmm, this one doesn't show up very well..." He replaced the yellow with the green and started back on his masterpiece.

"Because," Joe whined again, "it's mine, and I don't want it so dark. I like light colours." Joe pulled his leg up and leaned off the chair, sliding his leg underneath his body before sitting back down. He slipped off his shoes and carelessly threw them to the opposite side of the room, too focused on watching Kevin draw.

"Well I'm making it, so I get to decide which colours to use," Kevin responded firmly, clicking the cap on the blue and setting it down. "Now... Let me see... I think I'll use this purple..." Joe grinned.

"Yay! Use it a lot, Kev. Like, over there," Joe pointed to a spot, "and over there, too," Joe pointed to another spot, "oh oh, and here too!" Kevin laughed, shaking his head.

"Alright, Joe, alright, I get it. You want me to use a lot of purple." Kevin chuckled, scribbling a little off to the side of his canvas and adding a few other random spots of purple before putting the cap back on. "Okay, let me see... One last colour, yeah?" Kevin held out a pink, a black, and a grey sharpie to Joe. "Which one, babe?"

Joe's mouth ticked as he thought. He crossed his arms and his eyebrows, humming faintly as he looked from one sharpie to the next. Finally, Joe reached forward and pointed to one. "Pink!" Kevin smiled.

"Pink it is, my sweet." After a couple of more sketches, Kevin put the cap on the last sharpie and put it on the floor beside the others. "There! All done." Joe squealed and clapped his hands excitedly.

"Yes! Now let me see. I want to see!" Joe jumped up from the chair eagerly, only to have Kevin push him back down in it. Joe glared at Kevin, sitting in between his spread legs. "What now, Kev?" Joe whined, stomping his right foot on the floor and re-crossing his arms. His bottom lip stuck out in a pout and Joe huffed.

"There's one small thing missing, babe. Then I promise you can look at it." Kevin turned around from his position on his knees, in between Joe's spread legs. He fumbled through the scattered sharpies on the floor before picking up the red one and taking off the cap. He immediately heard Joe grunt.

"Kev, no dark colours! It'll show up easier." Kevin snorted.

"Don't be a baby, Joe. Nobody's going to notice it, I promise." Kevin reached his fingertips out and brushed them up and down Joe's bare chest, making said boy shiver, both out of anticipation and exhilaration. Kevin smirked. "You okay, Joe? You cold?" Joe glared.

"No, I'm not. Just finish your stupid art work so I can go see it!"

Kevin rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine, geez. Don't be so impatient, boo." Taking off the cap on the red sharpie, Kevin applied the red permanent marker like it was lipstick, rubbing it all around to make sure it was on firmly. Joe eyed his brother in awe and confusion, dropping his arms to rest his hands on his thighs and watching his brother intently.

"Kevin?"

Kevin smirked and looked up at Joe, catching his glance and holding it. Kevin leaned forward slowly, never breaking their eye contact as Kevin's lips neared Joe's slightly protruding hip bone. Kevin breathed softly - and hotly - on Joe's hip, making the boy shudder and bite his bottom lip. "K-Kev, what are you-"

He was cut short when Kevin placed a kiss on his hip bone. Kevin pulled away, revealing a red lip mark on Joe's hip. Joe stared at it, amazed. Kevin sat back and admired his work, from the red lip print on Joe's hip to the rainbow coloured "Kevin was here" in block letters on Joe's abs. He had marked his brother, making sure that everyone (or at least, anyone who caught Joe without his shirt) would know that Joe was his, and no one else's. Kevin looked up to see Joe staring at him, his gaze burning intensely.

"Joe?" Kevin asked, leaning forward and resting on his haunches. "Don't you want to see what I did?"

A slow, devilish grin appeared across Joe's features. Kevin's eyes glinted. Joe reached forward and took his brother's chin in his hand, pulling him up and into a searing hot kiss, full of tongue, teeth and passion. When the boys broke away, panting and coursing with lust and love, Kevin reached forward and pushed the rest of Joe's shirt off his shoulders. "You won't be needing it, anyway," Kevin mumbled, resting his forehead against Joe's. Joe kept his devilish smirk.

Moving to get up, Joe bent down and picked up a sharpie, putting it in his mouth and gripping Kevin's waist tightly. He backed his brother up to the bed in his room, pushing Kevin onto the surface when his knees hit the edge of the bed. Joe peeled off his socks, tossing them to some foreign part of the room, possibly where his shoes were. He trailed his fingers over his bare chest teasingly, dipping them to his belt before walking over to Kevin in a slow, teasing manor. Climbing sultrily onto Kevin, Joe straddled him before leaning down close enough for their noses to touch, the sharpie still in his mouth.

Joe reached up and took it out for a brief second, so he could speak. "I think you should see what I can do, Kev."

Kevin couldn't agree more.

[Oneshot] You Fall For A Shooting Star [Nick Wheeler]

Tue, 04 Mar 2008 01:27:16 GMT

"Dance with me," he whispered, fingers glossing over the strings on his acoustic guitar. My heart beat increased with the descending hum he created. My body was shaking and I couldn't stop it, because whenever he was around I lost all of my flippin' self control and it drove me absolutely mad. I wanted to say no, I wanted to run away, I wanted to slap him and tell him never to talk to me again, I wanted to deny him access into my feelings for the first time since I had met him.

"Okay," I whispered. But I couldn't, damn it. I just could not deny Nick Wheeler whatever his stupid, small, disfigured monstrosity of a beautiful creature's heart desired. He knew it, too, the cocky son of a bitch. Because, damn it, I'd fallen so hard for him already. I was sure I had internal bruises the size of the Statue of Liberty due to my hard fall.

I swear, ever since I stumbled across him my emotions have become one large contradiction. I hate him because he's the first and only person who can tear me apart and splatter me on display, exploit my insecurities, see everything in me for how it really is, and completely not care about all of my faults and lies. He is the only person who can make my heart race like it's high on drugs, scatter my brain and make me incoherent, scramble and destroy my perfectly collected thoughts, and dishevel me with a simple glance. He's the sole person who can create a completely new side of me that I didn't even know exsisted, much less could exsist.

Nick Wheeler is the solitary person who can make me take risks, believe because I'm a nonbeliever, breathe when I can't, stand up when I'm down, dream when I'm asleep, and love because I'm not capable. I always considered myself a downgraded, poorly constructed creature who was undeserving of attention from any specific being, much less someone like Nick. But he doesn't listen to my explanation. He doesn't follow the rules. He doesn't limit himself to boundaries.

He's like perfection, in tight jeans and bedridden hair. He's the epitome of everything I strive to be, yet cannot reach because I am inadequate. It annoys me, drives me up the damned wall, and touches the deepest insecurities I harbour. He's so flippin' gorgeous, talented and beautiful. And what am I? A high-maintenance control freak with a self-deprecation complex and enough inner personal conflicts to blow up half of South America.

But Nick, he doesn't care. He never does. He just listens, understands, and consoles. He helps me try to be the person I want to be, and he never once doubts me when I doubt myself. He's the hope for both of us, the shoulder for us both to lean on, and the person who doesn't get angry or annoyed when I give up. He helps me back into the ring, holds the confidence for both of us, and promises me that I can do it. And I believe him. Because who wouldn't?

And today is the first day I'm taking a risk without him pushing me towards him. Today is the day I'm making a stand and doing something myself. Today I will take chances due to my own decisions, I will conquer problems on my own, and I will come out of this night the winner, for the first time in my life. I'm tired of running away to hide in my delicately balanced complex. Tonight is the night I put myself on the line, for both my heart, and my mind.

He steps up to me, slips his right hand on my hip and his left into my right. He holds my eyes in his gaze, and damn it I can't look away. My body moves of its own accord, fitting against his until I notice we're moving. Our bodies are swaying softly to an invisible rhythm. The silence is our curtain, shielding us from the outside world. I still can't look away from his alluring, deep pools of green. I'm vaguely aware of my cheeks tinting red, my body shaking lightly, my mind lost in a swirl of incoherency, my heart pierced by Cupid's arrow. All I can comprehend is the way his forehead has found itself against mine, and his lips are right near mine, and he's breathing out and it smells so good, and his eyes are lidding in unison with mine, and-

And now I'm having my first real kiss, with real emotion, and real affection and real love and goddamn it all if it doesn't feel flippin' amazing. And I don't care about society, I don't care about all the rules, regulations, boundaries, limits, insecurities and trials anymore. I don't care that this is my first time "dancing". I don't care that this is the first kiss I'm having with the boy who's stolen my heart from me and given me his instead.

I don't care that I'm spending one of the most clich moments in all of my life with the boy I want to spend the rest of it with. I don't mind that our curtain has been tore open, and people are starting to come into the park. I don't give a damn that the sun is rising in the sky, illuminating the midnight blue, velvety sky in a lavender-pink gradient. And I honestly do not give a care that some people are staring at us, others are giggling and admiring, and some are ignoring us and walking past.

Because tonight is the first night I took a risk. Tonight is the first night I kissed someone on pure, raw instinct. Tonight is the first night I spent in the park with a man who will forever be embedded into my lovestruck mind. Tonight, I spent my first dance with a man who is holding my paper heart in a glass container, packed safe away for as long as this damned world exsists.

Tonight is the first night of the rest of my life. And tonight is the first night I made the best decision of my life, one I would never have made without Nick.

Tonight is the night I put my heart on the line for us both.

[OneShot] Dance With Our Hearts On Fire [Gaspard Ulliel]

Tue, 04 Mar 2008 01:21:01 GMT

Only me? How unfortunate.

It started out as a simple crush, on a small, broken boy. He was so misunderstood, so lost, so broken, so trembling and scared; I wanted to fix him, wanted to heal him, wanted to restore him and bring colour to that beautiful pale face. His distance is what drew me closer to him, whether he wanted it or not. At such a young age as we were, I didn't understand that those feelings I had harboured were so strong and profound. Quite the contrary; I had no idea I even fancied him. My "crush" as we'll call it, seemed to me as an obsession, a deep care that ran throughout my soul and I couldn't control it, nor contain it. I never once hid the fact that I was so deeply infatuated with Gaspard. I suppose I constantly annoyed him with it, actually.

We were so young. Even now, as my black heels clack dangerously loud against the cobblestone streets of this god forsaken city, I constantly wonder if we did the right thing, if he did the right thing, if I did the right thing. I knew, in the moment that Gaspard outstretched his hand and proposed me the world - for my assistance, of course, that I was getting into something that was way over my head. I was agreeing to things I was nowhere near ready for, and neither was he. But we were young. And I was in love. To me, it was the chance to be forever close to him, as close as I could get, and I'd have been damned if I was going to pass up such a chance. Gaspard was my world, and had been since the day I met him so long ago.

I'm not sure when my feelings escalated. All I remember is waking up one day, and realising that I honestly did not care what Gaspard did. I didn't care if he killed one person; hell, I didn't care if he killed thousands. I guess in my mind, it was justified, in some sick, proverbial way. The sad, broken little boy that I used to watch from my bedroom, that I used to stare at secretly between bushes and shrubs; how could the world do him such wrongs? I may not have known what caused him to be so despondent, but it ate me away, piece by miserable piece, as every day passed and I still hadn't restored him. He was still so miserable, so scared, so lonely, so beautiful.

My cold, practically frostbitten fingers glossed over the brick walls as I passed each abandoned store. My long trenchcoat drug across the dirty, mud ridden streets and collected the scum as I walked. The paperboy hat I had futilely slipped over my hair to save it from falling hail, was sloshed and useless. My hair was too long to be kempt in such a small hat anyway. I felt a smile grace my face. Gaspard liked for my hair to be long. That's why I refused to cut it. A trim, every now and then. So it didn't get ridiculously long. I chuckled bitterly at myself, shaking my head and kicking a puddle of water. It splashed on my legs, chilling me to the bone. But I did not shiver. I was used to cold.

I don't exactly remember when I started labeling myself as sick. I am, really. I suppose that I might have always known, and that I didn't notice because I am so used to it. I find it absolutely alluring how dimented Gaspard is, how he loves to watch his victims die, how he never once shows remorse for the death he's inflicted, the pain he's caused, the crime he's both stopped and started. He doesn't care how anyone else feels about his murders, he just does them. And it's so obnoxiously wonderful, his lust for the blade of steel. I've found myself often dreaming of that blade on my skin. I find it scary how I want him to touch me so bad that I resort to bloodlust just to calm my mind. I guess I know that somewhere, deep inside, Gaspard does care for me - possibly more than I know. Will he ever show me just how much he cares? Probably not.

But do I care? No. I'm content with just being as close as I am to him. I'm his confidante, his trusted friend (if you can call me that), the person that he always comes back to, because he's still the same insecure, frail little boy that I remember. He knows that I'll always be here, and that gives me condolence when I comfort him at night. I never get to touch him as I want to, but maybe one day.

My eyes roam the dark before they catch his tall, gorgeous frame. He's preparing for another kill, I know. But not tonight. Because tonight is my night. As my feet pick up speed, and my trenchcoat starts to flow due to the increase in wind speed, I realise that I'm endangering my safety by being so reckless, daring and bold. So brash. So spontaneous. I'm taking a chance, which I don't normally do. Or do I? Did I take a chance, by accepting Gaspard into my life? Have I been a risktaker all along, by standing by him for these past twenty-something years, when I knew what he was capable of and what he's done? Maybe I'm so daring that this is considered safe. Who knows.

My hand reaches out and grips his upper arm tightly. His eyes flick to my face indignantly, and then suspicious. I can tell he's confused as to why I'm here, but he doesn't open his mouth to ask. Maybe he knows how much I understand him. I have no time to spare, because my plan is fragil, and now that the first step is complete, I need to keep moving, in fear of the destruction of my carefully constructed plan. I tug at his arm, and surprisingly, he comes willingly. I tug him towards the car sitting elusively in the dark across the street. This part I thought would be difficult, since I thought he would ask for an explanation as to why I'm detouring him from his moment of power. But he doesn't. He remains quiet and wondering, as I drag him towards the car. I flick the door open with little care, shoving him at the door and pushing urgently. He gets the idea, and climbs into the backseat, still without question or words at all.

I clamber in after him, shutting the door behind me. The adrenalin as caught up with me, and I can't stop myself anymore. Without waiting for him to open his mouth and speak - as I'm sure he's about to do - I toss off my cap and trenchcoat, vaguely aware of them landing haphazardly in the front passenger's seat. I swing my legs around so my knees are digging into the seat on either side of Gaspard's hips, sitting myself down onto his lap and pressing my hands tightly next to his unnerved face. I stare into this cold, shining eyes, remaining unmoving for the briefest - yet they felt like the longest - of moments. When he made no attempt to move, I leaned forward and brushed my lips over his. They were velvety soft, as I had imagined. They tasted slightly metallic, yet I could easily taste a delicious sugary substance, like a sugar cookie. I pulled away slightly, remained quiet, and waited. After about a minute - I wasn't counting, really, I was just waiting for him to attack me or worse, kill me - I heard Gaspard chuckle. His chuckle escalated into a soft laugh, and he shook his head.

I opened my mouth to say something, but Gaspard was quicker. He leaned up and connected our lips with more passion then I had dared to put into my kiss. I was taken by surprise, and he made quick use of my shock by prying open my lips and slipping inside. My hands slipped from the cushions of the backseat to his neck, squeezing lightly. My mind whirled in a clouded heat, but my heart fluttered strong and undeterred. Gaspard's hands rested atop my hips, and I finally managed to smile into our passionate liplock.

I may not be able to heal what is broken.

But I figure that I'm doing a damn good job with picking up the pieces.

Because Let's Face It [Standalone]

Wed, 22 Aug 2007 01:09:00 GMT

Title: Because Let's Face It, You'd Want To Shag Him Too If He Was Standing Naked Beside You In The Shower
Author: Noodle (lj user="crazy_x_deppie")
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: George Weasley/Fred Weasley (Twincest) =D (And if you stand on your head and squint, you can see some Fred/Oliver and maybe even--if you're good enough- some Fred/Oliver/George. Yes, in that order. ;D)
POV: 3rd
Word Count: 4,897
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the things created from the wondrous mind of J.K. Rowling. Therefore, you cannot sue me for the use of these characters. This is purely fan-based, which is why it is called fanfiction. The cut text belongs to the song "Our Lawyer Made Us Change The Name Of This Song So We Wouldn't Get Sued" by Fall Out Boy. It's not there for any specific reason, I just happened to be listening to it when I made this =D So yeah. xD
Era: Hogwarts, GoF (Goblet of Fire), 4th (They're sixteen. xD)
Form: One-Shot, Smut, PWP
Summary: So, there's only one way to really word this. Smut-al-le-mode. xD Yes, be jealouz of my horrible French skillz. xD B]
Warning: Hmmm...'s rated NC-17 for ze reason of...erm, smut. XDDDD Yup. Now, this is my first piece of smut, so, constructive criticism is always welcome. Plus, I do not have a beta, so, you can blame all the mistakes on meself. =] I also enjoy good comments, and I'll love you forever if you comment period. xD =D <3

Kayso, Fred has a small problem. Well, okay, it's a big problem, but he doesn't like to boast. And, okay, maybe he's staring at George's ass. And maybe he's observing how George's lips move in their soft, heavenly way that makes him want to ravage them and turn them dirty. And okay, fine, maybe he's noticing how much he would just love to throw George into the shower wall and rape him in the most-

"Fred, are you going to stand there all day looking at my arse or are you going to get some cleanin' done?" George's smirk was big and unnerving on his face. He was staring at Fred, but he didn't look at all angry or disconcerted by the fact that his twin was staring at his ass. In fact, he looked quite amused and, was that--did Fred see a bit of desire in his twin's fudge-brown eyes? Fred really didn't know, but he decided it best to not dwell on the thought and actually clean himself a bit. That was what he was in the shower for....right?

"Well 's not my fault you're sticking it ou' there for me to see," Fred replied, his eyes glued to the shower wall in front of him, but the corners of his eyes were watching George's expression. The grin George'd previously adorned was now replaced with a look of mischief and playfulness.

"What would you like me to do with it? I could always turn around, but then I might 'ave you staring at somethin' else, neh? 'Course, I can't blame you, I'd stare at it too if it was me."

Fred snorted, turning himself sideways slightly to get a better reach of his side. He was lathering himself in soap at the moment, and really, it wasn't helping his persistent fantasizing of his twin. The more he tried to block it out, the more it seeped in, seemingly with the soap suds. It was covering every inch of his body, soaking itself into his skin, flowing through his veins, his pores, his very essence, driving itself to his mind, clogging his pure thoughts with this dirty--yet temptingly hot-- fiction. And really, when Fred thought more on the matter, it wasn't that bad, was it? I mean, there's a time in a young man's life when he-

You're sixteen. You're not even of age yet.

And there was the reason he was not acting on his desires-er, I mean, temptations. His stupid conscience. Which, at the moment, was reprimanding him for these thoughts and fantasies he was having of his twin: pinning him to the shower wall, running his lips and teeth all over George's neck while his hands fell to his twin's prominent hip bones, gripping them firmly, letting his thumb slip down into George's small expanse of hair, and slowly moving his hands inward, relishing the skin beneath his own, until his hands rested right on George's-

"Fred, I know I'm hot, but you don't have to wank off to me, you know."

Fred really hated his mind.

"Who says I'm wankin' off to you?" Fred opened his eyes (which he hadn't known he'd closed), and saw that his hands had come down his chest and stomach to his groin, where they rested very nicely above his awakened cock. He--thankfully--didn't have an erection, but you could see something had woken his lil' friend up. Fred felt colour rise to his cheeks instantly, and he couldn't blame his body for radiating heat at a time like this. Of course, he'd rather have another source of heat on him at the moment, and he'd really like that heat source to be rubbing itself on his body; it's hands all over Fred's skin, pressing and rubbing and-

"Well, who else would it be? Oliver?" George's grin once again covered his face as he washed off the bubbly soap coating his skin. His laugh was echoing off the walls of the shower and floating around the room, creating a slowly receding harmony of his voice (at least, it was a harmony to Fred, but he never said that, mind you).

"And who the bloody hell says 's a guy?" Fred snapped, turning jerkily to glare at his twin with venom. George looked surprised, and turned to face his twin as well.

"Don't get ya panties in a wad, Mary, I was just playin'," George snapped back, his soap still dripping very slowly down his body.

"Yeah, well, how come everytime you "play" you insist on suggestin' I like blokes?" Fred snarled, dropping his washcloth and taking a step towards George. George scoffed and took a step towards Fred too; his washcloth being on the floor long ago.

"What's it ta' you anyway, huh? I'm jus' kiddin', Fred, geez!"

"Well don't! I get sick of you and your stupid 'Fred's gay' jokes!"

"I never said you was gay!" George stepped dangerously close to Fred now, his face shining with indignity. Fred stepped just as close to George, their noses now about all of two centimeters apart.

"You sure act like it! 'S almost like you wish I was queer!" Fred growled, his eyes narrowing at George. George's scowl immediately left his face, and was replaced by a look of pure anger.

"Why the bloody hell would I want that?"

"I dunno, you tell me!"

"Prat!"

"Wanker!"

"I'm the wanker? I am not the one staring at my brother's arse!"

"Yeah?" Fred hissed, stepping closer to George (somehow it was possible).

"Yeah!" George retorted--quite childishly; stepping closer to Fred as well. Their noses now pressed against eachother, but neither seemed to notice, and if they did, they didn't seem to mind the close contact.

"Well, you know what, George?"

"What, Fred?"

"Shut up." Fred jolted forward in a spit second, gently nudging his lips onto his twin's. George jumped in shock, but managed to kiss Fred back, moving his lips softly and serenely with his brother's. Fred, however, was having a very hard time controlling his conscience. It was screaming at him about how this was wrong, they were brothers, they were twins for Christ's sake! Twins don't do this, twins don't kiss eachother, twins don't push eachother against the shower wall, and twins do not moan like Fred just did.

"You shut up too," Fred told his mind in his head. "You're getting a free show."

For the time being, George was dominant. He had Fred against the shower wall, kissing his twin ferociously, their lips moving perfectly together, like they were made to do the act which they were doing. George hesitantly pushed his lips a little harder onto Fred's; inching his tongue out and swiping it across Fred's lips quickly, before retreating his tongue back to his mouth shyly. George could feel Fred smiling below him, and without warning, Fred kissed his twin back hungrily, parting his lips and coaxing George's lips apart far enough so Fred could dart his tongue in. Fred did so, rubbing it lovingly against his brother's tongue, earning himself a very pleasant sound from George. Fred took this to mean it was okay to do this, and pressed his luck by flicking his tongue on the roof of George's mouth. George gave another approving moan, and wrapped his tongue around Fred's, pulling it into a heated battle with his own tongue.

As I said, George had been dominant for the time being. As the intensity of the kiss magnified, so did Fred's restlessness at being the subjective one. He, although he didn't mind being under his twin, preferred to be over the younger twin, and therefore decided to do so. He pinned George to the wall (their kiss still as hot and unbroken as ever); sliding his hands down George's body to come to a comfy rest on the twin's hips. Fred let the pad of his thumbs rub on George's chilled skin, rubbing soft circles around the hipbone, before moving the circles to meet at the middle of George's pelvis. George's mouth made another tasty sound, and showed no sign of refusal when Fred's thumbs slipped a bit lower, trailing the circles through the small bit of ginger hair on George's groin, and coming to a halt above George's more than awake cock. Fred was pleased with the life of George's dick, and showed so by breaking the twins' tongue battle to nip on George's lip at the moment he placed one hand on his twin's erection. George moaned a bit louder this time, biting his own lip as Fred brushed his hand down George's cock, caressing the erect appendage as he went. Fred's hand came to a stop at the tip of George's erection; Fred moving his nipping to the very tantalizing piece of skin known as George's jaw-line. George breathed in quickly; his cock twitching in Fred's large (they're larger than his) and smooth hand.

Fred smiled against his twin's jaw-line, and brushed his lips up to George's ear, taking the lobe into his mouth and sucking on it teasingly. He felt George squirm and writhe beneath him, which only made George's cock rub against Fred's hand, eliciting a delectable moan from the youngest of the twins. Fred grinned against George's ear, sucking a bit harder and this time adding a bit of teeth. George squirmed again, and his cock rubbed Fred's hand once more, and, as last time, George moaned. His cock was now hard and quite erect, giving a low pulse in Fred's hand. Fred grinned, and relented to his twin's unspoken desire. Fred let his hand ever-so-softly brush it's way back up George's erection, moving it back down in the same soft fashion. George moaned, rolling his hips forward into his twin's hand. "Fred...you teasing bloke," George breathed, his hands gripping said twin's shoulders tightly. Fred smiled, giving a good hard suck on George's earlobe before rolling his teeth on it; his hand creating a gentle caressing pump on his twin's hard erection. Fred's hands gave George's cock such a soft teasing caress he heard George whimper audibly, bucking his hips hard into Fred's hand. This action caused Fred's hand to rub onto George's dick for the third time, eliciting the same delicious moan that George gave the last two times.

”I’m sorry, did you want me to do something?” Fred murmured against George’s ear, his teeth nipping the earlobe once more. George let out a feral growl, and decided maybe he should give his twin some inspiration to continue the pleasurable ministrations he was giving so little ago.

”No, I decided I was going to do something.” George reached one hand down from Fred’s shoulder and placed it on his ass, giving it a not-so-gentle squeeze. Fred—quite shocked, mind you—gave out a sharp gasp, tightening his grip on George’s slowly pulsating erection. George groaned, and slipped his other hand down from Fred’s shoulder and onto his ass. With both hands placed firmly on Fred’s ass, George pulled Fred closer with a jerk, causing their hips to crash against each-other. Both boys gave out growls of approval, and without thinking, Fred bucked his hips against his brother’s, gaining the same response from his twin. George’s grin defied his current state of mind: taking up his whole face in a matter-of-fact smirk, when in fact his mind was clouded with very naughty images of he and his twin in various positions, all of which were appealing to him right now.

”So, George, tell me, do you like it short, fast, or loud? Or how about all three?” Fred purred in George’s ear, slipping his tongue out to lick the shell. George shuddered underneath his brother; moving his hands slowly from Fred’s ass to his twitching hard-on. “I bet you like it--hard-- don't you?" Fred asked, grinding his hips hard onto George's. George gasped at first, but found himself grinding back with just as much pressure.

The twin’s—during their hot rubbing and grinding—managed to stumble themselves directly underneath one of the running shower heads. The water was still hot, and it poured over their equally hot skin. Neither paid much attention to the fact any one of the Gryffindor Quidditch team could waltz in at any given moment; probably because each was too busy devising naughty ways to indulge in the other. A loud moan ripped through the quiet sprinkling sound of the running water.

”Gods, Fred, harder, faster, please!”

Fred felt his own swollen member twitch and pulse lightly as George groaned out. He was desperate to be relieved himself, but he was focused on George at the moment. Fred's hands worked up and down George's erection as the twin continued to moan and writhe beneath Fred. His breath was becoming shorter, and he was so, just, so damn close....

"Yeah, you like that don't you, George? You like it hard and fast, don't you? You're just dying to feel me plunge my rock-hard cock so far into your small, tight wet-"

Fred didn't get to finish his sentence. George growled low, pushing Fred off him and against the wall where he had previously been. The quick change to cold tile caused Fred to shudder and jerk, his chest pressing into George's own. Fred opened his mouth to object, but quicky closed it when George dropped to his knees in front of Fred. George licked his lips, watching as Fred's hugely swollen member leaked with pre-cum. Had George known how close his twin was before, he would have gladly taken care of this earlier. George licked his lips again, and leaned in, slipping his mouth over the head of Fred's dick. Fred gasped and let out a groan, his hands gripping blindly at the tile wall behind him. His twin's tongue snaked out, lapping slowly at the pre-cum dripping down Fred's throbbing erection. George found the taste to his liking, and moved his mouth down the member lower, eagerly lapping up more of the pre-cum he found. Fred's dull nails were digging into the shower wall, attempting to gain some support for his body before he completely lost strength in his knees and legs.

George's tongue was slowly sliding up and down his twin's painful erection, taking the pre-cum greedily into his mouth. When George couldn't reach anymore of the pre-cum he so desired, he would move his mouth downwards again, and continue his ministrations. Funny enough, this was having quite the effect on Fred. Everytime George's tongue would flick, move, or do any sort of motion, he found himself becoming weaker and weaker in the knees. He supposed George could see this, because George's hands reached up and pressed Fred's hips into the shower wall, holding him there while he continued devouring his delectable dessert. Fred didn't try stopping the moans that flowed from his parted lips, and instead tried stopping his mind from going completely blank. Finally--unfortuantely for George, because, he really liked the taste of it you know--George finished obtaining all the pre-cum off of his twin's now rockhard, much more swollen erection. Of course, there was still some leaking from the tip, but, George wasn't focused on that.

George's sly grin told Fred that he was most likely about to really like what was going to happen next. And he was right. George moved quickly, and before Fred could open his mouth to say anything, George slipped his lips back up to surround the head, giving a good hard suck, before grazing his teeth on it seductively. His eyes stayed on Fred's dialated ones, watching as they slid in and out of focus. Fred was so close, and he knew it, but if he could just hold off for a few more minutes....

Fred's train of thought came to an abrupt halt when his twin's mouth slid farther down his erection: teeth grazing, tongue swiping (very lightly, of course, because George's a big tease), and sucking so hard Fred was sure his breath would be sucked out of him. He let out a loud gasp when George slid back up suddenly, tonguing the slit. Fred decided against stopping his groans, and he whined when George forbade him bucking.

Soft gasps and the sound of pouring water filled the shower room, echoing into the hallways. George continued bobbing up and down on his twin's throbbingly close erection, coaxing him into giving in and releasing. George finally won, Fred moaning loudly as he gave in and released himself into George's waiting mouth. George eagerly drank; jumping up and licking his lips when he finished. His eyes focused on Fred's, who stared at him from half-lidded dialated eyes. When Fred had caught a bit of his breath, he grabbed George and not-so-gently managed to get him on the floor of the shower. Fred straddled his twin's waist, making extra sure to brush his cock against his brother's own already leaking one. George let out a strained groan and ground his hips upward, begging his brother to give him his release. Fred grinned, leaning down and pressing his lips hotly to George's as he ground against his brother with such excitement that both boys managed to splash some of the water on the floor.

Both boys continued their previous grinding and rubbing, except this time with much more vigor and heat. They ground like a pack of animals whose hormones were running ferociously; their hips crashing together in a heated battle; moans filling the air; George a writhing mess below his brother. Fred gave a soft groan, feeling George's leaking dick rub his own now hardened one.

"C'mon, Fred, please! It's not fair that I got you off, and you haven't gotten me o--Aaah!" George's sentence was cut off by Fred grinding down a bit harder this time, allowing himself to nibble along the sensitive spot known as George's earlobe. Fred's mouth trailed behind the ear, nipping the small patch of skin there. George groaned, his hips bucking. He was so, so, so close....

And then, with a hard nip and an extra vigorous rub on George's dick, he came. He coated Fred's lower abdomen with sticky, hot fluid; but Fred didn't seem to mind. It merely washed off due to the splashing they had caused in the water. Fred pecked George's lips, and George kissed him back fully. "I hope you're not getting comfortable," Fred mumbled against his twin's lips. George corked an eyebrow, but before he could ask, he was being lifted up and slammed agains the wall directly under the shower head. His lips were assaulted by Fred's; while Fred's hands trailed down and gripped his hips.

Fred picked up George's hips, placing himself between them. George groaned lightly against Fred's lips as he pushed his brother away, refusing his attempt to position himself correctly. Fred whined, resting his forehead against George's. "What now?"

"There is no bloody way we're doing it dry."

"Does it look like I 'ave any lube?"

"You're not fucking entering me dry!"

"It won't hurt the whole time! C'mon George!"

"No!"

"Geeeeooorge!" Fred whined.

"I said no, damnit!"

Fred stuck his bottom lip out, nuzzling his nose against George's. "Please, Georgie?"

George stayed quiet, glaring into Fred's soft and begging eyes. His own eyes softened, and he sighed. "Alright, fine. But you're using the shampoo."</p> Fred squealed (yes, he squealed), and reached over, picking the shampoo off the little corner in the shower wall. He eagerly spread some on his hand, preparing to coat himself with it, when George grabbed his wrist. "No, no, let me do it, dear brother," George whispered against Fred's lips (he really liked doing that, you know), and entwined his fingers with Fred's, crushing their palms together. He pulled his hand away, and the shampoo was covering his palm; to which he grinned and reached down, applying the cool gel on his twin's now re-swollen erection. Fred bit back a moan, pressing his weight on George when he had finished coating Fred's dick with the shampoo.

The twins' eyes locked, and they studied each-other's expressions within them. Fred smiled, and picked up George's hips once again, placing himself between them and steadying himself by bracing his hands on the tile wall of the shower. George gulped slightly (he hadn't really done this before), but found that he had wrapped his legs around Fred's waist, and his hands were placed on his twin's shoulders. He leaned forward and nibbled on Fred's bottom lip, mentally preparing himself for the proceedings.

And with one swift and as-painless-as-he-possibly-could-make-it move, Fred pushed himself inside his twin. He felt George tense, but he didn't utter a word, just remained still and tense.

Then it happened. A weird feeling washed over Fred. It was a weird feeling, because it wasn't the time to be feeling this feeling. Fred wasn't supposed to be feeling just that right sort of right, he wasn't supposed to be feeling like the world should really just stop right now and not start again, he wasn't supposed to be feeling like he really didn't want to leave George ever again, he shouldn't be feeling like this is where he was supposed to be: as close to his brother as he could get. He wasn't supposed to feel...

Like he was in love.

Fred mentally attacked himself. He was fucking his twin brother. How the hell could he be in love? It's his twin! They're only horny...

Right?

Fred's thoughts were interrupted when he heard a loud moan tear from George's throat. He took a moment to realise he had been thrusting into George this whole time, and he felt the worry flood him. What if George hadn't been ready for it yet? What if he was just trying to prove he was "tough"? Fred stopped moving, his eyes glinting with said worry. George whimpered, bucking his hips. But when he saw his twin's eyes, he stopped and looked dead at them.

"Fred? You okay, mate?"

"I didn't...hurt you...did I?" Fred asked timidly, looking everywhere but his twin. He could feel George smile at him, and had a hard time keeping himself from looking into that brilliant smile.

"You git, is that why you stopped? Are you worried about your dear little brother?" George cooed, turning Fred's face to look at him. Of course, George's smirk offset his true demeanour: sincere gratitude.

"You're a prat, you know that?" Fred murmured, leaning in and capturing George's lips in a searing kiss. George kissed back, and they both initiated a seriously hot make-out session as Fred continued his thrusts. He felt George let out a low moan in his mouth--which he eagerly swallowed--as it echoed into his body. Fred's hips crashed against his brother's (who had his legs wrapped around the upper part of Fred's torso) as he continued to pound George into the shower wall behind them. Fred could feel George's moans, could taste his desire and want, he could fucking hear the way his heart beat an extra two times everytime Fred would thrust himself into him.

Fred decided to pick up his pace, and thrusted harder and deeper into George. George moaned in response, rocking his hips to Fred's thrusts. They moved together, like some concerto that hadn't been composed, like a masterpiece that hadn't been painted yet, and like a beautiful symphony of waves, crashing together in that heated ecstasy that we see only if we really look at it.

Fred moaned when George whimpered, writhing and bucking. George was desperate, and Fred knew exactly what to do. He slipped his hands down and grabbed George's ass, lifting it off the wall and towards him in a higher angle. This caused him to go deeper, and he took this as a grand opportunity. He slammed himself hard against George, the head of his dick pounding into George's prostate in one sweet thrust. George howled, clawing at Fred's back. His head slammed into the shower wall, and he moaned as Fred continued to slam into that one spot. George's fingers tightened as they gripped at Fred's hair desperately. He whined, pulling Fred into a heated and passionate kiss. George's hips were moving with Fred's to the best of their ability, but he was having a hard time due to the fact that Fred was completely assaulting his prostate every second. George whimpered, thrashing around and trying his best to devour every inch of Fred's mouth, but he couldn't complete such task very well since he was growing closer and closer by the second. George let out a loud gasp, arching his back very slightly. "Fred...so close...please."

Fred felt himself growing harder and swelling as much as one possibly can as he thrusted into George as hard as he could. He broke their kiss to bite and nip on George's neck, trailing up and down. He left hickies, making sure to suck and lick them after he left them. When finally George couldn't take it any longer, Fred bit hard, thrusting into George as hard and deep as he could. George moaned out loudly, arching his back and slamming his head back into the wall again as he came, clenching down tightly onto Fred's heated, swollen and pulsing cock. Fred groaned against George's neck, continuing his movements as to ride out George's orgasm. George was panting, but a look of determination clouded his eyes. He rocked back with Fred, gripping his shoulders tightly. Fred panted deeply, stopping his movement. He was so tired and so close....

George grinned, bolting forward quickly and latching his mouth on Fred's right nipple. He nipped it lightly with his teeth, sucking fervently as he placed his palm on the left nipple and started to rub. Fred moaned, his head gently nudging into George's hair as he panted heavily. George sucked a bit harder, biting enough to leave a little mark as he applied more pressure with his hand onto Fred's left nipple. Fred moaned, leaning forward a bit as he squirmed. He was so fucking close and George was fucking teasing him. "George, you prat, this isn't bloody fair...." George only smirked and pressed his kisses harder, his sucks more fervent, and his nips more rough. He was rubbing his body against Fred's as he continued his torture to Fred's nipples, and he could see the effect it was having. Fred whined, squirming again. George moved quickly again, and--catching Fred by surprise--he licked Fred's cheek in one of the sexiest ways either had ever seen. Fred gasped and whimpered, releasing himself immediately: coating George's insides with a dull burn. George squiggled (yes, squiggled. It's an inside word xP), huffing childishly as he situated himself in a more comfortable position. They remained quiet for a couple of minutes, catching their breath and enjoying eachother's company, before George spoke.

"Fred, love. Could you please get out of me? Not that I don't like you being in me, but...."

Fred chuckled and pulled himself out, nuzzling his face into George's neck. "Georgiekins?"

George laughed. "Yes, Freddy?"

"You're really warm," Fred whispered, snuggling closer as the water finally changed to a very cold spray.

"Oh am I?" George grinned, holding Fred as they both slid down the wall to the shower floor.

"George?"

"Yes?"

Fred whispered, "Hold me."

To them, it was like, something they'd always wanted but never really noticed they had. Something that, when they really thought about it, they had always felt as though they were missing, and now they were complete and whole. It was, to them, perfection in the prettiest form. Some would call it love, but they'd say that love's overrated. And maybe they're right.

Because, let's face it. You'd want to shag him too if he was standing next to you naked in the shower.

And if you happened to have fallen in love during the process.

Your Guardian Angel [Sequel to "These Words"]

Wed, 27 Jun 2007 22:29:17 GMT

Title: Your Guardian Angel [SEQUEL to "These Words"]
Author: crazy_x_deppie
Rating: PG
Pairing: Ryden
POV: Ryan, and then 3rd.
Summary: Sometimes, all you need is a little love.
Disclaimer: Dude, if I own them, they would be under my couch right now, eating oreos and drinking Dr.Pepper. And, of course, they help me with the fiction. xD
Author Notes: Okay, so, it was going to be "Thunder", and then it was going to be "Hero/Heroine", and THEN it was going to be "Five Minutes To Midnight" all by Boys Like Girls. But, then I changed it when flipping through my iPod and I saw this song. :D Title credit and lyrics go to The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus. Lyrics credited to plyrics [dot] com because again, I was too lazy to just put them down myself. xD
Dedication(s): sympathynotlove, sateenmusta, bdensxbitch, ursadiana, omg_its_em, iluvbdenurie121, yay_for_gays, sallyshade, be_my_pikachu. For suggesting/supporting this sequel. :D Couldn't have done it without all of you guys. :D And panic_smile for reading it first and supporting me when I thought I wouldn't do a good job. :D <3 xoxo

When I see your smile
Tears run down my face I can't replace
And now I'm strong I have figured out
How this world turns cold and it breaks through my soul
And I know I'll find deep inside me I can be the one

Love is overrated. The most simple of things, yet the most complicated. The thing that all bands now-a-days write about. It's in every song, whether it be a break-up song, or a love song itself. It's everywhere you go. It's in the fairytales that you wished you could be in when you were younger. It's what you dream about at night. It's what we all wish for. It's what we all hope for. It's what we all strive for. It isn't just acceptance, it isn't just happiness, and it isn't just that peaceful feeling on the mornings where the birds are outside singing and you think that nothing is wrong with the world, at the moment.

Therefor, when writing this letter back to you, Brendon, I want you to know that love is a thing that can make you, or break you. I'm not saying that I don't appreciate your letter. Because, that would be lying. But, you know me. I can't go replying to this letter without telling you exactly how I feel.

Love is something I, myself, cannot grasp. It's too intricate, too difficult, too rebellious. Love is something one cannot control themselves. It happens when it happens, where it happens, how it happens. It's something that, you should tell someone when you are completely certain that it is there. But, not only there, everywhere.

Brendon Boyd Urie, you are the single most person who can make me forget there is other existence. Whenever you enter a room, I swear that life itself stops for the two of us. Up until this day, I was too afraid of my own feelings to even think about them, let alone write you a letter about it. I was scared. Scared because these feelings, they are not normal. Love doesn't even come remotely close to half of it. A fourth of it, if you will.

I'm sure that this letter isn't exactly coherent in itself. You can blame that on my shaking fingers. But, can you really blame me? I mean, I'm sitting here, writing back to the most precious thing in this Earth. The most precious thing to me. You mean more than the world to me. More than anything that exists. More than life itself. Just the knowledge that you are in the other room at this very moment, causes an overwhelming sensation of happiness to run through me. You don't even have to be in the same room as me, and my heart beats widly at the mere thought of you.

Perfection is also overrated. I mean, how can someone describe you as perfect, when perfect is the weakest adjective of all? You're so much more than perfection. When you walk into a room, all horrible and distraught things, seem to liven up. You can make anyone smile with your mere image. You do the same to me. No matter how down, how sad, how depressed I am, just your voice can take me to heaven and back.

Your voice. Oh god, what a beautiful and wonderous thing. There is nothing as golden and beautiful as that. Your voice could light up heaven and the Earth, I swear it. I suppose that's why I love your singing so much. It's all I can do, during a performance, to just stand there, and not stride across the stage and kiss you like there's no tomorrow. It's like the Gods themselves can't sing any better.

You said you wanted to curl up beside me and pretend like the world isn't there, and you wouldn't speak unless I told you to. Brendon, I swear, all you'd ever have to do is crawl out of your bunk and do that. Don't hesitate. You have no idea how happy I'd be if you did that. Hell, you don't even have to be next to me, just curl into my bunk and lay there and I swear to God I'd be the happiest man alive. But, then, can I ask you something? Would it be alright if I just want to lay with you? All I want to do is lay with you somewhere. Just, lay there beside you, listening to you breathe. Listening to your heartbeat. Enjoying your presence. I don't ask for much. I just want to know, that you love me like you say you do. You'll let me lay there, even if you hate me for everything I say and do in this letter.

Brendon, last year, my father died. And, of everything that happened, you were the best comfort I had. You never said a word, you just let me cry on your shoulder. You didn't tell me I wasn't a man because I wasn't being strong, you didn't give me those "I'm sorry" 's that everyone else gave, and you didn't give me the worthless sympathy everyone else gave. No, you gave me something far better. Something far more valuable. You gave me your courage. The silence we shared was filled with unspoken words. Unspoken words of encouragement. Maybe no one else could see this, but I did. And I know you did. That's why, Brendon, you're the only person I will cry in front of. You're the only person I would cry for.

Yeah, I have cried for you. Many a time. I cried for you silently after that show, when you were hit with the bottle in the head. It scared me, you know. I've cried for you at night, because I couldn't have you. I want you to be happy, Brendon, and if you were happy with Audrey, then I forced myself to be happy. But I wasn't. I loathed her. She had you, was able to hold you, was able to kiss you, and not me. Countless nights, I lay in bed, wondering if you ever thought about me like that. I guess, somewhere in my mind, I still do.

I will never let you fall
I'll stand up with you forever
I'll be there for you through it all
Even if saving you sends me to heaven

Brendon, if you were't alive, I swear I wouldn't be either. If you ever died, I know I would along with you. If you tell me tomorrow, that you want to off yourself, then let's do it together. I want to be the one you die with, the one you live your whole life with and then end it with. I swear to God, and everyone else up there, that nothing else in the world matters, as long as I'm with you. Brendon, I know it sounds cheesy and cliche, but, I don't want to be with anyone else. I just want you, and you alone. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want, for lack of better words, to be the one you lean on. The one you rely on. The one you can depend on, the one you come to when you've had a bad day. I want you to lie beside me every night, and I want you to be there when I wake up in the morning. I want you to be the one I whisper "I love you" to at night, and I want you to be the one to whisper it back. I want to stand upon a moutain and scream it to the whole world, that Brendon Boyd Urie is mine, and mine forever. And if that's what it takes to get you, than that's what I'll do.

After all my incoherent babbling, this is what the letter comes down to. The big finale, right? And, in all honesty, I have no idea what to say. Telling you "I love you too" just sounds, too inappropriate. Because that could never describe how I feel.

I want to be your mountain.

I want to be your rock.

I want to be your best friend.

I want to be your lover.

I want to be your everything.

I want to be that thing that you hold onto at night.

I want to be that precious something.

I want to love you like no one has before, and ever will.

I want to hold onto you at night.

I want to kiss you, and show you I mean what I say.

I want to protect you from everything obscene and unclean.

I want to be there for you, no matter what. And I always will be.

I want to live with you forever, and not give a damn what everyone else says and thinks.

But, most importantly, Brendon.

I want to be your guardian angel.

And one day, when I die, I swear I will be.

I'd watch over you with pride. Proud that I, of all people, could protect you the way that I wanted. I'd be proud that you're down here, on Earth, living, and I can be up here to save you when you fall. Help you back up when you are down. Love you more than I can now. Protect you better than I can now.

If you'd let me.

Brendon, what I'm trying to say is.

I'll be your guardian angel. If you'll let me.

Ryan
****************************************

Brendon Boyd Urie sits at his desk, reading a letter over and over. But, you see, it's not just any old letter. It's his favorite one, by far. But, it's more then just a letter. It's his most prized possesion.

It's his letter from Ryan.

He probably looks like a fool, what with his grin from ear to ear, and his eyes watery. But, he's damn right determined. Determined to answer back, in the way only Brendon Urie knows best. So, he jumps up from his position, and runs out of his house and into the cold, rainy night. He takes off down the sidewalk, running as fast as his legs can take him, to his favorite spot. He darts through the park, through the small wooden grove, and past the old oak tree. He dashes up the mountain, and skids to a stop right at the old, decrepit maple tree. The most beautiful, glorious and perfect sight is before him.

His Ryan.

Ryan stares at him, surprised he came up here. And, how exactly did Brendon know he would be here? His train of thought is interrupted by Brendon's voice, soft and quiet.

"You can."

"I-I can? I can what?" Ryan stutters out, scolding himself for being such a whimp.

"You can lay there with me. You can be my rock. You can be my mountain, you can be my everything. You can be my guardian angel. Fuck, Ryan, I don't care as long as you're mine," Brendon says, tears spilling over his eyes and running down his cheeks. "Just, please, be mine." Brendon's lip quivers, and he tries so hard to stop his tears. Ryan gasps at Brendon and bolts forward, wrapping his arms around the younger boy. Ryan buries his face in Brendon's neck, nodding and kissing the skin softly. Brendon wraps his arm around Ryan, pulling him closer as they both stand there in the rain, becoming soaked.

"Brendon?" Ryan whispers, his voice cracking as his own tears start to flow.

"Y-Yes?" Brendon stutters.

"I love you."

"Ryan. You don't know the half of it," Brendon whispers, his smile large and taking over his face. Ryan grins, pulling away from Brendon's neck to rest his forehead against Brendon's.

"But I could. If you'd show me," Ryan whispers. Brendon smiles wider, if it's possible.

"I'd love to." Brendon leans forward a bit, connecting he and Ryan's lips softly. Ryan kisses him back, his hands cupping Brendon's face gently, testing to make sure this is okay. Brendon drops his arms to Ryan's middle, pulling him in closer and kissing him harder. Ryan feels his cheeks redden, and they both pour as much passion and love into the kiss as they can.
***********************
Some say you can find love in the smiles on people's faces. Some say, you can find love in the nice things people do for one another. Some also say, you can find love in the strangest of places, waiting to be dug out and flaunted.

But I say, you can find love on a hill. A hill where, whenever it's raining, you can find two boys standing there, on top of the hill. They're beside this old maple tree, smiling and sitting there, watching the rest of the world with their hands linked.

The most beautiful thing about it?

Their majestic white angel wings.