Robert-Pack

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emma roberts as madison montgomery in ahs: coven layouts

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*:・゚✧*emma roberts*:・゚✧*
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a house made of this
(vic, liv, aaron/robert)
outsider pov, grief, mentions of someone dying offscreen. 

soft fic for @escapingreality51 because she needs some love today. i know you wanted soft fic, and i hope there’s that in here, but i also hope this is what you wanted to read. i love you, my darling, and i’m here if you need me <3

The Mill feels lived in

Vic loves the house, the driveway always impeccable (Robert’s no-nonsense approach with the landscaper), and usually one or both cars parked haphazardly in the driveway whenever she pops round. The gravel crunches underfoot as she shifts the box under her arm to reach up and ring the bell. 

The stained glass door shimmers with a shadow, someone coming down the hall to meet her, and she grins when Aaron tugs open the door. 

“Alright?” Stepping aside to let her in, Aaron frowns at the box. “What’s that for, then?”

“For Robert,” Vic says, hefting it back to her front. “It’s the last box from my place. I was doing up the attic and I thought he’d want it back.”

“Having a clear out, eh?” Aaron asks, waving her in. 

Vic appreciates that he doesn’t try and take the box from her, and steps into the living room. The stupid vespa chair is still propped up against the wall, and there’s a pile of bags in the doorway. “Liv’s home then?”

“Yep,” Aaron grins, gesturing at the floor next to them. “Drop it there, Robert’ll take it up later. A brew?”

Vic nods, drops the box carefully down next to Liv’s bags. “Where is he?”

“Walking the dogs,” Aaron says, snorting. 

Robert will tell everyone in earshot how much he hates the dogs, “they get hair everywhere,” mixed with, “Laika peed in my shoes,” and “the cats would never.” That doesn’t fool anyone that knows him, or who spends more than five minutes in the Mill. 

It looks lived in; Vic moves the remote and Aaron’s phone onto the coffee table. It’s piled high with magazines (from Auto Trader to Sci-Fi Now), coasters, and a pencil case that’s half open, spilling it’s contents onto the glass. 

Sometimes Vic feels the press of pride in her chest when she thinks about Robert being this happy, light in his eyes and the warmth in his voice whenever he talks about home. 

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