#I hope it matches what you were imagining with the reunion prompt

[pseudopigeons]

Reiju and Sanji Reunion!

my OP Secret Santa gift for @nonoel-art

@op-secret-santa

[jbreenr]

𝑯𝒆𝒍𝒑 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉

Pairing: Andy Barber × Reader

Summary: You were nervous about introducing your boyfriend to your parents. Well… actually, the other way around.

Word count: 2,066

Warning: Poorly written smut (+18 only, please), oral sex (f receiving), fingering, a little bit of begging, daddy kink if you squint (?), awful parents, Andy's divorced in this one. And I think that's it.

A/N: Apparently this is the only way i get both inspiration and motivation to write *sighs*. Also, I panicked for a sec, thinking I exceeded the word limit, but I didn't, so… yay. Anyway, this is a part of @boxofbonesfic bonetastic bombastic challenge. Congrats on 5k!! 🎉 Hope you like it at least a little. As always, lack of vocabulary and grammatical mistakes abound. *apologizes in español*

Prompt + wheels results (just attaching evidence): “Mom, this is my [significant other].” “Oh no. What happened to the doctor?”

ᴺᵒᵗ ᵐʸ ᵍⁱᶠ ¯ ᶜʳᵉᵈⁱᵗˢ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʳᵉᵃᵗᵒʳ

“Stop it, you look beautiful.” Andy took your hands –that had been in your hair for the last ten minutes, in his, managing to keep the bottle of wine from slipping off his fingers.

“You don't know my mom,” Freeing one hand from his grip, you started fixing his shirt. “It doesn't matter if a professional did my hair and makeup. If the earrings don't match the dress I won't hear the end of it.”

He took your hand again and gave it a little kiss. “Don't you think you're exaggerating?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but before another fact about your mom could come out, the door was being opened by the woman herself, shutting you up on the spot.

“Y/N! You finally made it.” The way he emphasized the word finally didn't go missing, as well as the fact she barely noted Andy's presence. “Come on in, I don't want snow in the doorway.”

The change of temperature was evident as soon as you crossed the door and you took off your coat. The house was packed, all the usual guests to those reunions in expensive clothes wandering around with a drink in hand and some business conversation going on.

“Richard Drysdale is here.” Said your mom, as she kept walking, taking for granted that you'd be following up close. “And I'm glad to say that he brought his son with him. I've been meaning to get you two to know each other for the long--.”

“Mom,” You interrupted her middle sentence. “This is my boyfriend, Andy.”

And he, as the gentleman he was, stretched out his hand to shake your mom's, who looked at him as if she had just realized there was someone standing next to you.

“Oh no. What happened to the doctor?” She completely ignored Andy's gesture and turned with accusatory eyes to you.

“What doctor?” You asked, as confused as she seemed… upset.

“The doctor, remember?” She gestured with her hands as she spoke, like trying to describe the man's appearance in the air. “The neurosurgeon you met at the coffee place and took you to that fancy restaurant on your first date.”

You didn't know what to think, you didn't know what she was talking about, and most of all, you didn't know how you were going to get through the night without losing your mind.

So, you sighed and calmly said, “Mom, there was never a doctor. Before Andy I didn't have a date for like a year and a half.”

Her eyes squinted for a second, realizing that everything she just stated must have been a product of her imagination.

“Well, you don't expect me to tell people that, do you?” She exclaimed, locking a loose lock of hair behind your ear diligently.

Andy could tell how uncomfortable you were, just as anyone that were to join your little chatting group would, so he decided to interfere to get your mother's attention from you.

“Thank you, Mrs Y/L/N, for extending the invitation to me, it's good to finally meet you.” Your mother looked at him again, as if she had forgotten he was there. “We brought a little something for you.” Andy handed her the bottle, which she accepted and quickly eyed.

“Of course, any friend of Y/N's is welcome here.” She turned around in the direction of the kitchen, putting an end to the convention.

You exhaled, relaxing your muscles and turning to Andy who seemed to be having the time of his life with that amused smirk on his face.

“See? It wasn't that bad.”

“Just wait and see.” He side-hugged you and directed you to one of the couches so you could recharge and get ready for the actual nightmare.

You loved your parents, Lord knows you did, but if there was something you hated about them was how impertinent they were and how it was reflected in everything they did and said.

Introducing Andy to your dad didn't go any better. And the fact that he paid no attention to your mom's discomforts about your love life didn't matter, meaning that he wouldn't make it easy for your boyfriend either.

“So, tell me, Andrew.” Your dad, with a glass of bourbon and crossed legs said. “What are your thoughts on starting a family?”

Your eyes opened at a maximum at his indiscretion. “Dad!” You shook your head, asking him not to insist on the topic.

“What? I want to know if he's willing to have children.”

“In fact, I do have a son. His name's Jacob and he's my adoration.”

Your dad turned to you with the same looks your mom had when you arrived. “He has a son.” He said accusatory, as if it was your fault.

“Yes, I know him and he's a good kid. We get along pretty well.”

Your dad nodded and took a gulp of his drink. “I believe growing up without a mother should be difficult for him.” And to that, you wanted the floor to swallow you and throw you in front of a moving truck.

“Actually, we share custody, so he has us both.”

The uhm from your dad was followed by him standing up to go refill his glass. A clear sign that he didn't want to be a part of that conversation any longer.

“I'm really sorry. You see now why I didn't want to come?”

The smile he dedicated to you was sweet and comforting, and the way his hands warmed up yours were everything you needed to feel less awful about your parents' behavior.

“If I can put up with an impassive judge and a whole jury, I can deal with your parents, sweetheart. Don't worry.” You knew he meant it, as well as you knew he wouldn't take anything they were to say personally.

“Have I told you how much I love you?”

He faked thinking. “Not since this morning.”

“Well, I love you.” You gave him a quick peck before letting go of his hands. “I need to go to the bathroom. Are you going to be okay?”

“Okay is my second name.”

“Stephen is your second name.” You said with a chuckle and then made your way up the stairs to a bathroom that was surely not occupied.

Despite the fact that you hadn't lived in that house for the longest time, the bathroom connected to the room that used to be yours had toilet paper, clean towels and everything a bathroom was supposed to have.

You had just gotten out when a hand covered your mouth to keep you from leaving a loud exclamation.

“Shhh, it's me.” It was Andy's voice and you relaxed at it, letting him know that you wouldn't scream.

“What are you doing here?”

He moved his shoulders in a carefree manner and simply said, “I met that Drysdale guy, wanted to give you my opinion on him.” His hands were quick to go and caress your waist, his fingers playing with the elastic of your skirt.

“Yeah?” Your nails scratched the back of his head slightly, making him close his eyes. “Should I date him, then? Is he as charming as my mom thinks he is?”

As easy as if you weighed nothing, he lifted you up, hands in the back of your thighs, wrinkling your skirt just above your butt.

“He's a jackass. But I know someone better.”

With delicacy, he sat you on the nightstand next to the bed and leaned down to give you a breathtaking kiss. It was sweet and hot, devotional and passionate. It had your whimpering in seconds.

“And who would that be?” You asked as soon as the kiss was over due to the lack of oxygen.

Your answer came when Andy fell to his knees in front of you and opened your legs with his big hands, giving him a full view of your damped panties.

Running a finger over the wet patch, he said, “I think you know who.”

He dragged down your underwear and put it in his pocket. His digit went back to your center, collecting your honey and scattering it all over your pussy, purposely avoiding your clit over and over until your hips jolted, desperate to feel more of him.

“Please, Andy. I need you.”

His fingertip teased your entrance, knowing how your walls were clenched around nothing and he smirked, watching how your head flew back and how your chest heaved with every breath you took.

“What do you need, sweetheart? You gotta be more specific.” He pushed his finger just the slightest, only fueling the fire inside of your belly.

“I need you to fuck me.” The plea came out as a moan, and you couldn't care less about your whines as you felt his other hand exposing your clit and his breathing blowing over it. “With your hand, with, with your tongue, just… just fuck me, please.”

“As you wish, princess.”

And his finger was fully inside in a quick motion of his wrist as his lips closed over your pearl, sucking and drawing patterns with his tongue.

“O-oh, God.” The words left you when you felt Andy adding a second finger.

He'd scissor and curl them, dragging the most delicious sounds Andy had ever heard. You tried to keep it quiet, aware that there were more people in the house, but you couldn't help it, every sensation in your body, every moan falling from your lips, they were inevitable.

One of your hands held strongly at the headboard next to you while the other gripped at Andy's hair, keeping him close to your core, which he gladly kept working on as if it was his last meal. Your legs rested on each side of Andy's head, talons digging harshly against his back, but he didn't seem to notice, as well as you didn't mind the burning of his beard in the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

Andy's tongue and fingers exchanged places, now his rough, soaked fingertips drawing fast circles in your clit as his tongue entered you repeatedly. The feeling of his hot muscle inside of you, making your back arch in pleasure.

When you looked down at him, you met his eyes, lust-blown pupils overtaking the beautiful blue of his irises and a mischievous spark that you saw clearly, even in your current state.

Scream, let them know just how good I am for you. His eyes seemed to say. How I make you lose control like nobody could.

You shook your head, eyes closing as you felt the knot in your stomach tightening and the way your breath hitched, announcing your imminent orgasm.

To that negative, Andy made it his purpose to make you cum hard and loud. Lips slurping and fingers moving relentlessly and you broke down like a glass being hit by a rock. Your hand flew to your lips to muffle the loudest moan of your life, walls clenching and your whole body spasming with the intensity of your release.

Andy left a loving kiss over your swollen clit and stood up to go to the bathroom.

After a minute or two, which you took as an opportunity to start breathing normally again, he came back, face clean of your juices and a wet towel in hand.

He cleaned you up delicately and tossed the towel aside to help you up the nightstand.

“We should go back, dinner's about to be served.” Andy said as he fixed your skirt in place. Your legs felt like jello and the heels were no help.

“Can't we just leave now?” As soon as you felt strong enough to walk by yourself, you let go of Andy's arm and made your way to the door with him behind you. “I'm sure they won't miss us.”

“I don't know, I walked by the kitchen and it smelled pretty good.” He turned the knob, not opening the door just yet. “Plus, if you ask your daddy for the salt, I'll reach it out faster.” He whispered in your ear before giving a slap to your ass cheek and walked out of your room, leaving you there, with the indecision of following him down the stairs or dragging him back to your childhood bed to thank him for everything he had done for you that night.

[omniscientwreck]

hey! sorry to hear you work day's rough! if you want something to write about, maybe essek stopping by the blooming grove in his early travels and getting bombarded with family love (possibly both sweet and otherwise lol) from caduceus and some of the rest of the clays, i love them and think about him feeling accepted and welcomed by them all a lot 🥺🥺

Hi! Thank you friend, this is one of the prompts I was most excited to write, thank you so much for asking! I hope y'all enjoy this little reunion.

He drifts into the clearing, sweet scent of mingled flowers on a warm breeze. There’s a small smile that momentarily rests on his features as he’s promptly tackled to the ground. “You see? You can knock him down! It’s gotta be magic!”

He’s been back a few times and the rate at which Clarabelle Clay has declared them friends would astound him if not for Jester. She beams up at him, clearly proud of herself. “Doing experiments again I see.” He levels a stern look to the youngest Clay which is immediately left with laughter as she forces a wide-brimmed sunhat atop his head.

“I knew it wasn’t magnets,” she whispers to him and then turns over her shoulder to shout at Colton, “See Colton I knew it wasn’t magnets! He can touch the ground!”

Essek stands gracefully, dusting dirt off of his travel cloak, “Well, you’ve seen me on the ground before. You taught me how to garden young one.”

She rolls her eyes and bites back at him, “Whatever, I'll figure it out eventually. Let’s see if you’re any better at telling which plants are weeds than you were last time.”

Despite himself he can’t help the smile that rises at the challenge, “Let me at least say hello first.”

It’s then that he looks up and sees Colton, Caduceus’ elder brother offer a wave from the doorway as Constance walks over to greet him, arms open, “Essek, it’s wonderful to see you. I’m glad you made it safely.” She hugs him and warmth permeates his bones.

It’s the way he imagines a mothers’ hug is supposed to feel, “Me too, thank you for having me. I brought some things.” He snaps a basket of fruit out of his Wristpocket, “I know it’s difficult for you to obtain these normally.”

Her smile is that of the sunlight and she goes to bring them inside and he follows. Calliope nods as he passes her on her way out into the forest, and Caduceus is found where he most often is, in the kitchen. “Well hey,” the soft baritone pours out of a lopsided grin and Caduceus passes him a teacup, “I made enough for two, how have you been?”

“It is strange to be wandering. It’s nice to wear my own face.” Caduceus nods and just a hint of pride glints in his eyes.

“Tell me of your travels.”

“Well, I’ve been making my way through your woods. This is less of a strictly research expedition and a little more about myself I suppose.”

“That’s nice, it’s good to be on your own when you know you have stable tethers back to reality. This is the Freemeadow family by the way.” The tea is earthy and tastes green and he offers a thought to the family, to the garden, and to the Wildmother. He’s seen enough of her power and the power of her chosen to feel something as he sends thanks. The hint of the smell of flowers on a breeze.

As soon as he’s finished the tea and his stories Clarabelle is pulling him by the wrist out to the garden. He pulls out gloves made for him by a dear friend and he, Clarabelle and Caduceus spend an afternoon weeding, creating beauty and allowing for its sustained existence. They tell him about visitors they receive more frequently now that the wood is healing and Caduceus tells curious tales of the long walks he takes out into the forest.

The evening meal is rife with a symphony of laughter and stories. He regales the family with stories of the cats Caleb has collected, repeats some of what he’d told Caduceus earlier, and listens as they tell him stories of their own. He’s astounded again, as he was during that first week here, at the way they function together. Caduceus seems so much less stoic when surrounded by family, looking for any opportunity to inconvenience or pull one over on a sibling and Calliope matches his energy with surprising dedication.

He thinks of Verin and has it in mind to send a message, but not yet. It’s too soon. He trances that night beneath canopies of trees, tucked away near a spring and as the sounds of the night guide him to trance he feels a blanket drape over him, though he did not ask and he smiles quietly to himself. Maybe he can spare just a few days here, a respite from solitude surrounded by an unanticipated family.

[nightfayre]

a young!qiucheng at a party prompt request for @itssomekindofheaven! thank you so much for the prompt, and I hope you enjoy!!

///

“Enough.”

There were many different ways Qiu imagined their reunion to be. Most of them involved surprise entries; a pair of motorcycle keys left on the countertop for Cheng to find in the morning, or the half-cracked bedroom door across the hall that hadn’t been opened since he left, beckoning curiosity. Others of them involved hard glares — a moment of shock (”When... did you get back?”) as well as bitterness (”Wouldn’t you like to know.”) — and perhaps a dose of silent treatment to ensure the message was well received.

But Qiu never considered either of them to be that theatric, nor that inclined to waste such time, and so none of that ever came to fruition. Instead, now, Qiu watched the effect of the command unfold before him. 

Enough. 

Cheng, kneeled before He Tian with a wet cloth that he dabbed disdainfully against the red stain on He Tian’s dress shirt, turned to look up at Qiu. His eyes caught the irritated sweep of Qiu’s gaze — widened only for a moment — and then held it.

“Enough of what?” Cheng asked, drawn. Qiu was surprised to find no bitten severity behind the words, which had increasingly become Cheng’s standard disposition over the years. Instead, he was calm, and in front of him He Tian rocked back on his heels, abashed by the salsa that had still coated his fingertips when Cheng found him — and a shattered serving bowl — in the kitchen. His older brother had made quick work of scolding him, then stiffly comforting him when He Tian began to pout, then aiding in removing the stain before the maids (or worse, father) found out. 

Qiu had watched it all happen from across the room as he feigned interest in a family head’s state of affairs. When the opportunity came, he made some lame excuse to find himself here, now, looking down on the celebration’s main attraction playing babysitter. And while regular fuck-ups on young He Tian’s behalf were never exactly surprises, tonight it made something in Qiu’s mouth go particularly sour.

“There’re others who are responsible for him tonight,” Qiu told Cheng now. “Let him be.”

He Cheng’s mouth quirked, and he turned away to dab at the stain again. “He’s my brother.”

“And it’s your birthday,” Qiu said, frowning. He jerked his head over his shoulder where small crowds littered the marble floors of the He’s dining hall, gathered in tight circles as they prodded at finger foods. “People traveled to see you.”

I’m here to see you, idiot.

“They came to see my father,” Cheng amended, flat. “Don’t get us confused.”

“Well,” Qiu said, then said nothing more, because Cheng gave him a look that warned Don’t start and, frankly, Qiu didn’t have the energy tonight. Instead, he turned to He Tian, who looked up at him with a mixed expression of fear and anxiety thinly veiled by bravery. Little lion man, Qiu often called him, and he was often reminded of the truth behind such a nickname. 

“You have other shirts, don’t you?” Qiu asked him. “In your room?”

He Tian nodded. “But father told me I wasn’t allowed to go upstairs tonight. They locked my door.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Qiu muttered. He stopped a passing servant balancing a platter of drinks, and the man bowed his head with respect. “Take He Tian with you,” Qiu ordered, “and find a house maid. He needs a new shirt. And—” a glance at Cheng, who frowned, “—don’t let Mr. He see.”

The servant looked where Cheng — broad shoulders draped in a dark, pressed suit and hair neatly slicked back — kneeled before his little brother on the kitchen tiles. It was a sight to behold. “Yes, sir,” the man said.

He Tian glanced to his brother, who eventually relented with a scowl and nodded with permission, dropping the cloth. Sheepish, He Tian followed the servant toward the nearest loitering maid, picking at the shirt stain as if that would make it go away faster.

“Don’t give me that look,” Qiu said as Cheng stood, silent but telling in the way that his lips pressed and his eyes, dark and severe, leveled on him. “You’re not his fucking parent. You have other shit to worry about.”

“This event isn’t any different than the others I’ve attended,” Cheng replied, mouth pulling at the edges. “Don’t be so damn sentimental. They’ll eat you alive for it.”

“Who? Your daddy?” Qiu scoffed. “I don’t care.”

Cheng tilted his head. “Your payroll would beg to differ.”

“I’ve just spent five months overseas for his ass. If he wants to fire me over a salsa stain, then I’ll start packing my bags.”

“Bags? Plural?” Cheng shook his head. “You could fit the shit in your room in a single backpack.”

Qiu scowled. “Sorry I don’t have the luxury to drop all my money on useless shit like you. Like cars.”

It had the intended effect. Cheng regarded him, surprised. “You already know about that?” he asked after a moment.

Qiu leaned back, the wall firm against his shoulder blades. He’d taken off his suit jacket an hour ago because he was hot, and because he was irritated watching Cheng interact with the party’s guests without ever thinking to greet Qiu, too. The thought in itself made him crave a cigarette. He still did. “Yeah, I do. Heard it from one of the guys because, apparently, you don’t know how to fucking text. Or call.”

There was a pause; a moment in which Cheng only watched him, stoic like his father but quiet in every way that wasn’t his father. Qiu suppressed the urge to reach forward and drag his fingers through Cheng’s gelled hair and fuck up every perfect strand if only to prove that Cheng was only twenty-three — no, twenty-four now — and nothing of what Mr. He tells him to be. To do. That Cheng was right: this party was for his father, even though Cheng’s name was on the invitation, but that doesn’t mean Cheng didn’t deserve more than a calculating, decisive look from all the guests he greeted. That he didn’t deserve more than going to bed after all the guests have left and the house staff cleans up their mess and his only thoughts being of tomorrow’s agenda, and his little brother’s wellbeing, and the empty chair that sat next to his father during the dinner.

God, Qiu could give him more than that.

“I’ve been busy,” Cheng told him now, his voice lowered so that Qiu knew that this was an apology, and that Cheng, in some fashion, meant it.

Qiu didn’t accept it. “Not busy enough to avoid buying another fucking Hongqi though, huh?”

Cheng exhaled, in the same way he exhaled when He Tian bothered him while he was trying to work: worn, but understanding. “I’m serious, Qiu. I was busy. And I didn’t want to distract you while you were abroad, either.”

Qiu frowned. “Distract me? With what? A single phone call just so I know you’re still alive? What the hell does distract even mean?”

“You know what it means.”

There was a pause; another servant passing them with a quiet apology even though they were the ones taking up space in the doorway. Then Cheng shifted on his feet, slipped a hand into the pocket of his trousers.

“She’s a beauty,” he offered. “The Hongqi. I wanted it to be a surprise when you came back. But she’s in the garage, just polished. Want to go see her after...?” He made a vague wave of the hand towards the dining hall. 

Qiu’s jaw set. “No, actually. I’m still jet lagged from the plane ride this morning that you never greeted me from and I want to get some sleep tonight.”

Cheng frowned. “Ah-Qiu—”

“Forget it. I need a smoke.”

As Qiu turned and headed for the nearest exit, Cheng sighed again, irritated. “For fuck’s— You’re joking. Qiu.”

Qiu was already pulling a pack of smokes from his pocket as he walked. “Yeah, because you’re always so receptive to a joke, aren’t you, He Cheng?” he muttered.

Cheng didn’t respond, but followed him out. People only gave them a passing glance as they went by, sometimes a nod or a half-smile once they recognized Cheng as his father’s son. But soon they were alone, warm evening air dragging away smoke tendrils from the glowing end of Qiu’s cigarette as he walked the stone pathway. The sky was a deep orange hue like that of a wildfire, tainted by a dark, creeping purple at the edges. The gardens hadn’t been touched much since Mrs. He’s passing earlier in the year, but Qiu followed the edge of it nonetheless, coming to a stop at the iron gate that was cold through his sleeves when he leaned his elbows on it.

He said nothing when Cheng appeared at his side, and the two stood in silence as Cheng sparked a lighter and held the flame to his own cigarette until it caught.

For a while, they only looked upon the shadowed landscape of the He estate; the small rolling of hills disturbed by the forest, trees’ silhouettes protruding out like teeth on a comb. Qiu wondered how long it would take for a single match to leave the hilltops barren and charred. Then, Cheng spoke.

“How was it?” he asked. His voice sounded louder here, away from the house. “The trip.”

Qiu glanced at him from the corner of his eye, then looked forward again.

“Same ol’ shit,” he answered blandly. “Every city looks the same to me. Nothing worth mentioning. And I couldn’t even understand the fucking language they were speaking during the meetings, either. Waste of my time. I was muscle and not much else.”

Cheng nodded, absentminded, like that made sense. 

And then he said, in little more than a mutter: “I thought of you.”

Qiu’s brows drew together, cigarette paused between the split of his lips. Then he drew in a breath; let the smoke dance and twirl in front of his eyes. The burn at the back of his throat almost felt cathartic. 

“Well, aren’t I fucking lucky?” he muttered. “He thought of me. Fucking groundbreaking.”

Cheng looked at him, expression blank. “You were gone a long time, Qiu. I don’t want you to think I wasn’t thinking of you during that time. That I didn’t notice your absence, when I did.”

Qiu only shook his head. “Hard to believe when you’re more worried about talking to old men who don’t give a shit about you and a stain on He Tian’s fucking shirt than you are about seeing me again.”

“I couldn’t find the time,” Cheng told him. “My father told me my first priority was socializing — networking, or however he puts it. And He Tian developed a bad habit for nightmares about our mother again while you were gone. He’s woken me up nearly every night, and he’s skipping meals again. I’ll be the first to admit it’s annoying, but I can’t just fucking— ignore him.”

Little lion men, Qiu thought, the both of you. 

But Qiu weighed the words sitting on his tongue carefully. He tapped away the flaking ends of his cigarette as he did, and watched the ash rise to the sky among the dim stars.

Eventually, he gave into the loss of inhibition.

“You’re filling a spot you don’t need to fill,” he said, a little coarse. “He’s a kid; he’s gonna mourn his mom whether you bend over backwards or not. But you’re putting more and more shit on your plate that you don’t need to, and it’s gonna bite you in the ass eventually.”

To Qiu’s surprise, Cheng nodded. 

“But when it comes down to it, there’s no other option,” Cheng said. His eyes scanned the horizon, and Qiu wondered what he saw in the trees. “I didn’t have a sibling growing up in this family; I’m not so damn selfish that I would want that for He Tian, too. Especially now, after...”

Behind them, Qiu could hear the distant drone of music and the chatter of people. The liveliness seemed to be separated from them in that moment, like a dome encasing the noise. Here, they were still and quiet, caressed by a soft wind that had freed a strand of hair to lie on the flat of Cheng’s forehead, warmed by the heat between their too-close shoulders and the smoke that one man breathed out and the other breathed in. Equilibrium.

“So…” Qiu started after the silence stretched, “what, then?”

Cheng straightened, smirking. “So, nothing. I do what I can. I’m taking him camping near the river this weekend. Getting us both away from here for a few days.” 

He looked at Qiu. Continued: “And when I come back, we can take the Hongqi out for a ride. I know you want to see it. And I’ll let you tinker with it, or whatever the hell you usually do with the bikes and shit.”

Qiu clicked his tongue — even as his chest warmed at the idea of putting his hands on something that nice. “Don’t try to bribe your way out of this.”

Cheng huffed a laugh, breathy and stolen. “Why not? There’s only so many ways to make you happy, and I never knew you were such an attention whore until tonight. I saw you the moment you walked in, but I didn’t realize I had to make it known.”

Qiu spit into the grass. “Fuck you. I’ll remember this when you fuck off somewhere and come back.”

“An eye for an eye. Sounds fair enough to me.”

“‘Course it does to someone like you.”

Cheng smiled — something small and rare and barely noticeable that made Qiu break eye contact. Oblivious, Cheng took a long drag off his smoke, then nodded to himself.

“Then this weekend is a deal,” he confirmed, low. “Spending some time together, now that you’re back.”

Qiu dropped his cigarette, and crushed it beneath his shoe.

“Fine,” he said, feigning vexation. “But only because it’s your damn birthday, and I’m the only one around here who seems to care. I pity you.”

The words were meant to be clipped and prickling, but he felt the weight of Cheng’s eyes trail the length of him with anything but contempt. Eventually, Cheng put out his cigarette too, then slipped his hands in his pockets as he overlooked the hills. 

“Well,” he said, smirking. “Aren’t I fucking lucky.”

[soft-thrills]

For your prompt request Scully is never stung by the bee, and actually transfers to Utah. After being separated for about a year, their reunion is... I love angst. So if they argue and fight before making up in bed, all the better.

This prompt is LITERALLY 190 days old but............... I wrote it! @ultimatexffan, I hope you see it and I hope you like it. It accidentally wound up crazy long, but here we are. 

Apologies -- it’s not beta read, and I’m a little wine-drunk. But I’m back to writing fic, maybe?! 

Title: Welcome Home

Rating: 18+, but for me, it’s pretty tame.

“no matter where you sleep tonight

or how far you run

oh, she’s the one”

-bruce springsteen, “she’s the one”

*

In the hallway, he waited for her to come to her senses. When it was clear she wouldn’t, he waited for something to interrupt them -- to interrupt her, to stop her from leaving. When that didn’t happen, he kissed her. And she kissed him back, soft and sweet and sad. 

And then, Dana Scully repeated herself: “I gotta go.”

He wanted to say: “I love you.” But he was afraid she’d think he was only saying it to keep her here.

“Go,” he said, not a command, but more as a question, like he’d never heard the word before, like he couldn’t understand, because, well, he couldn’t. 

But she went. He watched as she walked down the hallway. She didn’t glance back in his direction. A week later, she was on the other side of their big, mysterious, malevolent country.

*

He found cases that took him to Utah. She found reasons not to see him. She just had to do this autopsy hours away from Salt Lake City. She was visiting her mom that week, how unlucky. She was in San Diego with her brother. 

Diana tried to join him on the X-Files. He found reasons not to let her. Diana tried to join him in bed, too. Sometimes, he ran out of reasons not to let her. 

A year went by. Then, after a basketball game at the gym, he pulled his cellphone out of the locker to see that she'd left him a voicemail.

“Um, hi, Mulder, it’s me. I mean, it’s Scully. I… I’m in DC. I wanted to see if you can meet for a drink tonight. Sorry for the short notice -- no pressure, if you have plans, or… I’d love to see you. Ok. Bye.”

He had felt fine after the basketball game. But suddenly, he was winded.

*

He asked her to come to a bar near his apartment. Testing her, maybe. Wishful thinking, maybe. But she said yes.

He got there early, with a plan to nurse a beer and get a booth with a view of the door and wait for her. But as he walked in the door he remembered his partner was a detail-oriented overachiever and she, somehow, had managed to arrive even earlier than he had, despite him living four minutes away from this bar.

There were two beers on the table in front of her.

“Hey,” she said, simply, like the last year never happened. “First round is on me.”

*

She looked the same, with more freckles, probably from the Utah sun. She doesn’t look a year older. Her hair is a little bit longer than it was when he put his hand at the base of her neck and kissed her in the hallway. Maybe an inch. She was dressed like she’s been at work, even though it was a Saturday.

“So, Agent Scully, master pathologist of the western desert, what brings you back to the swamp?”

“Officially? I am seeking a transfer back to DC, and my chances look pretty good now that the fallout from the bombing has died down.”

His heart thudded in his chest.

“Unofficially?” he asked, taking her bait. 

“Unofficially,” she paused, took a sip, the kind of sip you take when you’re going to admit something. “Unofficially, I missed you, Mulder.”

He grinned.

“I missed you, too.”

*

They had another beer. And another. A shot of tequila. It was Saturday, what was the harm. Diana called him four times. He didn’t answer. Scully didn’t pry. 

“Do you wanna go back to my place?” he asked, determined this time to say the things he wanted to, whatever she thought of them.

“Is it still as messy as a frat house?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Then yes,” she replied.

*

It was not frat-house messy, it was lonely-FBI-agent messy, but he didn’t want to argue.

Which is funny, because within five minutes of crossing his threshold, they were arguing.

“So why come back now, Scully? Something happen in Utah?”

“No,” she said, nursing a beer he had pulled out of the fridge. “I never wanted to leave, Mulder. I was ordered to. I saw my first opportunity to come back and I’m taking it.”

That’s a great answer, he thought to himself, except for it not making sense. They were sitting on the couch, and the television was playing Plan Nine from Outerspace on mute. 

“It seemed like you wanted to leave,” he said, unable to let it go, to not dissect what the fuck had happened here, which really is supposed to be the pathologist’s job.

“I wanted to remain gainfully employed and in possession of my service weapon, that much is true.”

“You didn’t say goodbye. You wouldn’t see me when I was out west. You acted like — like it was nothing, no big deal, to leave.”

“Mulder —”

“Why didn’t you fight for it, Scully? If you didn’t want to go.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” she said, and that’s where things went south.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t. Because I wouldn’t have left the X-Files. I wouldn't have left you.”

Her eyes grew wide and it took him a couple seconds to realize it was anger he saw in them. 

“Mulder, maybe you wouldn’t have left the X-Files, but leaving me was practically a hobby for you,” she said, and he could tell there was more than just a year’s worth of anger behind the words, that this was something she’d been angry about even before that Dallas office building had been blown to bits.

“I don’t understand —”

“I meant what I told you in the hallway, Mulder — that I’d been holding you back. But I meant it because your behavior had led me to believe it, to believe that you didn’t need me. And maybe it hit me harder when I realized I wasn’t your first partner on the X-Files — but that I was the first that wasn’t always on your side. And it made me wonder if that’s why sometimes I’d get left behind, or be out of the loop, or feel like no matter what I gave up, you didn’t see me as having an equal stake in our work.”

“Scully, I meant what I told you — I did need you. I do need you. You are on my side,” he insisted.

She ignored that point, working her way back around to his last one.

“You’re right, Mulder, that I didn’t fight it after the transfer came down. But the truth is, when the time came, you didn’t fight for me. How long can you fight to be somewhere you’re not sure you’re wanted?”

Want. Want. What does he want? He wants the same thing he wanted in that hallway. 

“I wanted you Scully. Then. And I want you now.”

“You don’t have to do this. I’ve already decided to come back to our work, because I owe it to myself and what I’ve lost—”

“I’m not talking about work, Scully,” he said, voice low and deliberate. “Don’t you remember what happened in that hallway? Because I replay it every damn day.”

She nodded.

“What about Diana?” she asked.

“She’s not on The X-Files.”

“I’m not talking about work,” she parroted his line back. “She’s got a toiletry bag in your bathroom. Her initials are monogrammed on it.”

His Scully, noticing everything, taking her little notes.

“It’s nothing. It’s over. It was over the minute I got your voicemail.”

He could tell she was thinking, deciding, but he suspected she had made her decision when she called him — when she made sure her hair was perfect and her neckline plunging and her lipstick routinely and carefully reapplied all night. She came back to claim more than just her job.

She was literally wringing her hands, restless, staring down at them. Finally she turned him, and despite her earlier anger, what he saw in that moment was wide-open vulnerability. 

“How do I know that you’re telling me the truth?”

Before he even knew what he was doing, he had closed the small distance between them and kissed her. Not like the hallway. A kiss to leave no room for doubt. A hand against her delicate cheek, the other wrapped in the soft hair at the base of her neck. Not a goodbye. A beginning. 

“Does that feel like a lie, Scully?”

She looked shocked, thrilled, wearing an open-mouthed smile that reminded him of their first case, when she’d laughed at him in the pouring rain. 

“I want to believe,” she quipped. 

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” he said, good naturedly, and the sound of her laughter filled the few seconds before their mouths connected again.

*

He scooped her into his arms and carried her toward his bedroom.

“I always thought it would be on the couch,” she said.

“Do you want me to turn around?” 

“I want you to fuck me. The specifics are not particularly important,” she said.

“Jesus Christ, Scully,” he said as he tossed her onto his bed.

“No point in pretending otherwise, Mulder. We’ve pretended long enough.”

He stared, slack-jawed, as she shucked off her jeans. He’d imagined sex with Scully many times, many ways, and he had not expected her to be shy. He had seen this woman grab criminals by the collar, wring the truth out of them. Still, he was struck by her boldness, felt cause to match her bravado.

“I spent every day in that basement office pretending, Scully. Pretending I didn’t want to bend your perfect little ass over my desk--”

“By the way, you’re getting me a desk,” she cut in.

“What did I tell you about shutting the fuck up?” he asked.

She grinned. “Make me.”

So he kissed her again. He felt her perfect, capable little hands in his hair. He reached under her lithe body and gripped her ass, the one he had just been talking about. 

He broke away from her only to pull his shirt over his head. She used the time to take hers off, and there she was, in just her bra and her underwear. Her fingers nimbly unfastened his button fly, then gripped the denim and his boxer briefs at once and pulled them down, down, down, until he was naked before her. 

Mulder had never felt so desired as he did in that moment, watching Scully as her eyes raked over every inch of his body.

“My turn to see you,” he said.

He unhooked her bra and pulled it away, slid her panties down, fingernails scratching gently along her legs. 

And there they were, naked, in his bed. And as usual, they started talking over each other.

“Can I touch you--”

“Mulder, touch me before I shoot you.”

He gripped her breasts, kissed her clavicle. She arched up into him. His fingers traveled lower, lower, dared to dip between her legs, where she was so wet and so soft and so warm. Scully, his Scully. A day ago, he thought he might never see her again. Now, she was in his bed. 

“I’m sorry I ever let you think I didn’t want you, Scully.”

“Show me,” she said. “Show me that you do.”

He slid inside her then, one thrust, and she cried out, and so did he. 

They stared at one another, a little in awe. Happy. After all that had happened, despite all that would happen in the future, in that moment they were just happy.

“I’m really glad you came home, Scully,” he said.

“Me too.”

[make-me-imagine]

Hi I would like a TVD and SPN male ship. I’m 29, barely 5 ft and a little chubby. I’m biologically female, but gender fluid. I’m bisexual. I love to read & write, even have a published book. I garden, flowers & veggies. I believe in magic & the supernatural. I know how to hunt and fish, a little about cars. I like classic music. I have social anxiety, ptsd, and depression. However I’m very outgoing. I’m a mama bear, sarcastic, and blunt. Sometimes to the point of getting in trouble.

Ships are now closed!

-

I hope you enjoy your ships! Sorry it took a while for me to get them out! Also, that’s awesome that you have a published book! Is is fiction, non-fiction, etc?? Either way that’s awesome! 

TVD:

I ship you with Alaric. I think the two of you would go together really well. Alaric is like a Papa Bear type so I think you’d mesh well. He loves that you are so talented and that you garden. He visualizes having a normal domestic life with you, but understands that is mostly impossible, so he tries his best to have ‘normal’ things such as date nights, breakfast in bed, gardening together, fishing/camping trips, etc.. He thinks your sarcasm and bluntness is amusing, especially if it is directed towards Damon. 

Prompt: Reunion (This is a made up time-line story since I can’t remember much from TVD)

You had been gone for just over a month, having gone off to look for a magical artifact that might be needed if one of your enemies returned, meaning one of the your friend groups enemies, between Stefan and Damon, the whole mystic falls gang had gained quite a few.

As you pulled up to the Salvatore house you sighed in relief, and felt your heart start to pound at the excitement of seeing not only your boyfriend, but your friends again. 

Getting out of your car, artifact wrapped up in your bag you jog up to the front door, only for it too open up before you could grab the door handle.

Looking up your greeted with a familiar smirk and sarcastic voice “Well well, look who finally came back”

“Why hello Damon, it’s nice to see you too” you replied with matching sarcasm as you walked past him into the house “And, it wouldn’t have taken me so long if you’d known the precise location of the artifact rather than the vague area” you commented as you set your bag on the table.

“Well you found it soo....” he commented as he stood next to you. 

“With little to no help from you, yes” you said taking it out of your bag and showing him “I’ll take it to Bonnie later, where’s Alaric?” you asked, cutting to the point of why you were there.

Damon smirked “Lover boy is downstairs” 

You gave him a sarcastic smile as you turned away “Thanks”

Making your war down the stairs you hesitated slightly when you heard Alarics voice call out “Where’s the rest of the vervain I thought you had more down here?!” 

Continuing down the steps, figuring he thought you were Damon you walked up behind him “Did you check the other cupboards?”

You voice caused him to spin around and at alarming speed. As his eyes landed on you a large grin spread across his face “Y/n! You got back early” he reached out his arms towards you.

Entering into his embrace you breathed in his familiar scent as a smile graced your face “Yep, and thank god I did, I’m so tired of driving”

He squeezed you tight as he hugged you “I’m sorry you had to go alone, I wish I was able to have gone with you”

“I know, but it doesn’t matter now, I’m back, and with the artifact, and souvenirs” 

He chuckled lightly “And you’re safe, which is all I cared about”

You pulled away to look up at him, meeting his gaze he gave you a kiss that ended up being cut short from a disgusted groan from the doorway. Turning you see Damon “You two done?”

“No, so go away” you said to him.

He rolled his eyes as he turned to back away “Whatever. And just so you know, the rest of the vervain is upstairs”

You looked back at Alaric to see him roll his eyes at his friends comments before looking back down at you and smiling “You hungry? Wanna go get something to eat?”

You just nodded your head as you turned to leave the basement, your arm around his back and his draped across the back of your shoulder. Both of you happy that you were home. 

Supernatural: 

I ship you with Dean. You and Dean are a lot a like, and in this case like attracts like, rather and opposites attract. You have similar interests and ideals and this makes Dean comfortable around you. He likes to teach you about cars and introduce you to music you may not have heard. He loves going on road trips and fishing trips with you when you have the time. Driving in the car and singing long to classic music together makes him incredibly happy. You make him happy and he can’t imagine his life without you. 

Prompt: Date Night

It wasn’t often that you were able to have a date night that didn’t involve late night dinners at roadside fast-food places. So when Dean told you he had planned a date night for the two of you, you weren’t sure what to expect.

“We’re here” Dean commented as he parked the car.

You looked out the windshield and smiled. He had taken you up onto a lookout point. The view below you a beautiful small city surrounded by mountains ad trees. You had gotten there just before sunset. 

“Cute” you commented honestly, as you gave him a genuine smile as you got out of the car.

He looked out at the view “I know we never get to do much since we are always travelling around, but I wanted to do something a little different.”

“I think it’s a great idea. I bet the sunset will be beautiful” you said as he pulled a blanket out of the backseat, unveiling a large basket. “Is that a picnic basket?” you asked amused.

“Hell yeah, if we’re gonna do this we’re gonna do it right” he said

Walking around to the front of the car he laid the blanket out and gave you a pillow before gesturing for you to get up on the hood. You did so with a smile as he set the basket on the hood. Opening it he gave you a glance before wiggling his fingers as he reached in. 

“So tonight for our special date night we have food, lovingly made by yours truly” he began with a proud smile making you chuckle “We’ve got two of the best burgers you’ll ever have, paired with some..relatively fresh fries, some drinks to wash ‘em down, and cookies for dessert” he finished as he set everything out.

You grinned down at the food as you clapped “Well done sir, it looks great”

“Thank you, thank you” 

Getting comfortable on the hood you began eating and talking, discussing recent cases as well as general life experiences, playing would you rather and truth or dare. You almost missed the sunset entirely having gotten caught up in each others company. 

But looking up you stopped mid-sentence “Wow, look”

Dean followed your gaze and smiled at the sight. Just over the mountains where brightly lit pink, purple and orange clouds outline with the golden light of the setting sun.

You took some pictures of the sky as well as the set up Dean made, even taking some pictures together to remember probably the best date you’d ever had. 

After you ate you laid back on the hood, up against Dean as he laid his arm under your head so you could rest on it. The sun had set an the stars began to appear s the sky turned a dark blue. 

“This was great Dean, I loved it, thank you” you commented after a few moments of silence.

He smiled as he leaned over and pressed a kiss to your head “You’re welcome. We really gotta do this more often”

You nodded silently in response and you continued to stare up at the sky together, a new blanket over you as the night grew colder. You silently hoped you’d have many more days like this with Dean. Knowing the world could be a cruel place, and your lives hard. Being happy with Dean was all you really wished for. And he wished the same. 

[drarryangels]

I adore you're stories. Since your prompts are open, can you do Drarry and touched starved please. Maybe something about all the small ways they're always touching or maybe it's been so long since they've been around each other. Please and thank you.

Aww thank you! Hope you like this! I’m still a little rusty, but enjoy!

This one’s about 5k so here’s the AO3 link if that makes it a little easier to read. 

Present

Draco ran his fingers over the headstone at his feet and let his creaky knees fold underneath him to sit on the grass. When he was younger, he thought he’d never get old like this. With bad joints, white hair, and off trend clothes. Harry would’ve laughed at him if he could see Draco sitting in the dirt sniffling over his lost touch in the fashion industry. 

Harry would’ve laughed at Draco no matter what he was doing in this moment. Unfortunately, Harry, the love of his life, was currently laying in peace several feet under where Draco was sitting. 

Draco dropped his head and flattened his palms on the warm spring grass. No matter how many times he told his family, his and Harry’s family, that he was doing alright, he still missed Harry. He would never stop missing Harry. 

The wonderful thing, the only thing that made Harry’s death bearable at all, was that nothing terrible had happened. Harry hadn’t been slaughtered by Voldemort, and neither had Draco. They’d lived full lives together, bickering and laughing and snogging each other senseless. 

One early morning almost three months ago, Draco had woken up before the sun had come up, reaching out to the other side of the bed for Harry’s warm huffs of breath. When his fingers had brushed over the soft ridges of spine poking out from Harry’s back, he wasn’t breathing. In that moment, Draco stopped breathing too. 

Draco had cried and tried to shake him awake. But after that, there wasn’t anything to be done. Scorpius and Sirius, their wonderful sons, had come by later in the day with tea, hugs, and lots of tears. 

When it came down to it, the truth was that Harry had died in his sleep with Draco wrapped around him. Their lives were quiet in their retirement, and their sons were grown up with children of their own. They were in love and at peace. Draco couldn’t help but think that’s how Harry would’ve wanted it. 

Draco shifted his weight so he could lean lightly against Harry’s headstone. Even if he knew Harry had gone happily when all was right in the world, the loss still ached deep in Draco’s stomach. Even a whiff of cedar and bergamot could send Draco into a collapse. Something slight would remind him of Harry, and he’d burst into tears and have to sit down. There was nothing he could do but swirl the wedding band around his finger and wish Harry were still here. But wishing for him wouldn’t bring him back, and knowing he went well wouldn’t minimize the pain of losing him. 

But their memories were all his, dazzling across his eyes in short bursts of recollection. Little pieces of Harry slotting his hand in the dip of Draco’s back, from ages 19 to 101. The glide of Harry’s eyes and the stumble of his laugh, holding hands, laying on top of each other in teasing spite and claiming to be cuddling to anyone who inquired. Snippets of skin sliding across skin and Harry’s mouth eclipsing over Draco’s shoulder. 

Draco didn’t shy away from the stab in his chest when a phantom memory of Harry’s hand in his hair washed over him. He simply leaned back and let a million pieces of his life play in front of him. 

19 years old

Of course, there had been that New Year’s Party the year after the war ended. Draco and Harry hadn’t been going out by then, but that hadn’t stopped Harry from pressing right up to Draco’s side with a sloppy grin. 

“You’re drunk,” Draco said immediately, shrugging Harry off of him. 

“I’m not,” Harry insisted clearly. Draco looked him over. No slurring, stumbling, or dizziness. He seemed alright. Then again, Harry was known in the gossip wheels for being able to hold his liquor well. 

“Let me check,” Draco rolled his eyes and passed his wand over Harry. Based on his synopsis, Harry had only had a few sips of champagne. Other than that, he was as sturdy as a buried tree trunk. 

“I told you so,” Harry smiled and winked. 

Draco raised his eyebrow and fought off a smile, pushing Harry away for the second time. 

“Your hair looks nice,” Harry said a moment later, his face now serious. Draco observed Harry carefully as his fingers twitched and then ran nervously through his hair, and then his suit, pressing out the non existent wrinkles. 

Draco reached up self consciously to tug at his loose, shoulder length hair. “Thank you,” he said to his shoes. “I think I’m going to cut it soon, but I rather like it. I suppose it’s a nice change from the slicked back look in school. I wasn’t a huge fan of that, if you can imagine.”

Harry laughed aloud, “I actually can’t.”

Draco snorted and didn’t shove Harry away when he leaned back into him. “You can thank my father for that whole phase.”

“I most certainly will not,” Harry said firmly, still laughing. 

By midnight, Draco was still standing and laughing with Harry. They’d never talked for this long before and Draco was pleasantly surprised by how thoughtful and wickedly funny Harry was. They sat down with drinks at a side table in the wide, transformed Great Hall that had been used to throw a New Year’s reunion party for Harry and Draco’s class. 

When the clock struck twelve, Draco tried not to think too hard. He turned when he felt Harry’s eyes on him. And he slipped his hand into Harry’s. That was all. Harry’s face melted and he looped his fingers through Draco’s. Draco set his head down on Harry’s shoulder and looked at their hands together. Warm and cool, blended and balanced.

“Happy New Year, Harry.”

26 years old

“You never listen to me!” Draco shouted across the room. Harry only shifted his weight to the other hip and folded his arms across his chest. If Draco wasn’t a 26 year old man, he would’ve stomped his foot on the ground and sat on the ground to scream and cry. 

As it was, he did that anyhow. 

Harry’s hands instantly dropped and he came over to Draco’s side. 

“Draco?” he asked cautiously. “Are you alright?”

“I’m just fine,” Draco sniffed and scooted away from Harry. 

Harry sat down across from Draco on the hard tiled floor of Hermione and Ron’s kitchen and pushed his legs out towards Draco’s. Draco didn’t do anything when Harry pushed his toe into his thigh, but he didn’t move further away. Harry took that to be a good sign. 

“Draco,” Harry said flatly. “Please don’t be dramatic. Are you okay, or are you not?”

Draco took his hands away from his face and leaned back on the cabinets behind him. He glared at Harry across from him and swatted his foot away when he tried to poke him in the leg again. 

“You’re an idiot,” Draco snapped. His lashes were stuck together with tears and his face felt tight from the screaming that had consumed the past two hours. It was lucky Hermione and Ron were on vacation with Rose. Draco and Harry were supposed to be house sitting, but their bickering over how much to water the houseplants had quickly turned into a full out screaming match. 

“What were we fighting about exactly?” Harry asked, sliding across the kitchen floor to sit closer to Draco. He peeked under the strands of blonde hair falling over Draco’s puffy eyes and let out a sigh of relief when Draco looked up at him.

“I don’t know. The houseplants?” Draco let out a sound that was both sob and laugh.

Harry tilted his head forward to rest on Draco’s shoulder while they laughed. Draco could feel his heartbeat in his collarbone where it was pressed into Harry’s forehead. 

“I’m sorry,” Draco whispered, lifting his hand up to the back of Harry’s hand to skim his fingers over the curls drifting up against Harry’s neck. Harry shivered a little and Draco pressed closer to him and wrapped both of his arms around Harry. 

Harry skimmed his hands over Draco’s chest and stomach and breathed into his ear. “Let’s not do this again,” he said. 

“Okay,” Draco said and laughed brokenly. 

31 years old

There was that day in the park, the one that always made Draco blush. Sunshine molted down through dappled leaves and over their skin, giving both pale and dark skin an ethereal glow, most especially when reflecting off each other. Draco was sitting half on top of Harry, one hand at Harry’s hip, and the other smoothing up his back. 

“I love you,” Harry whispered. Draco smiled and breathed in the brushes of cedar and bergamot that always graced Harry’s skin. 

“Harry,” Draco said softly. He linked one hand under Harry’s shoulder and tumbled them both backwards so he was laying on top of Harry. “I love, love you.”

“Two loves?” Harry laughed, his stomach rising and falling under Draco’s. Draco loved it. Every inch of skin pressed to him, even through clothes. Feeling Harry breathing and laughing under him was like being handed every key in the world. Suddenly, every door was open. 

“Love, love,” Draco repeated and kissed Harry until his dark skin was beet red and he had teeth marks down his neck. 

33 years old

Draco slid open mouthed kisses down Harry’s chest, his naval, the inside of his thigh, the soft inner part of his knee. 

“Draco,” Harry gasped. Draco smiled into Harry’s knee and ran his hands up to hold onto Harry’s waist. 

Draco kissed back the path he had come down and crawled up Harry, flickering the tips of his fingers everywhere he could reach on Harry’s body. He moved up until his mouth was drifting just over Harry’s. Harry’s head was tipped back and his neck long and open. He lay there, his body molded over every part of Harry, and buried his face into Harry’s. 

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” Draco whispered, hearing his own voice repeating a prayer as if from a distance. Harry arched up into Draco, his hands coming up suddenly to pull Draco’s hips down to his. Draco slid his hands under Harry’s back and pulled them as close together as they could possibly be. Harry made a little sound that made Draco’s stomach swoop. And another sound, and then another. Little gasps and moans that made Draco want to absorb Harry into his own skin and hold him tight forever. 

“Draco,” Harry said again. Draco couldn’t hear anything but Harry saying his name again and again in his ears. “Oh.”

Draco pulled closer. Could they be any closer? Harry’s knees pressed on either side of him, heels digging into the back of his legs. Harry’s hair splayed out across the white pillow like a beautiful oil spill. Sweat glistening on Harry’s collarbones, on his neck. Licking and moving his mouth over the spot under Harry’s ear, inhaling everything Harry. Laundry detergent, fresh sweat, cedar and bergamot, the husky heat of his body under Draco’s. 

Draco dug his hands between Harry’s shoulder blades and the mattress and held onto dear life. Dear life. 

38 years old

After four years of trying desperately to have children in any capacity, their babies were here. They’d tried adoption first, and it had fallen through every time Draco and Harry thought it would finally work. They’d tried using a surrogate with Luna, but that never stuck either. 

Finally, a magical obstetrician specialist had stepped in and suggested a core transplant. If both of them could give a small splice of their magical core and some DNA, they were in business. A couple months later, Draco was unbelievably pregnant with two baby boys. 

And now, nine months later, today was the day. 

Draco could hardly tell what had happened the past couple hours. All he knew was that Harry was crying over him with a tiny baby clutched in his arms, and there was another baby babbling peacefully in Draco’s hands. 

“Our two boys,” Harry cried. He crawled up onto the mussed hospital bed with Draco, cradling the baby carefully as he curled into Draco’s side. Draco stared down in disbelief. He couldn’t believe that these two little beings in their arms, with Harry against his side, were his. He couldn’t believe that this was his family. 

“I was thinking Sirius for one of them,” Draco said quietly. His senses had yet to fully return after giving labor to twins, but a light haired baby boy was looking up at him with huge green eyes, and Draco’s center was on fire with a kind of love he had never experienced before. 

Draco felt Harry’s slight intake of breath next to him. “Really?” Harry exhaled. 

“Really,” Draco smiled. “And maybe Scorpius for the other?”

Harry laughed. “I knew you’d squeeze a pretentious pureblood name in there somehow.”

Draco coughed pointedly. “Sirius is a pretentious pureblood name.”

As far as Draco could tell, Harry was no longer listening. He cuddled closer to Draco on the hospital bed as the two of them held onto their sons, one with wavy light hair and wide green eyes and one who looked everything Draco but for the shock of wild black hair on the top of his head. 

Draco wiggled a little between the three people surrounding him, Scorpius, Sirius, and Harry, and settled into a new life of children, true love, and family. 

45 years old

The sky was so gray, it was almost black. Through the smog, Draco could barely see Harry’s collapsed form leaned up against the prim little tree at the corner of the road. 

Draco looked up at the sign at the corner of the road. Privet Drive. Draco took a deep breath and walked towards the unmistakable shape of Harry’s shoulders under that horrid tree. 

“Harry?” Draco asked. The air sounded too quiet and empty, and Draco immediately regretted breaking the silence of this perfect square neighborhood. 

But when Harry lifted his face, cheeks streaked with tears and clear relief on his face, Draco didn’t regret it so much. He started forward, catching Harry halfway and pulling him close in a tight hug. Draco skimmed his hand up and down in between Harry’s shoulder blades. 

“Thank god you’re here,” he heard Harry mutter into his shirt. 

“What happened, love?” Draco asked, pulling Harry back and cupping his hands around the sides of Harry’s neck to see his face. 

“D-Dudley asked me to come for tea,” Harry stuttered, his face drawn up and trembling. 

“Yes, dear,” Draco prompted him. 

“It was fine,” Harry said. His bottom lip trembled violently. “I acted fine. But…” Draco didn’t encourage Harry’s words this time. One tear slipped down the side of Harry’s face. “But I wasn’t fine.”

“Oh, Harry,” Draco said as Harry turned bright red and let the tears cascade down. He took Harry’s hands and pulled him close again. 

A wretched sound reverberated from Harry’s chest and he dropped his face into Draco’s chest, one hand gripping tightly to Draco’s and the other slipping under the edge of Draco’s shirt and splaying over cool skin. 

“Come, my dear,” Draco tucked Harry under his cloak. “The boys are at home.”

Draco held onto Harry and took him home. There, they huddled on the couch under a mound of blankets while Scorpius and Sirius rolled on the floor in front of the telly and eventually fell asleep drinking hot cocoa. 

53 years old

“You two are absolutely ridiculous,” Hermione giggled, hiccuping over her glass of wine. “What are you now, 52?”

“53!” Draco shouted back. He spun around in circles, facing up towards the rain with his hands splayed out around. Somewhere near him, Draco couldn’t tell exactly where because of the spinning, Harry was jumping up and down excitedly in a puddle of muddy rain. 

“Hell, yeah! 53 years old!” Harry whooped, nearly tripping into the side of the table Hermione and Ron were sitting at, under the canopy trailing off from the side of the cafe. “I feel 20 again!”

“Harry!” Draco shrieked, laughing and reaching out for him. He stopped spinning and dizzily stumbled back and forth with his hands stretched out for Harry. 

“I’m here,” Harry laughed breathily, catching onto Draco’s soaked coat and pulling him in. Draco fell into Harry’s arms and clung to him as they tripped over each other and spun in a dizzy, drunken daze. 

“I love the rain,” Harry sighed. He wrapped his arms around Draco’s neck and dropped his head back to let drops of water roll down his face. Draco stuffed his nose into the joint where Harry’s shoulder met his neck and let Harry use his weight to lean back and turn in a slow circle. 

“I love you,” Draco said into Harry’s skin. 

He could hear Harry’s smile in his response. “I know you do, old man.”

66 years old

Draco poked at Harry’s face, staring down the reflection of the two of them staring back in the mirror. 

“You have wrinkles,” Draco said flatly. 

“And you have a receding hairline,” Harry responded, jabbing at Draco with his elbow. 

“Too soon,” Draco mock choked and clutched a hand at his chest. 

“Draco,” Harry rolled his eyes and shoved half heartedly at Draco. “It’s been ten years since you started balding. Get over it.”

“Pfft,” Draco straightened his tie and then turned Harry towards him by the shoulders to smooth out the wrinkles in his dress shirt. “Easy for you to say. You’ve had a full head of hair your whole life, and you’ll probably hold onto it until the day you die.”

Draco turned back towards the mirror and examined his face next to Harry’s. He watched their reflections as Harry settled a hand around his waist and tugged him closer. 

“Draco, love, don’t worry so much,” Harry said quieter, settling his chin on Harry’s shoulder. “Your skin is absolutely flawless. Your hair still looks wonderful. You have the best style I’ve ever encountered, and you maintain the ability to charm me whichever way you wish.”

Draco sighed. “It’s odd. I honestly never thought I’d get old. It’s hard to look at myself as a sixty something year old man when I thought I’d be dead by the time I turned seventeen.”

Both of their forms in the mirror stood straight in nice attire, ready for Scorpius’ wedding day. Draco figured he should be grateful that their eyes were clear, and their souls were alive. In a past life, there had been so many calls that should’ve rendered them dead, and yet here they both were, Harry and Draco side by side.

“I can understand that,” Harry said. He took Draco’s hand and drew him away from the mirror. 

Draco squeezed Harry’s hand. “I’m sorry. It’s our son’s wedding today. I shouldn’t be wallowing over this.”

Harry shook his head avidly, strands of black and silver falling over his forehead. “No, no. Don’t apologize for feeling human. No one wants to get old.”

“I do,” Draco said quietly, urgently. Saying it made it a little more true. “Being old means I’ll have gotten to spend more and more years with you. Being old means seeing our kids grow more each day.”

Harry sighed as they walked out of their bedroom and down the stairs of their little cottage. “Wanting that, being grateful for that, doesn’t mean you have to want to get old.”

“Maybe not,” Draco shrugged. “But it’s a life experience, right?”

Harry stopped in the living room and stood face to face with Draco. His eyes flickered across Draco’s face, searching for something underneath his smile that he wasn’t saying. There wasn’t anything Draco was trying to hide from him.

“A life experience I’ll share with you,” Harry confirmed and held out his other hand.

Draco took it and they Apparated away. 

78 years old

“Harry, come down here!” Draco shouted up the stairs. “The boys are here!”

“I’m not deaf, love!” Harry yelled back. “There’s no need to shout!”

Draco chuckled to himself and turned back to Scorpius, who was shaking off his boots and cloak at the front door. “Your father is indeed tone deaf,” Draco said. “He just won’t admit it.”

Scorpius laughed and pulled Draco in for a hug. “Good to see you, Pa.”

Draco peeked around Scorpius’ shoulder. “Where is your little one?” Draco asked casually. “And your husband?”

Scorpius rolled his eyes, seeing through Draco’s casual facade. “They’re getting out of the car, Pa. No need to put on the tough guy act, they’re excited to see you.”

Draco huffed and flapped his hands in denial. “I don’t like your sass, young man. Too much like your father.” A hand came up to rest on his shoulder and he looked to see Harry smiling wide at his side. 

“Hey, Scorp,” Harry grinned and grabbed Scorpius by the shoulder to yank him into a big hug. “I missed you, kiddo.”

“Ouch,” Scorpius said. He rubbed his shoulder and tried to straighten his fine blonde hair. “Dad, calm down.”

Draco smirked. “Yes, Harry dear, calm down already. He’s all big now.”

“Shut up,” Harry brushed Draco off light heartedly. “He’s still my baby. Now where is my grandchild?”

“Our grandchild,” Draco snapped. 

“Yes, yes, where is she?”

“Here, Grandda!” a tiny voice whirled through the front door, bringing in a mound of snow. 

“Hello, my little Cassie,” Harry grinned and caught the tiny blonde girl as she hurtled through the door and into his arms. “Ah, you’ve gotten so big!”

Draco leaned into Harry and skimmed his hand carefully over Cassie’s hair. After having twin boys for sons, Draco was still so careful with handling Cassiopia’s brisk femininity. Scorpius, on the other hand, had been a perfect fit to have a daughter. It looked like her hair had been put in pretty ribbons that morning, but they had somehow been mussed and tangled on the way to Grimmauld Place, the home Draco and Harry had made for themselves. 

“Bunny kiss!” Cassie squealed, reaching her hands out expectantly to Draco. Draco’s face softened into a small smile as he leaned forward into Cassie’s hands. Chubby little fingers latched onto Draco’s ears and pulled his face to hers to squint her button nose up against the straight profile of Draco’s. 

“I hope you never get too old for bunny kisses,” Draco whispered, so softly that only Harry could hear it. He doubted even Cassie could hear him. Harry pulled one of his hands free from Cassie and quietly laced his finger with Draco’s. Draco squeezed tightly. He detangled himself from Cassie’s grip and took her from Harry to set her down. As soon as her feet were on the ground, Cassie took off, dashing throughout the house and giggling. 

Harry turned to see the tender look on Scorpius’ face as Cassie drifted throughout the house. Harry reached out to him. 

“We’re proud of you, kiddo,” Harry said. 

Draco held onto Harry’s hand a little tighter as he spoke to Scorpius. “You’re a wonderful father, sweetheart.”

Scorpius’ cheeks flushed pink and he hugged his dads. “Thank you, Pa, Dad. I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this without both of you.” 

At that moment, Albus, Luna and Ginny’s son, came through the still-open door with a bright smile and a waving shock of red hair. 

“Hello!” he greeted, closing the door behind them. He immediately latched onto the hug, as only a son of Luna’s ever could, and Harry opened his arms to his family and blessed all the stars in the universe that this was what had become of his life. 

84 years old

Harry coughed again violently. Draco sighed and cuddled closer into his side on bed in St. Mungo’s. This could be it, Draco reminded himself. He’d been trying to remind himself of this gently ever since Harry had started getting sick about a year ago. There would be these moments, when Harry was so tired he couldn’t pick his head up to cough and they’d be in St. Mungo’s every couple of months. Moments where Draco would think, this is it. This is the last time I’ll be able to hold him like this. 

Thank Merlin, it never was the last time. 

But they were here again, in the same bed, Draco holding up Harry’s head in the same way so that he could breathe without choking. 

Harry coughed again, so weak, but the sound tearing out of him like an unstoppable storm wrecking his body into ragged pieces. Draco hugged him tighter and tried not to let his head catch him up in a nightmare that couldn’t come true. 

“Shh,” Draco stroked his hand through Harry’s thick silver hair. 

“Draco,” Harry rasped out, barely any sound emerging from his mouth. 

“Yes, dear?” Draco pulled himself up so he could look into Harry’s face. 

Harry shook his head and smiled thinly. “I just wanted to say your name,” he mouthed. 

Draco didn’t know when he had started crying. 

Oh, Merlin. He was still so in love, and oh, Harry couldn’t die. Everything would fall apart if he died. 

“Don’t die,” Draco choked out. Shaky breaths worked their way through his body, pressed into Harry’s. “Please. Please don’t die.”

Harry shook his head again and tried to smile. Draco laid down next to him and hugged him so tightly he could feel Harry’s heartbeat beating through the cracks of his ribs. 

None of the Healers knew exactly why this horrid, deathly cough kept chasing after Harry. It was a relatively common case in younger magical kids, but after they got it once, they never got it again. It shouldn’t have been possible to contract after ten years of age. And yet, Harry was still trapped in this sticky hospital bed with the same cough that was ripping up the insides of his body, and there was nothing Draco could do about it. The two of them just had to sit and ride it out. 

Draco just didn’t know if it would ever end. Or if it did, if it would end right along with Harry. 

95 years old

“Pa,” Sirius said gently. Draco startled awake to see his son looming over him.

“Oh, Sirius,” Draco muttered and pushed himself out of his worn down armchair. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Sirius smiled softly and bent to hug Draco close. “That’s alright, Pa. I don’t mind. It was nice seeing you again.”

Draco patted his son’s cheek gently and tried to ignore the pains that never stopped aching in his body these days. Being an old man still managed to surprise Draco every day. Being an old man with Harry surprised him even more. 

“Where’s your dad?” Draco asked, vainly combing his fingers through the few strands of hair he had left. 

“He’s in the kitchen making tea,” Sirius said. “I’ll walk you in there.”

Draco glared at him. “I may be 100 years old, but I can make it the few steps into the kitchen, Sirius Malfoy-Potter.”

Sirius grinned wildly, his dark graying hair swiping across his freckled forehead. “Can you?” Sirius smirked. “And as far as I know, you didn’t age another five years in the last half hour.”

“You’re a snarky bastard,” Draco muttered, resting his hand against his back to stretch. “Even at 57 years of age.”

“Always have been, always will be,” Sirius winked and bent over to carefully fold up the blankets Draco had left nested in his armchair by the fire in their tiny living room. 

The little house Harry and Draco had been living in for the past couple years was almost as small and warm as Grimmauld Place had been big and foreign. Harry had been reluctant to leave Grimmauld’s at first, but after Scorpius and his husband offered to take it so they would have space for their grandkids to stay over, Harry had left it behind rather easily. 

The little house at the edge of Godric’s Hollow was the perfect blend of out of the public’s eye, and yet still part of a wizarding community. The papers had had a party when they first moved, speculating on their decision to move to the place where Harry’s parents died, speculating over their impending deaths, and how they’d managed to stay married for so long. 

Draco didn’t care. The magic folk who lived in Godric’s Hollow were perfectly lovely, and Sirius always came to tea on Sunday afternoons, often with his parter, which was perfectly as lovely as well. Scorpius and his husband came around every so often, usually toting along a grandchild or two. Little Cassie had met the man of her dreams and they’d proceeded to have seven children, all of whom were both painfully polite and wild with youthful magic. 

The Weasley descendants also managed to find their way to their residence as well. Although Hermione had passed a year back, Ron always found the time to come over with tired folds in his face and a broad smile for Harry. 

It was the perfect, and most nostalgic life they could’ve built for themselves. 

“Da, quit your reminiscing,” Sirius groaned, resting his arm around Draco’s shoulders. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“Draco,” Harry called from the kitchen. “Come in here!”

“Coming, dear.” Draco grinned and beckoned to Sirius. “Take me to the kitchen.”

101 years old

The world was gray. Scorpius insisted that it wasn’t really, that seeing life in black and white was simply Draco’s way of coping. 

When Draco had insisted to Mind Healers that the world had turned gray after… after Harry, they ended up running countless tests on him. 

Turns out that Harry might’ve taken a piece of Draco along with him, leaving Draco with this world. A world that Harry had brought so much color and life into, and then taken the color right out again when he passed. 

Draco stood, ignoring the poking pain in his knees, in front of their house on the corner end of the road. He could go in, physically speaking. And yet, he couldn’t go in. For a million reasons. 

Maybe he would someday. In a couple years, if he was even alive then, or maybe he would be able to in a couple of weeks. He didn’t know when he’d be able to walk back through the door when the last time he’d walked out of it was with Harry’s body. Maybe never. 

But then, Draco didn’t think he would be able to never go in there. His and Harry’s memories were scattered all over the world, in an infinite number of ways, in an infinite number of beds, in an infinite number of smiles. Their memories were everywhere, but Draco’s home had been Harry, and Harry’s last home was here. Which meant in some sort of misguided relation that this would also be Draco’s home until the end of his life. 

It didn’t feel right without Harry. 

Nothing felt right without Harry. 

But he was still alive, and he was still in love, and nothing was ever going to change that. 

[tangledcassandra]

A Little More, Chapter 7

Cassunzel Week Day 1: Homecoming and Reunion

Title: A Little More, Chapter 7

Description: Cold, tired, hungry, and defeated, Cassandra comes back to find Corona exactly as she left it. Except that her bed has an unexpected occupant.

[Read on AO3]

"What happened to the Rapunzel who wouldn't give a second thought to shirking her responsibilities for a day?" Cassandra grinned.

"Maybe she actually learned something when her best friend told her to take things seriously," Rapunzel propped herself up on her elbow as she smiled back.

Cassandra mirrored her position as she studied her face, haloed in morning light. "What if I'm not ready?"

Her face fell in disappointment, but she didn't let it seep into her voice. "Then… I'll have the servants bring some breakfast- I'll say it's for me- and I'll stop by to bring you lunch," Rapunzel slowly trailed her hand up Cassandra's arm, until it was resting on her shoulder. "I want to give you the time you deserve with me. I'll clear my schedule as soon as I can," she leaned forward to plant a chaste kiss against Cassandra's lips, before rolling out of bed.

Cassandra followed, taking Rapunzel's hand in her own as she came up beside her. "I don't think I'm ready to see everyone yet," she stated again, staring forward stoically. "But I don't want to be alone. So maybe I'll have to be."

Rapunzel lifted their hands to her face so she could kiss the back of Cassandra's hand. "I'll be here for you for whatever you need today. You were always there for me, even if I took your presence for granted. I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry for a lot of things-"

"Hey," Cassandra spoke up, momentarily distracting Rapunzel from what was about to turn into an emotional rant. "The past is the past. There is… a lot we can both make amends for. But let's just focus on today. The here and now."

The princess brightened, sighing with relief. She went to her closet, rifling through it to find her current favorite dress. Once she'd picked it out, Cassandra helped her into it without prompting, just like old times. They had fallen into it, naturally, hardly thinking of the task until they were in the middle of it. But despite the familiarity of their morning routine, everything was so different now to how it was a year prior.

So they broke the routine, with Rapunzel in front of her vanity brushing her hair while Cassandra stayed near. She had less need of her help without her lengthy blonde locks, but still, there had been a brief time when she helped her with the current shorter and more manageable style. Falling back into old habits would have been uncomfortably easy.

"Can I ask you something?" Cassandra was sat on a stool next to Rapunzel.

"Anything, Cass."

"Why do you have like, 100 paintings of me?"

"You found those?"

"Yeah."

"I missed you. That's really all there is to say."

"All that because you missed me?"

She nodded. "And because there was a part of me that was afraid I'd never seen you again. I never wanted to forget about you. Sometimes I liked to imagine the person you might become, if you came back. I wanted to dream up a world that still had you in it. I wanted to remember all the time we'd spent together. It was only a couple of years but, once I started trying to put everything on canvas, it felt like a lifetime. It all felt so far away. Every time I thought of you I couldn't help but wonder how we'd grown so far apart in such a short time."

"We grew close in a short time, too. I guess it's no wonder we fell apart."

"So did Eugene and I and we're still together," she paused when she saw Cassandra's expression turn annoyed at his mention. "But you're not him. You are your own person. I love you for who you are. Sweet and honest and always real with me."

"Too bad it took a horrible falling out for us to have this kind of talk."

Rapunzel took a deep breath as still fresh memories of their previous encounter raced to the forefront of her mind. "The past is the past. Remember? We've got a new day ahead."

"Then we should get going."

"In that?"

Cassandra looked down at the nightgown she was still wearing as Rapunzel stifled a giggle.

"Let me see if I have something you can wear," she stood up and started to riffle through her closet again.

Something caught Cassandra's eye as she scanned the array of dresses.

"Why do you have one of my shirts?"

Rapunzel froze like she was a kid who had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Her gaze landed on a piece of fabric that seemed slightly off amongst her bright purples and yellows. A burgundy shirt, formerly (and still, currently, now that she was back) belonging to Cassandra.

She pulled it down, holding it to her chest for a moment before turning and presenting it to her. "I borrowed it. I didn't know when- or if- you would be coming back. I never wanted to forget you. To pretend like you never mattered just because you may have hurt me. Even when people told me to move on, I couldn't. Some part of myself even tried to push the memories of you aside. And it helped, when I needed to put on a good face for the citizens of Corona. Pretend like I was okay even on the days when I longed for you the most. I wanted as many reminders of you- of us- around me as possible. So I would never forget my best friend. No matter what."

"Wow, Raps. That's- that's a lot." Cassandra tenderly took the article of clothing. Her eyes scanned the familiar cloth, before she handed it back. "Hang on to it for me a little longer. I think I already have something to wear today," she turned around for a moment, slipping out of her loaned pajamas and letting her dark armor slide back into place.

"This feels right," she said, looking to Rapunzel again, and seeming to notice her new outfit for the first time.

"Oh."

"What?"

"Your dress."

"Oh."

Cassandra's hand came to rest under the glowing orb in her chest, in the same spot that the emblem of Corona was stitched upon Rapunzel's outfit. Pink vines seemed to grow from the image of the sun, following a similar pattern to that of the blue streaks that extended out from the opal.

"We match."

"Yeah. We kind of do," Rapunzel tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "Even after we parted ways in the Dark Kingdom, I never stopped believing you were my friend. I never stopped hoping you'd come back home. I never gave up on you."

"Why not?" Old doubts began to creep back to Cassandra's mind.

"Cass-" she stepped forward, tentatively wrapping her arms around her. "I don't know everything that you're going through or why it's so hard to believe that people actually, genuinely care about you. But I do care about you. And I will remind you every chance that I can," she paused. "I understand today may be difficult-"

"Understatement."

"-but I'll be here," she lifted her head so she could look Cassandra in the eyes. "Right by your side. And I won't let anyone hurt you. But I- we- have to get going."

Cassandra finally reciprocated the embrace, burying her face in Rapunzel's hair. "What if everyone hates me?" she asked, muffled.

"Impossible. There's at least one person who could never hate you."

"You?"

"Me," she pulled away, taking Cassandra's hand as she led her towards the door. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

Support this and other stories! https://ko-fi.com/pizzahorse

Yeah I’m cheating and updating an existing fanfic for @cassunzelweek

[mo-nighean-rouge]

Gone- IV

Jamie Fraser prepares to send Claire and Faith through the stones. A last-minute interference puts them all at stake.

A/N: Thanks to my bonnie beta @abbydebeaupreposts for telling me what needed to go, and what could be done better. This chapter happens to correspond to @gotham-ruaidh‘s writing prompt, “Five Years.”

Part I | Part II | Part III | AO3

Previously:

Jamie placed an open hand at Claire’s belly. “Name him Brian?” he whispered. “After my Da.”

Claire nodded as he lifted her right hand and kissed her ring, followed by each finger, then placed it on the tallest stone. “Until we meet again.”

They faded away before his eyes, just as Claire had nearly done on another bleak morning, years ago.

They were gone.

November 1, 1953 | Oxford, England

Jamie rolled his shoulders against the stiff, artificial material of his new coat. He marveled once more as he took in his surroundings. Claire’s stories about her time had been full of rich descriptions, but his meager imaginings didn’t match the sights he observed now.

Events from the past few months were a blur, save Fergus conspiring with the local men to break him out of prison at Fort William. Fergus. Though Jamie’s heart ached to leave him behind, he had no choice in the matter. The lad had not heard the call of the stones. Thinking about that beastly place turned his wame almost the same way as thinking about Fergus. Jenny and Ian. The bairns that called him uncle.

He thought instead about his son. He would be nearing his fifth birthday and while he had missed so much already, Jamie could not wait to finally join his family in a period of safety.

Even still, the air felt trapped in his lungs as he turned down one narrow street after another, closing in on the most recent address listed for the Randall family. Seeing those words printed together so matter-of-factly had sent chills through him. Much as he knew it was right, he had little idea of what would occur once he walked back into their lives. James Fraser, forced by circumstance to be nothing more than an absentee father. The last thing he’d ever wished to be in his lifetime. But such injustice would end today.

Jamie’s fingertips stroked the latch of the wee gate as he closed it gently behind him. Had the brass tarnished from Claire’s delicate hand caressing it in the same place each day as she went out into the world to answer the call of those who needed her?

He took a deep breath to steel himself as he climbed the last step and lifted the worn door knocker. He rapped it three times, clearly and confidently, as if to prove that it was no trifling matter that brought him to this place.

The door swung open, but no face was immediately visible on the other side.

Jamie looked down to meet crystal clear blue eyes set in a fine-boned face. Brown curls spilled over her shoulders, much longer than he’d last seen them.

He could scarcely see her through his tears. “A nighean,” he muttered over the knot in his throat.

Faith’s small brow crinkled. “May I help you?” she asked in a polished English accent.

Jamie’s heart fell to his stomach. “It’s m—” Jamie began. “Christ, but I should’ve expected ye might not remember.” He tugged the hat from his head and nervously fiddled with its brim.

“Is your mam home?” he asked softly.

“Faith?” called a deep voice of a cadence strangely familiar to Jamie. A figure stepped into the shadows just behind his lass.

“Faith Randall, you know better than to answer the door to strangers.” The man emerged fully into the light, and Jamie took a defensive step forward as if to put himself between this man and his child.

The man responded with a tight smile and placed a hand on Faith’s shoulder, even as she tensed under his hold. “Pardon me, but I do not believe you have any business here.”

“Frank?” called a soft voice from farther back in the house. Claire suddenly appeared from the recesses of the gloomy interior, and it was as if the sun finally came out on this dreary day. Beside her trailed a wee lad  – smaller than Jamie had expected.

But naught about her was recognizable. The lavender smudges beneath her thin eyelashes made his heart twinge. But what nearly undid him was the empty look in her eyes as they met his.

Claire squinted. “…Jamie?” she asked, as if trying to recall an acquaintance from a different lifetime.

“Aye,” he choked out, leaning forward to see around Frank. “Sassenach—”

“I don’t know what you’re about, but we don’t use that word in this home,” the other man said with an air of haughty reproach and moved to block Jamie’s view.

The bairn tugged on Claire’s hand, trying to get her attention.

She tilted her head toward him disinterestedly.

Jamie’s breath caught as the boy’s cinnamon curls reflected in the light from inside the house. “Will this be Brian?” he asked, hopeful. This was not any thing like the warm, joyful reunion he’d prayed for, but perhaps if he could stay just long enough to meet his son…

Claire cocked her head to the side, an empty smile forming on her lips. “There is no Brian. This our little Jack.”

Colors and sounds swirled around Jamie as he struggled to understand the bizarre scene in front of him. The only thing familiar was Faith, whose eyes hadn’t left him.

“Da?” she asked.

Did she remember him after all?

He stumbled forward to reach her. He’d pry her from Frank’s grasp if he had to, but he needed to touch something that he knew to be real amid this maddening farce. Faith suddenly broke free and ran toward him.

“Da?!” she beseeched.

Jamie woke to the weight of a clammy hand on his cheek. He shakily covered it with his own. Still tiny. Still there. He sat up in the dark and crushed Faith to him, pressing his lips to her forehead. “Taing dhia. What troubles ye, a leannan?”

“A-are ye sad, Da?” her little voice quivered against his chest.

He took a cursory glance to their right and spotted Claire’s tangled cloud of hair on the dusty floor, Fergus tucked under her arm. Just as they had been when he fell asleep earlier that night. “Nay, lass.” Filmy tears ran in his eyes. “No’ so long as ye’re with me.”

Faith snuffled against him.

Jamie stroked her back, realizing he’d likely frightened her with his greeting and thrashing about. “What’s all this, then?”

“ ’M scairt,” she muttered into his shoulder.

“Aye?” he whispered. “Of what?” But he had a terrible feeling that he knew.

“The man,” she whimpered. “He talked nice but he was sae mean, Da.”

Jamie closed his eyes, reminding himself that everything that had transpired in the past day was over. “Ye’ll no’ ever see him again, a chuisle. I swear to ye.”

Faith’s breathing returned to normal as he cradled her against him. She fell asleep with her hand gripping the collar of his shirt.

He wrapped her tighter in Claire’s tartan shawl and laid her next to Fergus, breathing a quick blessing over the both of them. He laid a hand on Claire’s shoulder.

“Mo ghraidh,” he whispered, brushing the back of his hand across her cheek.

Her eyes fluttered open, her face falling as her gaze focused on him. “Is it time?”

“Nay, but I hoped ye’d have a word with me?”

Claire let him pull her up and place a gentle hand on her hip.

Murtagh startled at his post as he registered them passing through the door. His expression lightened only when he saw that Faith was not with them.

Jamie led his bride away from the hill, noting the way her features relaxed the further they traveled from it. He lifted her knuckle to his lips, then held her hand tightly with both of his.

“Sassenach, I must ask your forgiveness…”

Claire began to tug away, features downcast. “Jamie, just because I don’t like it doesn’t mean I don’t understand it. You don’t have to keep defending yourself—” Her hand went limp in his and she spun around to head back to the bairns.

“Claire!” he caught her by the shoulders, forcing her to meet his eye. “I’m asking ye to stay.”

Her eyes widened. “Y-you’re… You’re sure?” Her hands found his tense shoulders.

“Aye. I… I’m no’ sure I can explain it.” He swallowed deeply, placing one hand on her belly. “But I think we can do it. We’ll hide in the priest hole until we can stow away on one of Jared’s ships. Or, Christ, there’s even a cave in the woods at Lallybroch. I’d sleep in a loch if it means I can keep ye…”

Jamie trailed off as he noticed the ravenous look in his wife’s eyes.

Their time together in the wee hours of the morning before had been gentle, savoring what they believed to be their last touches, and saying an impossible goodbye.

But there was something feral in the way that Claire tugged him down and climbed over him now.

She would have her revenge, and he wasn’t of a mind to stand in her way.

________________________________________

They embraced while laying on their sides, hands clasped. Her J entwined with his C, bound once more.

The sun rose over the fairy hill in the distance, casting an eerie glow around it.

The stones could kiss Claire’s English arse for all she cared, now.

She studied the face of her sweet lad, more relaxed now than it had been only moments before. There were still lines of worry caused by the unclear path that lay ahead, to be sure. But his heart still beat steadily beneath her palm, his hot blood warming her to the core.

Claire’s own pulse flickered rapidly as she recalled the events of the last 24 hours. How she’d hated him, and then grieved his loss all at once.

“I was so worried. For you, for Faith.” She knew her voice warbled, but there was hardly anything she could do about it at this point. Her emotions were likely to take free reign now that her deepest fears were relieved.

“I didn’t know how she would react to him…” She paused. “To Frank. The resemblance isn’t always obvious, Jamie. There are times I can almost forget.”

Claire remembered her hands shaking as she had tried to separate the two in her frantic mind that very morning. Was it Jack or Frank that she was cutting down? Or both?

Ultimately, it hadn’t mattered. Not when it was her baby girl in harm’s way.

“I wasn’t sure whether I could have faced him again,” she whispered into Jamie’s neck. “Knowing everything that I do now about the man he so revered.” She shuddered. “He would have touted that inglorious history to our children…”

Jamie had fallen silent, his throat working as he considered his next words. She palmed his cheek and met his eye. Tell me, she implored.

“Claire, I saw it.” The sharp edge returned to his voice, the only way he could speak of what he’d dreamt. “I dinna ken how or why, but I did. Poor Faith shied away from his touch. And…” Jamie ran the pad of his thumb over the bridge of her nose, then tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Your bonny eyes held no life. All the joy was sucked out of ye.” He swallowed.

She stroked his chest through the opening of his shirt as she listened.

"I’m no’ sure if it was yer grief or the despair of Frank's house but it was as if ye couldna even see the bairns,” his words rumbled, ragged.

Claire tilted her head. “Bairns? Not just Faith?” she questioned.

Jamie’s face flushed. “I saw a bonnie lad, Sassenach. Red curls and blue eyes, with yer delicate cheekbones.” He pinched the feature in question, as if marveling that she was still there with him.

“Brian,” she whispered, and watched peace fall over his face.

She held tighter to his hand. “We won’t let that happen. We’ll give them so much of our attention they’ll be sick of us.”

Jamie smirked, then leaned in closer to meet her lips. “All dozen o’ them.”

Claire chortled. “Keep dreaming, Fraser.”

“I think…” She paused to consider. “I think that if it hadn’t been for today, maybe it would have been okay.” She shuddered. “Going back there again. Frank would have done his best, and he would have been good at it.”

Claire paused to brush a rogue curl from his eye. “But it’s all different now.” She took a deep breath. “Thank you. For fighting for us. But also for being willing to give it all up.”

Jamie nodded, overcome, then squeezed his eyes closed. “Anything for ye.”

They watched the light rise in the sky, content to enjoy the first of many moments together in their reclaimed life.

“Murtagh will wonder what’s keeping us.”

Claire smirked, running her fingers through his locks. “One look at your hair and he’ll figure it out.”

Jamie’s hands lost themselves in her curls, then brandished the thistles he’d discovered. He gave her one of his classic attempts at a wink, making her heart soar.

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

They were both admittedly worse for the wear as they made their way back to the doorway of the ramshackle cabin.

Murtagh raised a bushy eyebrow. “Roll down the hill, did ye?”

Jamie gripped Claire’s hand tightly as they approached him as a united front. “Change of plans, a gostidh.”

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

They’d curled back up with Faith and Fergus for a scant half hour before rising again, just watching their children sleep in peace. Neither quite understood what Jamie had planned to sacrifice for their family, but Claire would make sure to tell them when they were older.

Their party was headed onward to seek refuge with Jamie’s uncle at the abbey. After much deliberation, they deemed it the safest place to bide for the remainder of her pregnancy, or at least until they plotted their next steps.

Jamie was of a mind to sleep during the day and travel under the cover of darkness. Claire glanced toward Fergus in time to watch the boy shake off encroaching slumber. They’d stopped only out of necessity, most often for her to relieve the growing pressure on her bladder or belly.

Murtagh’s horse crept several paces ahead, the Scot scouting the safest path. Lost in her own thoughts, Claire watched his profile disappear into the valley below.

Eager for a bit of lie-in herself, Claire was relieved to see the glow of dawn on the horizon. Jamie would be sure to know of a shady place for them to lay their heads.

She guided Brimstone over the steep decline of the hill, only to nearly slam into Jamie’s abandoned horse.

He stood stricken in horror, staring ahead.

Murtagh was being pulled down from Donas by two Redcoats. As they set his feet on the ground, he met Claire’s eye, his own full of guilt and shame.

She slid down from her own horse and sidled up to Jamie’s back as he tried to make himself impossibly bigger to hide her, lowering Faith to her arms.

Over his shoulder, she studied the English officers in the dim light. There was something oddly familiar about one of them.

To be continued.

[petri808]

The Position is Filled

Day 2 @nalu-week  Stranger prompt

*Gomen.  I got nothing against Sting, just needed a bad guy for this story, and it’s a bit rushed to get it done in time. 

Lucy scans over the ad for the tenth time maybe, who was counting.  It wasn’t like anyone she knew would know she had placed it because a fictional name and generic email contact address should keep it on the low.

Looking for single hetero male, toned and fit body, clean cut, preferably charismatic, charming business type, fresh faced cute with positive disposition to take to an event.  Must provide a picture taken within the last month, stats (height, weight), and a job resume in your response.

She takes one last deep breath and closes her eyes as she clicks the send button.  Desperate times lead to desperate measures, and this was one of those times no matter how crazy the idea was.

Her 10-year high school reunion was coming up in just two months and according to gossip, her ex-boyfriend would be attending with a plus one.  The bastard.  Sting Eucliffe had been her high school sweetheart, but after twelve years together, she caught him cheating.  Lucy was devastated.  Well now she knew why he always changed the subject when the idea of marriage came up. But that didn’t mean she wanted him back, oh no.  What Lucy wanted, was to make him jealous and to show Sting she had moved on. Unfortunately, she hadn’t found anyone worth dating, hence the need to fake it.

The first few hits looked promising, but each one had something she didn’t like.  Not fond of the hair, no blonde guys.  Too short.  Visible tattoos, not that she really cared, but it wasn’t part of this vision, and problems with something on their resume.  After a week, the responses had petered down to a trickle and Lucy was starting to lose hope.  Maybe this idea wasn’t going to work after all.

She was almost ready to give up by the end of the second week when she heard the ding on her phone, signaling a new email.  ‘Please, please be decent,’Lucy chants in her head as she opens the message. Natsu Dragneel.  Her eyes widen to the selfie photo.  Cute smile, pretty green eyes, nice height.  Lucy bites her lip, he had a verynice body. So far so good.  One year older, works at a brokerage firm Dreyar & Dreyar as a junior broker.  ‘Hot dayum!’  If the BMW M5 parked behind him was his car…

“Wait a minute.” She pauses, a bit confused.  What was a guy like this doing answering a dating ad?!  He was hot and looked like he had some money, how was he still single? Was there some major flaw hidden behind the perfect features and pristine resume?  Oh, what the hell, her curiosity was peaked, and besides, he was the only candidate so far that looked good for the part. Lucy sends off her reply to meet for coffee and tosses the phone back on the couch beside her.

Ding.

‘That was quick,’she glances over and picks the phone back up.

Tomorrow, 11am at Fairies Cafe? Lunch my treat ;)

Lucy fires off a response. See you then!

Nervous was an understatement when Lucy walked up to the cafe.  She’d worn a casual summer dress, nothing fancy, but she had taken an hour just to settle on wearing it.  Her make-up was redone a couple of times, too heavy at first, now lighter to match the outfit.  Flats and hair done in a simple ponytail, completed her look.

She scans the room and almost immediately notices a pink head of hair in one of the booths.  It’s been a while since she’s patronized Fairies and the place looked exactly the same as she remembered it, cozy.  To her Starbucks felt more hectic whereas this coffee shop still had a homey feel thanks to the owner Mira.

“Hi,” Lucy walks up to the booth, holding her hand out in a gesture. “I’m Lucy, are you Natsu?”

“That’s me,” he shakes her hand but runs his other through his hair.

It was obvious the man was a little nervous too, but his smile looked genuine.  She sits down across from him.

“Order whatever you want,” Natsu pushes the menu closer to Lucy.  “I already know what I’m gonna get.”

Lucy opens the menu scanning its contents.  “Have you been here long?”  She hopes she hadn’t kept him waiting.

“Oh no, I got here a few minutes before you.  I kind of come here often since it’s close to work.”

Once their orders are placed.  Lucy gets right to it, starting with the one question that plagued her.  There’d be no point in staying long if she didn’t like the answer.  “To be honest I was surprised to get your response.  Tell me the truth Natsu.  You’re cute and have a good job, how is someone like you still single?

Natsu blushes, and there goes the head scratching again.  “Well would you believe I wasn’t the one who sent the response?”

“Come again?!  What do you mean?!”

“I was with my buddy and he took my phone when I wasn’t looking and found your ad.  I’m really sorry, he’s been trying to get me to date cause I’ve just been so focused on work, so at first, I was pissed and was gonna apologize and renege but then I thought what the hell, why not.  He’s right I do need to get out more.  Then when I saw you, I’m glad I agreed to come here cause you are smokinghot!”  He hangs his head.  “I’m sorry, I’m rambling.  Truth is I’m still single cause I get flustered with girls.  It’s okay if after learning that you wanna change your mind…”

Lucy’s soft laughter stops his blubbering cold, and he looks up wide-eyed at the giggling blonde.  He was sure he was bright red by now because he swore the temperature in the cafe had doubled.

“You’re so cute!”  Lucy chuckles.  “It’s quite endearing to me.  I was so nervous that you’d end up being some stuck-up playboy just looking for a one-night-stand or something, that to see you all flustered makes me feel better.”

“Um, thanks,” he cocks his head with a silly grin, “I think?”

She chuckles again. “Let’s start over, shall we?”

Over lunch Lucy tells Natsu that she was hoping to find someone to accompany her to her high school reunion, leaving out the part about Sting.  Of course, he asked her why find a stranger as a date, to which she replied, since she’s still single, she just wanted someone no one would know.

“So basically,” Lucy blushes lightly, “I was hoping we could pretend we’ve been dating for a while already.”

“Oh, so I’m gonna play like a fake boyfriend?”

“Yeah… if that’s something you’d be okay with.”

Natsu hunches his shoulders, “Yeah, why not.”

Over the next upcoming weeks, Lucy and Natsu spend as much time as they can in order to learn about each other.  The plan wouldn’t work if they messed up on simple questions, especially if cornered by anyone that knows Lucy’s past.  Family history to when they met, how long they’ve been dating all needed to be memorized. As a writer that works from home, her schedule was open, so they mainly worked around Natsu’s, sometimes at her apartment, sometimes at his.  

Once their nerves had calmed the friendship bloomed.  Natsu was a real sweet-hearted goof and Lucy loved spending time with him.  It was definitely a little awkward at first since Sting had been her only boyfriend since high school, leaving Lucy with very little experiences to draw from before or after.  But frankly, Lucy was also a bit surprised how natural their friendship was coming along, and by the fifth week she’d almost forgotten this was supposed to be a fake relationship.  She didn’t want to admit it, but the stock broker from Dreyar & Dreyar was really growing on her.

She fidgets on the couch one evening.  “I think we should practice um,” Lucy cheeks darken as she tries to get the words out, “you know k-kissing.”  They were only two weeks from the reunion and while they’d done things like holding hands, first base had not been attempted yet.  

Natsu gulps and nods. This was something he’d been dreading for a while, now that his feelings for the pretty blonde had steadily grown. He knew this was only supposed to be a faux situation, but in the back of his mind, he hoped it would turn into something more.    

They awkwardly shift their bodies closer until their legs are touching.  Despite his trepidation, he’s dreamt of this moment for the last couple of weeks and the only way it could work was, to give in.  Natsu reaches out to cradle Lucy’s face in his hand, sweeping his thumb along her milky skin.  It was so soft under his touch!  He lets his eyes drift over the lips he needed to claim next.  Would it be everything he’d imagined?  With a pause and coquette nod by the blonde, Natsu leans in coveting Lucy’s ruby lips.  Slow and gentle, he applies pressure to the kiss allowing the blonde to tell him how far to push things.  But she never pulls away, rather adds to the mix with a nibble to his bottom lip.  He swore his heart jumped into his throat by her actions and a light groan slips out.  

Emboldened by his response, Lucy runs the tip of her tongue against the seam of his lips.  Natsu relents and allows her to slip through.  She hums her pleasure and savors what this man was providing her.  The fears of allowing someone else to get close again seemed lost in this moment they were sharing.  A simple kiss that set off fireworks in her brain.  It was amazing, and something she hadn’t felt in so long.  Her fingers weave into his hair, threading through, gripping tightly as he suckles and cavorts with her tongue.  Oh wow, Lucy moans, this man was really good at finding hidden buttons she didn’t even know had existed till now.

She was almost saddened by the loss of contact when Natsu slowly pulled away out of breath.  It was probably for the best that they slowed things down anyways.  Her goal was supposed to be, just get through the reunion, not fall in love with the next guy that came her way.  But as he rested his forehead against hers, and she felt his hands gently resting above her hip, a crack appeared in Lucy’s resolve.  Natsu was so sweet, so attentive compared to how Sting had treated her.  How had she not known that men like the ones in her stories may actually exist.

Needless to say, sleep didn’t come so easily for either of them that night as they replayed the kiss they had shared on her couch.  Natsu knew he was hopelessly in love, but Lucy was more torn than ever.

The night of the reunion came swiftly enough and they both were not truly ready for it emotionally. They were dressed to impress, having pulled out all the stops with a custom fit Armani suit for Natsu, and an elegant red gown for Lucy that accented all of her assets.  Her plan was to make Sting jealous, but Natsu was still unaware of this secondary reason.  Lucy had toyed with the idea of telling him the truth, but every time she built up the courage to do so, she balked and now it was too late.

And low and behold, as they pull up to the valet station in Natsu’s M5, who but Sting and his date are exiting another vehicle.  Lucy takes a deep breath, willing herself to calm down.  She couldn’t believe it!  Yukino Aguria was his date!  The cheerleading captain and the football quarter back from their high school years. Oh, how cliché could this be?!  

“Are you okay,” Natsu had taken her hand when he’d noticed her jaw clench.  “Is that someone you know?”

“Yeah,” Lucy exhales, “they’re here for the reunion too.”  Like hell she was going to tell Natsu now, that they were the reason she’d brought him in the first place.  She turns on the fake smile, “let’s get this over with.”

It wasn’t all that bad Lucy realizes an hour into the event.  A few of her old friends, some she hadn’t spoken to in years were in attendance and it was nice catching up with them.  So far Natsu was playing his role perfectly, holding her hand or keeping his arm around her waist, making small talk with people, and doing what any old boyfriend would do.  But every so often, her eyes drift over to wherever Sting was hanging out.  As she suspected, he and Yukino was mainly around their former teammates.  Well it did make sense.  Theymade more sense.  Lucy hadn’t been part of that crowd to begin with because cheer just wasn’t of interest to her.  It still didn’t make her feel any better, only wonder if she’d been the one played their entire relationship.

She didn’t wanna see much more of it and excuses herself to the restroom to calm her nerves.  

After freshening up and composing herself, Lucy exists the lady’s room and is startled to find Sting waiting right outside, alone, leaning against the wall.

“Didn’t think you’d come,” he smirks at her, “I knew you wanted to see me again.”

“Oh please,” Lucy tries to get around him, but he blocks her.  “Sting, move.”

“You thought you could just break up with me and I’d let you go so easily?”  Sting corners Lucy against a wall with his arms braced on either side of her.  “That ain’t happening baby.”      

Lucy seethes.  “Y-You’re the one who was doing the cheating Sting! I wasted 12 years of my life on you and I’m glad to have found someone new.”

“Who, Armani boy out there.”  He scoffs, “think I don’t know you only met the guy two months ago on some dating site.” When he sees Lucy’s eyes widen, he taunts her more.  “Yeah…” Sting trails a finger along her jaw and down her neck, “that’s right, I found out from Minerva cause she works at that company checking through profiles.  Couldn’t land a guy so you dug one up.  Cute baby, real cute, but you’re not gonna replace me so easily.”

“Y-You have Yukino,” Lucy spat back.  “Why are you still bothering me…”

Sting grabs Lucy’s jaw hard.

“You’re hurting me Sting, stop it!”

He narrows his eyes, “I just don’t like losing what’s mine.”

Natsu had grown worried at how long Lucy was taking and went to investigate.  As he rounds the corner of the hallway, he sees the same man from earlier pinning her to the wall.  Furious, he runs as fast as he can, cold cocking him before he even knew what hit him. Sting flies a few feet away but quickly scrambles to his feet.  “Back off pretty boy.  This is between me and my ex!”

Ex?  Natsu glances at Lucy confused.  

“Oh, I see,” Sting snickers, “she never told you.”

But Natsu didn’t care. No woman deserved to be treated the way this bastard was hurting Lucy.  “Last chance,” he narrows his eyes, brows furrowing in a death glare.  “Walk away and don’t ever come near her again or I’ll lay you out right here right now Eucliffe!”  Sting’s eyes widen a tad, that this guy knew who he was.  “Yeah I know who you are.  Quarterback of Crocus High.  I recognized Cheney too from the times we whipped your asses on the field.”

Sting does a double take. “Magnolia.”

“Exactly.  You stuck up rich kids always looked down on us, but on the field, we owned you.  Now walk away or I’ll refresh your memory.”

By that moment, other partygoers had flooded into the hallway.  Rogue grabs Sting telling him it ain’t worth it and to just come with them.

“Fine,” Sting spat back, “you can have her cause she ain’t worth it.  I’m outta here!”

“Are you okay?” Natsu grabs Lucy and pulls her to him.  

She collapses against his chest, sobbing.  “I’m sorry Natsu.  I should have warned you…”  

“It doesn’t matter if he’s you ex, that doesn’t give him the right to put his hands on you.  But tell me the truth Lucy, is he the reason you wanted to come here tonight?”

Lucy hesitates a moment but nods and hangs her head.  “I’m sorry Natsu…. When I’d heard he had a new girlfriend, I just wanted him to think I’d moved on too.  Just never thought he’d do something like this.”

Natsu exhales and kisses the top of her head.  Speaking in a soft tone, “I know I was supposed to just play a role but, after spending the last few weeks with you, I don’t…  I don’t want things to end between us.”

“You don’t?”  She looks up.  “Even after all this?”

He shakes his head and smiles, cupping her cheek gently, “permission to kiss my new… girlfriend?”  

She smiles and pulls him in for a kiss, “permission no longer required…”

[ava-candide]

T'aint right, t’aint fairas Prudie, the Poldarks’ housekeeper, would say. Poldark is nearing its end; let the Sunday-night-swoon audience rend its garments. It returns next month for a fifth series then that’s your lot: game over. No more shots broodily staring out to sea, no more dramatic galloping at full pelt across Cornish clifftops making me worry for that horse. But, at least, a rest for the poor overworked six-pack of Aidan Turner, whose performance as Ross Poldark has held thousands of middle-aged ladies in thrall.

And here I am sitting 2ft away from him in a tiny room at the British Film Institute in London, a man whose abdominal muscles are the most “celebrated”, by which I mean “leered over”, in Britain. “You’re a ‘hot property’, ” I tell him as if he somehow hasn’t noticed his own naked torso appearing incessantly in every newspaper and magazine since 2015. “Do you feel like a hot property?” He looks horrified. “No, I don’t,” he says, smiling through a bushy black beard. “I don’t think I’d want to know anyone who [called themselves] a hot property. That gives me the heebie-jeebies.” Good answer. Anyone who refers to themselves as a hot property is obviously a massive tool.

I assume the beard (the Daily Mail said it made him “unrecognisable”, but he is totally recognisable) is for a part in an “exciting” new project, which, he says, involves working with a director he admires but, alas, he can’t tell me what it is. “I’m so sorry, it’s boring; it sucks,” he apologises (he means having to be secretive, not the production, just to be clear).

So how does he feel to have pulled off Ross’s tricorn hat and ravished Demelza (Eleanor Tomlinson) in that small Nampara bed for the last time? Turner, 36, has spent about a third of his working life on Poldark. Does it feel the right time to drop the curtain? “It feels storywise that this is the right time. It just seemed the right time in every possible way. It has been an incredible journey for all of us . . . but it’s a long shoot. I think we’re all ready to do other things.” I say I hope he had a suitably tearful farewell with Seamus, Ross’s trusted black horse who has built up such a fan-base that he is known as “famous Seamus”. Turner became very close to him, sometimes having a nap on his back between scenes. He thinks they have a similar personality: “We’re both Irish.” So how was the big goodbye?

“It’s kinda sad,” Turner says. “I was gutted.” For a terrible moment I’m imagining a glue factory, but it turns out he never said farewell to the horse. “With everything else when the job was wrapping up I remember the last time I wore the boots and the last time I wore the tricorn hat and the jacket, and the last time I did a scene with Eleanor in the kitchen. And I really marked it because I wanted to remember it. With Seamus I thought I was going to see him again; but then a scene got pulled we were going to use him for . . . so I never got to say a proper goodbye. I was really gutted.” Seamus lives in York. Might he go and see him? “Maybe I will. I should drop Mark, the trainer, an email and pop down and say hello and take him for a run-out.” A reunion? There lies a payday for the paparazzi.

This is the first of the BBC series not adapted directly from the Winston Graham novels (first dramatised by the BBC in 1975 starring Robin Ellis). There was a gap of ten years in the books and Debbie Horsfield, who has written every episode of the five series, has bridged the gap between novels seven and eight using information gleaned from the later works, to keep the characters at their present ages. The Graham estate thinks she has a great affinity with the novels. It is a strong first episode, with new characters and suggests, shall we say, that Elizabeth’s death is affecting the mental health of George Warleggan (played splendidly by Jack Farthing) more than we realised. After our conversation there is a Q&A and a screening of the episode at the BFI, but Turner says he thinks he’ll duck that bit because he feels uncomfortable watching it with an audience. “I’m not very good at that. I find it a bit strange.” He is quite shy and endearingly modest for a man so lusted after. At one point some traffic noise erupts outside and he jumps up to close the window for the sake of my Dictaphone which, trust me, not every actor would do.

How boring has he found the enormous fuss and objectification over his six-pack, prompted by a famous scything scene? “I get asked a lot. It’s par for the course,” he says. “It certainly doesn’t irritate me; it’s not something I regret doing, so it’s not something I ever care to avoid talking about. I just don’t find it that interesting.”

Turner, who was born in a suburban town near Dublin and attended drama college there, probably first became well known to British TV audiences in Being Human, after which Peter Jackson cast him as a dwarf in The Hobbit. But it was Ross Poldark who has made him famous. He says he’ll most likely miss Ross —“I love him; he’s a flawed character; he’s real” — though it’s early days. Is there anything he won’t miss? He seems flummoxed for a moment. “It’s good that I have to struggle a bit for that actually,” he says. “There’s nothing I hated and despised on the show. I’m used to early mornings. I’d love to be able to give you a bit of gossip but there’s nothing . . . Maybe living in rented accommodation.”

There have been reports of rows between him and Eleanor Tomlinson on set, usually over protecting their own characters in the show. She has joked that they squabble like an old married couple. “I don’t think we fall out often and certainly nothing serious. If there was ever any tension between us it was purely to do with work because we care a lot,” he says. “These conversations came later, the last two or three years. As we became more invested we felt we had more to lose because the show was successful, but it was always very professional. Eleanor’s an intelligent girl, conscientious, polite and articulate, so it never got into any screaming matches or anything. I was always really interested in what she had to say.” He starts laughing. “And most of the time she was right.”

I wonder if he minds the level of fame that has come with Poldark. Recently the actor Richard Madden (Bodyguard) revealed that he deliberately wore the same clothes and carried the same cup of green juice every day in the same way so the paparazzi couldn’t get a different picture and would lose interest. Turner says he tried that, but the photographer waiting outside the theatre (he was performing in The Lieutenant of Inishmore, for which he got rave reviews and a Stage debut award ) told him he could change the colour of his T-shirt in a heartbeat. “And the next day he showed me! He changed my T-shirt to pink and the colour of my jeans.” But he doesn’t mind the attention from the public. “People are usually very nice and polite. I like to see the best in people.”

He rarely reads reviews or his own interviews, never uses social media and is guarded about his private life, namely his American girlfriend, Caitlin Fitzgerald, with whom he was pictured recently on a red carpet (they met on the set of a film they both starred in: The Man Who Killed Hitler and Then Bigfoot). He has also been photographed walking her dog, Charlie. When I mention Fitzgerald he raises both palms: “I can’t say anything about that,” he says, again apologetically. I imagine all those swooning fans would rather not hear about it anyway. For the record, he says he splits his time between London, Dublin and New York. Does he fancy big Hollywood films? “Wherever the work is,” he says.

He believes this fifth series is the most exciting yet and promises the issue of Valentine’s parentage will be a big story (the little boy who plays him and may be Ross’s secret son looks spookily like him, right down to the hairdo). “It’s a great story for George Warleggan; Jack is brilliant. He’s amazing, a real talent.” By the end will the audience be sad or happy, Aidan? “I don’t know,” he says cryptically. “Some people might be happy; some people might be delighted.”

But it might not be game over, actually. He does not completely rule out returning to it in ten years’ time when he is old enough to play the more mature, wrinklier Ross (Horsfield has said “never say never”). However, he says a lot of things would need to be in place. All the actors would need to be available, the Graham estate would have to agree, and most of all the audience would still need to want it, which is the most important point. Television moves on so fast these days. “It would be silly, though, to say that it’s completely off the table,” he says.

So was he emotional at the end as it all wound down? “That last day I think it was just myself and Eleanor in the bedroom at Nampara, which was lovely,” he says. “It felt like the right way to finish and probably the right place as well. Yeah, it was quite emotional.” They still had the work to finish, the call sheet to complete, but “it was lovely just to be with her”. Afterwards, when it was done, he says it was — and he searches for the right phrase — “a bit shocking. It just feels surreal because it’s over.” For him, yes, but not for us. Not quite yet.

[all-things-skam]

Elu prompt: eliott & Lucas having to be apart for 1 week of their 2 week Christmas break because eliott is going away with family & Lucas not feeling comfortable enough to join yet even though invited & he’s being all pouty & sad his bf has to leave. him being grumpy snappy pouty while eliott is away. Basile saying something like I really hope eliott comes back soon because you need to get laid. And maybe their reunion. But cuddly reunion not smut because Lucas just wants to be held by his bf

Title: The worse week of my life

Ship: Skam France | Lucas Lallemant and Eliot Demaury (Elu)

The holidays weren’t something Lucas particularly looked forward to anymore. When he was a kid, Christmas was fun. Lucas loved all the beautiful decorations and colorful lights. Every year, his parents would drive up to his grandma’s cabin on the 25th and Lucas would always sing along to all the carols until they there, excited to open all the presents.

The past Christmases have been very different and difficult for the Lallement family, replacing the carols by shouting matchs between Lucas’s parents and the car ride to his grandma’s by a long walk around Paris to get away from his parents. Last year’s hadn’t been much better, spent by himself at the coloc with Mika and Lisa whom he had only just met. Lucas felt like he was intruding their made-up family.

This Christmas was going to be different, it was going to be his first Christmas with Eliott and Lucas was really excited. He had already bought Eliott’s present and had Manon help him with the Christmas tree when Eliott announced him that he and his family were going to a resort in the south for the holidays and that Lucas was welcomed to join. While the offer was tempting - a whole week in the south, feet in the sand and sunbathing all day long with his boyfriend - Lucas had only met Eliott’s parents a couple times and he didn’t feel comfortable enough to join their family trip.

“Don’t act like I’m leaving for a whole year, it’s only one week.”

“One week is long, Eliott,” Lucas pointed out. “It’s seven days or 168 hours or 10 080 minutes or-”

The older boy cut him off with a kiss. “You sound like I’m going on a deserted island.” Eliott pressed his forehead against Lucas’s, thumb caressing his soft cheeks. “I promise to text you every day…and every night depending on the wifi at the resort. I’ll send you photos of me sunbathing with some fancy tropical drink or swimming with sharks and you’ll regret not coming with us.”

“Can you even swim with sharks there?”

Eliott shrugged. “I don’t know… That would be cool, wouldn’t it? Imagine Basile’s face if I were to post this in my Instagram story.” Lucas agreed. Basile would be so jealous. “And, if you ever need anything, I’m one phone call away.”

“You too. If you need me…I’ll pick up regardless the hour.”

“I know.” He gently pulled Lucas closer and gave him another kiss, this one not as sweet as the previous one, the younger boy’s grip on his hoodie tightening.

When they broke the kiss, Lucas buried his face in Eliott’s shirt, tears forming in his eyes as he took in his scent for one last time. “I don’t want you to go.”

To some, Lucas’s behavior was a bit dramatic. Eliott wasn’t leaving with the military for an undetermined time, he was only going on holiday with his parents for a [week]. But, to Lucas, who had suffered from terrible abandonment issues, having his first love leaving for week in a resort felt like a life time. It’s going to be the first time they would be so apart since the start of their relationship and it was very difficult for Lucas.

Eliott hugged his boyfriend tighter, in a way hoping it would forge his body with his so he would be able to take Lucas to the resort but, that’s not how it works. He pulled away and wiped Lucas’s tears, kissing the sadness off his face until it was time for Eliott and his parents to check in their bags, forcing them apart.

.

It was a difficult week for everyone.

On the 24th, Manon organized a Christmas dinner at her place for her neighbors and ex-flatmates, festive attire required. Emma joined in, he mother only coming home in the morning, along with Imane who, being muslim, doesn’t celebrate Christmas in her family but felt like sharing a good meal with her friend. And, Manon’s cooking was a delight.

Although Lucas was having fun with his friends, he still found himself moping and missing his boyfriend. Seeing this, Mika and the girls decided to cheer him up and bring out the alcohol and the strobe lights.

On Christmas day, Manon came over and they all exchanged gifts on the living room floor, still not having replaced the missing couch. To no one’s surprise, Mika being Mika, had filled a box with tons of packs of condoms and flavored lube and wrapped it for Lucas, not forgetting a pair of earplugs for Lisa who didn’t find the present amusing at all. Mika thought it was hilarious.

For the next two days, Lucas stayed in his room, watching Netflix and curling up in bed, mimicking his dear flatmate Lisa perfectly.

Saturday, Lucas and they boys hung out at Yann’s, trying out the new game he got for Christmas. While the boys were having fun, Lucas sat in the armchair, hood covering his hair, swallowed in Eliott’s black hoodie - it was difficult not to recognize it -, missing his boy like crazy.

Yann noticed his best friend being awfully quiet and he knew that something was up, in fact they all had noticed but no one dared to speak up. Lucas had been checking his phone every minutes in hope to see a text from Eliott but, nothing. Yann decided to take responsibly and moved over to Lucas’ side. “You alright? You’ve been quiet all day and it’s not like you. I know that Eliott’s been gone but, you still gotta cheer yourself up, you can’t sulk all day, bro.”

“I’m fine, Yann.”

“Lucas, I know how much you care for Eliott but, you can’t rely on him this much, not everything depends on him. It’s not healthy. I mean, just look at you, how long did you sleep last night? Have you eaten anything today?”

“Guys! Did I told you what Daphné got me for Christmas?”

“A BDSM kit and a whip to fulfil your dirty dream,” Arthur responded with a snicked, referring to a dream the curly haired boy told them earlier this year.

“No… No, she got me a book about Kamasutra, you know what it is? We’ve put it to practice and I didn’t know she was so…flexible, if you know what I mean,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

This made Lucas groan in frustration and disgust. He didn’t mind listening to his friends talk about sex but, Daphné and Basile’s sexual prowesses made him want to throw up. “Ugh, will you shut up? I don’t want to hear about you and Daphné’s sexual life.”

Basile snickered. “You’re just jealous because you have to use your left hand all week, Lulu.”

Lucas glared back at him and Yann kindly asked him to leave Lucas alone but Basile being Basile didn’t listen.

“Get over it. Eliott’s not on his deathbed, he’s on holiday with his family.” Arthur elbowed him in the ribs for his lack of tact. “Ow! What? It’s true. All he does is mope around and ignore us. I bet he hasn’t take off that damn hoodie since Eliott left. And, he’s been grumpy too. I really hope Eliott comes back soon because you need to get laid.”

.

After a lot of pressure from Daphné, Basile had given in and hosted a New Year party at his place. His parents were out of town for the night so it was perfect.

“Too bad Eliott couldn’t make it for the party.” Arthur handed the joint to Lucas who took a drag, drowning his sorrows with weed. He knew it wasn’t the right way to cope but, he was missing his boyfriend terribly and alcohol and weed were the only things Lucas ever used to cope.

“He’s flying home tomorrow, right?” Yann asked, just to be sure.

Lucas nodded, releasing the smoke.

Everyone began to leave one at a time. It was first Basile who got distracted by Daphné. Then, it was Yann, who saw Chloé walk in and he couldn’t just sit back and watch. Eventually, even Arthur got up, getting bored of just sitting in one place and ventured out to find someone to share a New Year’s kiss with. That left Lucas alone on the couch, sipping his beer quietly. It had been the worst possible Christmas break and, at this point, he just wanted to curl up in his bed and sleep in hope tomorrow would come faster.

Seeing him alone, Imane came over to keep him company, hoping to cheer him up a bit. She knew how it felt to be left out and feel alone at parties. Despite the weed and couple beers, Lucas was still coherent. Imane could feel it in his voice that he was getting tipsy as she listened to her lab partner ramble about Eliott.

Lucas was telling Imane about that one time Eliott almost burned down the appartement when trying to cook Lucas a nice surprise dinner when a weight dropped behind him on the arm of the couch, creating a shadow over him. He was about to tell the person to find another seat when a smile formed on Imane’s lips, seeing something Lucas hadn’t. Curious, Lucas whirled around and, he was shook.

“You really thought I’d miss our first new year kiss?” Eliott said with raising eyebrows, a grin on his lips.

Without saying anything, Lucas flung himself in Eliott’s arms, hugging him so tight Eliott could barely breathe. He had missed him so much. Eliott hugged back, kissing Lucas’s face all over, keeping his lips for last.

Imane smiled, they were adorable.

[shadowsof-thenight]

Flashlight: Chapter thirteen

Story summary: This is an AU Two years ago, the love of your life walked out the door, breaking your heart into a million pieces. He had been unable to deal with his ptsd and you hadn’t been able to help him.Now that your best friend is marrying his friend, he’s coming back to town and you try to brace yourself for the reunion. Will you finally get closure?

Ship: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Warnings: mentions of ptsd, descriptions of ptsd, angst, heartbreak, reader wants to help but doesn’t understand ptsd.

Words: 2996

***

A/N: So, this had been a bad week for my health, but I still managed to get you a new chapter! So a win overall, I guess. I hope you’ll like it

As always the wonderful @beanstalk007 helped me with this (and all) chapters, and I am so grateful.

Feedback is greatly appreciated! And if you want to get tagged, let me know.

***

Masterlist                                              Story Masterlist

***

Nerves were coursing through your body as you knocked on the door before you. Clenching and unclenching your fists, you tried to keep them from shaking too much. The nervousness surprised you and made you take a deep breath in order to calm yourself. You wondered why this was so difficult, there was nothing to it really. All you were doing was returning something he had lost. He’d be happy with that, wouldn’t he? After all it was a family heirloom. He’d be missing it.

It had been three days since you all came together to watch the wedding video. Three days since you had been trying to come up with a reason to visit Bucky. And finally, Natasha had come to the rescue, offering up a wonderful chance. During the clean up the day after, she had come across Bucky’s watch, the one his grandfather had gifted him at his high school graduation. And she had not been able to bring it by yet. Hopefully, he would be too happy with the return of his watch, that he wouldn’t wonder how you came in possession of it. Then again, there really wasn’t anything strange about Natasha asking you. It just felt weird because you had been searching for a reason.

And yet, as soon as he opened the door, you began to babble. Non-stop.

Soon after your initial knock, the door had opened to reveal a slightly dishevelled Bucky. Immediately you worried that perhaps he had not been alone and you were interrupting. Which had set in motion the mind less rambling, fuelled by the worry that he had in fact moved on from you. Quick to apologise, you turned to walk away again, the watch completely forgotten on the bottom of your bag.

“You’re not interrupting anything,” his voice halted your hasty retreat, his words pulling you back from the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions you had so easily fallen into. Turning back, you realised Bucky had taken a few steps into the hallway, as if to follow you. He seemed utterly confused by your reaction and you could feel your cheeks colouring with the rush of blood. You offered a pointed look and waved at his messy appearance and he chuckled as he looked down to his half buttoned shirt. Running a hand through his locks he looked back at you with a shrug.

“Right,” he said with a smile on his face, “I’ve been packing and I was looking for something,” he explained and waved his arm in the direction of his room, now visible through the open door. Compared to the state of his room, Bucky looked rather put together.

“Shit,” you exclaimed and began rummaging through your bag, “That’s why I’m here.” You pulled out the watch and held it out to him, mentally slapping yourself for almost forgetting the entire reason you had come by.

“Are you leaving?” You asked, nervously gnawing on your bottom lip, as he happily took the timepiece from your outstretched hand. He shook his head and invited you inside for some tea.

Putting on the kettle, Bucky explained that he had received a call the day before from Wanda’s brother, Pietro. Through Wanda, Pietro had heard that Bucky was looking for a more permanent place to stay, just as his roommate got engaged and was moving out. Sipping your tea, you listened intently, finally able to relax again and silence the worry in your head.

“Need a hand with the moving?” You finally asked as he finished his explanation.

“Thanks, but I’m sure I can manage the two cases I own,” he chuckled and you smiled, realising that he obviously thought you had thrown all his stuff out after he left. It was probably time to inform him that you hadn’t. Wondering just how that slipped your mind before.

“True, but maybe it would be good to have help with everything that’s in storage,” you countered, smiling again when he regarded you with confusion written all over his face.

“I kept hoping you’d come back,” You confessed with a blush, “Though, truth be told, I am not responsible for all that’s in it.” You explained, while rummaging through your bag once more and getting a key out. Handing it to him, you gave him the address to the storage unit.

“Who else is responsible?” He wondered and you explained that when his parents had sold their house, his mother had added boxes to it. You could only imagine the wonderful things that had still been at their home by that point. His childhood bed, his old posters and who knew what else. Winnifred Barnes wasn’t one to throw things out and you hadn’t had the heart to do it for her.

“So I might finally get my action man back,” Bucky joked.

“I think that might not have been in your house to begin with,” his joke had prompted your confession and he barked out a laugh that you could only match. So many fights had been fought over that doll when the two of you had been kids. Many threats that neither one would play with the other ever again had been spoken, only to be forgotten the following day.

“So you did steal it!” Bucky accused, laughter still clear in his voice.

“Barbie needed a man,” you defended your six year old self with a bright smile.

“You had Ken!” Bucky exclaimed, trying to keep a serious face and failing miserably.

“Ken wasn’t as cool” you shrugged simply and Bucky just shook his head as he placed his now empty mug back on the desk next to him. He sat down next to you on the bed and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he whispered and kissed your temple. Words evaded you right then and all you could do was lean in to him and hum in agreement. It felt so good to have him back in your life. After all he had been your friend years before he was ever your boyfriend.

***

Two days later, you and Bucky made your way to the storage unit, ready to search through the boxes to figure out which he would want to bring to his new place. To the best of your recollection, there had been about 15 boxes in there, but his mother also had a key and as soon as the door opened it was clear she had made good use of that. Shocked, the two of you looked at the racks that lined the walls and were full of boxes, while the stacks on the floor completely hid the cement look that it had. With just one look, you decided this was not a two man job.

Pulling out your phone, you quickly opened the group app that Bucky had recently been added to again and sent out an sos to the rest. In it, you quickly explained the situation and added a picture of the storage unit to fill in the blanks and convince them of your plight. You already knew Wanda was out of town for a family weekend, and this last minute it would only be logical that others had plans as well. Still, you took a chance to ask.

Maria and Sam quickly replied that they too were out and unable to be back in time, though they were happy to help moving him in the following weekend. And not even thirty minutes later Steve, Natasha and Clint pulled up in the parking lot, laughing loudly at the sight before them. Bucky was lazily searching through a box filled with his childhood toys, happily rediscovering it all. While you stood next to him, slightly exasperated and wondering just how you would get through all these boxes in a timely fashion.

“Okay,” Steve began as the laughter subsided, “Three different stacks; one to bring back home, one to throw away and one stack for things you want to keep here,” true to his nature, Steve formed a clear plan for everyone to follow.

“Sure, but how do we make those decisions?” You wondered out loud, giving Bucky a pointed look. If he took as long with every single box as he had with the first one, the day would not be long enough.

“I’ll help him sort through everything,” Natasha offered and you smiled, knowing you could trust Nat to speed up the process exponentially. Natasha never had any qualms about throwing things out. She was always rather practical about it. Which was why the apartment she and Clint shared was always pristine. There was never any clutter.

“Steve and Y/n will get you the boxes, sort them by whatever is in them and I’ll help until there is a load to take to the trash,” Clint joined in and with the agreement of everyone, the three of you set out to make the first stacks. Soon the space was filled with talking, laughter and banter, teasing and reminiscing.

At some point Natasha had asked Bucky how he was paying for everything and he explained that he had been living on his savings the past few weeks, but thanks to Sam, he would soon begin a new job. The job was at the veteran centre that Sam worked at and would be mostly administrative, not something Bucky had done before but he was perfectly okay with that. Natasha even opted that perhaps at some point in the future, Bucky could help others with his experience and Bucky blushed, telling her he wasn’t ready for that just yet. They all agreed that Bucky would be a catch for the other veterans and were happy that Sam had given him a heads up about the vacancy.

Bucky went on to tell them that the interview process had been absolutely nerve-wracking. Though it had been a good experience and he didn’t need to explain his trauma, or his arm. They had only asked him about his relevant past jobs and his work for the army in broad strokes. There had been zero pressure to talk about anything he didn’t want to share. You were happy that he had such a positive experience. Seemed like life was looking up for him.

After a while, you began to notice that Steve repeatedly checked his watch and finally you asked him why. He was reluctant to speak, though the blush on his cheeks told you plenty already. After some light teasing from Clint, he finally confessed that he had a date that evening and would have to leave by 16.30 at the latest. Clint was quick to add that Steve would not just be going on any date, but a second date. Clint’s smirk told you that he had been sitting on this piece of information for a while and had been dying to share.

“So the first one was a success then, what’s her name?” You asked with a smile, genuinely happy for your friend.

“Sharon,” his hand was scratching the back of his neck and his eyes trained on his feet, the small blush on his cheeks extended to his neck now. Bucky gently smacked his shoulder with a smile and both you and Natasha gushed over his reaction.

“We’ll see where this goes,” Steve said, trying to tone down the excitement of his friends a little. His last few dates had not been very successful and you understood his hesitation. Walking past him, you squeezed his hand and grabbed a new box, ready for the conversation to be steered away from him. Finally you called everyone back to work, since Steve only had a little more than an hour to go. This seemed to work for a moment or two, until Clint suddenly started laughing softly. You knew right then and there that his favourite pastime was about to commence. Teasing.

“Remember when he was dating Lisa?” Clint’s shoulders were shaking with the contained laughter as he spoke those words.

Steve scoffed and tried to offer his friend a stern look, though the corners of his mouth were twitching. You and Natasha could not help but break out laughing as you thought back to the poor girl. Lisa had been so overwhelmed by the friendships in their group and the shared history that was between them. Instead of embracing his friends, she had become insecure. Especially Steve’s relationship with other women was a sore subject for Lisa and she had quickly gotten a little petty over it. It had been years since Lisa had left their life and everyone laughed about it now, but at the time the mere mention of her name was enough to sour the mood.

“Or his little fling with Maria?” Natasha added laughing, bringing them all the way back to their high school years, when the two friends had thought there was more to their relationship. It had not been pretty.

“I was certain they’d kill each other before the year was over,” Bucky chuckled, as he closed another box and Natasha placed it on the pile that Bucky would be taking with him to his new place.

As much as Maria and Steve loved each other, then and now, there was no room for two captains in one relationship. Something had to give. Luckily, they had been able to figure that out before their friendship had been damaged beyond repair.

“Or Sabine?” Clint added fuel to the fire, teasingly winking at Steve.

“Do we have to go through all of them?” Steve asked with a whine, causing everyone to laugh.

“No, we don’t,” Natasha said, taking pity on Steve, “We can talk about Natalia instead,” she added with a wink and Steve laughed loudly, while Clint’s face fell at the mention of his ex-girlfriend.

“Now, that girl was a trip,” Bucky jumped in, his loud laughter joining that of the others.  

Natalia had been a daredevil, ready to take everyone along on her destructive path with her. She had been impulsive and a little crazy, though there were some good memories there. At least for the group. Clint didn’t remember her quite as fondly and when he tried to break it off, she had exploded on him. Apparently, three months was enough for her to bank all her future plans on him and she did not take kindly to him walking away.

“It’s a wonder we didn’t give up on love all together,” Natasha joked, opening another box. Everyone chuckled in agreement. They sure had some wild experiences in their combined past. Although your personal dating life had always been rather consistent. Before Bucky, there had been two guys you had kissed. But other than that, it was very uneventful. Not until Bucky’s accident and the subsequent break up.

“But look where we ended up,” Clint finally said in a sickeningly sweet voice, walking closer to Natasha. She batted her eyes at him, pretending to swoon.

“Be still, my heart,” she whispered dramatically and allowed herself to fall forward into the arms of her husband. You laughed loudly at their antics and shook your head as you climbed on an old discarded chair to reach the boxes on higher shelves.

“I just hope she’s nice, Steve” Natasha added with a smile as she stood straight again and everyone jumped in to agree with her. Steve smiled thankfully and the conversation finally truly steered away from his love life. Natasha put Clint to work and he began loading the first stack of boxes that were to be thrown out, in the trunk of your car.

As you grabbed a box from the highest shelf, the chair beneath your feet wobbled and an unattractive yelp escaped you. With the box in hand, raised a little above your head, all you could do was to try and keep your balance. Naturally, if you hadn’t been so scared to fall, you would have thought of putting the box down. Unfortunately that kind of thinking was lost to you.

Luckily, before worry could fully take a hold of you, two hands were placed firmly on your waist to steady you. The sudden chill on one side told you it was Bucky even before you could look down. Your stomach flipped as you glanced passed the box and looked at his smiling face, barely hearing him as he spoke; ‘I got you’.

Reaching over Bucky’s head, Steve took the box from your hands and now free of the weight of it you place your hands on Bucky’s shoulders. Carefully, you stepped down from the still unstable chair. He didn’t let go of your waist, nor did he step back and the close proximity quickly fogged up your brain.

Caught in the moment, you stared deeply into his eyes, feeling Bucky’s arms shift and his hands landing in the small of your back. He kept staring at you with that beautiful smile playing on his lips, his eyes shifting from your eyes to your lips and back. Your breath hitched in your throat and your heart was hammering in your chest.The air between you was thick with tension as you licked your lips, his head was moving closer and you were certain he was going to kiss you.

And that was the exact moment a loud crash broke the electricity that had been building in the short time that his hands had been on you. Shocked, you whipped your head to the left, towards the origin of the sound and found Natasha holding a box that was missing its bottom and its content. The grimace of her face told you that she knew exactly what she had interrupted. With a sigh, you turned back to Bucky, who was still standing close. And though his eyes were still boring into yours, he had now removed his hands from your body. The magic had been broken, the moment had passed.

***

Chapter fourteen

[intothestarkerverse]

Reunion - Starker Week (Day One)

Summary:  For @starkerweek Day One’s prompt ‘Reunion’.  I have submitted for your pleasure a medieval AU involving a Grail quest and our otp...

The Quest for the Holy Grail continued, and it continued without the Red Knight.  

Sir Ironside, as he was called by the peasantry, was famous for his performance in tournaments.  He had yet to be unseated a single time, even when he was struck full force by his opponent’s lance.  Some blamed magic.  Some blamed alchemy.  Some claimed it was his skill.  In the end, it didn’t matter.  The crowds loved the knight whose reputation for his sardonic wit was only outmatched by his renowned tendency towards reckless self sacrifice.  He was the people’s champion and the people loved him...even if he did not understand why.

In all of his time at court, though, Sir Anthony of Stark Tower had never taken a true squire.  Oh, he had hired a squire who served to help him dress and care for his weaponry, but ‘Happy’ had never had designs upon being a knight.  The Red Knight had never been tasked with teaching a young would-be hero the basics of combat and chivalry…probably because chivalry had never been his strong suit.

That all changed the day young Peter came to court.

The boy was smart.

He was quick with observations that escaped the notice of almost everyone else.  Everyone but Anthony.

He was brave. 

He walked onto the training grounds and faced other squires several times larger than he was, always without fear.  Every time he was knocked down, he pushed himself back up and fought until the knight overseeing the training that morning called an end to the match out of fear for the boy’s safety.

Anthony found himself watching young Peter more than he should.  He was so petite, it was a wonder he could lift a sword at all…and the idea of the lad helping a knight don his armor for battle or tournament was laughable, much less the idea of him one day wearing the armor himself.  Anthony’s chain mail probably weighed more than the boy did soaking wet.

None of the knights would train him.  As other squires were taken on by knights of the court, Peter remained alone.  Still, somehow, he never allowed himself to look discouraged. Anthony found that he could not watch the beautiful boy suffer alone any longer.

“Come along, Peter.”

The boy looked up from his work furiously polishing another knight’s armor.  “Many pardons, Sir Anthony, I did not realize you needed my assistance…”

“I do not need assistance, boy, but you need a knight and this is me offering.”

Peter’s cheeks took on a rosy hue as he stumbled to his feet and the chest plate fell to the stones with a clatter.  “Sir?”

“Did I stutter, boy?  You need a knight and I happen to be one.  So, come along…we are going to begin by finding you a sword that you can actually lift.”

He would never admit to anyone how much he enjoyed the time he spent with Peter.  The boy was so eager to learn.  He took ridiculous risks, and more than once Anthony was forced to drag him off the field of battle and bring death upon the bandits or dragons or opposing knights who dared to threaten even a hair on his boy’s head.

Peter devoured every story Anthony told him about his past exploits.  He listened with wide honey brown eyes, asking questions whenever the knight paused for breath or dramatic effect, gasping and cheering in all of the right places.

Peter’s brilliance proved to be more valuable than his bravery.  When Anthony showed him the lab in which he dabbled in alchemy, Peter was only too eager to join him there as well.  Together, they created a metallic alloy that they used to forge a sword and armor that was light enough for Peter to wield while still being sturdy enough to endure an onslaught of attacks from heavy iron weaponry.

For a long time, Anthony pretended not to see the look of longing Peter cast in his direction whenever he thought the older man was not watching him.  He couldn’t have him.  Couldn’t touch him.  Couldn’t even think about how wonderful it would feel to explore every inch of the boy’s nubile young body.

Oh no.

The wizards at Court had determined that purity was needed to access the Holy Grail.  These new, young knights were to remain virgins.  Chaste.  Pure.  Good.  Then, when they were ready, they would be sent forth to find the Grail and return it to their king.  

It did not matter what lascivious thoughts crossed the knight’s mind as he watched Peter attacking a sparring dummy with a nimble succession of moves that had become his own signature style of combat.  Oh no, if the Grail wanted purity and goodness…than Peter was going to be the one to find it.

Anthony tried to hide his disappointment when Peter proved himself ready to join the Grail Quest, when the King knighted him.  Anthony did not see the questing party off.  The Red Knight wasn’t welcome to join them, because when it came to goodness and purity, everyone knew that Sir Ironside was at a deficit.

Six passages of the full moon.

They were gone for six months.

Anthony felt every day of their quest like a knife to his gut.  He spent countless hours in his alchemy lab trying to ignore the fear that had settled over him like a shroud.  If Peter died…he would take the boy’s death as his responsibility.  He had not taught him enough.  He had failed as a mentor.  Was the Grail worth risking Peter’s life to attain?  Anthony hardly felt that it was.

When the trumpets sounded distantly, barely audible through the thick stone walls, Anthony did not leave his lab to investigate what they were announcing.  He hardly cared.  He would care about nothing until Peter was safely returned to Court and all was well.

He had no concept of time within the lab.  He did not know how much daylight had passed between the trumpets and the soft voice that startled him from the lab’s doorway.  

Peter’s voice.

“Sir Anthony?  I thought…I thought you might have been with those present to welcome us home…I should have known you would rather be here.”

Anthony looked up, relaxing for the first time since Peter had left his sight several months ago.  “You survived.”

“Yeah, looks like.”  Peter glanced down at his hands, then back up at Tony with a flush of pleasure.  “We succeeded, too.  The Grail.  The king has it…”

“I am proud of you, Peter.”

The boy smiled.  “Gratitude, my liege.  But…that is not why I am here.  Or at least, it is not the main reason I am here.  If the Grail is ours…we no longer have to guard our virginity.  The other Knights have all departed to their chambers with eager ladies of the court…”

“And you came here?”  Anthony could not hide his incredulity.

“And I came here.”  Peter looked at the man expectantly, head canting to the side slowly.  “I…I thought I understood the looks we shared, the words unspoken.  Was I wrong…”

His question was cut off as the knight crossed distance between them in a few simple strides.  He seized hold of Peter’s waist and dragged him across the floor.  Mouths met with a clash of lips.  Anthony’s tongue licked against Peter’s mouth as the young man moaned.  His fingers clawed at Anthony’s back at the older man’s accompanying growl of possession.

“I have never been so happy to see a quest end.”  Anthony’s voice came out in a raspy purr as his lips moved down the creamy expanse of Peter’s throat.  One arm reached out blindly, knocking away parchment and instruments from the nearest table so that he could lift the boy and sit him down against the wooden work surface.  “There will be nothing pure about you when I am done with you.”  

“Good.”  Peter had been dreaming about his homecoming for too long.  The entire length of the quest, all Peter had wanted was to find the Grail so he could be free.  He had hoped that Anthony would be happy to see him, that they would spend his first few hours home in the throws of passion.  Though he’d never been allowed to partake in carnal pleasures before, Peter had spent no shortage of time imagining what it would be like to open himself up to the older man.

Peter’s cries shook the lab several times that night, ringing every drop of chastity from him as Anthony introduced him to a variety of pleasures some of which he had not even dared to dream about before now.  He had not known that Anthony could use his lips to set his body on fire in so many different ways, nor that he would enjoy it as he burned.  When he was finally fully claimed by the man, they were both exhausted and spent, laying on the floor of the lab before the fire draped in an animal skin rug.  “What will we do now, Sir Anthony?”  He could not help but ask the question.  He was no longer a squire.  He could not arguably spend time with the man alone like he once had without arousing suspicion…and there were those who would not smile upon this new facet to their relationship.

Anthony grinned, turning the boy’s hand over in his own before lifting it to his lip to kiss the knuckles.  “We will find a quest…one that will take us far from court and require us to adventure for a very, very long time.”

“When we finish that?”

“Another.  And then another after that.  There are no shortage of quests, Peter, and we will have no shortage of reasons to partake in them.  I let you leave my side once…I have no intentions of every allowing that to happen again.”

[misssophiachase]

I have an idea for Klaroline song prompts. What about Taylor Swift's song Mine?

Thanks nonnie, I hope I do it justice since it’s one of my faves (and sorry for the long delay, I’ve been working through a few different song prompts with a couple more to go and… wow… did Louis Tomlinson really produce something awesome without me noticing, although I was always strictly team Liam or Niall). I digress… for this drabble I chose my favourite part of the song, even if it’s a bit angsty. 

Mine

And I remember that fight, two-thirty am, ‘cause everything was slipping right out of our hands.

Growing up Caroline assumed, no doubt thanks to all of the hype and teen, romantic comedies that prom night would be a magical fairytale she’d never forget.

After all, she’d acquired the ‘perfect’ tux-ready date, the ‘perfect’ dress and a naive belief that those two elements were enough to guarantee her happiness, even if leading up to prom had been anything but.   

Turns out it really wasn’t perfect. 

Not that Caroline was surprised.

The dress, while gorgeous, was no match for the strapless bra digging into her bare skin, her shoes a half size too small, and her so called ‘perfect’ date while good to look at was very much her mother’s choice. 

Fast forward to the middle of the night post-prom and she was realising that it was indeed unforgettable but magical fairytale not so much.  

Or so she thought.

I ran out, crying, and you followed me out into the street.

It was raining so heavily that visibility was extremely low. On further reflection, Caroline hadn’t really thought out the scenario and she’d long forgotten the difference between rain and the tears running down her face.

Her dress was soaked. The sleek, red gown now very much stuck to every inch of wet skin and the bra she’d hastily removed earlier due to discomfort making her areolae more pronounced given the steadily falling temperatures.  Her hair had long since fallen from the chignon at her neck and was now hanging wet at her sides. Caroline could only imagine where her mascara had travelled unsupervised. 

No, this wasn’t how she saw her ‘dream night’ going nor had she envisaged just how unkempt she’d look. 

Although at that very moment, as he chased her, calling her name repeatedly over the storm Caroline knew it wasn’t his fault, none of this was.  

So she stopped, her breath ragged, facing him. He was obviously tired, his expression downcast, bow tie hanging loosely, his shirt untucked and Caroline didn’t think he’d ever looked so beautiful. 

Braced myself for the goodbye…Cause that’s all I’ve ever known 

“Pretty certain coach should have recruited you to track team,” Klaus panted. “No wonder all those cheerleaders ate your dust this year, Forbes.”

“Jokes huh?” She asked curiously, suddenly forgetting about every external distraction. 

“I was trying to catch my breath and pretend I’m not as unfit as I clearly am, love,” he grinned, flashing a stray dimple. “If you’d like to discuss the weather instead though I’d say we’re experiencing a severe rain storm at about eight degrees.”

“Fahrenheit?” 

“There you go trying to be cute with all your American measurements that the rest of the world don’t observe,” Klaus teased knowingly, her mind revisiting their past in a number of flashbacks.

He’d nuzzled her neck and kissed her nose multiple times and Caroline could tell he was struggling not to do that while keeping his distance as per instruction.

They’d had this discussion before, in fact they’d had many together. Not that anyone knew because everything between them was played out in secret. 

Klaus was the guy most parents feared and every cheerleader with a bad boy fetish craved. He’d transferred from public school in England, not bothering to dispel the rumours acting out and, although cliched, wearing a little more ripped denim for their liking.

Her mother had immediately insisted she keep her distance but it would be revealed later Liz’s past wasn’t too different given Caroline’s true paternity. With any threats though came the obvious rebellion.

And each day as she fell more in love with Klaus Mikaelson things became that much more difficult. And now she’d betrayed him just to please her mother to have the ‘perfect’ prom. Caroline felt like a fraud.

It was only an hour into prom night that Caroline realised her perfect was blonde not brunette, blue eyes not brown with a pair of crimson lips and dimples that could make even the most talkative person silent.  

Seeing him across the room in his makeshift tuxedo earlier, his curls fastened behind those ears and Caroline felt her resolve weakening but being rejected again by someone other than her father was even worse.   

“I know I come with so many complications and for that I’m sorry,” she murmured through the pouring rain. “So I’d understand if you don’t want…”

Then, you took me by surprise. 

“I’ll never leave you alone,” he interrupted, pulling her closer, his arms enveloping her waist. The rain long forgotten as they had the reunion truly deserved. Through all the frenetic kisses, Caroline finally felt like she was home.

You are the best thing, that’s ever been mine

[artificialqueens]

sometimes a fantasy [is all you need] (branjie) -- frenchy

a/n: hi hello!! i’m frenchy, & this is my first fic on here, despite being a longtime reader!! i sent an ask addressing my inspiration to write a branjie get-back-together fic, where they are hiding their still existing feelings behind a pr stunt/their social media interactions & fall back together through these/acknowledge that it’s deeper than they are pretending. it seemed to interest quite a few people so here she is!! this can be read as a long one shot, but considering how much content they are providing us with, i may continue it?? maybe!

ps. this does not include all the things they’ve posted thus far, but i will definitely try to include most of what we’ve seen so far as references/plot points in future parts if i continue this! ! this takes place while the show is airing, beginning action-wise after episode 4’s airing. it heavily involves the video with branjie that nina west posted on her instagram a few days ago! also, i am not giving into the assumption that they are actually broken up, but in the context of this fic, those rumors are true! okay that is enough, i am super excited about this, i hope you all enjoy ahhh!! <3

@Bhytes1: Hey Papi

@VanessaVanjie: @Bhytes1 What

*****

It had begun innocently enough.

Or, at least, that’s what the both of them would claim if ever asked about it. A tweet or two there, a cryptic emoji-strung comment here, and a handful of tooth-rotting gif interactions. It was almost rare for a day to pass without at least once mentioning of each other through social media, whether direct or not.

Brooke Lynn recognized the necessity for this. They both did. That’s why they were doing it.

They hadn’t necessarily discussed the inevitability of fans indulging in their on-screen romance, but there was an unspoken agreement between them, as well as with their fellow RuGirls. No one would bring up their current relationship status, and all would remain playful – that’s how fanservice worked, after all. Give the fans what they wanted, to ensure they would stay in tow. It reaped many a benefit not only for the show’s ratings, but for the queens involved. The season was only a few episodes deep, and already the interest in Brooke Lynn and Vanessa had spiked – both as a duo, and as individual performers. Brooke liked to believe it was her own doing that attracted so many new fans at such an early stage, though she had to give some credit to her more widely known castmate.

Still, as harmless as it posed to be, it didn’t take long for them to be accused of insincerity. A dozen tweets couldn’t change the fact that they were no longer together, that their relationship had ended before the season had even begun airing. They knew it, their fellow queens knew it – hell, half the fans knew it, even if they had not disclosed it officially. The fandom they found themselves thrust into wasn’t one unknown for spreading gossip and spoilers. The breakup had gone smoothly for the most part, at least when concerned with the public eye. It had been a quick discussion, albeit a tense one: was it smart to remain together when their lives were about to be changed? The two of them were self-aware and smart enough to recognize that their personal growth required separation. That the glorification of their growing relationship on TV would only put a strain on what they had in the present. Neither of them wanted to risk the prospect of resentment.

But they were being proven wrong, day by day. They talked and responded to each other every day, typically without any push from outside sources. They found themselves going from simply answering questions about each other and acknowledging fan reactions, to seeking out each other, interacting with no prompting. It was for the fans, yes, but Brooke never sensed any tension between the two of them. Maybe she was misinterpreting, but she and Vanessa seemed to do the whole “indulging the fans” thing flawlessly. Wishful thinking, perhaps.

And that’s what led them to where they were tonight, in a small office at REBAR Chelsea, too many people for too small a room. The music was almost deafening outside the walls, but was no match for the voices in said room. Specifically, Vanessa. Loud, brazen Vanessa Vanjie Mateo, in a glittery upside-down jersey dress, off her shoulders, her makeup freshly set and her adrenaline pumping even before having stepped out onstage for the night. She had been meticulously placing her blonde wig on her head in the mirror, making an effort to chime in more-than-occasionally to the conversation Nina West found herself deep in with a friend, despite being across the room. Brooke opted to sit in the corner, scrolling through her phone, Vanessa being the sole one of the three of them in drag for the night.

“More than iconic, really. The fans love it,” Nina’s friend had said, prompting Brooke to glance towards them. She hadn’t been paying attention to what was being said, though the mention of fans always peaked her interest. “Definitely need a recreation of that iconic moment at the reunion.”

“Iconic moment?” Brooke asked through a growing smile, interrupting, causing heads to turn towards the new voice contributing to the conversation. Nina laughed, with a hint of hesitation, turning her body fully to face Brooke, still sat in the corner of the seemingly-shrinking room.

She nodded enthusiastically, eyebrows up. “Untucked. Y’know how funny everyone found my reaction to you and Vanessa?” Nina clarified, gesturing towards the mentioned queen, who glanced at them through the reflection of the body-length mirror, still messing with her wig.

Brooke made a noise of understanding. “They live for their memes, bitch,” she answered. Naturally, she had seen the uproar that the last Untucked had caused, specifically when concerned with Nina’s shock towards the kiss. Brooke heard Vanessa laugh under her breath, accompanied by a curt nod signifying her agreement to Brooke’s statement.

“It’s crazy,” Nina nodded as well, proceeding to take a sip from the glass of water she held tightly in her right hand. She was halfway through swallowing when her eyes widened, an excited yet smug smile bringing the conversation back from its natural pause. “Why wait for the reunion? I mean, like, it’s fresh right now! Imagine how funny a recreation would be if we made it right now. We’re all here, aren’t we?” She nodded towards Vanessa before looking back to Brooke.

“So, milk it?”

“You and Vanjie should be pros at that with how you’re playing off this ‘on screen romance’ stuff,” Nina raised her free hand to provide seemingly unnecessary air quotes. Brooke scoffed gently. The romance was real, the follow up was not. It wasn’t, none of the tweets or interactions held any merit. But Brooke almost felt a personal offense at the implication that what they had before was fake, even if she had just misunderstood and Nina didn’t mean it that way. It shouldn’t have bothered her as much as it did. “It’ll fare well for the two of you, and it’s all good fun. What’s the consensus?”

There was a moment of tentative silence, a sudden hush. It was unusual for Vanessa to not be bouncing off the walls, her adrenaline from before nowhere to be found. Brooke looked over at her, making quick eye contact with her through the mirror. Vanessa raised a painted eyebrow at her, as if asking – no, suggesting, that it could be a good idea. It wouldn’t hurt. Right?

“Could be funny,” Brooke answered for the two of them, her smile returning.

Nina nodded, handing her phone to the woman at her side. “Let’s do it!” She straightened her denim jacket, water still in her hand, posing as a makeshift cocktail. Brooke stood from her seat, clearing her throat and watching as Vanessa finally turned her back to the mirror and faced the rest of them, a smile now adorned and her reluctance from before vanishing at the sight of a camera. The sight brought a certain weakness to Brooke, if only for a moment, just as it had every time she saw that smile. There was nothing different in how Vanessa made her feel still, she could appreciate things like that about her even if they weren’t an item.

“So, what, just kiss? Like in the Untucked?” Brooke made an effort to look away from Vanessa, but it felt like the reluctance Vanjie held was instead transferred to her. It was the same loss of focus she became familiar with during drag race, where even the just the knowledge of Vanessa being in the same room was enough of a distraction. She never complained, though.

“Yeah. Just like in the Untucked,” Nina kept herself at a distance from the other two queens, her body facing the now three people with phone cameras posed at them, others in the room joining in to capture the moment.

Vanessa again quirked an eyebrow at Brooke, who felt herself get uncharacteristically nervous. Why was she nervous? She hoped no one clocked her uneasy breathing, or heard her heartbeat as loudly as she did. She considered herself a good actress, but it was easier being playful and coy through twitter – how does one kiss their ex on camera, casually enough to make it look natural and real, but not too comfortable as to earn speculation from Vanessa herself, who clearly had no problem playing this up in front of the camera. It was certainly a tricky situation they were in. She wondered for a moment if Vanessa was struggling in the same way.

Brooke made a mental note to bring it up someday.

She wondered how long she stood spacing out, due to Vanessa no longer regarding her and instead living her directing fantasy. “You gotta start, like they did – like they did when we did this, you gotta say action,” she was instructing those who were filming, gesturing wildly.

“Ready? Yeah,” the woman nodded along, halfheartedly taking in Vanjie’s words, already having pressed the record button. “Okay ready?”

“Do it now,” Vanessa told her, and Brooke registered the deep breath that Vanessa took moments before they were to kiss.

“Action. Action.”

It was a blur after that – perhaps not in the moment, as she was conscious enough to chime in with a comically over-exaggerated “Did ya’ll see that?” after Nina and Vanessa both quoted it themselves. But when Brooke thought back to the video that ended up attracting attention on Nina’s Instagram later that night, she hardly could recall the details. It was foggy, most of it. Excluding the kiss.

Was she right in calling it a kiss? It was hardly that. A quick peck, reminiscent of the one they were recreating, not even enough for Vanessa’s lipstick to transfer onto Brooke’s unpainted lips. Not even enough to Brooke to over-analyze. Or so she thought.

Nina retrieved her phone as soon as they had finished the reenactment, smiling to herself as she hit play to watch the video. Vanessa quickly joined her to watch it, her smile losing its sincerity as they watched. Brooke remained across the room, attempting to gauge their reactions under the guise of gathering her own bearings, picking her own phone back up from where she had been sitting.

“S’it good? Convincing, too?” Brooke asked after the video had ended, the unasked ‘Too convincing?’ threatening to spill from her lips. She noticed that while Nina appeared overjoyed at the video, laughing to herself and pocketing her phone, Vanessa’s expression offered an air of concern. The look of trouble alone revived Brooke’s anxiety.

“Yeah, no, it’s good. Really good, thanks, guys,” Nina addressed both the ex-couple and those who had recorded the video, each from different angles, though only one would end up on the Ohioan’s Instagram. “I’m going to head out there, good luck up there tonight, girl,” Nina nudged Vanessa, who only gave a halfhearted smile and a quiet ‘Thanks’ in response.

Nina turned to leave, the others all following her, leaving after them a tension that filled the room. The room that only Vanessa and Brooke were left in.

“Hm,” Vanessa returned to her place in front of the mirror, lost in thought and not acknowledging that she wasn’t alone. Brooke sat back down, one hand occupied by her phone and the other fidgeting with the hem of her black blazer. Maybe she was overestimating how long and uncomfortable the silence felt, but Brooke wasn’t so sure it was that crazy of an exaggeration.

“Definitely should help fuel that fire,” Brooke spoke up, choosing to entertain the prospect of discussing the kiss rather than sitting in that loud silence. Vanessa didn’t stop touching up her makeup in the mirror to look at Brooke, just nodded. “Maybe we could post a picture together at some point soon. Is that too much?” Brooke laughed, not sure if her laugh was directed at her own question or Vanjie’s lack of an answer.

After another extended silence, Vanessa suddenly turned around to grab her own phone off the small table in the center of the room. “Let’s do it.”

Brooke was taken aback, needing a second to readjust to Vanessa’s usual volume returning after having been quiet in thought for so long. She watched as Vanessa snapped her fingers expectedly, waiting for Brooke to stand up, plausibly for a selfie.

“What, right now? We can’t post it right now, girl.”

“And why not?” Vanessa countered, her free hand going to her hip. “If we gonna do this, we have to keep feeding the children. We can’t let them go hungry,” she attempted to lighten up the tension in the room that had been there ever since Nina and the others left.

Brooke chuckled deeply, shaking her head. “Not after that video. Give it a week, maybe.” She hoped Vanessa would understand where she was coming from and drop it. She had thought they shared that logic in this situation, in the faux flirting and how it worked PR wise. It was bad to over-saturate this.

“Hmm,” Vanessa repeated from before, evidently unconvinced. She dropped her phone back, heading towards the door. Brooke felt relief ease her anxiety, focusing back on her own phone. 

She didn’t even notice that Vanessa had paused in the doorway, looking over her shoulder back at the man out of drag.

“That’s mighty shady of you, Miss Brooke,” the graveness in her voice forced Brooke to look up, making sincere eye contact for the first time that night. “Reeaaaaalll shady.” Vanessa’s tone held a certain hesitance, a caution. She was unique in that way, in the way that she carried herself in private compared to in the public eye. While most minded themselves and grew wary when being watched, in regards to what they say, how they act – she was the opposite. Upon the chaos of the Werk Room, the need to be recognized on national television, Vanessa tended to surrender her control. She was brash, and loud, and unapologetic; she was likable for this.

That wasn’t the Vanessa that stood now before Brooke in the stuffy room.

Brooke raised a single eyebrow, unsure if her growing smirk was welcome. Unsure of whether this was a real dig, or a classic shady Vanjie joke.

“Shady? And, what? You’re innocent in this?”

No longer looking over her shoulder, Vanessa turned fully to face Brooke, her back to the hall. Brooke noted the way her eyes subtly narrowed under her four pairs of stacked lashes, her head cocking with a void of amusement. She didn’t answer or play off of Brooke as she normally would have if this was a lighthearted exchange, instead opting to stay quiet, as if observing Brooke, sizing her up. Her painted eyebrows furrowed with the narrowing of her eyes, though her concentration felt deeper than her simply fabricating another shady comment to hit back with. If she wanted to, she would have already thrown it – she was quick witted enough to bypass usual brainstorming.

When Vanessa cracked a weak smile (albeit it didn’t reach her eyes), Brooke let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“I never said I was innocent. In any meaning of the word. We both know that,” Vanessa took a step forward, back into the room, her voice knocked down a few volumes, for Brooke to hear only. “Even the fans know that, with some of the things we’ve been tweetin’ and sayin’. Whether they’re real or not,” she added, shrugging.

“They’re not,” Brooke challenged, saying matter-of-factly.

“See, that!” Vanessa laughed, pointing to Brooke. “You betta stop! Stop that, bitch.”

Confused, Brooke glanced Vanessa up and down. “What? Stop what?” She wished she could claim naivety. She knew exactly what Vanessa was saying.

Instead of answering her, Vanessa once again stood before her, looking down at her – not much, as even with Brooke seated and Vanessa in heels, the height difference made it so that they weren’t at an unusually unfair playing field now. She waited for an instant, to see if Brooke would say something. When she didn’t, Vanessa crossed over to sit in the empty chair beside her. Brooke didn’t ask if she sat so close to the edge intentionally, to be as close as possible to the Canadian queen.

That tense psychic feeling was back, but it felt different this time. She just couldn’t point to what changed. Was the whole room engulfed by this feeling, or just the few inches between the two? Regardless, Brooke felt her stomach knot, and had to stop her leg from bouncing in the space between them. If only Vanessa would get to the point. The point Brooke already knew she was making.

“Y’know, Brooke Lynn,” Vanessa drew out her words, in a sort of emphatic yet teasing manner, it being uncommon for her to use the second part of Brooke’s drag name unless addressing her by full name. Her gaze dropped, and Brooke instinctively followed it – they both watched as Vanessa’s right hand moved to draw mindless patterns on Brooke’s pant leg, right above the knee. If it weren’t for how close Vanessa’s voice was when she spoke, Brooke could have easily hyper focused on the way Vanessa’s hand traced gently up and down. “At some point we have to quit pretending like this is only for the fans.”

“We talked about this,” Brooke kept her voice solid, despite the way Vanessa dropped her’s to just barely above a whisper. They both looked back up at the same time, although neither one backed off. Brooke could have sworn they were closer than they had been before Vanjie had taken her seat.

“Really?” Vanessa frowned, puzzled. There was a cloud of doubt in her eyes. “Musta been out of it ‘cause I can’t seem to remember us doing that. I think you’re mistaken, Miss Brooke.”

Brooke swallowed, shaking her head weakly, and tried to look away. She trained her eyes to a bulletin board on the wall. She had more than enough time to push the other queen away, or scoot back, or even get up.

She stayed where she was, could feel Vanessa’s eyes on her.

When she realized Brooke was adamant on not entertaining the conversation, Vanessa continued. “So. Tell me, then… What you’re tryna say is that if I were to kiss you right now, with no one around to see it, you’d pull out a camera to take a picture of it? You’d tweet about it? It wouldn’t feel real to you, at all?” She knew what she was doing, she could tell Brooke was trying her hardest not to look at her.

Until she did, her eyes making contact with Vanessa’s again, mere centimeters from her face. “Is that hypothetical?” Brooke’s voice entered into a whisper. She made the mistake of glancing down towards Vanessa’s coated lips. She wasn’t fast enough in fixing her error, as Vanessa had already noticed and consequently did the same, a smirk playing at her lips.

“It don’t gotta be. That one’s up to you,” Vanessa breathed, yet the way she inched impossibly closer said otherwise.

“I–”

Before Brooke could allow the anticipation to drive her crazy, Vanessa’s lips were on her’s.

It was nothing like the kisses they shared on camera, neither drag race or the peck for Nina’s video. It was only the two of them, no pressure or expectation forcing them to maneuver with any caution. The kiss all too similar to the ones they would share after finally finding privacy in between filming, after not having seen each other for a week due to gigs, after spending the weekend together and waking up clinging to each other in the morning. It was all familiarity and comfort, butterflies and giddiness, as their lips moved in a passionate fervor. They didn’t think about posing, or the door to the room being wide open, or mixing nonchalance with playfulness.

Brooke had just released the tension in her body, the reluctance she feigned, when Vanessa broke the kiss.

“Mm?” Brooke blinked, fog passing slowly.

Vanessa moved away from her with a coquettish wink, flipping her wig dramatically over her shoulder that said wig didn’t even reach. “I got a show to do.”

That little fucker, Brooke huffed a laugh with an incredulous shake to her head.

“Maybe a reenactment later?” Vanessa paused again at the door, “Good luck tweetin’ unsuspiciously about that one and not bein’ urged to give me a private phone call after.” And with that, Vanessa vanished around the corner, Brooke not seeing the bashful smile she wore all the way to the stage. And she didn’t know that Brooke wore one to match.

*****

That night, the first thing Brooke saw upon opening Instagram was that damn video. As well as all the reposts and screenshots she had accordingly been tagged in. She prepared herself before playing it, not having seen it yet.

Stopping herself from smiling was out of the question as she watched the fifteen second clip. She watched it more than once, not breaking the natural loop it made whenever it ended.

And if she texted Nina later to send her the video, simply to rewatch the way Vanessa smiled into their kiss, well, she wouldn’t bring that part up.

*****

@Bhytes1: Because everyone loves a dramatic re-enactment