#and that it may involve being a friend by gently standing against them (a la best form Clark and Alex)

[magpie-trove]

🌸

[runwithwolvcs]

You Know I’m No Good - o n e

Summary: Tallulah Forester isn’t a bad person, she’s just made one too many bad decisions. Which is why she has now found herself four hours away from her home in Seattle, to her estranged fathers little home in La Push, with her stepmom and two half sisters, whom she has only been with a couple of times in the past 15 years. Her mother and father had agreed, shockingly, that the small town lifestyle would be beneficial to their wild child, but bad habits die hard, especially when it comes to being in control.

Timeline: Takes place a few years after the events of Breaking Dawn

Pairing: Paul Lahote x OC (Tallulah is 18)

Warnings (future chapters): Drugs/Alcohol, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Jealousy, Mental Health, (Mentions of SA, but no details)

There are losses that rearrange the world. Deaths that change the way you see everything, grief that tears everything down. Pain that transports you to an entirely different universe, even while everyone else thinks nothing has really changed.

Tallulah stared out the window in the back seat with her knees tucked up to her chest, arms wrapped around them tightly as her father drawled on, switching from topic to topic, your sisters and Kira are so excited your coming to we’ve already enrolled you at the school to do you remember this person or that person? Anything to fill the silence from creating a  suffocating atmosphere in the car. It all sounded like white noise to her, she barely remembered La Push. 

She moved to Seattle with her mother when she was six and the two of them never looked back, whenever she would see her father or half-sisters, they would meet halfway in Port Angeles and then head their separate ways. It was easier that way for everyone involved. 

Josette and Lenna, her half-sisters, were ten the last time she spent any actual memory inducing time with them. Although they are only two years younger than her, they were so different. So in tune with the tribe, whereas she barely knew anything about the histories. She doubted anything would have changed in that respect.

Tallulah's headaches from her hangover, or maybe lack of sleep, she thought, and as she laid her head against the window she listened to the sound of passing cars and her dad's voice as she slipped into a dreamless sleep.

--------

Tallulah awoke to the sound of the car door shutting and a nearby dog barking, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, grateful her headache was gone, but now in its place was a lump in her throat, as she looked around her surroundings outside of the car. The little blue house she vaguely remembers. The tire swings in the old oak tree. A woman's laugh caught her attention, as she looked to see her dad and stepmom, chatting away, happier than ever. Tallulah felt so out of place. Like she was an intruder coming in to ruin her fathers happy, little family with her black cloud of disappointment. 

Tallulah groaned to herself as she unbuckled herself, might as well get this over with, she thought to herself while opening the car door and slowly stepping out, stretching as she did. She could feel the two adults eyes on her as she shut the door gently, looking towards them, Kiras big smile, that if she didn’t know better would look insincere, but she did know. Her stepmom was a tryhard, doing anything and everything to be the perfect wife, the perfect mother and stepmother, no matter how hard Tallulah pushed against her kind persona. She was the reason her family was in pieces. Kira and her father were no doubt in love, even when her parents were still together, they never looked at each other the way she sees her father looks at Kira and vice versa, like they are each other's reasons for being. She moves, he moves. Tallulah nearly physically cringes. It's not something she ever wants for herself, that fairy tale love.

She walks toward them slowly, Kira meeting her halfway, wrapping her arms in a bear crushing hug that she doesn’t reciprocate, looking past her at her father who has that ‘be nice’ look on his face, and clearly, she was in no place to fight that. She couldn’t help but think, if this doesn't work out the way her parents think it will, where is the next place she would be shipped off to? 

Kiras' soft, sweet voice shakes her from her thoughts, “it's so nice to see you again. Your hair has gotten so long.” Tallulah raises an eyebrow before stating, “I've cut it a few times since I saw you last.” Kira laughs off the dig, before walking towards her father and saying, “the twins are out, we’d figured you'd be better off getting settled without a full house.” Tallulah nodded in response as her father spoke up for the first time since arriving, “besides, we have some things to discuss. Expectations and what not,” 

Tallulah eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “Rules? I’m eighteen. I don’t need to have any rules.” Her arms crossed over chest, as if she were a child. 

“If you think that you will be continuing your..extracurricular activities that you have picked up in Seattle, you are wrongly mistaken” he says in what she assumes is his fatherly tone that works on the twins, but not her, he gave up that right fifteen years ago. “Your mother has filled us in on everything, Tally” She rolls her eyes at this, as if she knows everything, she thought to herself.

Kira stood up on the porch, just inside the doorway, “Joseph, let her settle in, we can have this conversation tomorrow, after the bonfire.” she said in ‘dont fight me in this tone’, to which Tallulah appreciated, yet was confused, “Bonfire?” she asked, as she made her way up the steps of the house leaving her dad to bring in her few bags, “The tribe bonfire party happens once a month, the girls love it, plus you can meet some of your classmates before you start school.” Kira spoke as if this was something she should look forward to, but in all honesty, large gatherings were not Tallys scene, despite what her mother thinks. But, she would attend, save face and hope with good behaviour she would be back in Seattle with her friends in no time. This thought reminded her to shoot them a text quickly explaining her situation, hoping they would see it as an SOS, before shoving her phone back in her pocket and following Kira around the house like a little kid, listening to where things were kept, which rooms were which and then finally a stop at the room in which she would call hers. The walls were a blank, cream color, with light blue bedding and a wooden desk shoved in the corner, along with what looks like textbooks sitting on top.She nods politely as Kira mentions they will be leaving within the hour but try to settle in and suggests she may want to change out of her cotton shorts, as it “gets quite cold compared to Seattle” as she put it.

-----

7:14 read the time on Tallulah's phone as they walked up to the beach, the sun had just begun to set and the temperature had, in fact, dropped quite a bit, thankful for Kiras advice, Tallulah had changed into a pair of loose, blue jeans and had tucked her hands into the pockets of her oversized, black hoodie, fingers curled under the long sleeves to keep them warm.

She walked slightly behind Kira and her father, standing off to the side as they were greeted by people, before they had reached whom she suspected to be the twins. They looked so different from what she remember, her father lowly spoke to her, as Kira caught their attention, pointing out the smaller of the two as Josette and the taller, as Lenna. Josie dawned a baggie pair of dark pair of overalls, with a striped sweater underneath, her hair in two space buns, which was quite different from her sister, in her plaid mini skirt and form-fitting long sleeve shirt, her pin straight, dark hair fanned out behind her back. Tallulah could already tell they wouldn’t get along.

 She watched as Lenna stalked away from her mother to a group of people who looked around their age, before snapping her eyes back at the sound of her name being called, to see Kira and Josette waving her over, before she could even move her feet willingly, her dad was nudging her in their direction, as if she would turn and walk the other way. 

Josette moved over so she could sit directly beside, a friendly smile that resembled Kiras on her face, “ Hi Tally” she spoke her childhood nickname softly, “it’s been awhile, you look so much older, not in a bad way, like mature, adultish, but obviously your only two years older than me so not technically an adult..” she rambled off, “Hey Josette” and before Tallulah could say anything else, she was interrupted by the younger girl, “Its Josie or Jo, whichever fine, just not Josette” she spoke quickly, a pale blush crossing her olive toned skin, to which Tallulah just nodded and asked, “How long do these things last?”

“That depends,” Josie spoke, “Typically the adults leave once the stories and tribal matter finishes, so maybe an hour or two. But we usually stay later, or at least Lenna does.” she said, looking in the direction of her twin, who was now surrounded by a group of other rambunctious teenagers. “Sam Uley's crew is here tonight, so who knows if that will even happen, especially after last time.” Tallulah didn’t question the younger girl, mainly because she just didn’t care to. She looked away from Lenna and her friends, her eyes gazing on all the unfamiliar faces sitting on logs or picnic tables surrounding the growing fire. 

Her eyes stopped on what seemed to be a couple, the girl was beautiful, her long black hair was tied up into a neat ponytail, she was talking to a man in a wheelchair beside her, who looked like he could be her dad, her eyes shifted to the man sitting next her, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, he was in shorts and a shirt and looked perfectly comfortable in the frigid air, he was joking around with the boys next to him, as if the beautiful girl next to him was really there, despite his arm around her, “Thats Paul Lahote.” Josie said from next to her, causing her to flush from her obvious staring, he looked in their direction, as if he had heard Josie say his name, they locked eyes for a split second before Tallulah looked away embarrassed she had been caught. “Don’t worry, Lenna stares at him too,” Josie laughed jokingly, “I wasn’t staring” Tallulah spoke defensively, Josie raised her hands in surrender before leaning in close, “looks like he's the one staring now” Josie grinned, watching as Tallulah looked back at the older boy, noticing that he was staring at her, almost like a deer in headlights. He looked so familiar, though she doubts that they have ever met before. He smiles at her slightly, his arm retracting from the girl beside him despite her protest to his movement, and now the beautiful women is also looking at her, causing Tallulah to look down at her sleeve covered hands that lay in her lap, only looking up again when her father sits in the spot next to her, asking if she's alright, to which she absentmindedly nods her head. Is she alright after her entire life has been altered in the last 12 hours? What kind of question is that?

Her eyes are drawn back to the spot Paul Lahote was sitting in, or had been sitting in, the seat was now vacant, the man nowhere in her line of sight, and she can't help but feel a little disappointed.

[captainscanadian]

Hope | Bucky Barnes x Reader (Part 3)

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Summary: When an old friend stops by, you decide to revisit your past for the sake of writing inspiration. 

Word Count: 2100+

Pairing: (Eventual) Doctor!Bucky Barnes x Patient!Reader, 

Warnings: Heartbreak, Bullying, Alcohol, Death

A/N: This fic was my entry for @wkemeup​‘s 4K Writing Challenge. I DON’T DO TAGLISTS!

If anyone asked Rosie Bender what she valued the most in her life, she would always say that it was the people who had been a part of it. Regardless of whether she had just met the person or if she had known them her whole life, she had always believed in keeping people close. 

Being the social butterfly that she had always been, it was often a wonder why she hadn’t managed to leave this boring old town. But she had to blame her love for a certain Rebecca Barnes for keeping her in her hometown.

Becca had been the reason why Rosie and Bucky had gotten close. Although she had been in the same year as the man during high school, she had never really hung out with him. Truth be told, who would have hung out with him? Considering that he was the guy who had humiliated his best friend in front of the whole school, she had loathed him with a certain passion.

Back then, all he had cared about was hanging with the popular kids - and Rosie, as social as she was, she was considered one of the weirdos. But now, she had no choice but to accept that Bucky was an inevitable part of her life, being Becca’s brother and all. 

But that did not mean that this nurse could ever forgive her friend for the dickhead he used to be. While she hadn’t been close to you back in high school, she had certainly felt bad for you after the incident. A part of her had wanted to be the friend you would have needed at that time, though she had been unsure about approaching you when literally everyone had made you the joke of the school. How could she have gotten you to trust her when Bucky of all people had caused you so much pain?

Nevertheless, Rosie found herself walking up to your front door that morning. Whatever the issue that you had with Bucky, it was between him and you. She was not going to get involved in his business anymore. 

But she was not someone who could keep away from you, especially knowing that you’ve been back in town after a whole decade and that you were staying alone in your childhood home. She was certainly glad about your return to Shelbyville, that too in time for your ten year reunion. 

So, there she was, holding a basket of baked goods in her hand as you opened the door, her heart beating against her chest as she grew slightly nervous of how you would treat her, but giving you a smile nevertheless. “Hello, Y/N!”

“Rosie… what a surprise.” You raised your eyebrow. “What brings you here?” 

“I’m sorry to show up at your door unannounced. I’m sure you’re busy… with whatever you’re doing, painting the house- Nick told me that you were, not that I’ve been stalking you or anything.” She bit down on her bottom lip as she drew a sharp breath. “I just… I just wanted to stop by, because I didn’t get to speak to you the other day when I saw you at The Tavern, seeing that you pretty much stormed out of there… but I brought you some cookies?” 

You could not help but chuckle softly at how she was fumbling with her words. “Rosie, it’s okay… I really appreciate you coming by. I’ve been here a few days and it’s starting to feel lonely.” You admitted, accepting the basket of cookies from her and stepping away from the door to let her in. “Why don’t you come on in? I apologize for the mess. I still haven’t finished with the painting, you know, it’s just me.” 

Certainly relieved that you hadn’t shut the door in her face, the nurse stepped inside of your home and looked around. She hadn’t really been inside of it before, but from the way Bucky and Becca had described it, she understood that the pop of colour that she was now seeing was your doing. “I think it looks great.” She smiled, turning over to look at you. “It’s good to have you back here, Y/N.” 

You wouldn’t call Rosie Bender your close friend, but you had been acquaintances back when you were in high school. When your mother had been sick, she had been her nurse for some time and they seemed to have gotten quite close. “Thank you.” You smiled back at her as you led her towards the dining room, which had remained untouched by your attempt at home improvement and therefore lacking the pop of colour. “I don’t know if I can say that it’s good to be back, but it’s lovely to see a familiar face and not feel a certain sense of murderous rage.” 

Chuckling softly at your words, she nodded. “Oh I can imagine…” She could not help but agree, for she had been a witness to your worst nightmare on that dreadful day. “So, for how long will you be in town for?”

You shrugged your shoulders as you set down the basket of cookies. “I don’t know, really. I actually came out here to get some writing done for the last book of my series, but I saw the state the house was in and decided to fix it up.” You replied. “I’d say I should be here for a few months. I’m hoping to stay until I can meet my deadline.” 

She nodded, understandingly. “I have to say, I’m a huge fan of Hopeless. I’ve read all three of your books. It’s one of my favourite series.”

“Oh you’ve read them?” You asked, taken by surprise that she had actually read your books. Not that you wouldn’t have wanted anyone from your past to read your works, but you had assumed that the people you had left behind in Shelbyville wouldn’t have been willing to take a chance on your works. 

“Your mother used to have me read her the first book every night when she was first admitted.” She replied with a sigh. “She used to tell me that she wanted a part of her daughter to be there with her, and that if you couldn’t be there in person, your book would do. I only started reading them for her, but somewhere along the line, I fell in love with Hope Anderson and her own quest for love.” 

“And that reminds me…” You took a step towards her as you smiled, feeling your eyes glazing over for a moment. But you told yourself that you weren’t going to cry. “I never got to thank you in person, for taking care of my mother while I was gone. I know now that I’ve missed out on a lot of time that I could have had with her, but thank you for being there for her. I’m sure she really appreciated that.” 

“You don’t have to thank me, Y/N.” Rosie shook her head as she pulled you into a hug. “I was only doing my job, and I knew… I know what happened. I know why you left. I guess I kind of figured that you wouldn’t want to come back to what you left behind and I did my best to be there for your mother, because I knew you couldn’t.” 

You finally let the tears slip as you accepted her warm embrace. “I should have been there… but I couldn’t, I never wanted to come back here.” 

“I know…” She rubbed your back, gently. “But I’m sure your mother’s watching over you now. She’s probably glad to have you home again, Y/N. She wanted you to have the house. She told me that it’s why she never wanted to leave, no matter how many times you asked her to move out to LA. Now that you’re back here, and… you seem to be putting your personal touches to the house. I’m sure she’s happy, wherever she is.” 

Leave it to Rosie Bender for being so warm and comforting, just as she had been on that day ten years ago. Even though you weren’t friends, she had been someone who treated you like one. 

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know… I’m still a sobbing mess, aren’t I?” Pulling back from the hug, you were quick to wipe away your tears. “Can I make you some tea? I wasn’t expecting any visitors but I feel like it’s rude not to serve you anything.” 

“How about I make the tea and you help yourself to some cookies?” She chuckled softly as she walked towards the kitchen to put on the kettle. 

You nodded, grabbing yourself a snickerdoodle that still felt warm against your tongue as you took a bite. You immediately recognized them; they were Winnifred Barnes’ secret family recipe. “So, you and Becca, huh?” You asked, turning over to look at her. “How did that happen?” 

“Believe me, I didn’t see it coming either. I’ve known her since we were kids, but we never… we never realized that we had feelings for each other until we both finished college.” She replied, laughing softly. “You know what they say, sometimes the love of your life would be right before your eyes and you wouldn’t have any idea.” 

Now she may have said that on purpose, but she certainly played it off like an absentminded thought. 

“Yeah… you wouldn’t have any idea.” You agreed. 

Rosie poured two cups of tea before looking up at you. “Y/N, are you coming to the 10 year reunion next weekend?” She asked, curiously. 

She wondered if you even knew about the reunion, considering that she had left multiple voicemails to your LA office but you hadn’t returned any of her calls about whether you would be attending the reunion. 

“I wasn’t planning to.” You admitted, shrugging. “Do I really want to go there when I know that the people who made my teenage years miserable will all be there under one roof?” 

“You know, the Maximoff twins RSVP’d.” She informed you, cracking a smile at the thought of those two. “I don’t think those two would really qualify as people who made you feel miserable.”

“I see enough of Pietro and Wanda back in LA.” You clarified, laughing softly at the thought of the two people from high school whom you had still kept in touch with. “Wanda works for my Publisher and Pietro is a frequent guest at my book launch parties.” 

“Connie Chapman would be there.” 

You raised your eyebrow. “What?”

“She RSVP’d too, just thought I’d let you know, in case you needed a reason to be there.” She replied, setting down a mug in front of you before pulling herself a chair. “The invite still stands. I understand that you might not want to be there, considering what happened during senior year. But I would really appreciate it, if you could come… and show those people that you’re much more successful than all of them could ever be.” 

As you sipped your tea in silence, you pondered if you should really attend your ten year reunion. Surely, your senior year happened to be the worst years of your life - and you had wasted four years with a certain Ivan Petrov who couldn’t have bothered to put a ring on it. Not even your relationship with the ex-boyfriend who had inspired the plot of your second novel had been as bad enough as your senior year of high school. Was it really worth revisiting those memories for one night? 

Considering that the working plot of your fourth novel currently revolved around Hope Anderson revisiting her high school days and that your writer’s block had still gotten you to the point where you were killing the time by painting your house, you could certainly use the experience for a little more writing inspiration. The book was not going to write itself, and you couldn’t really figure out what to do with Hope and Jason’s story without having them attend their ten year reunion and face some harsh truths about their past. 

You were well aware that Bucky would be at the reunion. Having run into him at The Tavern, you had avoided having any kind of confrontation with him by drowning yourself in alcohol and dashing out of there before either of you could address the elephant in the room. But you knew that it was not best to avoid him for any longer. You needed to find closure for that chapter of your life, so you might as well find it at your ten year reunion. 

“Fine, I’ll be there.” You finally spoke up, making Rosie look up from her cup of tea with wide eyes. “I can’t promise that I’ll actually enjoy myself. But I don’t think I should be hiding away from those people for any longer.” 

What even was the point of hiding anymore?

[justasparkwritings]

Merry & Bright {9}: Shawty, With You

Previous: May All Your Christmases Be White

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Rating: PG13

Warnings: Swearing! Kissing!

Summary: Yoongi’s been too nervous, and awkward, and embarrassed, to kiss you. With a nudge from his friends, will he finally do it? 

          Yoongi moves absentmindedly through the Christmas party. It’s a mix of who’s who in the music scene, a wanna be Quincy Jones Grammy party outfitted with the hottest celebs, elves and a high society mall Santa. Somewhere in the mix of celebrities and B-listers, Yoongi knows, is you.

           You, no doubt dressed in an ethereal holiday outfit, make up flawless and striking, resembling something straight from Euphoria, and if he knows you, laughing. God, Yoongi loves your laugh, the trill notes you hit in your giggle, the way your smile showed your double set of dimples, chocolate eyes squinting as you lost yourself in bliss. The smile you made when you’d calmed down, not gummy like his, but dazzling, blinding, Helen of Troy sent men to war over her beauty, and if you were any less otherworldly, you could destroy the galaxy.

           “You have to talk to her,” Namjoon urges, moving to stand next to Yoongi.

           “I don’t even know if she’s here,” Yoongi says, eyes scanning the crowd.

           “Text her,” Namjoon says.

           “No,” Yoongi shakes his head.

           “Make a move before she finds someone else to kiss at midnight,” Namjoon takes a sip of his drink, eyebrows raised. “I’m right.”

           “Namjoonie, leave me alone,” Yoongi blushes, gently shoving his maknae.

           “At least come dance with us,” Namjoon nudges him towards the dance floor, and he resigns himself to partake.

           “Let me get a drink first,” Yoongi counters, and reluctantly Namjoon allows Yoongi out of his sight.

           Drifting to the bar, Yoongi bumps into a countless number of celebrities, all looking at him with confusion and recognition in their eyes. They can tell he’s important, the way he holds himself, the manner he’s dressed… It screams of his status, but they can’t place him. K-pop absolutely, but which group? And after they determine the group, which member? Yoongi appreciates his anonymity, though racist, as he brushes against Jimin at the bar.

           “Suga-hyung!” Jimin calls, smile dancing on his lips. He wraps his arm around his shoulders, dragging him to the front of the line with him.

           “How deep are you?” Yoongi asks, laughing at the blatant intoxication of Jimin and Jungkook.

           “Get on our level!” Jungkook yells, giggling immediately as the words fall from his lips.

           “Fine,” Yoongi orders three shots, tosses them back and turns to his maknae. “Happy?”

           “Let’s dance!” Jimin calls. He takes the hand of each man and guides them to the dance floor. An EDM version of Last Christmas fades as a dance-pop remix of Jingle Bell Rock takes its place. The seven men have a way of finding each other regardless of circumstance, regardless of the crowds around them… Their hearts beat together. Tonight, though hammered nearly into oblivion, they’ve managed to find one another on the dance floor. To say they’re a spectacle would be an understatement. It’s hard to dance anywhere when Jimin, Ho-Seok, Taehyung and Jungkook could wipe the floor with anyone that tried, and tonight is no different.

           They laugh and sing as they groove, only stopping when Yoongi stands still, eyes staring at a figure in the distance.

           You’re laughing with some guy he doesn’t recognize, the light of the nearby Christmas tree illuminating your dimples, gold eye liner striking a contrast against your warm skin. Yoongi doesn’t realize he’s staring until Taehyung is in his face, drunken smile dancing on his boxy lips.

           “Yoongi-ah go say something,” Taehyung urges.

           “He’s too scared,” Ho-Seok adds.

           “Just remind her how handsome you are… Oh wait, that’s me!” Jin laughs at his bad joke, which elicits an eyeroll from Namjoon and a giggle from Jimin.

           “She doesn’t care,” Yoongi shrugs, ear trying to make out the new song the DJ is scratching.

           “That’s a lie and you know it, she likes you,” Taehyung teases.

           “How would you know?” Yoongi questions, eyes suspicious.

           “Get her under the mistletoe and find out!” Taehyung turns from him, laughing with Ho-Seok as they begin some choreography he doesn’t recognize.

           “Oo, kiss her underneath the mistletoe!” Jungkook says, his mind catching up to what Taehyung had suggested.

           “That’d be so romantic,” Jimin adds.

           “Then you’d know,” Namjoon says. He glances past Yoongi at you. You’re stunning, merriment pouring from you like light from the angels. He knows Yoongi is smitten, the flirting and banter you’ve exchanged over the last few months, the dates that haven’t quite been dates, the longing stares and gentle touches Yoongi hoped he hadn’t dreamed… Namjoon had seen it all. He hoped that being in LA for the holidays would spur his hyung on, give him the courage to seal the deal or be gently rejected, and here he stood, at the hottest Christmas party of the season, standing, staring, unmoving.

           Namjoon turned to his brothers, and in a quick huddle they hatched a plan. Yoongi wasn’t clueless, but he could be misdirected, especially when he was drunk, especially when you were involved.

           Guiding Yoongi back to the bar, Namjoon turned quickly into the crowd, leaving Yoongi alone. Annoyed, he started walking back to the dance floor, only to be grabbed by Jimin who said Namjoon was at the other bar, on the opposite side of the room. Nodding, Yoongi started making his way through the crowd to the opposite side, only to be distracted by Taehyung and Jin, laughing uproariously, guiding him towards the buffet and away from the bar. Somewhere between the buffet and circling around the pool, Yoongi is left alone, taking in his surroundings.

Where the fuck is he?

           He turns to walk back the way he came, bumping into you. In the distance he sees Namjoon and Ho-Seok, giving him a thumbs up. He suppresses his instinctive eye roll.

           “Fuck,” He says, arms intuitively wrapping around your waist to keep you from falling.

“Sorry,” He breathes.

           “It’s o- Min Yoongi,” You smile, lipstick still impeccably placed. “Funny running into you here.”

           “I, uh, yeah,” Yoongi’s immediately flustered, cheeks crimson as he tries to glance away from you.

           “I’ve been looking for you, your friends said you’d be here,” You say, hands tightening around his biceps. He gets the hint and tries to relax but having you in his arms is electrifying.

           “Hmm, they led me on some wild goose chase to I guess, find you,” He shrugs.

           “Isn’t that romantic?” You laugh, eyes glancing above you. Yoongi copies you, eyes going embarrassingly wide as he takes in what hangs above you. Mistletoe.

           Yoongi stops staring at the plant, which he assumes is plastic, and dares to lock eyes with you.

           “I, uh, I’m,” He’s flustered, and it’s making your knees weak.

           “We don’t have to, we can just, walk away?” You offer, a hint of disappointment in your voice. Whether you want Yoongi to detect it or not, he does.

           “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” Yoongi says. His dominant hand moves swiftly from your waist to cup your cheek and in a decisive moment, his lips are on yours. They’re soft and gentle, skillful and patient.

           In the distance, Yoongi’s brothers whoop and holler before tossing back another shot and dispersing to go back to dancing.

           Under the mistletoe, you and Yoongi remain, lips intertwined.

Next: All I Want Is You

[harryandmolly]

Change of Pace - 15 (March 2007)

cowritten by @achinglyshawn

summary: Shawn and Maya meet again 10 years after life got in the way of love

warnings: language, angst

wc: 5.8k

------------

She rolls over in the middle of the night and finds herself facing him. She’s not sure why she’s awake at all. She doesn’t think she was dreaming. But sleep isn’t tugging at her, dragging her back under. She’s blinking at him like she’s got a full 8 hours under her belt, like she’s ready to go.

He’s asleep, obviously. Beautifully, blissfully asleep. Her brow wrinkles. She’s never noticed before how… young he looks when he’s asleep.

He showered before bed because he was at the gym late. His hair is mostly dry now, frizzly curls without product squished up against his forehead. His mouth is slightly open, soft puffs of air aimed toward the pillow. He looks so innocent. She wants to touch him but he’s been stressed lately and really needs his sleep -- she can’t risk waking him.

Especially not with this… feeling she has. 

It’s gotten harder and harder to push away, even just in the last few weeks. Moments like this make it harder. He just looks so vulnerable. It reminds her of her own weakness.

What the fuck are they thinking?

They’re going to move to LA with a little money and some big dreams and what, work hard? And that’ll get them everywhere? It’s just so unstable. What if they’re not enough to make it through something like that? What if they can’t handle it and they splinter, fracture, fucking explode and are left broken and bleeding without the other to clean them up?

It’s Maya’s worst nightmare. It’s worse than not making their dreams come true, this idea of destroying the dream they’ve been living together.

She slams her eyes shut and breathes shakily. She wishes he were awake right now. She’s not ready to voice this concern to him, she just wishes he were conscious enough to bring her some comfort.

She’s tired. That’s all this is. She’s tired and melting down a little. She just has to close her eyes and snuggle up to him and sleep. So she does. She tucks an arm around his waist and feels him shift closer to her, seeking out her warmth. With some kisses to his chest, soothing herself more than him, she shuts her eyes.

+

She tells him everything. She has for a long time. But she was never going to tell him about this.

It was totally innocent at first, or so Maya thought. Maybe it never was. If it were never a serious consideration from the beginning, she would’ve mentioned it casually, off-hand. She didn’t. She went out of her way to shield him from it. She didn’t let herself consider why, not at first.

It was born from an afternoon phone call with her dad. She was heading into the final year of her MBA and chatting with him about the classes she was looking to take to fulfill her last few requirements and the professors she was excited to work with.

“Sweetheart, have you thought about taking some time to look into internships? I know the plan is LA next fall, but maybe you’d get more out of taking the time to work first.”

The idea had, admittedly, crossed her mind. Some other women in her program were discussing their own post-grad trajectories. The opportunities they discussed sounded exciting -- banks in Vancouver, high net worth wealth management in London, even Wall Street. She found herself fantasizing about it sometimes, the comfort and security of working a solid finance job like that. 

But it’s not what she wants, she wants art and music and Shawn.

Art and music and Shawn. Art and music and Shawn.

It became a mantra. She even repeated it to herself while she applied to a few of these internships come spring, just before graduating her program. Which she didn’t bother to mention to Shawn. It didn’t matter. They were just a safety net. They weren’t real options. Maya kind of just wanted to know if they’d accept her, if she could’ve been enough.

Turns out she was.

More than enough, even. She was accepted to three internship programs in Manhattan, London and Zurich, each for prestigious hedge fund management firms. The hours will be shitty, the pay will be bad, but each one has a potential path to full time work after completion of the program.

Maya cries for a full hour when she gets the acceptance letters from the mailbox downstairs from her apartment she shares with Shawn. And then she takes a walk to call her mom.

“Baby, can I say something?” Wendy murmurs, her voice shaky after talking her daughter down from the ledge.

Maya nods, the cold Toronto sun doing nothing to shield her from the feeling that everything is about to change, before she remembers her mom can’t see her.

“Y-yeah.”

“I think… you wouldn’t be so upset about this if you didn’t really want to do it. Honey, maybe… maybe you need to take one of these jobs.”

Her ears ring. The cacophony of the city around her is blurred into muffled sound around the words, the ones she hasn’t even let herself think.

But she knows when she hears them that her mother is right. She cannot turn this opportunity down. She feels it. It’s what she needs to do.

“B-but… Shawn… he’s… mom, I can’t do this to him.”

Wendy is quiet for a while. She sighs heavily.

“You’re not doing it to him. You’re doing it for you.”

Her words feel like the first nail in the coffin. Maya scrubs a hand down her face. Her mother whispers a few more words of encouragement and sends her off to talk to Shawn.

Maya’s never walked up the five flights of stairs to their shitty studio apartment so slowly. She stands staring at the apartment door for a full five minutes, listening to the plinking of his fingers against the guitar strings, before she walks in, acceptance letters in hand, sniffling gently.

Shawn doesn’t look up from his guitar when he hears Maya return from grabbing the mail and snacks from the corner store. He’s not sure how long she was gone, but it feels like it was more than just fifteen minutes. Maybe she ran into someone at the store. Maybe he’s just been super distracted by the tune he’s trying to perfect and it’s only been, like, five minutes. 

Either way, he hears the door shut and he grins, dragging his fingertips across the guitar strings as he coos her name in a soft falsetto. 

“I think this song is really shaping up,” he says when he eventually lifts his gaze to her. 

His smile falters. Her face is red, eyes puffy like she’s been crying, though it seems she’s wiped away any sign of tears. 

“Maya?” His voice almost breaks. He pushes the guitar from his lap and unfolds his lanky limbs from the couch. He launches himself across their tiny apartment to gather her face in his hands. 

“Sugar, what’s wrong?”

Her heart lurches hard in her chest when he sweeps across the room to hold her. He cups her cheeks and his big palms block out her peripheral vision. There’s nowhere to look but at his concerned face. Her hands lift shakily to his waist. She sniffs again, leaning the weight of her heavy head into one of his hands.

“I… I did something…”

How does she even begin to explain this to him? All at once, it’s crashing down. The whole plan. Their whole life. She doesn’t know what to do.

She blinks and feels more tears well up with the tightness in her chest. She shakes her head and drops her gaze. Like a coward, she steps forward and buries her face in his neck. She squeezes her eyes shut, clinging to one more moment before she has to say the words she hasn’t let herself think for months.

He almost loses his footing when she hoists herself against him. Her arms find his waist and she curls around him like the cat’s claw that clings to his mum’s pergola back home. His heart warms briefly-- he loves her in his arms like this and doesn’t waste a moment before tangling his hand in her hair. 

He’s distracted by her chest heaving against his when her words cut through the silence of the apartment like a knife. 

“Shawn, I can’t go to LA.”

He freezes. He’s not sure he can trust what he’s heard. Her face is still hidden in his neck, and her voice was muffled when she spoke. He’s trying to convince himself he misheard her when he realizes he hasn’t said anything yet. He swallows around the growing lump in his throat and lets out a breath. 

“What?” His voice is a pathetic croak. 

What could she mean? She can’t go to LA? Is that really what he heard? He’s hoping beyond hope it’s not. Maybe she said, ‘I can’t do the play’, which doesn’t make any fucking sense at all but maybe he’s having a stroke. Maybe this is a dream and Maya’s tears aren’t wetting the collar of his shirt as he holds her and gapes at their front door like a fish. 

Saying the words was the easy part, she realizes suddenly. Now she has to sit down and talk to him about this. She has to explain. She has to bring the wrecking ball down on their entire life, their four-year relationship that she knows means the world to both of them.

Maya eases back from his neck but doesn’t let go of him, not yet. She can’t stomach the idea of the space. Though she supposes she may have to start getting used to it.

She releases a whimpering, pathetic exhale and rubs a hand over her eyes, her other arm still wrapped around his neck.

“I got this… I mean… fuck. A-a few months ago, when all my program friends were applying for internships, I… I applied to a few, too. I guess I wanted to know if I could get in. And… fuck, I think I… wanted to hedge my bets. Maybe like, give myself the option. I don’t know. I guess I just started to really think about it. The LA thing, you know? It’s fucking scary, Shawn.”

She looks miserable when she untucks herself from his neck. The lump in his throat continues to grow as she speaks. His stomach sinks; his heart breaks. He feels himself nodding before he realizes he’s doing it. He gets it. He so, so fucking gets it. LA is terrifying. 

But he really thought they were gonna be terrified together. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to do it without her. He didn’t hedge his bets. He didn’t make any other plans. Any plan he has involves being in LA and being a musician and doing whatever he can to make music his life. 

He’s never been as smart as Maya. 

She sounds like an asshole. She feels like an asshole. She’s not even making sense, she’s sure. She presses her forehead into the firm warmth of his jaw for a moment and sighs again, still sounding like a whimpering child with every breath. She has to take a minute before she continues or she’ll get hysterical and then not be able to explain any of this.

“That’s-- Maya, that’s okay. It’s okay. LA is scary. I’m scared too. But we--” he tries in vain to keep his voice from breaking-- “We’re supposed to be scared together. Aren’t we?”

She blinks quickly and feels some tears drip down her cheeks, ready to splash against his neck. She refuses to move. She can’t let him go yet. She’s afraid of what happens if she does.

Maya clears her throat and tries to continue. She’s glad she can’t see his face as she talks toward his ear.

“I don’t want--” She chokes on the words, hiccupping slightly, “I don’t want you to be scared, Shawn. I think you can be so great. Fuck, you’re already great. You work so hard. You’re so talented. And your drive, god, this is all you’ve ever wanted for yourself. You’re going to make it happen.”

With a deep breath, Maya summons the courage to peel her face back and look at him head on.

“I don’t think I can do it. Lately… I’ve been thinking about it, about what else could make me happy. I-I think taking one of these internships is the better path for me. It could be a good life, you know? I could… make a lot of money. It would be more stable.”

She hears herself and wants to roll her own eyes. She sounds like a child trying to sound like an adult. She hiccups a sob again and wipes at her eyes.

He doesn’t know if Maya hears herself, if she hears the sour way she says ‘a lot of money’ and ‘more stable’. Two things he knew they were both worried about, but he thought their plan was to be brave, to listen to their stupid hearts and hold onto each other as tightly as they possibly can while they dive headfirst into real life. Together. 

But now she doesn’t want to do real life in LA and there’s a small part of him, simmering beneath the surface, that feels a little relieved. Maybe it would be safer to move somewhere Maya can get a real job. Maybe he could get a real one too. And they’ll save money and he can write a bunch of songs in the mean-time and Maya could paint on weekends and one day they’ll have enough money and fat portfolios to go to LA with. 

Like he said, Maya’s always been smarter than him. 

Shawn tilts his head, brushes his nose against the apple of her cheek. “Okay,” he murmurs, conceding easily, “If that’s what you want, Lu. We’ll--” 

“I still think you should go.” She cuts him off. “I think… we could handle it.” The words are weak, weightless.

And just like that, his brand new plans are blown to pieces. 

I still think you should go. 

What? 

“What?” 

He doesn’t want to go anywhere without her. Not in the slightest. He doesn’t want to do long-distance. Why? What’s the point? He can make music from anywhere. He wants LA but he doesn’t need it.

He needs Maya. He knows that sounds so, so ridiculous but he does. She’s his person. His teammate. Ride or die. Partner in crime. Any other stupid cliche or trope or whatever you can think of. So if she wants to go somewhere else, the LA of it all is irrelevant to him. He’ll go anywhere, but he has to be going with her. 

Why doesn’t she want him to go with her?

Maya’s eyes squeeze shut through his confusion. Tears pour fresh and hot down her cheeks. He’s still holding her close. She lets her fingers lift from his shoulder to pluck softly at the curls at the nape of his neck. 

She shakes her head. “Baby, you’ve always wanted to go to LA. You have to go. It’s your future. It’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted to do. I’m s-sorry I… that it took me so long to realize I can’t do it. I wanted to do it. I wanted to do it with you. But I can’t, baby, I can’t.”

She sobs a breath and covers her mouth with her hand. 

She’s not strong enough. She’s not brave enough. She’s not like him. She wasn’t born to do it like he is. And she can’t hold him back from it. She won’t. 

And if that means letting him go entirely… she’ll do that too. 

As she speaks, he feels his heart break, as if splintering from the inside out. He shakes his head, eyes closed, like he can block out everything she says if he just keeps moving and doesn’t have to see her tear-stained face. 

Her sob breaks his trance and his eyes snap open. She’s crying, a hand pressed to her mouth as if to stop herself from gasping uncontrollably. 

“Maya,” he reaches for her wrist, pulling her hand from her face, “Sweetheart, it’s okay. Please, please, don’t cry. It’s okay, I promise. You don’t have to go.” 

He won’t ever make her do anything she doesn’t want, and he hates the way she seems overwrought with guilt for not wanting something he does. His crumbled heart falls into his stomach, and he finds himself scrambling, trying to figure out some way to calm her, to make her think fucking rationally about all of this. 

Shawn sweeps her into his arms and leads her to the couch, pressing a kiss to her hair as he goes because he doesn’t want to think about what she’s suggesting, doesn’t want to entertain her idea that they have to live apart from each other, ever. 

Shawn cradles her close on the couch, but she’s somehow not comfortable. She’s always comfortable with him, but not like this. Not when they’re clinging to each other. 

Maya eases back a little to look at him. Her breathing evens a little after a few moments of silence. She stares mournfully up at him. 

Is she really doing this? Can she really, possibly be doing this right now?

“I’m going wherever you go, Lemon,” he says softly when they’ve settled on the couch and he’s got her hands safely pressed between his. “Please. I’m not-- I don’t need to go to LA. I have my whole life to go to LA.” 

“What,” she croaks, “Wh-what if I never want to go? What if it’s never going to be the right thing for me?”

She keeps her fingers in his hair but doesn’t move them, doesn’t tug gently at his curls or massage his scalp like she usually does when they’re close like this or when she’s soothing him. 

He might have to learn to do it without her soon, anyway. 

She tenses, like he’s said all the wrong things. The look in her eye makes his stomach sink further and further until his insides feel hollow. She’s completely still, her fingers twined in his hair but not stroke or tugging like usual. She’s also stiffer than usual, like touching him right now is painful, even though she doesn’t try to pull away. He sucks in a breath, blinks. 

“It doesn’t have to be. It’s okay. We can-- I can do music anywhere. Please, Lu.” 

He knows he sounds desperate. Pathetic. Completely, utterly miserable at the mere suggestion of being without her. But none of what he wants out of life means anything if Maya won’t be there with him. Why doesn’t she seem to fucking get that?

“Please, don’t be sad. Don’t-- don’t worry. We’ll figure it out, right? We’re gonna figure it out.” 

He’s begging her. He’s not begging her to go to LA, he’s begging her not to feel like this. And it’s the one thing she can’t control. 

Maya takes a shaky deep breath and releases his hair to curl her own behind her ears. She feels the absence of him immediately and it’s replaced with a distinct nausea. She closes her eyes and thinks about it.

She thinks about him in LA playing in a band. She thinks about him driving along the beach. She thinks about him recording and getting signed and touring. It’s so, startlingly easy to picture. Maya wants it for him. It’s all she’s ever wanted for him. Because next to being with her, it’s all he’s ever wanted.

“Maybe you can’t have both,” she whispers, thinking aloud. All the breath leaves her lungs that burn and sizzle with the stress her body is under. She chews her lower lip.

“Shawn, what if--” Her breath seizes up on her again. She chokes through.

“What if the lives we’re supposed to have aren’t… what if we can’t live them together?”

“Shut up.” 

The words fall from his mouth without permission from his brain. He sucks in a breath when he realizes what he’s said. He squeezes his eyes shut, a muttered shit passing between his lips as he leans away from her and shoves his hands into his hair. He shakes his head once, swiftly, then drops his curls and blinks away the threat of tears when he lets himself look at her again. 

“I didn’t mean-- I’m sorry. Don’t-- fuck-- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” He sounds crazy, scrambling through an apology while the world turns inside out around him. 

She takes in his harsh words with a jolt and it’s almost, almost easy for a second because he sounds mad and that’s better than sad. But he’s Shawn, so he reverts quickly. She wants to scream and tell him to scream back. Would that make it any easier? Probably not. She feels useless, hopeless. It makes her feel sicker. She locks an arm around her stomach and watches him look uncomfortable in his own skin. She knows the feeling.

“But, Maya--” his voice cracks like he’s twelve, because he’s not above pleading with her-- “Maya, that’s not true. We’re not supposed to be anything but with each other. C’mon.” 

He almost reaches for her, but it doesn’t feel right anymore. His shoulder jerks, but his hand remains in his lap and twitches with a longing he’s beginning to realize he may not be allowed to have anymore. 

“Why are you doing this? If--” he swallows, eyes closing. He pinches the bridge of his nose, tries to find the right words. “If you want to break up with me because-- because you don’t love me anymore, then just-- please just tell me. Don’t make this about LA if it’s more than that. If it’s me.” 

Maya hangs her head. Somehow she felt it coming to this. She knows him too well. She knows his insecurities like he can’t. She knows they’re just phantoms that haunt him, but it still hurts like hell that he could ever think it of her.

“Shawn…” Her jaw squeezes shut. Now she’s angry. But she’s not allowed to be angry. But she’s so, so angry.

She’s angry that his brain takes him here. She’s angry that he lets it. She’s angry that she hasn’t been able to love him enough to get rid of this impulse. And she’s angry that she never will because she’s not going to be around.

“It’s not you.” She sounds cold. But she’s so, so tired.

He doesn’t get her. 

The sound of her voice makes him recoil. He’s not sure if that’s better, that it’s not him, not them, because he thinks they’re inching towards a break up anyway and he doesn’t know how he’ll do being away from her, still knowing that she loves him. That she put distance between him for a reason he can’t begin to imagine. 

He can play music anywhere. She’s his muse, not LA. 

If he tells her that, it will tear her apart, and he knows it. He doesn’t want to guilt her into coming with him to LA, he wants her to understand that he’ll follow her to the ends of the fucking earth. 

She just has to let him. 

He hadn’t really considered that she wouldn’t. He assumed they were on the same page, love-wise. 

A wave of nausea draws over him with the sudden realization that maybe he never knew Maya as well as he thought he did. 

“Then what?” he eventually chokes, his voice a humorless rasp despite his next words, “How does this make any sense? The great thing about a guitar and a good singing voice is the portability.” 

Maya lifts a weak hand and swipes at her cheek. The tears have been so near constant her face is soaked. It’s uncomfortable. Not that she’s expect to feel comfortable like this.

It’s so weird. She’s sitting here leading them toward a break-up. An actual, real life break-up with Shawn. It’s almost unfathomable but it’s here and she’s doing it. And despite how completely awful it feels, she still somehow knows it’s right.

“We both know that’s not the point,” she sighs, her voice feeling a little stronger now, “I… Shawn, you know you have to be in LA to do what you want to do. It has to be LA. We’ve… honey, we’ve talked about this. We decided.”

And then she undecided. She shivers and curls her knees up to her chest, resting her head on the back of the couch.

“God, I feel fucking sick,” she confesses, shaking her head, “I can’t believe we’re here.”

He wants to yell at her. If she can change her mind about LA, why can’t he? How is this fair? That she can just decide he has to go to LA when he’s telling her it doesn’t matter. 

“We’re here because you’re putting us here,” he nearly growls, pushing himself up from the couch. He shoves his hands in his pockets as he watches her curl in on herself like she doesn’t understand what’s happening.

He doesn’t fucking get her. 

“We’re here because you’re trying to decide my life for me. And it’s not fucking true, Lu, that I can’t get what I want elsewhere. I don’t know why you’re fucking pushing me away!” 

He’s yelling by the end of it, hands curled into fists at his sides as he stomps to the kitchen, where he searches for a water bottle to give him something else to besides cry like a fucking idiot. 

Shawn storms off and it’s somehow energizing, puts the life back into her she needs to finish this with him. It doesn’t feel good, but it’s better than the awful stagnance she feels curled on the couch next to him, feeling like the life is getting sucked out of her.

Maya springs off to follow him. “I’m not deciding anything for you, you already decided! I’m just not letting you talk yourself out of it to follow me. C’mon, Shawn, you know that’s it. You wouldn’t be even thinking about anything but LA if I didn’t feel this way. You can’t do this for me. I can’t be the reason you don’t go.”

She can’t. It would eat them alive. She knows he must know that. She hopes he does.

She opens her mouth and closes it. The hope dies on her tongue. She wants to say they could try again someday. But when? After he gets signed? After she makes partner? When does something like this come up again?

Maya turns to the window, shaking her head. “I am sorry, Shawn. You have no idea how sorry. But I’m not sorry enough to let you throw it away for me.”

Shawn slams the fridge closed, empty-handed. He turns sharply on his heel, eyes narrowed as he glares at her. 

“Why do you think it’s all about you? Why can’t I do it for us?” he asks, voice sharp as he watches her at the window. 

“Maya, you can’t just throw away what we have because you think you know what’s fucking best for me. You’re not my goddamn mother,” he growls, taking two long strides to reach her. He wraps his hand around her wrist, tugging her from the window. 

“Lemon,” he tries, her smooth skin beneath his fingertips melting his hard anger once more into a soft plead, “Are— are you sure this isn’t something else?” 

Maya hisses and yanks her wrist away. “What do you want it to be about, Shawn? Do you want me to tell you I don’t love you enough? God, you can’t see that this would make us so miserable. You can’t just follow me wherever I go, it won’t be enough. It will ruin us.”

Her voice breaks. She tugs at her sweater, folds her arms over her chest and allows herself one sobbing breath. She pulls her eyes from his.

“Fucking grow up.”

The words seethe. They feel foreign and wrong and sharp. She hates them. She hates herself for not wanting what he wants anymore. She hates everything.

Her words are sharper than a wasp’s sting. And they’re the perfect emphasis on the way she jerked free from his grasp, like his touch turns her sick. Her face is flushed, brow slick, eyes narrowed in a look he’s never seen from her before. Not directed at him, anyway. 

His heart drops into twisted stomach as he backs away from her, stopping when he feels the edge of the counter dig into his ass. 

He backs away slowly. Good, she thinks, feeling her chin wobble some more.

“You’re full of shit.” 

He says it because he can’t think of anything else. Because if he doesn’t, he’ll do what she’s accused him of and start crying like a goddamn baby. 

“What makes you think I’m so fucking incapable of existing somewhere besides LA? If I’m as good as you think I am, I should be able to make it from anywhere, eh?” 

She lets him swear at her and put up a front and push back at her every word. There’s no rushing this. They’ve been together for four years. Separating after all that time doesn’t just happen easily in a quick 10 minute conversation. It’s agonizing and fraught and the most horrible experience she thinks she’s ever had.

He crosses his arms defensively across his chest, jaw clenched as he goes back to glaring, his brown eyes darkening further. 

“It’s bullshit that you think I could ever be miserable with you. And fucking— brushing my feelings off by telling me to grow up is also bullshit. You’re full of fucking bullshit.” 

Maya lifts her hands to push them into her hair. She’s quiet for a long time after he’s done mouthing off. She’s exhausted already. She’s too tired to fight him. She knows he wants her to fight, to prove it’s worth it to her.

But to Maya, she’s already been fighting it off for so long, she doesn’t have any fight left. Not for him.

She drops her hands. Slowly, softly, she plucks Shawn’s arms away from his body and holds his big, warm, trembling hands in her own.

She looks up at him. With her fingers squeezed tightly around his, she admires him, the guy she loves, the guy she’ll always love, and just hopes beyond hope that her final memory of him won’t be with tears in his eyes.

“I just want you to know,” she breathes, her voice barely there, broken, beaten, “That you have been the best love. You have given me everything I ever wanted and needed and more. I am the woman I am today in part because of you. I am so proud every day that you love me.”

She sniffles and lets herself look down at her feet for a moment, a sliver of reprieve from the worst thing ever. She looks back up at his big, beautiful brown eyes.

“And if you want to keep fighting a little longer, I’ll fight with you. I’ll yell and cry and let you pull your hair out. But we both know where it ends.”

His hands shake in hers. It would be embarrassing if he weren’t too distracted by his breaking heart to notice. Each word she speaks sounds sadder than the last, and he’s still scrambling to figure out why she thinks she has to do this. 

“Maya, please don’t.” 

He shakes his head, drops her hands in favor of cupping her cheeks instead so he can hold her hollow gaze with his. 

Shawn envelops her face in his hands to get his eyes on her like it will help him understand. She wants to scowl and shove him away, but she also wants to kiss him maybe more than she ever has. 

“I don’t want to fight, I don’t— I don’t want to break up.” He coughs through a fresh wave of tears. “How does it make any sense when we’re still in love?” 

He says the words ‘break up’ and she gets temporary tinnitus. She shakes her head to clear it. Or what’s left of it. 

“It doesn’t… make sense. Not like the way we want it to. But I think we both need this space to become who we are.”

She takes a deep breath. It’s calm, not shaky like it has been since they started this. 

“I know I do.”

He drops her face at her quiet admission. She needs space from him. She needs to get away. The thought makes his blood run cold. He doesn’t feel the same way at all. He can’t imagine the person he’ll become without Maya by his side, and he really doesn’t want to. 

But more than anything, he wants to give Maya what she wants. And what she wants isn’t him. 

Maya swears she’d take it all back the second he lets go of her. It’s like all the air leaves the room. She said what she needed to, what she thought he needed to hear to let her go. He’d do anything for her, including letting her go if she asked. Maybe someday he’ll be ok with her doing this for him.

“Congratulations,” he murmurs, leaning back against the counter behind him and pushing his nervous hands into his pockets. “On the internships, I mean. You’ll-- you’re gonna be great wherever you go, Lu. Where, uh, where do you think you’ll go?” 

His voice is unfamiliar in his ears. It’s hollow, and a little broken. His question is weak, though he tries for earnest enthusiasm. But it’s hard to muster any when he suddenly feels so untethered from the world. He slides two fingers beneath his eyes, attempting to catch his tears before they can fall.  

She barely hears his words, watching his tear-rimmed eyes turn down to his feet. She’s never not held him when he’s cried. 

“Uhm… I-I’m not sure. Maybe New York. Maybe Switzerland.” The idea that she could move and leave him in the dark, not even let him know where she’s going is again totally unfathomable.

God, this is so fucking weird. She can’t get over how weird it is. It becomes an out of body experience when she murmurs to him about packing a bag to stay at her parents’ house for a few days before she comes back to get her stuff. Maya watches herself haphazardly throw clothes in a bag -- none of them make sense to bring with her, but she can’t think. She has to pause to get sick in the bathroom, she supposes because her body is rejecting all of this. She can’t blame it.

Maya asks her mom to come pick her up. She doesn’t feel ok to drive. She sits on the end of the couch until her mom calls her cell. She doesn’t look at him when she leaves. She’s afraid she won’t go.

-----------

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire @itrocksmysocks @parkerspicedlatte @simpledomain @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day @thecurlsofgod @magcon7280 @bensbuttercup @shawnsmusical @paigeasourous @tell-me-when-ur-ready @softmendesss @searchingunderthestars @buggy-blogs @mendesficsxbombay @desire-to-live @jillian-nd @shawnwyr @curlsofshawn @graysonmendes @tnhmblive @meltingicequeen

[moonb-eam]

nr 28 for elu? :)

yesss, time for romance

i’m going to be filling these prompts over the next few days, (I actually do need to work on my dissertation rip) this is just the one i happened to run with first!

(i may have gone overboard)

no. 28 “Marry me?”

“It’s cute that we’re doing this,” Lucas says, searching through the displayed sandwiches wrapped in plastic, frowning when he can’t find something.

Eliott shifts their basket to his other arm, the box of strawberries and bottle of wine and block of cheese all squishing together with the motion. It’s cold in the supermarket, the particular type of artificial, overpowering cold that can only come from the air conditioning supermarkets like to blast all August long.

“You think it’s what?” He asks, not because he missed what Lucas said, but because he kind of wants to hear it again, the way he always does whenever Lucas says something sweet without thinking about it.

But maybe Lucas is becoming wise to his ways, because he just rolls his eyes and inspects a loaf of bread wrapped in brown paper. “I said what I said.” He picks up the loaf and slides it into the basket, under the crook of Eliott’s arm. “They don’t have the sandwich I like so I guess we’re being stereotypically Parisian today.”

“That’s fine with me.”

Lucas draws away from him, but not before he stands on his toes to press a quick kiss to Eliott’s cheek. “It’s cute,” he whispers into Eliott’s ear. “It’s romantic. I like it.”

It is romantic, actually. That’s why Eliott planned it. An afternoon picnic in the park by La Petite Ceinture, where he and Lucas can lounge in the golden sun and drink wine right from the bottle and feed each other strawberries and enjoy being young and in love, not thinking about anything else.

Eliott had wanted to do something the moment Lucas came home late from his final-term placement on Thursday, looking so tired and worn out that Eliott had nearly carried him to their bed.

They did say the last year would be the hardest, Lucas had mumbled into Eliott’s shoulder that night. But I really had no idea.

Eliott kissed his forehead. You’ll be done soon.

Not unless I die first. Go to vet school, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.

I don’t think anyone said it would be fun.

Shut up.

And while things at the gallery hadn’t been too stressful lately, Eliott knows they’re going to start preparing for a big show next month that will have him working late most nights as well.

The point is, life is happening around them, all the time, and Eliott believes there’s nothing more important than making them both stop every once in a while, and just be.

Be together. Be in love. Be…

(It’s possible Eliott has another motive for this weekend outing, possible there’s a reason why he picked the place where they had their first kiss. It’s possible there’s a ring burning a hole through the pocket of his jeans.)

“Do we need anything else?” Lucas asks, wandering slowly out of the produce section, hand trailing over a pile of oranges, fingers dancing across their brightly-coloured skins. Eliott wants to kiss his fingertips, wants to see if they’ll taste like citrus.

“Uh,” he says instead, looking back down at his basket. “Not unless there was anything you wanted.”

“Hm. I think I want a bag of chips.”

“Sure.”

He trails behind Lucas as he peruses the chip options, content to just stare, to smile when Lucas gets excited at a certain flavour.

“Fuck yes, they never have this one in stock.”

He’s so cute, Eliott thinks, still smiling, not saying anything. Then Lucas turns to Eliott with a mega-watt smile and Eliott amends his own thought. He’s so beautiful. And. I’m the luckiest bastard in the universe. And. I want to marry him.

Eliott had plans. He really did. He was going to wait until sunset, until the sky was an oil spill of orange and pink and red and purple, until he absolutely couldn’t wait anymore. He was going to get on one knee, in the middle of the park and say, Lucas? Will you marry me?

Because Eliott is romantic. He always has been. And while Lucas likes to act like he’s not, Eliott knows he is too.

So, Eliott had plans, and those plans did not involve standing in the snack aisle of a Parisian grocery store and leaning against the rack of chocolate bars and watching Lucas coming towards him with a bag of chips in hand and saying,

“Marry me.”

Everything stops. Lucas drops the bag of chips. It’s deathly silent, Eliott suddenly fully aware of the girl a few feet down aisle, who’s staring at them with a hand over her mouth.

Lucas opens and closes his mouth a few times. When he speaks, his voice is rough. “What?”

Eliott is panicking, slightly. He had planned a big romantic gesture because he wanted Lucas to know for sure that he was making the right choice with picking Eliott, that Eliott was going to treat him right and love him like no one else would ever love him. He doesn’t think the gesture carries the same romantic gravitas when it’s said under fluorescent lights with linoleum tiles squeaking under his sneakers.

“I…” He starts. Stops.

Lucas’s eyes have never been so big or so blue. Fuck oceans, Eliott is shipwrecked inside them.

“Did you just…”

“I, uh…”

Lucas suddenly snaps into action, pointing a finger at Eliott. “You can’t take it back!”

It’s Eliott’s turn to pause. “What?”

“Do you mean that?” He catches a tremble on the edge of Lucas’s voice. Eliott realizes the finger Lucas is pointing at him is shaking. “Eliott. Do you mean that?”

And, well, yeah. “Yeah.” Eliott swallows. He sets his basket down carefully on the ground. “Fuck,” he whispers, then laughs at himself, because fuck, “I was going to wait to ask you. I had this whole plan, with the picnic and the sunset and me getting down on one—”

“Eliott.” Lucas’s hand is at the base of this throat. He looks like he’s about to collapse.

“I love you,” Eliott says helplessly. “I’m so in love with you, Lucas. I have been ever since we met, honestly, and I always think I can’t love you more, you know? But then you always surprise me.” Eliott’s voice catches. “You keep surprising me.”

“Eliott.” Lucas’s voice is softer, and Eliott can see a tear trailing down his cheek.

“So,” Eliott says, taking a step forward. “I want to ask you, because you have to know, Lucas, we belong together. We were made for each other.”

Lucas mouths the word soulmates. His shoulders heave with every breath.

“Soulmates,” Eliott agrees, and he decides fuck it, he’ll do it anyway, he gets down on one knee and presents the ring to Lucas, holding it up in the palm of his hand. “You’re my best friend. You’re the love of my life. Lucas, you’re everything.” Eliott can feel his own tears building, and he blinks because he just needs to get this out, he needs to. “Will you marry me?”

It takes less than a second for Lucas to barrel into him on the ground, Eliott nearly falling backward from the collision, just managing to stay upright on his knees.

Lucas is mumbling yes, yes, yes, yes into Eliott’s neck. His shoulders are shaking. yes, Eliott, in every universe. 

There’s such a rush of happiness that runs through Eliott’s body, such relief, that he feels lightheaded with it.

Lucas’s hand is resting on Eliott’s chest. Eliott gently picks it up and slides the ring onto his finger.

It fits perfectly.

“Fuck,” Lucas sniffles, staring down at it. “Fuck, I love you.”

Eliott holds his face in his hands, wipes his tears with his thumbs. “I love you too.”

“We’re gonna get married.” Lucas is still crying, so much that he’s become a bit snotty, breaths still hitching, and Eliott literally doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything more beautiful.

“Yeah,” he laughs, pressing their foreheads together. “We are.”

They’re interrupted by a burst of applause, both of them turning to see the girl still standing there, sobbing, filming them on her phone, and a small crowd gathered behind her, some of the people wiping their eyes with their sleeves, some of them cheering.

“Oh my god,” Lucas giggles, pressing his face into Eliott’s chest.

Eliott smiles, rubbing his hands down Lucas’s back. “Sorry,” he says. “Didn’t mean for that to be so public.”

“Are you kidding?” Lucas pulls back with wide eyes. “That was so fucking romantic. I need to get that video from that girl, Eliott. I’m posting it everywhere.”

[igottoomuchwriting]

Requiem

Part 1/Previous Part/Next Part

---

Dating Connor was better than what he thought it would be.

When Connor first asked him out, he was very scared. After Connor had convinced him that it wasn’t a prank and that he actually had a crush on Evan, he then had his own brain and Jared to worry about.

He constantly thought it was a prank, that Connor was going to make a fool of him so the attention of being a ‘freak’ and ‘weirdo’ would be taken off of him and put onto Evan. Everyone morning he expected to get a text that Connor changed his mind, or that he didn’t want to talk to Evan anymore because Evan was weird and a lot to handle. Evan wouldn’t have blamed him if he texted that. Hell, most days Evan can barely handle himself. It would just be selfish to expect Connor to be able to handle him.

Jared never really helped the situation either. Even though Jared was the one who pushed the two teens to get over their feelings and go on a date—though it wasn’t fun to learn that his friend (family friend, he quickly reminded himself) also pushed Connor into admitting to him that he liked Evan when Jared had given Connor no sense of security in the fact that he could trust Jared with that information—he loved to push Evan’s anxiety and make him imagine every scenario that Evan can think of by himself.

“God, please tell me if he stands you up,” Jared had told Evan about a week before their date. “I could use it as ammo against him if he ever decides to go after me again in the future.”

“The school will get a kick out of this when they find out,” he laughed as Evan had called him about what to wear, what to say, what to do. Of course, Jared didn’t give any helpful advice on this in the first place.

From Jared Kleinman: he may just want sex man

From Jared Kleinman: gotta be prepared ;)

Those texts did not help Evan in anyway. They were bad in themselves, but to receive them 20 minutes before Connor was supposed to pick him up sent Evan into an anxiety attack. When Connor picked him up, he had to help Evan calm down so that they could go on their date.

The first date was great. They didn’t do a lot, just went out to Á La Mode and walked around a nearby park. It was really close to what they did when they first started being friends and Evan was happy that it was calm. He didn’t like extravagant things, or being expected to act a certain way in certain places or restaurants. If they had gone to a restaurant, Evan would have been so scared about helping to pay or letting Connor pay by himself and it would have triggered another anxiety attack from the teen.

No, it was calm. Connor had even put some effort into his look, ditching his normal hoodie for a nice button up with a nice pair of jeans. Nothing fancy, he almost looked like how twenty percent of the boys at their school look like, but it was different. While they had walked around, he even asked to hold Evan’s hand. It took Evan about ten minutes to calm down from it.

But he liked it.

They went on two more dates after that one. They grew closer with each date, each text, each call, each ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’. They held hands whenever they were alone, hugged each other when they met up, and they had even cuddled once when Connor’s whole family was gone. Evan was mortified when Connor put an arm around his shoulders when they started the movie, but by the end of it he was tucked into Connor’s shoulder and curled up against his side with the other boy rubbing his arm in comforting motions.

Evan thought it was going great. There were some days that Connor was closed off, angry, and would lash out at Evan for just changing his tone slightly. Evan would be scared when it happened, would apologize nonstop. He had learned to just give Connor some time to cool down from the outburst before asking what was wrong, why he reacted the way he did. He had to ask or Connor would never bring it up and Evan is horrible at reading body language. If he asked, Connor would explain why he had a knee-jerk reaction to a slight change in something. 

It was just things that they had to work on. Evan had to work on telling the truth, Connor had to work on apologizing. Evan had to work on his rambling when he wanted to avoid topics, Connor had to work on his knee-jerking reactions to little things that happen in his life. Neither of them are perfect, neither of them actually know what they are doing, but they know what to make better.

Neither Evan nor Connor told anyone around them that they were going on dates. Evan knew that his mom would be okay with it, but he also really didn’t want to sit down and have that conversation. She would be so happy that Evan had a friend, and now someone that could be his boyfriend, but if it didn’t work out she would be sad. She would try to comfort him but he would be able to tell that she was disappointed that he couldn’t keep the only relationship that he has had together.

Connor said he didn’t have anyone he wanted to tell. If he told his parents, that would also involve coming out and he thought that they would either think he is lying or that Evan was just a dealer that they had to separate his son from. Evan had asked if he would ever tell Zoe, but he never got an answer. Connor had turned away from him and coughed awkwardly, saying “Let’s just watch the movie”. He never pushed it again.

Evan was sure that they had it in the bag. He was sure. 

Zoe seemed to have other ideas.

Evan was sitting against his locker during lunch, quietly reading a book that Connor had recommended to him. If Evan was honest, he would admit that he doesn’t read much. It has nothing to do with his anxiety, but he just believes watching movies or TV is easier than reading. Though, when Connor started telling him about this book he had read Sophomore year, his eyes lit up and a smile spread over his face, Evan knew he had to read it. It made Connor so happy that he felt it was something he needed to experience as well. 

“Evan?” he heard a voice ask. Evan popped his head up to see Zoe standing in front of him. She didn’t look happy.

“Oh, uh, hi Zoe,” he stuttered out. “I’m sorry, were you there long? I didn’t mean to get so caught up in my reading.”

“You’re fine,” she snipped. Her tone had Evan flinching back into his locker, looking back down at his closed book. Evan heard Zoe let out a sigh. “Sorry, I just… I had a question for you.”

“O-Oh?” His hands immediately started sweating. Does she know about him and Connor? Is she going to ask if they are dating? What does Evan say? Connor hasn’t told her yet, at least he doesn’t think so. Should he lie? Tell the truth? What if she tells Connor’s parents? Or worse, his mom. God, he can’t have his mom know yet. He isn’t ready for her to know that. What happens if Connor’s parents find out? Will they have to break up? Will Connor’s parents let Evan come over anymore? Will they think that Evan made Connor gay?

Did Evan make Connor gay?

“You hang out with my brother, right?” she asked. Her arms were crossed over her chest. It looked like she was trying so hard to hide something. Was she angry? Sad? Evan honestly couldn’t tell.

“Y-Yeah. We hang out, uh, time to time?” Why did he end it like a question?

“Why?” Evan gave her a confused look. 

“What do you mean?”

“No one hangs around my brother,” she snapped. “I’ve never seen anyone from the school willingly talk to him. So, what’s the reason? Is he paying you? Are you his drug dealer?”

“No!” Drug dealer? The only drugs Evan even owns are his anxiety meds, and he would rather die than sell them and suffer with panic attacks. “I don’t even smoke drugs!”

Zoe stared at Evan, gaze studying him where he sits on the floor. Evan looked down at his hands in an attempt to avoid her gaze, but it was no use. It was like he could feel her eyes burning through him, knowing every secret about him and ready to expose it to the world.

“I believe you,” she mumbled. Evan let out a breath of relief. “But why do you hang out with my brother?”

“Because he is my friend?” Evan didn’t know how to answer at this point. He wasn’t going to out himself to Zoe, but what was he supposed to do? 

“Why?” she asked again, though she was more upset. 

“B-because he is… uh, nice? He returned something of mine, and we just kept talking So, uh, we’re here.”

“You think my brother is nice?” Evan slowly nodded his head. Zoe let out a laugh. “Evan, my brother is the farthest from nice someone can get.”

“I-I really don’t think that’s true,” Evan mumbled.

“Look, Evan,” Zoe started. “You seem like a nice guy. You even seem like someone who looks for the good in everyone! But you won’t find it in my brother.”

“How—” Evan started, but Zoe interrupted him.

“Whatever side of himself he is showing you, it’s not the truth. I know I may be a shitty sister for saying this, but I want to make sure that you’re safe.” 

Before Evan could question her any further, the bell rang, signaling to the duo that their lunch break was over. The hallways quickly started filling up with students and Evan jumped up from the ground, wanting to avoid being trapped between Zoe and his locker.

“I should, uh, go…” Evan mumbled.

“Yeah,” Zoe sighed. Evan grabbed his backpack and quickly joined the flow of students, thoughts spinning.

---

“And just like that, you left?” Connor asked. 

It was Friday night, a few days after Zoe and Evan’s conversation. Connor had finally started feeling better so he immediately went over to Evan’s house after he got back from school. Evan didn’t mind. Even if he was afraid to admit it out loud, he had missed Connor, so spending some alone time with him was nice.

If only they didn’t have to talk about his sister and ruin the whole mood.

“Yeah,” Evan sighed. He and Connor were laying down on his bed with Evan laying his head on Connor’s collarbone. Evan was playing with the strings to Connor’s hoodie while Connor gently played with Evan’s hair.

“I can’t believe she thought that you were one of my drug dealers,” Connor scoffed. “ I mean, come on! You don’t even look like someone who has been around weed!”

“Hey! I could be a drug dealer if I wanted,” Evan huffed, lightly hitting Connor’s chest.

“Sure, babe,” Connor drawled sarcastically. “You would be the first person I would go to for a hit, you and all your blue polo and fucking khaki glory.” Evan shot a glare at Connor who just smiled back, fake innocence radiating from him.

“Meanie,” he mumbled, leaning back down to get comfy. Connor laughed at the weak attempt at an insult and Evan beamed. He loved hearing Connor laugh, and it was even better when he could feel it. 

“Why was she so evident that I couldn’t be your friend?” Evan asked after a few minutes of silent. Connor tensed up, his hand stopping movement in Evan’s hair and Evan panicked. “You don’t have to answer! It’s fine, I really shouldn’t be asking questions like that—”

“Evan, it’s fine,” Connor interrupted. Evan stayed silent, waiting for Connor to gather his thoughts and continue.

With a deep breath, Connor started. “Well, she doesn’t like me. That much is obivous—so fucking obvious that the tension between the two of us is one of the main topic at breakfast every morning.” Connor let out a laugh, but Evan knew it wasn’t because he was happy or thought it was actually funny. Besides lashing out, humor is how Connor dealt with a lot of issues.

“Ever since I got into drugs, she would try to figure out who my dealers are, try to find a way to stop me. And yeah, I understand where she is coming from, because I also wouldn’t want to be around me when I’m high. I’m not the best person in general, and when I came down from my highs I get worse.”

“You’re a good person!” Evan interjected.

“That’s a conversation for another day,” Connor dodged. Evan almost stopped him again, thinking it was a conversation they should be having now, but he kept quiet. “I have gotten loud and sometimes violent when I came down from my highs, having to come to the realization of shitty I am and how shitty everything around me is, but she has accused me of things I know I would never do, no matter how high or pissed I am.”

Evan was almost afraid to ask. What would Zoe accuse him of?

“You can ask,” Connor assured. Evan gave him an anxious look, almost asking if he was sure that he could. This was common between the couple, with Evan trying to learn to fight past his anxiety and for Connor to let personal questions be asked. 

“What has she said you’ve done?” Evan slowly asked. Connor stared up at the ceiling, preparing his answer. Evan grabbed his hand that rested on his head and brought it over his waist. He locked their fingers together and gave Connor’s hand a squeeze.

“She has said that I have threatened to kill her,” Connor choked out. “I know for sure that I haven’t because even if we aren’t on good terms, even if I did fucking hate her, I would never do that to her. I… still love her.”

Evan wanted to cry. Connor honestly talks from a place of hurt, a place of pain. Connor doesn’t have the best support system either, with his family wanting to see him as something that needs to be fixed and him lashing out against everything they do because of that. 

Yes, Connor could get better help, turn away from the drugs and start going to therapy, but he doesn’t want to. Evan knows that is the first step to receiving help, or else you are just going to get worse. Did Zoe know that? Did she know that her brother is attempting to cope in his own way? Even if she didn’t, what would make her want to tell Connor and others these things.

“Why would she say that?” Evan asked.

“She hates me.” Connor shrugged his shoulders, attempting to seem nonchalant in this horrible situation. “And honestly? I don’t blame her. I’m a pretty shitty person.”

“No, you’re not,” Evan reiterated. Connor shrugged his shoulder again, brushing off Evan’s concern. Evan wasn’t going to fight it right now. “Have you tried talking to her?”

“She won’t listen. She couldn’t give less of a fuck about my apologies, or about my explanations and even my fucking mental health.”

“Does she know a lot?” 

“She caught me trying to kill myself in the past,” he mumbled. Evan didn’t stay anything. What could he say? “So yeah, she knows that there is something fucked up. But she blames me for everything negative that happens.”

“She...there has been things, uh, said about her, right?” Evan mumbled. Connor took a deep breath, shaking his head.

“I’ve heard her say that people call her ‘the freaks brother’ or ‘sister of a shooter’.” 

“That’s—” Evan stopped. He is aware that people compare Zoe and Connor all of the time. It was a constant whisper through the halls, people wondering what it was like for Zoe to be ‘the best Murphy’. Calling Zoe those names seems like a double edged way to get at Connor, hurting Zoe in the process. 

“Yeah,” Connor agreed. “Everyone is shit. I’ve also heard her tell our mom that she is seen as the ‘freak’s sister’.” 

“I’m sorry, Connor,” Evan whispered. “You shouldn’t have to go through that. You deserve so much more, you don’t deserve your sister doubting that you can make friends.”

Connor let out a deep breath. He let go of Evan’s hand and rolled over, pulling Evan closer to his chest.

“Don’t be sorry,” Connor mumbled. He placed a kiss on the top of Evan’s head. “It’s just...life. My family may be shit and our school even shittier, but that’s nothing new.”

Evan tucked his head into Connor’s chest, gripping his jacket with a tight grip. Connor rubbed Evan’s back in an attempt to comfort him. 

Silence fell between the two boys as they thought over the conversation.

[niall-is-my-dream]

You & Me - Part Ten

2500 words

Callie's POV

You felt like you had slept for days, when in reality you just hadn't left Nialls bed in almost 36 hours. After arriving at LAX, yourself and the rest of the crew went to their accommodation and Niall got dropped off at home. He had called you as soon as he had got home and dropped his bags in his room.

 "Don't unpack, I'm coming to get you."

 "Niall! No you will not!" 

 "Already in the car, can't be at home without you and knowing you're alone in the hotel." 

"This really isn't keeping it a secret!"

"Don't care Petal, I need you here with me. I'm missing you already."

There was a pause in conversation before you replied. "I'm missing you too. I'll meet you in the lobby."

Driving back to his, he kept a hand on your thigh, running circles across your skin. A smile of victory across his face.

When you arrived back at his, you took some time to grab some food and take a shower together before climbing into bed. 

And that is where you were 36 hours later. You had both got up to use the bathroom and eat numerous times, but then retreated back to his bed.

"I don't think this is jetlag anymore." You whispered.

"No, don't think so darlin', think this is just me keeping my girl captive in my bed for as long as I can." He replied as he turned to his side and snuggled his head into the crook of your neck.

 "We should get up and do something."

 "Or we could stay here and do something." He smirked against your neck.

 "You're completely insatiable."

 "Already told you that I can't get enough of you."

 "Come on, let's get up." You said as you managed to remove yourself from his grip. 

As much as you wanted to stay in bed with him all day. It was a glorious day in L.A. The sun was shining and you were desperate to get outside for some fresh air. After showering and getting dressed in shorts and a t-shirt you made your way downstairs for breakfast.

Niall was at the stove, some bacon and pancakes cooking, his eyes however we're glued to his phone. He was deep in thought, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Everything ok?" You asked.

He looked up not realising that you had come down the stairs, you could see he wasn't sure how to answer.

"Saskia just won't leave me alone."

"What has she done now?" You asked. 

Putting his phone on the counter, he turned the pancakes and bacon over in the pan before they burnt. Closing the distance between you both, you moved behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist. Placing a kiss on his back, you held him close and stood silent while he gathered his thoughts.

 "She's made it known she's back in L.A. for something on her IG. But she's also text me, asking to see me backstage when we play the Hollywood Palladium."

 "Oh."

 "I don't know what to do." He said with a massive sigh. "She just won't leave me alone." 

He took the pan off the heat and turned off the stove, taking a step to the side and turning around, he leaned against the counter pulling you at the hips to stand between his legs. 

This whole Saskia thing was causing him a lot of stress, he was on his first world tour and she was spoiling it. He had been buzzing this morning when you'd been laying in bed discussing the show. With the Troubadour and the iHeart radio shows straight after, you all had a busy week ahead.

"Text her back and explain that you think it would probably be best if she didn't. That you're sorry things didn't work out with you both, but could she not keep texting you so much."

"I've said similar to her before, but maybe I need to repeat it." He sighed. "I don't want to block her number as I think it'll make her worse."

"I agree babe. Anyway why are you cooking so much food? Are you building up your energy for later?!"

"Energy for what later?!" He replied, ghosting his lips across yours. 

You were still standing between his legs as he leant against the counter. He pulled you even closer, his hands on your bum giving it a squeeze. Pressing your lips firmly against his, he moaned as your hands reached his hair and gave it a tug. He tasted like mint where he had brushed his teeth earlier and you could smell his aftershave, the fragrance lingering on his neck.

"Good God you two!"

You pulled away from him recognising the voice.

Bex?

You looked between Niall and across the kitchen where Bex and Willie stood.

"What the....?! What's going on?!"

"Surprise!" Niall said, kissing your neck before releasing you so you could go and greet them both.

"I've got a couple of weeks off work. This one" she said pointing at Niall. "Insisted I come out here with Willie so we could all hang out together."

It had only been a couple of weeks since you'd seen her, but you had missed her like crazy. You'd been living together for three years now and although you were away with work a lot, you were never normally away for more than a few weeks at a time.

After you had hugged them both, they took a seat at the table while Niall dished up breakfast and you set about making coffee for you all. 

After catching up with them both about their journey to LA, you cleared away the dishes under the watchful eye of Bex. As you were loading the dishwasher Niall went into his office to answer a call. Taking your seat back at the table, both of them looked at you.

"What?" You asked.

"Nothing!" Bex smirked as she glanced at Willie.

You raised your eyebrows at her.

"Just love how cute you are together, so domesticated. You've been seeing each other for what? A month? You seem relaxed and at ease with each other, like you've been together forever. It's sweet."

"Says the couple who have been seeing each other for only a bit longer but are taking vacation time together!" You smiled.

Willie reached across the table and gently took her hand in his, the biggest smiles on their faces. You caught up with what they had been up to back in London, while you finished your coffee. Niall joined you all a few minutes later with a grin on his face.

"Tara has got us in to Nobu tonight at 8, so we've got the whole day free. How's the jetlag with you two? Would you prefer just to hang out here today?"

"Fancy chilling here today?" Willie asked Bex.

"That's fine by me." Bex replied.

"Me to." You said, agreeing with them both.

After changing into some swim stuff, which took longer than it should've since Niall couldn't keep his hands to himself, you made your way outside. Setting yourself up on some sun loungers, you sat back and chatted happily with your best friend. You could see Niall and Willie sitting on the edge of the pool talking. You were too far away to hear, but you could guess what the conversation was about, Nialls face said it all.

It wasn't long before Bex brought it up.

"Willie has told me about the problems Niall has been having with that model. Why didn't you tell me it was this bad?"

"Didn't want to worry you, and he thinks he's got it under control anyway. It's getting to him though. She's in town and wanting to see him at his show tomorrow."

"She's a fucking nutjob, she's harassing him now. They only casually dated for what, 6 months? He tells her he doesn't want to see her anymore, and yet 3 months later she's still texting him almost everyday. He needs a restraining order."

"I know. He's involved his management now, they asked her team to get her to leave him alone. Tara has been watching her social media and recording everything she's texting him and posting."

"Good, I hope she stops soon."

"Me to."

You spent the day lazing by the pool, eating a late lunch and napping with Niall in the hammock. The music from the surround sound in the house could be heard in the garden through the open patio doors. Willie and Bex hadn't bothered to push two loungers together for their nap. Instead they were snuggled up together on a single one, her head resting on his chest. They were so cute together.

"I think we need to take full credit for those two." Niall whispered to you as you both lay in the hammock.

"Mmmm, all because you were perving at our holiday selfie."

"What did you expect? You looked incredible."

"Well, you didn't have to actually press like on the picture."

"Got your attention didn't it?"

"You always had my attention."

You felt his lips turn up into a smile against your head.

Heading out to dinner later that night felt strange, you'd not gone out like this before with him. You may have been together for a month, but with being on tour and surrounded by the crew, you'd not had the opportunity to go out on a proper date together. Well a double date.

Even with so many celebs in L.A., you still managed to get into the restaurant without being seen. Taking your seat next to Niall, you looked around nervously.

"Don't worry Petal." Niall whispered. "We live with people who are dating each other, just friends having dinner with them. Ok?"

He reached under the table and gave your thigh a squeeze, before bringing it back up and opening the menu.

You stayed at the restaurant for a few hours, eating and drinking. Niall was beginning to get handsy as the beers took effect. You should have stopped him, but the wine you'd been drinking was taking effect too. You were thoroughly enjoying his hand over the back of your chair, tenderly stroking your shoulder as you leaned against him.

After paying the bill you managed to get home easily without being seen. Collapsing into bed that night, you snuggled up to him and fell asleep. 

Today had been an amazing relaxing day.

The next one however wasn't as relaxing. 

Willie dropped you back at the crew accommodation, and they took your explanation of Bex being at Nialls with Willie as to why you had been absent the last few days.

You made your way to the venue and began getting setup. Niall had a morning full of interviews before he would return for sound check etc. It was a busy one for you getting everything ready for later.

You began tuning his guitars, and going through your check list for each one. The band were on stage jamming and you pinched one of Nialls guitars and joined in. One of the crew James started hoovering the carpets that Niall had down on stage. A rendition of "I want to break free" by Queen was soon started. James began copying the famous video for the song, pretending he was Freddie Mercury and soon everyone was laughing. John started filming you all, Jake and yourself adding guitars to the performance.

You were soon all in stitches and couldn't carry on playing anymore. Tears were running down your face from laughing and you were worried you might wee yourself.

A little while later it was time for sound check and Niall appeared. He looked nervous.

"You ok Ni?" You asked him.

"Yeah, of course."

But you weren't convinced and he knew he hadn't fooled you. When you helped him lift his guitar over his head and get his pack sorted onto his jeans, he looked at you and his eyes said he was far from ok.

"We will talk in a bit." He whispered as he tucked a stray hair behind your ear.

You tilted your head and gave his wrist a kiss, his thumb reaching out to stroke your lower lip.

With a party planned with some of his L.A. friends at a club after the show, you weren't sure when you'd be able to find out what was bothering him.

The chance as you predicated never came, especially since Niall was busy with interviews the next day. Then with back to back performances at The Troubadour and the iHeart radio show and with dinners and get togethers with friends in between, you'd hardly had a moment alone.

Waking up the next day and knowing it was a day off for both of you, was the best feeling. You looked across towards the bedside table and saw the clock said it was a little after 10am. Niall was the big spoon, his chest flush against your back. In need of a wee, you managed to slide out from his grip and make your way to the ensuite.

When you emerged a few minutes later, he was still sleeping soundly. Slipping on a pair of his joggers and one of his t -shirts, you snuck out of the room and downstairs. Tying your hair in a loose bun, you made your way to the kitchen finding Mully making some coffee.

"Morning Callie."

"Morning sweetheart. You ok?"

"All good. Want a coffee?"

"Yes please."

You sat down at the kitchen table and Mully brought over two cups of coffee and some chocolate chip cookies. You were chatting about the previous evenings events when the buzzer for the gate sounded.

"Is Niall expecting anyone?" Mully asked you.

"He didn't say he was."

Making his way to the front door, he checked the camera screen.

"Um, it's Kim and Sam from Nialls management. You better go wake him up?"

You pegged it upstairs as Mully buzzed them in, hearing him greet them as they came over the threshold.

When you got into the bedroom Niall wasn't in bed, he emerged from the bathroom seconds later.

"Hey where were you when I woke up? Was hoping for a snuggle." He said cheekily as he came over to cuddle you.

"Sam and Kim are downstairs." You replied.

His eyes widened.

"Do they know you're here?" He said glancing at the bedroom door that was closed.

"No, I came up here as Mully answered the front door."

"Ok, wait here and I'll see what they are here for. It'll be fine." He said as he kissed you gently and then left the room.

You sat down on his bed wondering what on earth they had come over for, especially unannounced. A few minutes later Niall appeared at the door.

"They want to speak to us together." He said and your heart sank.

Part Eleven

https://niall-is-my-dream.tumblr.com/post/183234280963/you-me-part-eleven

[cieloxcnco]

yo te haré mía (cnco) - ch7

Chapter 7

Words: 3,900+

Warnings: little suggestive sexy stuff, nothing too awful. but God knows i’m not the best judge. Only two sentences of a sex scene frfr

A/N: pretty major note- now fully in third person POV. hope that hasn’t thrown anyone off.

chapter 1 is here chapter 2 is here chapter 3 is here chapter 4 is here chapter 5 is here chapter 6 is here if you need to catch up

Upon entering the agreed upon location for brunch, Isabella stormed directly to Kaja and swatted at her arm. “Ow! What was that for?” she squealed, rubbing the afflicted area. “Still can’t believe you didn’t tell me he knocked you up,” Isabella grumbled as she sat down across the cafe table from her friend. “The pill isn’t perfect,” was all Kaja could surmise, shrugging her shoulders as she too sat down. “Not only that,” Isa conjured. “I’m just shocked you both finally lost your virginities to each other. Like it was about time. But now from that idea alone to suddenly being engaged was unreal. I felt badly because Naomi kind of took over discussions that night and I didn’t get to really talk to you about much.” “It honestly just all happened so quickly. I missed my period, I told Joel because I was nervous, we took a test, we went to the doctor who confirmed it, and a week later he got down on one knee. I didn’t expect it, but I honestly think when he told his family about it that they pushed the idea into his head. You know how traditional they are in their ideals. He never really so much as kissed anyone before me, and now all of a sudden there’s a baby involved? It was almost all instantaneous and then he was telling me I’m the love of his life and he wants to spend it all as my husband.” “He also,” Isa interjected, “might be considering a lot in the idea of his public image. Not that it minimizes the fact that he does want to get married, of course, but he’s always been el inocente and now he’s gotten his girlfriend pregnant. He went from not even knowing whether he wanted to be arriba or abajo to now he obviously as done enough of both to have successfully put a baby up in there.” Kaja laughed and playfully smacked at Isa’s shoulder. “Will you shut up?” Isa giggled to herself. “While we’re on the subject, which does he in fact prefer?” “Oh my god,” Kaja choked, her face flushing bright red before she hid it in her cupped hands. After taking a small sip of coffee, she straightened in her chair. “Well I have the new sonogram pictures, but there’s no point. You can’t see much more than a speck. Joel at first thought it was an habichuela.” Isa cackled at the thought of Joel spinning the print of the ultrasound in his hands, searching for his baby behind what he thought was a bean. “Well you know,” she began once she stopped laughing, “that if you ever need any help with anything, Jasmyn and I are here for you. I’ve been there and back with everything pregnancy related so no question is stupid and I’ll be there when the boys are stuck traveling around and Joel can’t be with you.” Kaja reached for her friend’s hands across the table and squeezed them between her own. “Thanks, Isa. Love you.” Isa winked. “Love you too, mama. You know that.” Kaja let her hands go so they both were able to grab their drinks and sip. “So, we both have babies incubating, and that’s great, but I want to check on you.” Isa’s eyes widened slightly and she sat a little more straight in her chair.  “So have you talked about names and what gender he’s hoping for?” Kaja rolled her eyes. She had expected deflection. “Isa. I only want to help.” Isa’s shoulders fell, her body surrendering and abandoning its defensive stance. “I know that, mama. I just… There’s nothing to help.” “There’s always a way to help,” Kaja offered. “It just has to be discussed to find out what that help can be.” The waiter stopping to take their orders was a distraction for only a moment. Once they thanked him and he stepped away, Isa knew just by the look in Kaja’s eyes that she wasn’t going to let it go. Isabella nervously tucked loose hair behind her ear. “Zabdiel and I had a bit of a… discussion the other night and he’s been avoiding me more than usual the past two days. We haven’t really spoken.” Kaja sighed quietly. It killed her to see two people she cared about so deeply start to lose grip on a relationship she had always admired. Perhaps she’d only liked the way it appeared looking at it from the outside. “What was the discussion?” Isa busied herself with stirring her spoon idly around her teacup. “God, I could use a mimosa instead right now.” Kaja waited patiently for a response without interrupting. Her friend might need to be given a moment, but she would come around and speak. The quiet was broken by Isa’s phone vibrating on the tabletop to alert her of a text message from her lover. Cada segunda que no estas conmigo es una eternidad. He decorated the beginning of the lyric with musical note emojis and the end with his favorite smiley sticking its tongue out. Pensando en ti siempre, nena. Te amo tanto. A second buzz from another text from Christopher. ¿Que haces, mi vida? Her fingers danced across her screen in a fast reply, eager to take advantage of a moment when the band wasn’t engaged in an activity that he could correspond with her. Comiendo brunch con Kaja, hablando del bebe y todo. Te extraño, mi principe. ¿Que hacen ustedes? “Isa?” Kaja pushed to bring her focus back. Seeing her friend would not relent, she placed her phone face up on the table and sighed. “He had promised he would spend the evening with Joaquin because he’s gone so much. He spent time at the studio but afterwards went out to dinner with Carlos and had too much to drink. As soon as he came home, I was angry because Quin was so upset all night and all Zabdiel wanted to do was forget about that and have sex. I said no and that our relationship should be more than that. It should be fun, love, caring about our family and I feel like he’s putting that to the wayside. I know he’s working on the new music a lot, but at some point make me feel like I matter. Right now I feel like a broken record, repeating however many times that I should mean more to him than just being there to have sex and have his kids.” Kaja broke from nibbling her lower lip to speak. “He does love you, Isa.” “He may,” Isa offered. “But this has been so stressful it’s enough to make the baby pop out at any minute. So I told him… Maybe it’s time to let this go. And he posted a very fitting cover on his instagram the next day after the radio show like a petty teenage girl.” Kaja gently rolled her cup around between her closed hands. “So you think it’s over?” Isa took a short gulp of tea and let out an unsure murmur as she swallowed. “We haven’t said the words. But we know where we both stand.” Kaja tapped her nails along the table anxiously. “At this precipice in limbo, neither of you wanting to make a move to better it or cut ties?” She laughed in spite of herself. “Yeah, I suppose.” Her phone shook against the table again so she looked down and read a reply from Christopher. Estoy aqui solo en la oficina del director. ¿Recuerdas que el gestor iba a organizar un camefeo papel para mí en esa película este verano después de la gira? She had forgotten. But that proud feeling was immediately washed away by realizing that Zabdiel was not with the band recording as he had said he would be. “He’s still avoiding me,” Isa said, clicking her tongue in her mouth. “I thought he was recording with the band today. Chris just said they’re not all together.” Kaja tried to change the subject to bring her friend’s anxiety down. “Is that Chris who keeps texting you?” Isabella nodded immediately, not realizing until after she had that the safer response probably would have been to deny it. Kaja scoffed. “You both get on so well and when he isn’t being his wacky, weird self he’s really thoughtful and insightful. I’m sure he’s probably been helpful through all this. You always light up when you talk to him.” Isa nodded again, slower this time. “You know how his stupid comments just make you laugh.” Kaja laughed at an obvious memory. “Claro. So maybe try and get some feedback from him about it. I’m sure he’s the most understanding and mature about it. That is… if you want to try to work it out.” Isa’s upper teeth gnawed on her lower lip. “I feel like… everything we built our life on was only because I got pregnant. Since Joaquin was born we’ve just been trying to hold together, pretending that it’s alright. Maybe the foundation that we had wasn’t strong enough to support the weight and responsibility of a family.” Kaja took the final sip of her coffee and gave a hesitant smile. “Sometimes when there’s a weak foundation in something, all that’s needed to make it better is to stop, go back to where you started, and reinforce it.” Isa bit the end of her drinking straw rather than continue to bite her lip. “How?” The waiter came and interrupted again, setting their plates down on the table. Kaja smiled and took a quick bite. “Marriage is proving difficult. Go back and date again like teenagers - build it up from the start. Don’t have sex immediately, let it be about getting to know each other again. See if that helps, if that makes it worth it. I know Joel told Zabdi to do the same thing.” Isa had picked up her knife and fork but, upon hearing that, instantly put them down, almost offended. “Joel suggested that to him? He spoke to Joel about all this?” A cringe flashed across Kaja’s face, realizing the slip of her tongue that she shouldn’t have allowed, but her friend also deserved the entire truth. “This bothered him just as much. He doesn’t know exactly how to handle it either. So maybe taking that step toward the same idea might help things. But I mean, Isa, you have to vent about it or you’ll lose your mind. You don’t think he’s entitled to do the same?” As suddenly as she’d become angry, she exhaled the emotion and relaxed. “I guess.” Her phone vibrated on the table again and she realized she’d forgotten to answer Chris so he’d probably written back with something. But her husband’s name flashed across the screen with a new message. Erick y Yanelis van a llegar a la casa con Joaquin a la 5. Yo estare alli pa pasar un ratito con el. Despues, tenemos que hablar. All she could muster to type back was an Okay. Kaja tried to study Isa’s change in expression to sense the emotion of her thought process. “I mean, do you really want to fix it?” Isa anxiously pressed the lock button on the side of her phone repeatedly, only to have that make the lock screen picture of Zabdiel holding Joaquin high in his arms flash on and off. Joaquin’s smile while being in his father’s arms couldn’t be denied. It didn’t matter if her heart was sad, that happy smile on her baby boy’s face meant more. He was everything. This family deserved a chance to rebuild. “Yeah, I really do.” - Zabdiel rapped his knuckles against the front door to his bandmate's mansion, then shoved his hands into his pockets anxiously. Spilling his soul to Joel during a moment of frustration was one thing. He'd just been frustrated, quiet, and tense, so when Joel had asked what was wrong it was the dam breaking. Zabdiel told him everything. Almost everything. But Chris he could be a little more candid with. Closer in age and experiences, as well as being a close friend with his wife, Zabdiel figured that Christopher would be able to give him more insight as to the direction he should begin taking. He was a little taken aback when a female figure clothed in only an oversized t-shirt answered the door instead of his friend. "Krista. ¿Como estas?" She smiled widely at Zabdiel, shifting her weight to her other leg, her bare feet still arched as if she were wearing heels. "¿Bien, y tu?" He focused his eyes on hers, ignoring how scantily she was dressed and how long her legs appeared when she stood on the balls of her feet as she was. "Bien. ¿Donde esta Chris?" She shrugged, turning around and walking across the foyer. "Meeting at management about a small role in a show or something. Should be back early evening." Zabdiel stepped inside and shut the door behind him. "I won't bother you, then. I just wanted to talk to him for a bit." She giggled, sitting on a barstool at the kitchen island. "Is that really why you're here, Zabdiel?" His eyebrows knit together. "¿De qué hablas?" She let her hair down from her ponytail and let her clasped hands fall between her spread legs. "He is one of your best friends. You didn't know he had that meeting today and wouldn't be home? You didn't want to come over when we would have the house to ourselves for a few hours?" "Krista," Zabdiel groaned, his tone warning. "Obviamente no. Ya te lo dije." "¿Que tu me dijiste, papi?" she laughed innocently, biting her lip and flipping her hair over one shoulder. “Lo que hicimos fue un error," he gulped. "Y no va a pasar otra vez." She stood, padding softly over to where he remained still, leaning up to whisper in his ear. "¿Que no va a pasar otra vez, papi? Que no me vas a tocar, no me vas a besar, no me vas a comer?” Krista subtly moved against him so her hips rolled against his. “¿No me vas a coger?” "One time," he mumbled. "We were drunk. It was a mistake. I told you it was never going to happen again." She smirked, letting her fingertips trace over his belt. "You let your inhibitions go when you were drinking and finally did what you wanted to. You still want it now." He gulped down the heavy lump in his throat. "Estoy casado. No puedo hacerlo otra vez. Mi esposa… esto va a romper su corazon. No puedo.” Her smirk grew as her lips pressed against the side of his neck. "Pero tu lo quieres, tu lo necesitas. I see how you look at me." She arched up higher on her feet and lightly gripped his collar, pulling his head down to meet hers. Krista's lips brushed against his as she gently spoke, "Don't deny yourself what you need, mi amor." No longer able to resist, he leaned down and kissed her with the fever he had been fighting. They swiped their arms across the counter behind her, clearing it of anything that might get in the way of their bodies as the heat rose between them. And without thought of consequence, they repeated the mistake he had promised himself he would never make again. - Thiago and Joaquin started racing across the front yard to see who could get to the front door fastest as soon as Erick and Yanelis let them each out of their carseats. No sooner did they reach the door did they see Zabdiel’s Escalade following up the driveway and ran back to greet him. “Tio Zabdi!” Thiago yelled, squeezing his leg as he exited the car. “Papi!” Joaquin screamed, jumping up into Zabdiel’s arms. Zabdiel struggled to grip onto his little boy, not having expected the leap he made. “Hey mijo,” Zabdiel chuckled, kissing his forehead and ruffling Thiago’s hair. Joaquin tugged at Zabdiel’s shirt with a cautiously hopeful question. “Papi, are we going to play futbol like you said?” “Claro que si, Quin,” he said with a wide smile. Joaquin’s eyes went alight in disbelief. “¿De veras? You promise?” Zabdiel nodded. “Si, antes de la cena, papo. Did you have fun with Tio Erick?” “No, amigo,” Erick interrupted. “You ask the chicos, ‘Did you torture Tio Erick?’” Both boys laughed, running back off to the house. Thiago touched the latch that opened the front door for them and they continued to run into the house. Zabdiel clapped Erick’s hand in his in greeting, leaning in for a half hug. “Pero la verdad- ¿se portó bien hoy?” Erick rolled his eyes while his sister laughed and kissed Zabdiel’s cheek. “Claro que si, Zabdi. Como siempre. No te preocupes.” Zabdiel kissed her cheek in return. “Muchisimas gracias por cuidar a mi niño hoy, Yanelis. Te lo agradezco.” “¿Y que de mi?” Erick huffed. “¿Que de ti, bro?” Zabdi laughed again. Erick, jokingly offended, was about to storm off but Zabdiel caught his shoulder to stop him. “Esperate - You think you could watch him inside for just five minutes? Tengo que hablar con Izzy for un momentito.” Erick’s expression changed from smiling and playful to a solemn one. “Por supuesto… ¿Todo está bien?” He tried to hide his defeated sigh under a soft laugh. “Pues, vamos a ver.” Yanelis had already gone inside behind the boys and ran out into the backyard onto the trampoline with them. Isa had just watched the whirlwind run by her, hand on the bump of her belly. “Did you sugar up my son?” she questioned Erick as he headed out the back patio door. “Of course not,” he laughed innocently before running to catch up to the screeching children outside. “Carajo," she giggled with a roll of her eyes, rubbing over her belly as she made her way over to the counter to continue preparing dinner. “Is it okay?” Zabdiel murmured, slowing his approach. She didn’t turn to face him, only busied her hands with chopping the lettuce for the salad she was making. “Is what okay?” “The baby,” he said simply. “You keep rubbing your stomach like the baby is bothering you.” She shook her head, her face stoic. “Not bothering. Just kicking.” His eyebrows raised and his mouth hung slightly agape. He hadn’t realized it was far enough along now that he would be able to feel his baby moving within her womb. “You can feel it?” She couldn’t suppress the smile that crept across her face. “Si.” He took a few steps closer. “Can I?” Isabella paused, but soon turned and grabbed his hand to press it to the swell of her stomach. “Right here.” It took a few moments, but as soon as Zabdiel began to whisper, “I can’t feel it,” the baby knocked against the spot where he rested his hand. His face instantly lit up, joyously laughing and pressing his hand harder against his wife in an attempt to intensify the contact if it were to happen again. She was careful as to the phrasing as to not reveal the gender he wanted to keep secret. “The baby reacts to your voice. Hearing you talking makes the baby kick and move around- dances around when they can hear your music.” His eyes welled with excited tears. “Hola, mi bebe. No puedo esperar a conocerte.” “Pues, tienes que esperar, Zabdi. Baby isn’t done cooking yet,” she chided gently, his smile contagious. But his grin faded as he searched for the words. “Izzy… Can we talk, please?” She turned her attention back to the food preparation in front of her. “¿De que?” “Izzy… Please. We’ve needed to talk for a long time and haven’t. Por favor, mi vida.” And even he didn’t know if he was using the endearment sincerely or out of pure habit. She grabbed for his hand and allowed him to lead her to the kitchen table to sit. She wanted to allow him to speak first since he had wanted to initiate this talk, but she could see he was struggling to find the words. He finally managed, “I don’t like what this is now, what we are now.” “Yo tampoco,” she whispered. Zabdiel cupped her clenched hands between his own, only able to stare down at the floor. “I don’t want it to remain like this. I want to live up to the words I told you at our wedding, the promises we made. We made a family, and for our babies we ought to give it more of a chance than giving up and pushing the other away when things get hard.” She looked out the window, hearing Joaquin shouting and laughing from the other side of the backyard, and then back to where her hand rested on the rise of her belly. “I know we do.” Zabdiel didn’t realize he was squeezing her hands so tightly until he felt his palms sweating and let go. “I know we can’t fix what’s already happened - how I’ve made you feel with me being distant and how I’ve felt you pushed me away. But we can try to start from the beginning. We can date again, learn more about each other like we should have from the start, back like it was before the stress of kids and worldwide music releases.” She was quiet, lost in thought, but in reality it was just spinning in the same circle. She had to give this a try- for her family, for the vows she took, for her son and daughter to get the chance to have the household she never did. “I want to try anything, Zabdiel. I hate how tense it’s been and how uncomfortable I’ve been feeling.” He nodded. “We’re having a new baby. Our family is growing and deserves a happy home. Let me take you out tomorrow night?” She took the initiative of leaning in and pressing her lips to his. “It’s a date.” He smiled and cupped her cheek, leaning back in to kiss her soundly. “As much as I want to begin now, I have a date with a little soccer star outside first.” Joaquin hopped off of the trampoline as soon as Zabdiel joined them in the backyard. “Papi! Time to play!” Erick stopped Zabdiel and silently showed him an email from Renato about their time at the recording studio and their upcoming deadlines for new music. “Is he serious?” Zabdiel snapped. “We were supposed to have more time. What do they expect us to do?” “Well, we have tomorrow. We have to head over there then to finish Alejaste de Mi,” Erick supposed. Zabdiel huffed. “We have no choice. But we could get some mixing done before dinner. Sound good?” Erick nodded and began texting the band’s group chat the details of what they’d just worked out. “Papi?” Joaquin questioned, tugging gently on his pants’ pocket. Zabdiel shook his head “Not now, buddy. Papi has to do something quickly. Later. I know I promised.” As Zabdiel walked away, Joaquin threw the ball he’d been holding onto the ground and began kicking it around alone, missing the goal by a few inches. The truth was his father could make any sort of promise he wanted, but unless he lived up to it what was the point?

if this sucks, blame @cncocubanita she rushed me

chapter 8 is now here.

[5hfanfiction]

Burning Memories (One Shot)

Summary: Camila and Lauren reunite by fire at the beach as they reflect on their past relationship while active in Fifth Harmony and struggle to wrap their heads around what’s in store for them as they navigate adulthood and contemplate the future.

Burning Memories

Camila Cabello was no more than ten yards from her car and already breaking a sweat from the weight of the logs and kindling she was carrying. She silently cursed the spontaneity of her plans and the resulting poor execution. The notebooks tightly squeezed into the backpack on her shoulders may as well have been bricks when combined with the other supplies that she brought along to the beach. However, it was inching near sunset, so being aware of how dark it would get afterward inspired a slight hustle in her to find the perfect spot for setting up.

There were a few other people within eyesight scattered along the beach but nobody close enough to get a good look at pop music’s stream queen. Ideally wherever she landed would stay secluded and afford her the privacy desired to conquer the evening’s mission without fear of recognition. At just about the point when she felt like her arms might fall off or her legs might give out from under her, Camila found a space that met her criteria and she gently dropped her supplies down to the sand in relief.

In hindsight she realized it may have been more effective to kidnap a girl scout as numerous unsuccessful attempts at starting a fire had come and gone. She opted to take a break and enjoy viewing the sunset when her frustration with the fire-starting reached a peak. It was difficult for Camila to remember the last time she let herself get lost in the beauty of her landscape, and in a way it helped relax her mind away from thoughts about the reason she came out there in the first place.

As the last visible piece of the sun dwindled away from view, Camila returned her attention toward the unlit logs and the unzipped backpack lazily tossed a few feet away. It was barely visible at that point, so she broke the “no cell phone” policy she intended to enforce in order to use her flashlight app. Unfortunately, breaking this rule meant she saw she had received a text from her second least favorite person in that moment, and her level of restraint to prevent her from reading it was minimal to none once she knew it was there.

“Thx, Camz! After the date’s set I can send you an invite. Is your parents’ address ok? It’d be good to c u. Matthew is welcome as your +1, ofc. :)”

Camila took a deep breath as she flipped her phone over so the screen was facing away from her again, against her leg. Lauren wasn’t her friend anymore, far from it, but enough time had lapsed that they could be civil enough to acknowledge each other when congratulations were in order. Ty had apparently proposed to Lauren a while ago, but the media somehow didn’t catch on before the couple chose to announce it themselves on Instagram a few hours before Camila’s escape to the beach.

It had been barely tens minutes after Camila read the announcement and found the courage to text Lauren her well wishes about the news that her boyfriend, Matthew, requested to FaceTime from overseas. He told her he wanted to take a break because of their disagreement over when to have children. He explained how he needed time to think about whether he could wait as much time as Camila needed to ride the wave of her current career success. Although she recognized that the pressure to start a family was a risk that could come from dating a significantly older man, it didn’t occur to her the topic would be pressed as soon as it was. This “break” seemed more like an ultimatum, so she decided on a whim that if her relationship was going to burn to ashes, then so too would the evidence of all the emotions past loves have made her feel.

Camila flipped her phone back over with every intention of going straight to the flashlight, but she felt a tug in her gut that told her to send a response to Lauren’s text first.

“The address here (Miami) is fine. But if I don’t have a +1 anymore, am I still invited?”

She felt stupid the moment she hit send, as her response was practically begging for questions, yet a part of her truly was curious if being in a relationship made her presence in Lauren’s life less awkward now. Rather than waste time obsessing over receiving a response, Camila tapped on the YouTube app and resorted to searching “how to build a lasting fire.” She had begun taking mental notes from the video she selected when a “ding” indicating a new text message interrupted.

“Here? Are you in Miami RN 2?”

‘Too? Oh no..’ Camila thought to herself as she reread the text to be sure. Lauren spent so much downtime in LA last she checked (not that she was keeping tabs or anything). It didn’t even occur to her they could both be in Miami at the same time.

“Yeah 4 1 wk. U?”

Camila barely had a chance to re-open the video before receiving another text alert.

“I fly back to LA tmrw. Want to grab a drink 2night?”

Camila felt her heart rate increase at the suggestion. Last time they intentionally spent time together she hadn’t been old enough to go out for a drink in the states, not that her celebrity status couldn’t have gotten her around that. What would Lauren think of her now? Sure, she had proven herself in the industry despite the controversy surrounding her exit from a group that had since gone on hiatus, but what would Lauren say to the scene that was laid out before her on the beach? What would she make of Camila aimlessly sitting in the sand beside notebooks filled with her most private thoughts, lyrics, and ideas, one of which was exclusively filled with content related to once loving the woman in question?

“I’m @ the beach.”

It wasn’t a direct invitation for Lauren to join her, but it may as well have been. It certainly wasn’t an outright rejection to meeting up either.

“What part? Is any1 else w/ u? I can meet u there.”

Camila sent a text back with more specific details about her location based on where she had parked, after which Lauren had announced that she would “see her soon & bring some treats.” Camila didn’t waste anymore time preparing the fire, as anxiety about the situation to come gradually crept up on her. The last thing she wanted to admit upon their reunion was how pathetic she was at something as simple as building a campfire, so she was determined to have it going strong before Lauren’s arrival.

It slipped Camila’s mind to conceal the contents of the backpack before it was too late. A noticeable figure was approaching her location quickly, and whether it was Lauren or a stranger out for blood, she wasn’t certain she wouldn’t die either way. To the relief of millions of fans worldwide, it was in fact Lauren who eventually came into full view and not a random sociopath excited to claim their next victim.

“I remember when you used to be afraid of wandering alone in the dark,” Lauren reminisced aloud as she retrieved a bottle of Grey Goose from a bag she had been carrying.

“Who’s to say that isn’t still true? Some emotions overpower fear depending on the circumstances,” Camila countered before gesturing toward the liquor. “Is that standard for celebrating an engagement?”

Lauren took a seat beside Camila in the sand, being sure to keep a safe distance from the fire that was finally burning properly.

“Probably not, but it’s good enough to celebrate being two people who are catching up after going through shit. Besides, Ty and I celebrated the engagement properly right after it happened.”

Lauren took a decent-sized swig directly from the bottle before offering it to Camila. Camila didn’t hesitate to accept, although she stuck to a more manageable sip. She was a lightweight and knew better than to start off with too much, too fast.

“Congrats again, by the way. Marriage is a big step. How’d you know you were ready?”

Camila knew it was a heavy question, but the way they used to be never involved treading lightly.

Lauren took another sip from the bottle and shrugged.

“It’s so rare to find someone who supports you for you, for everything you are, and everything you stand for despite all the noise in the world trying to sell us a false image of what perfect people and perfect love should be. Ty has never tried to change me. He understands nobody ever could.”

Camila pondered Lauren’s response carefully, before settling on a nod followed by a much bigger gulp of the vodka than she intended.

“Matthew wants me to stop taking birth control,” Camila blurted before the more reserved part of her brain could censor the thought from spilling out.

Lauren’s eyes widened noticeably before she tried to play it off by digging a small hole in the sand to store the bottle in temporarily.

“Wow,” is all Lauren managed to reply, taking the time to let it sink in where they both were with their lives now compared to when they had been close.

“Today he asked for us to 'take a break’ because the last time we saw each other we argued about it, and I guess it’s giving him second thoughts about me.”

Camila reached across Lauren to retrieve the liquor bottle and take another gulp, only wincing a little as she underestimated how the amount consumed would burn on the way down.

Lauren had to bite her tongue to the point of almost drawing blood to stop herself from saying something she’d regret. It wasn’t her place to judge someone’s relationship. She hated when it happened to her, and happen it did…almost constantly.

Lauren settled on her first question carefully.

“Are you having second thoughts about him?”

“I’m having second thoughts about everyone I’ve loved and everything I’ve felt,” Camila confessed as she gestured toward the now-scattered collection of notebooks almost forgotten against the sand. “I’m always preaching about love to my fans and how much it has inspired my music and who I claim myself to be. But what if I’m a fraud? Do I have it all wrong? If love is what inspires my music, but being in love is also what’s going to force me to take a break from music, then what am I really doing here?”

A single tear escaped from Camila’s left eye and out of instinct Lauren pulled their bodies together into a hug. Camila could feel herself calming down from the embrace, so she laid her head against Lauren’s shoulder and allowed the contact to continue despite their history and how it should make her wary of sharing physical affection.

“Did you write about me?” Lauren whispered against Camila’s head, although she knew from listening to all of her music that she unmistakeably had.

Camila pulled away from Lauren and bent over to retrieve a bright blue spiral with several doodles and scratches along the cover.

“Almost every day until there was no room left to cram anything else in here,” Camila explained while holding up what they would suspect to be the most condemning item proving there had once been more than friendship between the two of them while they were still band mates.

Lauren looked across the fire, toward the ocean, as she motioned for Camila to put the notebook back down beside them.

“I don’t need to read that to know that everything described in it was real, because I lived it, too. I felt it. All of it. I broke both of our hearts, because I thought it was necessary, and that’s one of the most naive things I’ve ever believed, apart from thinking that signing that goddamned contract after The X Factor without proper representation was a solid idea.”

In the midst of painful memories, Camila still managed to crack a smile at the cheap shot Lauren took at the paperwork that guaranteed the beginning of their careers. It had been a disaster, but it launched them all into a level of spotlight they needed in order to land where they were in present day, despite the hardships.

“I don’t blame you anymore. But you know me…when I close a door, I slam it. So that meant finding a way to forgive and forget even if the wound was still fresh at the time I decided to put it behind me. Now here I am out here preparing to burn all these memories I already put energy into mentally blocking.”

“You didn’t successfully conceal everything, Camz. 'I Have Questions’ wasn’t exactly subtle. I had to block so many accounts after you released that song.”

Camila nodded in understanding as she picked the notebook back up and flipped to the approximate page where she knew some of the original IHQ lyrics could be found.

“The version that got released was tame compared to how it all started.”

Lauren accepted the notebook this time and glanced over the page presented carefully.

She slowly read through one of the rough verses:

“How could you turn your back on me

Leave me helpless when I was already weak

I imagined pictures of our future

As I would lie awake in bed

But they blurred out of focus

as you eagerly erased our past”

“Why didn’t that make the final cut?”

“It alludes to romantic feelings, and the final version was spun so I could play it off like the relationship could have been platonic.”

“Kind of how I spun our relationship to seem platonic?”

“Pretty much exactly like that.”

Lauren continued to read the rest of the page, front and back, silently while Camila got lost in thought.

“I should have asked if you had any memories you wanted to bring and burn,” Camila said, breaking the silence casually.

“You’re not really going to burn this one, are you?”

Lauren looked conflicted at the thought of letting it go, although so far she had only read lyrics to the one song.

“I was going to burn the pages from that one first, actually.”

“Why?”

“You’re engaged. Not only is that door slammed shut, but it should be locked, bolted, and probably guarded by a three-headed dog on the other side,” Camila joked, although her tone didn’t convey that she really felt the humor.

“I was thinking though. If things don’t work out with Matthew, you could safely revisit some of your lyrics about heartbreak, and nobody but you and I would ever be any the wiser that someone else inspired them.”

“It almost sounds like you’d prefer if things didn’t work out with Matthew,” Camila accused with a raised eyebrow.

“That’s not true. The only relationship of yours I’ve ever tried to control was ours, and seeing how poorly I handled that one, I’d never try to interfere with others.”

“To be honest with you, one of the notebooks I brought here does have stuff inspired by him, and I was planning to burn it tonight, too.”

“Well then, the only proper way to handle a break up is with a ton of dessert!” Lauren remarked enthusiastically as she pulled s'mores ingredients out of the bag the Grey Goose had been in earlier.

“If I did get pregnant I could eat as many s'mores as I wanted and nobody would even bat an eyelash,” Camila pondered as she grabbed one of the marshmallow roasting sticks.

Lauren rolled her eyes as she pulled open the box of graham crackers and tore the plastic holding one set of the crackers apart.

“That doesn’t sound like break up talk to me. But leave it to you to consider food as the primary pro of being knocked up.”

“Ugh, I hate when people refer to pregnancy that way. It makes it sound like…scandalous? Or something. We’re adults. The process of growing and birthing a new life is beautiful. We should refer to it in a way that respects women who are becoming mothers.”

“Maybe we should have drank more. You are still way too articulate right now.”

“You used to be able to handle spending time with me sober,” Camila reminded Lauren as she crushed her first marshmallow and chocolate between two graham crackers in delight.

“I also remember that I had many other, effective ways of shutting you up, all of which are off limits now,” Lauren added with a smirk as she completed her own s'more and prepared to take her first bite.

“Watch it, Jauregui. That was suspiciously close to flirting.”

Camila moaned in satisfaction as she finished the last few bites of her s'more, before reaching for another marshmallow.

“Watch it, Cabello. Sounds like that are suspiciously close to teasing.”

Camila took her marshmallow stick away from the fire to jab it toward Lauren’s neck threateningly before returning it to the best part of the fire to get the desired marshmallow texture.

“That could have burned me, you know? And I bet the mark would look pretty similar to a hickey.”

“I guess we’d have to hook up then to not waste the accusations of cheating on false evidence.”

Lauren nearly choked on the piece of chocolate she had begun nibbling on as she waited for her next marshmallow to be melted.

“Camz, you can’t say shit like that. Fuck.”

Lauren unexpectedly picked up the Grey Goose bottle and took two big gulps, clearly seeking to become more intoxicated.

“You’re right. That crossed a line. Ty would definitely take me off the wedding invitation list if he knew I never got over you. If he even knew there was something to get over.”

“He knows. We asked each other about our longest, previous relationship and what we would have done differently to make it last. I started to talk about Lucy at first, but then I realized depending on where you start our time line, we were in love much longer. Just because we hesitated to define the relationship doesn’t mean it shouldn’t have counted.”

“I’m surprised you’re not more freaked out by me still having feelings for you. I’m also curious what your answer was.”

Lauren and Camila laid out beside each other on Camila’s blanket after each having consumed three s'mores, washed down with more vodka. They both felt lighter from the effects of the alcohol, and although it was cooling down quite a bit, they welcomed the breeze as they looked up at the stars.

“Neither of us received closure the way I ended it, Camz. That’s why our feelings aren’t resolved. Just because we’ve moved on and love other people now, too, doesn’t mean that we bumped our heads and forgot what it felt like to be in love with each other.”

“Wow, and Ty knows all this?”

Lauren rolled onto her side facing Camila and kept her head propped up with her elbow.

“Yes. What I told him I would have done differently about our relationship is one of two things. Either I would have come clean about it to everyone and tried to salvage it despite the pressure from management to tone it down, or I would have at the very least attempted to find closure once I knew you were leaving the band instead of shutting you out. Ty knows I’m with you tonight and he isn’t worried about it.”

Camila rolled onto her side opposite Lauren, bringing their bodies much closer to one another.

“He should worry,” Camila admitted as her eyes looked back and forth between Lauren’s eyes and Lauren’s lips.

“Why?”

“You know why,” Camila insisted as she leaned in close enough that Lauren could feel her breath on her cheek.

“Yeah, I know,” Lauren agreed softly as she closed the gap between them and let their lips meet for the first time in more than two years. It started out tentative, but Camila pressed back a little rougher to deepen the kiss and sighed soon after when Lauren pulled back slightly to disconnect their lips and look her in the eyes.

“You and Matthew are on a break for sure, right?”

Camila gave a quick nod in confirmation.

“So there’s no reason to feel guilty for what I’m about to do, right?” Lauren pressed one more time.

Camila reached out her hand to Lauren’s face and stroked her right check with her thumb as she pulled her back in closer. Camila proceeded to address Lauren softly.

“Tonight we’re burning memories. Nothing that happens on this beach will be carried into tomorrow unless we both agree. Don’t worry about whether this begins or ends a chapter for us. Just stay in the moment with me and see where it leads.”

Lauren showed no more hesitation as she closed the gap between them once again and they made a silent pact to let their hearts lead.

AN: I wrote my stress away until 4am and this is the product of that decision. After the longest writer’s block of my life I just needed something to come out. Thank you for reading. [I have also published this on Wattpad]. 

[flowers-creativity]

Small things

Fandom: The Musketeers Characters: d’Artagnan (Charles d’Artagnan), Porthos du Vallon, Athos (Comte de la Fere), Aramis (René d’Herblay), Jean Tréville, OCs Warnings: Violence, bullying Summary: d'Artagnan has found a new home and purpose in the Musketeers. But there might be some things that are wrong. They’re only small things, though. Porthos is good at noticing small things.

AO3 link

Chapter 1

Chapter2

Chapter 3

As the evening drew to a close, Aramis and Athos left d'Artagnan for a night in the infirmary, promising to let Constance know where he was so she wouldn't worry about her wayward lodger – even if “he's spending the night in the infirmary” was not the most reassuring thing to hear, too. The Gascon spent a rather uneasy night, kept from a restful sleep by his worries about Porthos and the men who seemed to hate him so much, and the occasional pain shooting through him upon some awkward movement jostling his shoulder. He was glad when the morning arrived and brought with it Aramis and Athos' return with breakfast.

They had just settled down for the meal, d'Artagnan grudgingly suffering the others serving him due to having only one functioning arm to himself, as the door opened again and admitted a very sheepish-looking Porthos.

Aramis looked around at his friend's approach and then grinned at d'Artagnan cheekily. “I should have placed some money on that wager,” he chuckled, and the young recruit returned the grin, relief shining in his dark eyes, while Athos just raised an eyebrow at their exchange.

“Welcome back,” the older Musketeer greeted their brother dryly as he stopped a few feet from them. The big man looked between them and finally said: “I'm sorry.”

Athos sighed. “Stop apologising, Porthos.”

Porthos shook his head. “It was stupid. You need me here, not fallin' apart all over the place,” he returned.

Aramis stood up and pulled his friend into an embrace. “You may fall apart as much as you need to, but we'd be happier if you did it somewhere where we can help you put yourself back together,” he admonished him gently.

d'Artagnan, for his part, moved awkwardly forward on his cot until he could reach out with his good arm and take Porthos' hand where it was hanging limply at his side as he stood, motionless, in Aramis' embrace. He gave it a light squeeze and finally said: “You are forgiven, my friend, for this and everything else plaguing you.”

At that, the big Musketeer heaved a sigh and slumped forward into Aramis' arms, his weight resting on the smaller man for a moment. The marksman smiled and patted his back. “There, there,” he teased, “though I didn't expect I'd have to keep you upright quite so literally. You're heavy, dear brother.”

Porthos gave a small, watery snort and drew back, surreptitiously wiping at his face. Aramis released him with a last pat on the back and pressed him down onto the stool Athos had drawn up for him. Taking in the swarthy countenance, none of them could miss that he was paler than usual, apart from the bruised skin below his eyes that spoke of a night badly spent. It was Athos who asked bluntly: “You look like you have slept not a wink tonight. Where have you been?”

Porthos shrugged and answered: “Nearby.” His tone said that no answers would be forthcoming, even as Athos directed one of his eloquent eyebrow raises his way, and Athos gave a dip of his head by way of acceptance. They settled back around their meal, and bit by bit, the atmosphere relaxed as their circle was finally whole again.

***

After the mid-day meal, Aramis allowed d'Artagnan to finally leave the infirmary and sit in the garrison's courtyard while the three of them went about their duties. The would-be Musketeer was glad to be out and about even if all he did was sit in the weak sunlight at their usual table. It was agreed that he could not return to his lodgings for a while since he was unable to clothe and, to the young man's great embarrassment, even relieve himself one-handed, and it would be terribly unseemly to ask the lovely Madame Bonacieux to help him. So he would need to stay in the infirmary or with one of the others so they could assist him. Porthos had passionately argued against the former, and d'Artagnan had the distinct feeling that if they had chosen the infirmary, Porthos would have spent a lot of nights “nearby”, a suspicion he was sure Aramis and Athos shared. Staying with one of his friends it was, then.

But for now, even if he was itching to be free of the sling constricting his arm and shoulder and doing something productive, he sat and enjoyed being part of the usual hustle and bustle of the Musketeer garrison in that way again, at least. Maçon came and sat by him for a while, apologising profusely again for hurting him, until Porthos took pity on both lads and collected the contrite young Musketeer for some task or another. His friends moved around, in and out of the yard on their duties, not actually at his side most of the time, but d'Artagnan could feel the gaze of one of them on him almost constantly. It made him feel warm and protected but also slightly smothered, and he sighed, resting his chin on his free hand. He really hoped they would manage to get those men and his bones would heal quickly so life could return to normal. Well, as normal as their lives could be, he supposed. As Musketeers, they were never free of danger but feeling as if danger was lurking here, in the place that had felt like it was becoming a home to him, among people who had been on the way of becoming his family after losing his father … Now that his worry over Porthos had abated, d'Artagnan could admit to himself that it did hurt. Well, there was no danger among those who had well and truly become his family, he thought as he caught Athos' gaze from across the courtyard, and the older Musketeer gave him a quick dip of his head and a half-smile. They would make sure he was safe, and with them at his side, he could deal with whoever tried to hurt or drive him away. He would show them that he had the heart of a Musketeer and was above being bullied by those who had not, even if they wore the pauldron and he didn't.

***

The next days proceeded in much the same fashion, as his bones continued to heal, and it was almost a disappointment that his “bad luck” seemed to have stopped and there were no more little things. Knowing of Porthos' experience, none of them was relaxing his guard, though. All of them were nervous when they had to leave him alone for a while, for guard duty and similar things, and he often used this time to go visit Constance, making sure she did not think he had forgotten about her friendship. It was better if he was not in the garrison without his brothers watching his back. And it was only for a short while, anyway.

Until Tréville called the Inseparables into his office for a mission that would take them away from Paris for a week or more.

“What? No! We can't go!” Porthos protested when Tréville had barely finished his orders, and the Captain looked taken aback at the fervid protest.

Casting his mind about for a cause of this, he settled on d'Artagnan's injury as the most likely one and said: “Look, I know you're loath to leave the lad behind but he'll be alright staying here and continuing to heal, and you've gone on enough missions without him. By the time you get back, he should be able to exchange that sling for something lighter and get in some exercise to start recovering his strength, right, Aramis?”

The medic of the group shifted uncomfortably and exchanged a glance with his brothers. They had wanted to only go to Tréville once they had secured enough evidence – so far, the only thing they had was the broken blade incriminating Royer, and even this could be construed as circumstantial if he claimed he had had no idea about the tampering. There had been no new incidents, and all their attempts to covertly investigate the previous happenings and the men they suspected had not resulted in anything tangible. But leaving d'Artagnan alone for so long when they even worried their way all through guard duty at the palace – it was inconceivable.

“Aramis?” The Captain frowned at his three men as his question went unanswered and they were having one of these silent conversations they were known for. It was a great asset to have but he definitely did not like it when they did it with him.

Aramis shook himself to get out of his thoughts and turned towards Tréville once more. “You are right about that, Captain,” he started, “but that is not what we are worried about.”

Tréville raised an eyebrow and leaned forward, steepling his fingers. “Well then, explain yourself,” he demanded.

The three men exchanged another glance, and it was Athos who started speaking then, making a report in his usual clipped, factual manner. Tréville listened, his brows drawing low over his eyes as he took in what he was saying. By the time Athos had ended, he had stood and started pacing his office.

“Why am I only being told about this now?” he asked, whirling around to face them again, hands on his hips.

“We have no evidence, Sir,” Athos replied, meeting the stormy blue eyes without flinching. “Most of it is just Porthos' observations and conclusions, and the only piece of evidence does not clearly incriminate anyone.”

“We're sure about Royer bein' involved but we wanted to make sure all of them would be caught,” Porthos added.

The Captain sighed. “I'd have thought you'd have more trust in me,” he said in a low voice, disappointed. “You should know I won't stand for that.” His gaze went to Porthos and Aramis at these words – Athos had not yet been with the regiment when Porthos had undergone this particular ordeal.

Both friends shifted uncomfortably under the weight of his disappointment. “We didn't want you to be put into a delicate position without enough evidence – you have a duty to more than us,” Aramis tried to explain, and Porthos shot his friend a thankful look.

“Hrmpf.” Tréville didn't have a good argument against that, admittedly. “Still, the moment it turned from harassment to injury, I should have been informed.”

His men looked down, ashamed and suitably chastised. They had been so wrapped up in trying to protect their youngest brother, they had forgotten about their duty to their Captain and the fierce loyalty he held for his men. Finally, Aramis raised his head and stated: “We're sorry, Captain. But surely you see now why we can't leave.”

The commanding officer looked at them calmly and after a moment, he said: “On the contrary. I actually think it's all the more reason for you to go.”

Aramis and Porthos immediately burst into shocked protest but Athos was silent, his gaze intent on the Captain's face. He knew that look in those pale blue eyes. Tréville had an idea. “What do you suggest?” he asked once his brothers had calmed down, helped along by him grabbing their arms and squeezing them, indicating they should hold back.

Tréville returned to his seat and pulled out some brandy, filling tankards for all of them. “You've been watching the lad closely since the accident,” he remarked. “I noticed but put it down to your usual fussing because of the injury.” He chuckled lightly at the redness raising in Aramis' cheeks, at how Athos pulled himself up and adopted a haughty look, trying to look as if fussing was nothing he'd ever do, and at Porthos' sudden concentration on the drink in his hand. They'd never admit it but they were all terrible worriers when one of them was injured, and particularly if the one affected was a certain Gascon who had so successfully made a place for himself in their tight-knit unit. “But now I know why. I'd hazard the guess that those men have noticed it, too, and they wouldn't dare to make a move while he is so well-guarded. Actions like these are not those of courageous men.”

Porthos snorted and mumbled bitterly: “Tell me 'bout it.” The other two just nodded, none of them attempting to hide their disdain. Still, the conclusion Athos was drawing from the Captain's words was not one he liked. “You're suggesting that we leave d'Artagnan unprotected. That we use him as bait,” he said, trying but failing to keep his tone neutral – Tréville certainly heard the accusatory note in it.

The Captain raised a placating hand. “I'm afraid I'd have to say yes to the second part,” he said, ignoring the incredulous looks he earned with this statement, “not so much to the first part, though.” He gazed at them seriously in turn. “For one, you need to remember that this is a garrison full of Musketeers, and most of them like your young protégé. There are others to watch his back, even if you can't do it yourself. And second ...” he smiled slightly, “I would be amenable to only send two of you on this mission. While three men would be good, I trust that two of you would be able to do it just as effectively. However, all three of you would need to leave. To be seen leaving.”

Aramis nodded, understanding sparking in his dark eyes. “The third man could then circle around and come back to watch unseen, while those men believe us all gone and d'Artagnan on his own,” he concluded.

Porthos grumbled, clearly not entirely happy with the plan, but nodded as well, seeing the wisdom in it nonetheless. “That'll work, I guess.”

“Glad that you approve,” Tréville commented dryly. His expression was sympathetic, though, and Athos felt another rush of gratitude to this man. He didn't have to do this – as their commanding officer, he would have been well within his rights to order them to fulfil their mission, and they would not have any choice but to do it or risk being court-marshalled for dereliction of duty if they didn't and were caught. But he had offered them a solution and his assistance nevertheless and increased their chances at finally getting somewhere at the same time.

“I'll leave it to you who will be the one to stay in Paris, gentlemen. Make sure you're gone at least a couple of hours before doubling back, and let me know where the one of you staying behind is and how to contact him. I'll inform d'Artagnan while you get ready for your departure – send him up, will you? Travel safe,” the Captain said, dismissing them.

The three of them saluted him and filed out of his office. Coming down the steps into the courtyard, Athos caught d'Artagnan's eye, the young man sitting in his customary place at their table, and made a motion for him to go up to the Captain's office. As he got up and their paths crossed, the older Musketeer reached out and put a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder, giving it a short squeeze. If the young man wondered at what had brought about the affectionate gesture, he did not ask, just shot him a short smile and moved past them, disappearing into Tréville's office.

At the bottom of the stairs, Porthos made to turn to them but before he could start speaking, Athos stalled him with a sharp glance. “Not here,” he said in a low voice, “Aramis' room.” The other two nodded and they moved off.

Once the door had closed behind them, Porthos spoke, and Athos had known what he would say: “I'll stay. You know I'm best at remainin' unseen, so I should be the one to stay.”

Athos sighed and scrubbed a hand through his beard. “That's true, my friend, but I think you should go. This whole thing has taken quite an emotional toll on you – which none of us blames you for,” he replied patiently, exchanging a glance with Aramis that confirmed that the marksman agreed with him. While Porthos had been able to get his emotions back under control for the most part after the accident, they had all noticed the frustration, worry and anger threatening to spill forth from the dark-skinned man the longer they had been unable to make real headway in their investigation. And a frustrated and angry Porthos was a dangerous thing; while his self-control was better than many gave him credit for, once the dam burst, there was no telling what might happen.

Porthos growled: “I don't need no protectin' of my tender feelin's; I need to know the lad is safe and we'll get them.” There was desperation in the dark eyes as he looked at his friends, imploring again: “Let me stay. I need to do somethin' to make sure that happens. I can't go.”

Aramis shook his head sadly, and Athos could tell it pained him as much as it did Athos to deny their friend's request. “You're frustrated and angry, Porthos. Whoever stays needs to keep a cool head. Please, trust in Athos or me; each of us will protect d'Artagnan as fiercely as you would.”

The big Musketeer sagged back at those words, unable to deny his brothers his trust. “I know you will,” he murmured. “But ridin' away from him, not knowin' what'll happen … I don't know if I can do that.”

The medic reached out, drawing him near by the nape of his neck until their foreheads touched. “I know, my friend,” he murmured back, soothing, gently, “I know we're asking you to do the harder task. Forgive us.”

Porthos shook his head. “No … no, you're right,” he mumbled. “It's alright.”

Athos sighed and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I'm glad you understand,” he said heavily. He looked thoughtfully at Aramis. “So, you or me?” There was something to be said for both options: As a sharpshooter, Aramis had lots of experience climbing on rooftops or through windows (with the latter acquired in some other … pursuits as well), so he was almost as good as Porthos at moving about unseen, and his medical knowledge and marksmanship might be handy if, God forbid, things came to a head in a dramatic fashion. On the other hand, he and Porthos were closer than Athos was to the swarthy Musketeer, and he was closer to d'Artagnan, something that came to him as a surprise again and again but which he could no longer deny. It might be a source of comfort for the Gascon to know his mentor was nearby – and he had to admit he was as loath to leave him as Porthos was.

“You,” Aramis replied without hesitation, without a trace of doubt, and Athos could not keep his surprise from his face which made the marksman chuckle. “Sending you two away would be a recipe for disaster,” he explained in a light, teasing tone, “you'd worry yourself sick, both of you, with no one to keep up your spirits, and we can't have that. My cheery disposition will be more needed on the road than here in Paris.”

Athos let the corner of his mouth curl up in a small smile, and he dipped his head in acknowledgement of the truth in Aramis' words, though he did not doubt that the marksman would do his fair share of worrying, too. “Alright, we are agreed, then?” he asked. “Then let us get ready and take our leave from our youngest.”

The other two nodded, and they dispersed to pack their saddlebags, get rations and tack their horses.

***

d'Artagnan had settled back down at the table in the courtyard after talking to Tréville and sighed. He hated being left behind when the three Inseparables went on a mission, and even more so in his current situation which involved a lot of boredom and a certain lack of feeling safe in the Musketeers' quarters. He was thankful to the Captain for having his back, ensuring him that he would enlist a few men of whom he and his three friends were convinced that they had the recruit's best interest at heart, so that he had people at the garrison watching over him, and allowing one of his friends to stay behind, but still … He would feel their absence keenly, he was sure.

He felt someone settle on the bench next to him, causing it to dip slightly at the added weight, and turned his head to see who the newcomer was. Maçon greeted him with a smile, and he returned it freely. Ever since the accident, the young Musketeer had sought him out and kept him company often when his duties allowed ít, and d'Artagnan found himself enjoying the friendship developing between them – once Maçon had stopped apologising all the time. While it was surely no match to the bond he had with the Inseparables, it was nice to have someone his age to be friend with, someone who had just recently gained his commission and still remembered vividly the months spent as a recruit before that. And he liked the big man for himself, too, though he found himself wondering at why a gentle soul like Maçon had chosen a soldier's life. All in all, there couldn't have been a better man to break his shoulder, he thought, and the grin on his face widened.

Noticing it, Maçon raised an eyebrow. “What amuses you so?” he asked.

D'Artagnan shrugged his right shoulder carefully. He did not want to voice that thought aloud, knowing that Maçon would fail to see the humour in his injury at the other man's hand causing them to become friends; so he opted for a half-truth instead: “I just thought I'm glad that I have friends like you to keep me company while those three are gone,” he waved a hand at this three brothers who were just finishing loading their saddlebags onto the horses standing ready for their departure, “and while I'm mostly confined to the garrison.” He had gotten better at taking care of his needs one-handed, though, and if he moved carelessly and jostled his left side, the pain was no longer so sharp that it took his breath away, so he was positive that while they still needed time to knit, his bones would no longer shift unless pressure was exerted on the injury itself. Maybe it was time to return to his lodgings, now that his friends were away and his only alternative would be to return to the infirmary or take an empty guest room if the garrison had one available.

Maçon smiled at the compliment, his cheeks colouring a little – d'Artagnan hadn't paid much attention to him before but in hindsight, he couldn't help but notice that he had never seen the young Musketeer talk much to anyone; he had seemed to be a bit of a loner, not for unwillingness to engage with others but more because of some deep-seated insecurity. “You'll be missing them awfully, I expect, though,” Maçon commented.

The Gascon nodded. “Of course,” he admitted readily. “They're pretty much all the family I have left.” His breath hitched in surprise at himself speaking this out loud – he had started to think of those three as brothers, as a family, for a while but so far he'd not dared speak it; even though the others called each other brother freely, he was not sure yet that he might claim the term for himself in their eyes. But it was how he felt; he could not deny it. Shaking himself, he returned his attention to Maçon. “But it's no use brooding about it, especially before they have even left,” he added, denying himself any more thoughts in that direction. Instead, he asked his companion: “Do you have a family? Outside the Musketeers, I mean?”

The young Musketeer nodded eagerly. “My father is a minor noble living near Rouen, and I have a brother and three sisters.” A bit more subdued, he added: “I miss them a lot, too.”

d'Artagnan reached out and put a sympathetic hand on Maçon's shoulder. He certainly knew how it was to miss your family – his father's death was recent enough that he still felt the pang of longing for the only blood family he had left and which had been taken from him so violently, no matter how much his new brothers had helped to fill the hole his passing had left behind. Trying to keep the conversation light, he asked: “And are they all as big as you?”

His question had the intended effect, as Maçon's grey eyes cleared of the melancholy that had taken residence there, and he chuckled lightly. “My brother is, and one of my sisters is almost as tall as us, though not quite as broad.”

“You must be quite the impressive picture when you're all together, then,” d'Artagnan said with a smile, which made Maçon laugh.

“Maybe so but size isn't everything. Actually, if you want to put the fear of God in a man, set my youngest sister on him, and he'll be quaking in his boots in no time. And she's tiny.”

“True, never underestimate a woman,” d'Artagnan agreed, his thoughts going to a certain landlady – Constance was not tiny but she was more than capable of putting the fear of God in someone, even his friends and him sometimes, and none of them was a coward.

They chatted amicably for a while, the Gascon enjoying the fond ease with which Maçon spoke of his family, though he learned with sorrow that the other young man had shared his fate in becoming motherless before reaching adulthood. The three Inseparables had finished their preparations in the meantime and came to stand before them, ready to take their leave from him. Maçon glanced up at them and with a shy smile and a nod of his head, he moved away a bit, allowing d'Artagnan to rise and say goodbye to his friends in peace.

Aramis was first, drawing his young friend close and resting his hands on both his upper arms. “Now listen,” he said seriously, “promise me you won't do anything stupid with that shoulder, alright? The physician has promised to check on you every couple of days, so I don't want to hear any complaints or, God forbid, anything about new injuries when we get back.”

d'Artagnan rolled his eyes at the medic's fussing but it was coloured with fondness, and he smiled as he replied: “I promise, Aramis. I'll be careful.”

Aramis nodded, satisfied, and gave him a quick hug before releasing him and letting Porthos take his place. The big Musketeer hesitated to envelop him in one of his usual bone-crushing hugs, fearful of causing the lad pain accidentally, until d'Artagnan stepped forward, shaking his head and grinning. “I'm not that fragile, Porthos,” he said and pulled him into a one-armed hug.

Porthos returned the grin ruefully but was definitely much more gentle in hugging the young man back than he would usually be. “Keep your chin up, yeah?” he said in a low voice. “You've got people around, and we'll get back as soon as we can.”

d'Artagnan nodded and patted his back with his good hand. “I'll be fine. Don't worry so much and keep your mind on the mission,” he said, knowing how much of a danger distraction could be on the road.

“Alright, yeah, I will,” Porthos promised. He let go of him and stepped back so that the Gascon could turn towards Athos.

His mentor placed a hand at his neck and pulled him forward to rest his forehead against the young man's. “I'll see you soon,” he said quietly. d'Artagnan smiled, the words confirming to him what he had suspected after Aramis and Porthos' goodbye: Athos would be the one to come back after a detour to make it look like he was leaving, as the Captain had promised. He could not deny that knowing the older Musketeer would be watching out for him warmed and buoyed him in a particular way, though it would also have been a comfort to know Aramis or Porthos nearby. And he was glad to know that Porthos would have his oldest friend at his side, aware of how much the situation had upset the dark-skinned man and how much he had to hate not being there to protect d'Artagnan himself.

He dipped his head to Athos' words. “Stay safe, all of you,” he said, and his mentor gave him one of his rare, short half-smiles, squeezing the nape of his neck, before he turned away and motioned to the others to mount up. With one last glance at the young man and a salute to Tréville who was watching from the balcony in front of his office, the three Musketeers wheeled their mounts around, and then they were gone. d'Artagnan stood, feeling suddenly bereft at their departure, and it took a few deep breaths until he turned back to Maçon, a smile affixed to his face, as he asked: “So, what are your plans for the day? Any chance you might keep a poor invalid company at the mid-day meal?”

***

Athos leant back in the rickety stair and sighed. He poured himself a cup of wine and took a first sip, savouring the taste. It was hard not to drink quickly but he had promised himself that he would pace his drinking as long as his vigil lasted – he needed his wits about him, no matter how much he yearned to calm his thoughts, racing and spiralling when he could do nothing but keep watch, with the blanket of drunkenness. For now, he could relax at least a bit, though. Tréville had just called d'Artagnan into his office, so Athos could take a break for one hour, knowing that he was kept busy by their commander. It was the fourth day since Porthos and Aramis had left, and Tréville had arranged for this on the first day – officially to alleviate some of d'Artagnan's boredom. Or maybe to introduce him to a different kind of boredom. The young man would be called to the office for two hours each day to help the Captain with the paperwork since he was able to write and fetch Tréville things one-handed. It was a good idea to give the restless Gascon a chance to feel somewhat useful, and it gave his guardian angel the chance to have a meal, stretch his legs and take care of any business, and Athos was thankful for the short reprieve.

It had been four days, and so far, nothing had happened. Athos had found a spot in an unused storage room in the garrison's uppermost level that gave him a good vantage point of the courtyard below, and for the most part, he did not have to move from it much since d'Artagnan spent most of his time down at the table the four brothers so often shared. He would observe the men at their training, and it wasn't hard to read his desire to be among them in the tension radiating from his posture. He helped Jacques if he could, by holding the horses the stable boy had saddled for Musketeers departing on a mission, fetching tack or brushing their coats, and Athos was glad that the lad could do as much, knowing how much being around the horses served to calm his young friend. Still, being forced into inaction was hard on him, even if it made watching him somewhat easier. Athos had been surprised and somewhat concerned when d'Artagnan had left the garrison in the evening of the first day, and he had followed him to see him return to his room at the Bonacieux's house. While he was glad to see him regain some of his independence, Athos was nevertheless torn about this development: He believed that d'Artagnan would be safer there than he was at the garrison, as much as it pained him to think this. Bonacieux did not like his young lodger but he was in need of coin, as little as the Gascon could bring. And Constance … She's a married woman, he heard d'Artagnan say, the denial as transparent as the finest crystal. His beautiful landlady did pose a special danger to the young man but it was not to his physical well-being, and he had no doubt that she would protect him as fiercely as any of his brothers, should someone try to get to d'Artagnan there. But that still left the way from the garrison to their house, and with the added anonymity of the busy streets and without the presence of other, well-meaning Musketeers, it might offer too good an opportunity to anyone intending to bring harm to him. His worries had been somewhat mitigated, however, when he noticed that he was not the only one following the young man – his other shadow was Le Beau, an older Musketeer whom the Captain trusted, and so did Athos. Tréville obviously had kept his promise and had d'Artagnan well-guarded.

Still, he found himself wishing something would happen. It was wearing down on him to wait, and he could only imagine how much more it would do so on d'Artagnan, the one truly at risk. What if those men did not make any other attempt at harassing him for as long as Porthos and Aramis were gone – or even longer? If they did not manage to flush them out or catch them in the act, this threat would continue hanging over d'Artagnan's head, and after what Aramis and Porthos had shared about the latter's experience, they would never be able to fully relax their guard; these men's malice would poison what was supposed to be their young friend's new home, his new family. If nothing happened, their best bet would be to get Royer for the sabotaged blade, letting the rest of them escape punishment. The thought left a sour taste in Athos' mouth, and he took another sip of his wine.

His thoughts were disrupted by a light knock at the door, and he raised an eyebrow. Tréville was the only one who knew where he was, having been informed by a messenger Athos had sent after getting installed in this room on the first day. So this was undoubtedly a message from the Captain, and he felt worry pool in his gut – well, it looked as if he got his wish after all. Something must have happened.

Opening the door, he found himself face to face with Jacques, the stable boy, who greeted him quickly and a bit nervously. “The Captain sends this,” he said, handing over a roll of parchment.

Athos thanked him and opened the Captain's message immediately. As he did so, a smaller piece of parchment fell from it and landed on the floor. At first, he paid it no attention but then he read Tréville's words:

 Athos,

 d'Artagnan got this message this morning, just before I called him up to me. It was sent with a messenger, a small boy who only told Favreau to give it to d'Artagnan, or so he told the lad. I will question Favreau for more details later but I don't expect much to come of it. At least they have now shown their hand. Be alert.

 Tréville

Athos bent and snatched up the piece of parchment. In large, ugly letters, it bore an even uglier message:

 You will never be a Musketeer. Leave, or you will regret it. The next time, you will suffer more than a broken bone.

He swore, crushing the piece of parchment in his fist. He had seen Favreau speak with d'Artagnan when he had entered the courtyard but had paid it no mind as the interaction seemed harmless and Favreau was not anyone he suspected of involvement in this; he had not seen where the Musketeer had come from. He hoped that Favreau's words to d'Artagnan were true and they did not have to add him to their list of suspects – it was certainly believable that whoever had sent the message had used an outside person to carry it. It was not that hard to find a child, of the Court of Miracles or otherwise, who was willing to give a message to a Musketeer in exchange for a shiny coin.

With a loud exhale of air, he went over to his table and penned a quick note for Tréville, sending Jacques off with it and a short thanks. Then he returned to his chair and sat, taking another sip of wine as he pondered this new development. As the Captain had said, they had shown their hand with this message. Everything that had happened before could still be construed as minor pranks or an accident, even if the conspirators knew they had the broken blade. But this was an open threat. How could they deal with it? They could go on the offensive – Tréville could openly address the regiment, telling them about the note and ensuring that everyone knew what would happen if the threat was carried out. But they would be back where they started: The threat might be eliminated for some time but given they were brazen enough to make it so openly, it would not ensure that it was truly gone, and their earlier actions would remain unpunished. What would happen if they did not acknowledge it, though? Would it embolden those men enough to act? This would give them the chance to catch them but he was terrified to think of what they might do to d'Artagnan, seeing now that with such hatred, they could no longer expect harmless harassment like in the beginning. It made him sick to his stomach that he must have served with these men for years, and he had never known them for the vile creatures they were now turning out to be; he could only expect that this sentiment was shared by his Captain who had worked so hard to instil a great sense of honour and brotherhood in his regiment.

Athos downed the remaining wine in a big gulp and set down the cup harder than necessary. He was quite sure which option Tréville, and most importantly, d'Artagnan, the reckless boy, would be taking, and while his tactician's brain agreed, he worried. He would never be able to look Aramis and Porthos in the eye again if something happened to d'Artagnan …

[sablelab]

Covert Operations - Chapter 10

DISCLAIMER: This is a modern AU crossover story with Outlander and La Femme Nikita. LFN and its characters do not belong to me nor do those from Outlander. This is a complete work of fiction and as such is an entirely fabricated tale created in my imagination.

These next few chapters follow Jamie and Claire as they travel first to Aberdeen and then other places across Hong Kong in search of members of the Rising Dragons’ Triad in the hope of locating the Dragon Head … Sun Yee Lok.  

*Manip - @artistsassenach

CHAPTER SYNOPSIS: Jamie and Claire’s reunion is unfortunately interrupted and Superintendent Zheng has reservations about James Fraser.

 CHAPTER 10 (S) Claire Beauchamp was frozen to the place where she stood … trapped with her back against the hallway table. She couldn’t move even if she wanted to for she was Jamie’s willing captive. Expelling a breath, she wished he would draw back a little since she was having difficulty in thinking coherently … but it was a double-edged sword because Claire also wanted him closer at the same time. James Fraser’s smell invaded her senses; her breathing was shallow and her heartbeats accelerated heightening her anticipation of what he would do next. As if hearing her silent plea, Jamie removed one hand from the table; but drew his fingers lightly down Claire’s thigh to her knee, then back up again. Struggling to ignore the heat building in her stomach, she tried to concentrate but was fighting a losing battle.  His eyes pierced her own in such an intense way that Claire could not look away.  All she could do was feel the delicious, tactile glide of Jamie’s hand across the fabric of her sweat pants but wishing it was against her naked skin.  A wry smirk slowly appeared on his mouth at her reaction to his touch for James Fraser knew exactly what he was doing. All of a sudden she felt some dampness in her panties when the heat of Jamie’s palm slid more boldly down her leg drawing enticing but distracting patterns along her thigh. Unable to fight the feelings exacerbated by his touch, she shifted, easing her legs slightly apart to give him plenty of room. Their eyes met and held. Claire had little trouble whatsoever discerning the meaning of his actions for James Fraser stared at her mouth like a starving man thirsting for water. So powerful was his hypnotic gaze, that she felt the caress of his lips even without any tangible connection. She’d fallen under his spell and although her thoughts were centred hopefully on what was to come, she muttered feebly, “Oh! … Umm … Thanks for the flowers Ja-mie … they … were beautiful.” “You’re beautiful, mo nighean donn,” he replied, as he dipped his head and nuzzled the side of Claire’s neck with intent. Jamie’s Scottish brogue was so much more apparent when they were alone like this than when he was in Section mode and his words washed over her like a caress. “What? ... What does that mean?”

“My brown haired lass,” Jamie replied splaying his fingers through her tresses.

Her heart suddenly accelerated. “O-oh,” she uttered loving the way those words rolled off his tongue.

However, in his mind’s eye, Jamie suddenly saw flashes of the dead body of Annalise de Marillac, and he couldn’t rid his mind of her disturbing likeness to Claire and the dead woman’s involvement with the Rising Dragons. This was a dangerous mission, for this Triad was cold-blooded and deadly. If the truth be known he was concerned for Claire’s safety even though he knew she could look after herself. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

With his thigh nestled between her legs, Jamie pulled her closer to his body and tightening his embrace began a slow seduction.

A rush of breath left Claire’s mouth when Jamie’s tongue nailed the sensitive spot between her shoulder and neck. She shivered with the sensation of his caress to her flushed skin and tipping her head to the side, gave him further access to her flesh. Jamie knew exactly where to touch her that would have the greatest effect on her sanity. Erotically nipping at her skin with his teeth he then soothed the spot with his tongue again and again. Claire sighed happily when Jamie’s determined fingers gently massaged her inner thigh while at the same time his addictive lips left wonderful little love nips along the column of her throat. Unable to resist the onslaught of Jamie Fraser’s attack, Claire tightened her grip on the edge of the table as her body began to fall apart. He tongued the hollow of her throat and lathed it sensually against her skin.  Moaning his name out loud, Claire tipped her head back and thrust her breasts forward willing Jamie to touch her, to cup the weight of her breasts in his palm and to take her in his mouth. Raising his head Jamie looked down at Claire’s flushed face with passion filled eyes now changed to a deep smoky hue. He pried her fingers from the table and lifted her arms over her head, but just as he was about to remove her tank top the ringing of the doorbell startled them halting his actions. “Damn!” Claire muttered disappointment dripping from her words and closing her eyes she nestled her head against Jamie’s chest willing whoever was at her door to beat a hasty retreat.

“Oh, no! Go away!” she admonished in her brain. 

Jamie pulled back to look down at her. “Expecting someone else?” he asked amusingly.

Managing a weak smile Claire shook her head. It was probably her dinner. She had completely forgotten about the pizza order from the down stairs Deli. “Pizza delivery I think.”

However, Jamie did not relinquish his hold on her straight away.  Capturing Claire’s hands once more, he pulled her away from the table and pressed his body flush against hers.  Going weak at the knees, her heart was pounding in her chest for Claire could feel Jamie’s arousal nestled against her.  Leaning her head against his chest she tried to calm her breathing then looking up at him, she saw the disappointment in his eyes that she too felt.  She didn’t want to move but with more reluctance than she would ever believe possible, Claire Beauchamp slipped out of James Fraser’s embrace and went to answer the door frustrated with the untimely interruption.

Gazing back at him, she managed to say huskily, “I’ll be right back.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Ahhh! Mei … what are you doing here?” Claire asked incredulously when she finally opened the door. “Superintendent Zheng sent me over here to keep you company.” “Oh! … I see.” “I’m here to take you out to dinner.” Mei cheerily replied waiting for Claire to invite her inside the apartment. “Hong Kong’s culinary delights are legendary. What would you like? Italian? Nepalese? Cantonese?” “Ahh! That’s very nice of you Mei … but …” “Hello,” sounded a male voice behind Claire as she stood at the open door. Looking up and seeing James Fraser standing there, Mei Ling looked at Claire apologetically and answered, “Oh. I’m sorry Claire; I didn’t know you had company. I’ll go.” “No … no … stay,” she answered Mei trying to allay her new friend’s perceived embarrassment at perhaps having disturbed her evening with a male guest.

However, it was Jamie’s words that eased the situation for the young police recruit.  “I’m just leaving anyway I’m afraid,” he stated matter of factually. “Miss Beauchamp and I were just getting … acquainted, but our business is concluded.”

With disappointment registering in her eyes, Claire glanced at Jamie. He was standing there as if the past few moments hadn’t occurred and was again wearing his leather jacket that she had dropped on the floor.  She gave him another quizzical glance then looking at Mei Ling said, “Why don’t you go into the lounge room Mei … I’ll just see Mr Fraser out.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jamie’s voice echoed loud enough for Mei Ling to hear in the other room. “I look forward to working undercover with you Claire.” “Until tomorrow then …” she replied in a similar manner. James Fraser lightly brushed her arm and raised his eyes to hers. Claire saw the regret registered there also for the untimely interruption by the young lass. Keeping his gaze locked with hers, Jamie lifted Claire’s hand to gently cup her wrist, then bent his head and stroked his tongue across her palm. Straightening up, he let his fingers glide from her wrist, along her hand, then slowly over her fingertips. Claire felt his touch as if a bolt of lightning had struck her. She was melting on the spot as her eyes closed in lament of what might have been had they not been disturbed. Then … he was gone. Turning, James Fraser had walked out of the door, not looking back. Hearing the door shut quietly behind him, Claire opened her eyes. She looked at her hand and brought the area that Jamie had kissed to her mouth and nose. Nuzzling the spot he had caressed, a dreamy expression crossed her face.  She took a moment to compose herself before returning to the lounge room where Mei Ling was waiting for her.

“I’ve ordered pizza.  Why don’t you stay and share some with me instead of going out.”

  The next morning the mission begins...

Before departing for Aberdeen, Claire and Jamie had sat in Superintendent Zheng’s office being briefed on last minute details. Xiao Zheng was not at all happy with the fact that Claire Beauchamp was to go off with James Fraser to Aberdeen for he’d had reservations about him from the moment they had first met. However, Zheng was convinced that if all else failed, it was, after all, better to keep your friends close and your enemies closer … if … James Fraser was indeed an enemy. Claire though, had appeased his suspicions, convincing him that she could keep an eye on Mr Fraser while taking advantage of his connections to solve this case. She had argued the fact that being a couple would provide an excellent cover for them than if they were on their own. Zheng was under no illusion about what may lay ahead for these two. He was resolved to the fact that undercover work was covert but it appeared these two people were not new to this type of subterfuge. Both of their résumés had outlined the many times they had been on assignments such as this one. Nevertheless that still didn’t make his concern any the less. After all Claire Beauchamp was on exchange and under his protection. If anything should happen to her … well … he loathed thinking of the consequences. Xiao had his misgivings about the very plausible scenarios Claire had outlined, but he had reluctantly agreed to them travelling together stating that back up would be available if needed despite his orders from head office. On the other hand Superintendent Zheng was still at sixes and sevens about sending his exchange colleague on a mission with this private investigator, no matter how good was his or her résumé.  As a precaution he had checked out James Fraser’s credentials, and he had come up clean with a very impressive body of work as well. It appeared that Fraser was a former MI6 officer who had been seconded to work as a special agent for the FBI in his area of expertise … Organized Crime. He had travelled extensively throughout the United States and Europe while conducting investigations and interviewing difficult suspects, thus developing a network of investigative contacts nationwide. Moving into private investigating for a career change, James Fraser still was highly regarded and often worked in conjunction with the police in undercover work on sensitive cases. Fraser’s credentials had been categorically verified also when he had earlier contacted the Chief Commissioner to confirm his documentation. Zheng had been given the short shift by his commanding officer when they had spoken on the phone. It seemed that in matters of national security and diplomacy, pairing the two was a win-win situation for the Hong Kong police, and Zheng was reminded of this very succinctly. Without it being verbalized, he knew he was to “stay out of their way and under no circumstances was he to meddle or try to contact them whilst undercover.” Having been convinced from many quarters and given that the French Canadian ambassador Monsieur Alain de Marillac would not have engaged his services if the man wasn’t what he appeared to be, Zheng reluctantly saw James Fraser in a slightly different light. The man was very interesting and there was something in his eyes. He finally realised just what it was that he saw … it was power. James Fraser was a very foreboding individual who would not be crossed. Good … then he'll protect her, he’d thought optimistically. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Angus, show Mr Fraser and Claire their vehicle would you?” “Sure thing Boss,” he replied as he led the way to the elevators in the corridor. Looking at Claire, Zheng added, “And make sure there are no scratches or dents anywhere on the car while you’re at it …” he ordered, “… or it will come out of your wages!” “Yes sir!” As he observed James Fraser and Claire Beauchamp leave, his canny police eyes studied the couple once more. What he saw aroused his suspicions. Could it be that these two knew each other? No! … That was not possible! Zheng reflected on their meeting in his office. It had been quite aloof and even some antagonism was evident … a fact he had attributed to their pairing. In his experience undercover people liked to work alone and here they were with a sanctioned pairing at the request of the Chief Commissioner. He only hoped that they would get on together and achieve the end results for all of them. Zheng watched as they left the premises and entered the lift that would take them to their waiting car. Claire turned and gave him a cheeky smile and a wave as the doors closed behind them. James Fraser on the other hand stood resolutely … his face a blank mask. Returning to his desk, Xiao sat back in his chair lost in concentration. James Fraser and Claire Beauchamp appeared to be so in sync, so attuned to each other that there was an air of togetherness about the couple, as if they had worked together before. He knew that was not feasible but they certainly struck a chord with him in their demeanour. There was something about that Mr. Fraser that he couldn’t quite put his finger on also and it irked him. Dressed all in black he looked menacing, dangerous and the minimal movement of his gestures left him wondering. James Fraser was so difficult to read and … that blank stare of his was compelling. The man was too self-assured … possibly a legacy of his type of work. Perhaps I am just too distrustful, he thought. I’ve been on this job too long. Even the good guys are starting to look suspicious. Zheng laughed at his ramblings knowing that if he were a younger man, in similar circumstances, he too would have jumped at the chance of working with Claire Beauchamp undercover. However, if he had been left out of the loop and there was more going on than at first appearances then … he would not be happy. He would be demanding some explanations … from very high places.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~to be continued

Thank you everyone, I appreciate your support for my writing and hope that you are enjoying my crossover story.  Much appreciated. xox

Should you wish to access the other chapters of this story … https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

[truthofherdreams]

life behind the camera (2)

also on ao3 + main instalment + outtakes

He doesn’t know how long they stay in the hot tub, loses track of time when Lara Jean’s mouth is on his. Might be minutes or hours, not that it matters much when he can wrap his arms around her and pull her in his lap, taste her mouth, thread his fingers through her hair. They kiss and giggle and kiss some more, whispering sweet nothings when their mouth aren’t otherwise busy. After weeks of pinning and frustration, it feels like heaven.

And then Lara Jean starts shivering, cold winter wind against her wet skin, until her teeth are shattering. She pulls him closer, as if it would help.

“Let’s go back inside,” he whispers to her.

She whines a little when he lets go of her and he knows that sound will follow him through his dreams for weeks to come. But he doesn’t let himself think about it too much as he jumps out of the hot tub to grab big fluffy towels inside and comes back jogging. He wraps her in one of the towels, a perfect little LJ burrito that he kisses on the nose until she giggles.

Then he’s pulling her inside, one arm around her shoulders to keep her close and share body heat at the same time.

They must have been in the hot tub for longer than he thought at first, because the entire cabin is silent, fire dying slowly in the fireplace and mugs of hot cocoa discarded on a table.

Peter leads LJ to his bedroom, but she tenses a little when they stop at the door, her eyes widening as she avoids his gaze.

“Just sleeping,” he reassures her. “Or cuddling. Whatever.”

“Taking it slow,” she confirms.

He doesn’t mind. He’s waited weeks for this moment. He will enjoy whatever LJ is ready to offer, glad and grateful that his feelings are finally returned, happy for his love not to be unrequited anymore. He could wait months for more than that, and be perfectly fine with it.

What he isn’t fine with is John’s shit-eating grin when he opens the door. “I’ll find somewhere else to sleep,” he simply comments as he stands up from one of the two beds in the room. He doesn’t say the I told you so, but the look he offers Peter as he leaves the room is pretty telling on his own.

Even LJ, queen of being clueless, notices. “He knew?”

“About the contract or about my feelings? Because yes to both.”

Her face does that scrunchie cute thing he loves so much, and it’s hard not to lean down and kiss her from how adorable she is. Until he remembers he doesn’t have to stop himself anymore, the no-kissing rule definitely is off the table, and so he does just that. Kiss her. And again, and once more, until she giggles against his lips and he swallows the sound. It’s already his new favourite activity. Fuck Youtube, that’s what he wants to do for the rest of his life.

“I may have told Lucas everything tonight,” she confesses once they stop for breath. She’s still pressing her forehead against his though, him leaning down and her on her tiptoes. Fucking best.

“Yeah, that’s fine. I mean…”

He doesn’t need to finish his sentence for the both of them to understand what he means -- Chris and Gabe will need to be told too, at some point. It’s a small miracle they went on with the contract for so long and only John guessed that something was off. Perhaps because they were so good at pretending, until they were not pretending at all.

The thought makes his heart race.

“Later,” she agrees with a small nod.

Later, when they will not be busy kissing and moving to the bed, and cuddling and kissing again. It’s well into the night when Peter takes his iPad out to watch The Golden Girls, and that’s how LJ falls asleep -- in his arms, completely at peace.

 ...

 “I’m too old for this,” Lucas groans as he sits in one of the couches.

Chris follows suite, sitting by his side before she leans forward to grab Veronica’s hand and pulls her on her lap. Her girlfriend does as she’s told, not without a roll of the eyes. “You’re only twenty-six,” the gamer girl points out.

“It’s ancient in Youtuber years,” John laughs from his spot in the only armchair. Sitting casually, one ankle on a knee, he looks like the king of the internet. Which he might be, What with his newly-celebrated ten million subscribers.

Peter shares another couch with LJ, as he sits with his back to the armrest with her between his legs, her back to his torso. She’s wrapped in a powder blue sweater from Veronica’s new merch line, her recently-cut hair brushing against his cheek every time she moves her head. Her fingers laced with his on her stomach, and he’s the happiest of men, exhaustion from Vidcon be damned.

It’s been a hell of a two months, what with their tour followed by the convention, but it’s the good kind of tired, the one that settles deep in your bones and leads to long and well-deserved hours of sleep. Soon it will all over and they will go back to LA, to the house, to their routine of vlogs and editing. But, for now, Peter enjoys the life on the road with his friends, the closest thing he’ll ever get to being a rock star.

Well. Maybe it would be one step closer to being a rock star if they were actually partying. But, as it is, Lucas isn’t entirely wrong. The craziness of the past few weeks is finally catching up with all of them and, where they would party like there’s no tomorrow any other year, this year they are just chilling in their penthouse suite with their friends. Veronica, of course, now officially member of the Kavinsquad, and Simon and Bram, Dimple. A viewer’s wet dream, yet all they’re doing is chill and eat nachos.

“I met an eight-year old fan today,” Simon agrees. “SimonSays shirt and hoodie and baseball cap and everything. Eight! Young enough to be my daughter!”

Bram puts his hand on his boyfriend’s thigh, a faux serious expression on his face. “Babe, I didn’t know how to tell you…”

Everyone bursts into laughter at Simon’s dramatic face, even more so when he throws a tortilla chip at Bram, who catches it in his mouth. It’s all those little things that have Peter remember that enjoying yourself with your friends doesn’t have to always involve loud music, tons of alcohol and fuzzy memories. It can be just as simple as good moments with Hozier playing in the background.

LJ is getting sleepy in his arms, snuggling a little more into his neck, so he shakes her slightly to keep her awake. Leaning closer to her ear, he whispers, “Let’s go outside,” to which she nods a little.

She’s all mellow and sleepy as he pulls her up and into his arms, guiding her toward the door. John shares a meaningful look with Peter that does nothing beside set his stomach into knots of anxiety as he leads LJ down the corridor and toward the lifts.

She doesn’t protest until they make their way to the roof terrasse, and then she forgets to protest altogether. The fresh air finishes waking her up properly, and she gasps a little at the view offered to her. The whole city shines in the night, brights colourful lights that paint a gorgeous picture.

She leans against the railway, and Peter steps behind her to hug her, arms wrapped around her waist and chin on her shoulder. That’s the only downside of the past few weeks; they’ve barely managed to get a moment to themselves, away from the others. He’s all but moved into her house at this point, enjoying the intimacy of a place he doesn’t share with his best friends, relishing in having LJ all to himself now that Kitty has switched places with him.

“Can you believe it’s been two years?” she sighs wistfully.

So much has happened in only two years that sometimes Peter barely even remembers who he was before LJ entered his life. He sure can’t imagine a life without her now, when she’s everything, everywhere – the first face he sees in the morning, the first person he turns to when he has a doubt about a video, his last kiss before falling asleep.

“It feels like an eternity.” She complains a little under her breath, for the heck of it, so he leans over her shoulder to kiss her cheek. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything else in the world.”

She does that thing she always does when he really touches her, that soft ‘oh Pete’ that is just for him but that has also generated thousands of comments on their videos. Lucas even says it’s their main ship tag on tumblr, whatever that means.

“Not even for fruitcake cookies?” she teases him gently. He doesn’t need to see her face to picture the amused smile on her lips.

“Not even… I mean, maybe one thing.”

He feels her confusion, even more so when he puts his hands on her hips as to turn her around so she’s now facing him. Her cheeks are red from the cold and the excitement of the day alike, her hair a mess, her eyes dark. She’s so beautiful, and she’s all his.

“We’ve been off-contract for over a year and a half now but… what if we signed a new one?”

Her face scrunches up, so very obviously confused at his words now, that she barely reacts when he takes a step back and reaches inside his sweater’s pocket. There’s a good ten seconds of nothing between the moment he drops to his knee and the moment LJ reacts, the longest seconds of his life. Just stunned silence, one hand against her mouth as she stares at him with the wildest, most surprised eyes ever.

Eyes that are quickly filled with tears then, when he opens the velvet box in his hands. John and he took hours picking it, something pretty yet small and discreet, something shiny but not too in-your-face. It looks perfectly her, like it was made with Lara Jean Covey in mind and nobody else.

“Lara Jean, babe… Remember last summer, when Kitty and your grandma were trying to teach me some Korean, and they explained the concept on ‘jeong’ to me? To be honest, I’m still not sure I completely understand…” She lets out a wet giggle than makes him smile in return, a huff of breath through the nose before he goes on, “but I think what we have is as close to ‘jeong’ as it gets. You’re my person, and you’ll always be my person. And I know how scared you must be right now. Truth is I’m terrified. But I want you to know you’ll never lose me. Ever. Because I love you, and I will always love you, and I want to be by your side for as long as you’ll have me. So, what do you say?”

She’s full on crying now, big tears rolling down her cheeks, so Peter stands back up to cup her face and hold her close. Her body is shivering with her sobs, but she’s laughing too, and for a moment there he’s afraid he lost her for real.

“You want to marry me?” she asks in between two hiccups.

She’s so fucking adorable, he can’t help but pull her into a hug and kiss the side of her face. “Yeah, even got a ring and stuff.”

Hysterical sobs turn to hysterical giggles right there, and he can’t help but laugh too. And hold her tighter. And kiss the side of her head again.

He’s the one to lose it when she says, “There’s no camera.”

“No, baby girl. Just us.”

“T’would have gotten so many views.”

He barks a laugh at the unexpected statement, at her mindset and how much she’s changed through those two years together. She used to frown at the blatant clickbait in his videos, and now she thinks about it during one of the most important moments of their life. Only Lara Jean…

“I don’t care about the views. I just care about you.”

She’s laugh-crying again, wet nose pressed to his collarbone when she whispers a small “Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes, Peter. Of course. Yes!”

He might be laugh-crying too.

[darkcivet]

Daddy’s Little Girl

A KakaSaku Fanfic

Alternate Links: FF.net & AO3. Pairing: Sakura/Kakashi. Genre: Romance/Family Summary: A drunken attempt to get Kizashi’s permission to marry Sakura doesn’t go as smoothly as Kakashi had hoped. KakaSaku.

“Wedding? I love weddings. Drinks all around!”

The first few rounds seemed like such a good idea at the time. Kakashi toasted the happy couple; three times to their health, three times to their happiness, and three times to their future children. There was singing, there was dancing, there was merriment, and somewhere along the way he lost the ability to discern one alcoholic beverage from another.

And he didn’t even know the couple in question!

They seemed happy, though, wrapped up in each other and turning this once family friendly exhibit of theirs into an adult only orientated show. Definitely not an establishment the Hokage should be seen getting drunk in.

So, with a heavy heart, Kakashi paid for the rest of his beverages – and there were so many – before stumbling off of his stool and into the open air of the streets of Konoha to find an establishment he could be seen getting drunk in.

The night was still young, and he had a lot to commemorate.

He wasn’t unhappy with his life, per se, just frustrated with certain aspects of it. He wasn’t single or hard up for cash or anything, really. He had good friends, a great partner, and an amazing sex life to boot. His career had hit its high note, though, as Kage was the highest title a shinobi could hold in any nation.

Tsunade had stepped down from the pedestal of Hokage after the clean-up post-war and, since Naruto was still a knucklehead, the spotlight was once again shined on Kakashi to fulfil the role. He was as despondent about getting the position as he’d been the first time around, but this time there was no-one to spontaneously awaken from a coma to save him from it.

Kakashi was counting down the years until Naruto was ready. The NaruHina wedding hadn’t taken this long to plan. Still, he had his friends to distract him – by making jokes and pretending to not respect his authority, but friends nonetheless.

But none of that was his real problem.

Kakashi sighed, looking around as he finally ambled his way to his new destination; he’d sobered up a smidgen, walking from The Shinobi Sandbox to La Cherry Blossom. This needed rectifying.

The sounds and lights hit him immediately as he opened the door and Kakashi inwardly congratulated himself on not grimacing; this was a family establishment that doubled as a PG rated disco hall. Weird, but he wouldn’t get any flak from Shikamaru later about being seen here. For being such a lazy man himself, Shika-kun was adamant when it came to the diligence and credulity of others. If he’d known he was just hiring a male version of Shizune he might’ve reconsidered someone else.

‘Maybe I can still fire him.’

Ten minutes into his inner musings and second mojito, he noticed the imposing man with the sideburns and angular moustache as he approached the bar.

“Fuck.”

Kakashi sat up straighter in an attempt to look like he wasn’t intimidated.

“Kakashi.”

The silver haired Hokage turned, pretending to not have noticed him, smiled good-naturedly, and nodded to the older man as he took the stool next to him. “Kizashi-san. When was the last time you called me Lord Hokage?”

Kizashi pretended to think about that. “Before you started dating my daughter.”

“Ah.”

He supposed it would be hard to respect the man who was, not only fourteen years older than his daughter, but also having regular sex with the woman in question. Kakashi didn’t like to brag, though...

He cleared his throat. “Uh, can I buy you a drink?”

“Beer.”

Kakashi nodded again and indicated to the bartender it was on his tab.

Awkwardness descended upon them and continued to darken the mood until Kizashi got a few shots under his belt, having moved on from the beer half an hour ago. The older man started talking about the unspoken code where a man wasn’t a man until he’d settled down and had a few kids.

Kakashi struggled not to roll his eyes at that one. Kizashi might be a retired shinobi but he’d lived most of his life as a civilian, so his attempt to coax his Hokage into doing who-knows-what while maintaining his aloof disgruntled attitude toward the copy ninja’s involvement with his daughter, sailed right over Kakashi’s head.

Maybe if he was a civilian, or had a clan that wasn’t in shambles, he might listen and obey to this nonsense.

Before he knew it, Kakashi was on his fourth, fifth, and then eighth mojito; his voice slurred as he drunkenly agreed with Kizashi and pounded the bar for “more liquor!”.

Feeling suddenly dignified, Kakashi sat up straight and smoothed over his slightly rumpled clothing, before clearing his throat and raising a glass to the man that had raised Sakura; the wonderful, wily, temperamental, sexy, has-legs-that-go-on-forever, beautiful woman he was in love with.

“Kizashi-san, may I have your permission to marry your daughter?”

Kizashi side eyed him. “You’re drunk.”

“True. But it’s still a question that I asked you.” Kakashi was slurring his words, but hit him with his best puppy dog expression, regardless.

The older man scoffed into his drink. “Maybe.”

Kakashi frowned. That was a puppy dog face that always worked on his hounds. Something wasn’t right here.

Kizashi sighed. “You want me to give my permission, so you can make an honest woman of my daughter? If I’d known all that would take is getting you drunk I’d have done this years ago.”

The last thing Kakashi heard before he passed out was, “you already did, you baka.”

 .:.

 “Dad?”

Dressed in a nightie and wrap-around gown, Sakura opened the door before Kizashi could knock, an unconscious Kakashi haphazardly draped over his shoulders.

“Did you ply my husband with alcohol for a reason?”

“He asked me for permission to marry you.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know what to say to that. “Here.”

Sakura pulled Kakashi’s left arm up and over her shoulder and helped her father carry him to the living room couch. She placed him gently and pulled a folded blanket from her recent laundry pile over her sleeping husband. Her fingers lingered over his masked face as she appraised him. Even drunk, he looked amazing. She’d never get tired of just looking at him. She sat down next to him and checked his vitals, making sure he wasn’t going to suffer from anything more than a hangover in the morning.

Sakura almost forgot that her father was standing next to her, watching her watching Kakashi. She jumped when he started talking suddenly.

“I’m afraid I’ve been a bit hard on him all these years.”

Sakura sighed, now brushing hair out of Kakashi’s eyes. “Yes, you have.”

“He loves you.”

“I know.”

“If your mother was still here–”

“She’d slap you upside the head.”

Kizashi chuckled. “Yes, she would.” He sighed. “You have to understand, Saks. When she died, you were all I had left. I’m not apologising for how aggressive I got in my protectiveness of you.” She scoffed at that. “But it came from fear of losing you too. Then you started dating that Uchiha brat. He was polite, don’t get me wrong, but also so wrong for you.”

“Dad–”

“Hear me out, please.”

Sakura folded Kakashi’s arms over his chest to keep them from falling off the couch and stood, motioning for her father to follow her into the kitchen while she made them some tea. He didn’t settle into the stool at the bench but watched his daughter as she busied herself.

“When you two broke up and you started dating your teacher of all things, well, I almost had an aneurysm.”

“And the wedding...”

“The engagement happened so fast; you married so quickly. It was terrifying. You don’t have to forgive me for the way I acted. It’s just, you had such a wonderful future ahead of you and for what – a man twice your age?”

“He was twice my age at fourteen, daddy, but not now. Not even then.”

“It felt that way, sometimes. There was this huge gap between your ages and people talk.”

Sakura huffed. “I don’t care what the old biddies down at the markets told you: we waited until our wedding night.”

Kizashi cringed at that mental image, then shook himself. “Just remember that I loved you first.”

She smiled indulgently at him. “Yes. But I can’t put you first anymore, you know that.”

He sighed, and they stood in silence while Sakura finished making the tea.

“Chamomile?” Her father looked at her, confused, when she handed his over. She’d never drunk this before, as far as he knew.

“Yeah...” She resisted the temptation to gently rub her stomach. She didn’t want to tell her father, since it was Kakashi’s right to know first. Like the rest of Konoha, he could wait. “Kakashi likes it and I’ve gotten a taste for it.”

They’d been trying for several years now, but only because she’d insisted; Kakashi still balked at the idea of having kids at his age. But she was now finally and happily pregnant. She kept having to remind him that older men could still conceive, and that he was in no way over the hill, as he often claimed. Sure, the idea that men didn’t have a biological clock that was ticking away the years in which they could have children was a gigantic, fat lie, but they could and would still conceive.

Because I said so, she always told him when he doubted it. Which one of us is the doctor, I forget.

When he woke up – and sobered up – they had a lot to talk about.

Sakura smiled at her father, feeling light-hearted. “I really am happy, daddy.”

Not wanting to rehash things at two in the morning, and promising to talk later, her father made a hasty retreat.

Sakura returned to Kakashi and, since she was told by her shishou not to put unnecessary strain on her body this early in the pregnancy, forewent carrying him to their bedroom. She snuggled up against her husband and closed her eyes.

The morning, and the rest of their lives, could not come fast enough.

[lawchan89]

Starco Christmas prompt - Blanket Fort

A little fluff piece I dished out to try and get myself back in a writing groove.

Feel free to send me any Starco Christmas/holiday related prompts! I may actually write a few of them :)

“Star?” Marco called, slipping through the door of her bedroom quickly before shutting it. She did say her room, right? he thought, checking the note she had scrawled to him quickly on a torn piece of parchment. Yep. But where is she?

All he could see was darkness, shadows of shapes outlined by the four moons glowing through the open window. One of those shapes looked strange, like a tent had been pitched in the middle of her floor. Stuffing the note back in his hoodie pocket, Marco cautiously gripped the handle of his scissors before drawing closer.

“Star? Are you th-- whoa!”

He jumped back, shielding his eyes as the room was suddenly bathed in light. It was a sort of tent, and what looked like several strands of fairy lights were strung around the poles. He saw a shadow bound towards where two of the sheets serving as panels parted, and the face of his girlfriend poked through them.

“Hey Marco! Took you long enough.”

“What is this?” Marco asked, kneeling down to her level once his eyes had adjusted to the change in light. “Are we going camping indoors?”

“It’s a blanket fort, duh,” Star rolled her eyes as if it were the most obvious thing. “But I made it look all pretty for Earth’s Stump Day!”

Marco’s forehead wrinkled, “Earth’s Stump D-- oh, you mean Christmas.”

“Yeah, that!” Star said, pointing at him triumphantly. “Wait, so that’s not the one with the candles that Starfan13 celebrates, right?”

“That’s Hanukkah,” Marco clarified. “My family celebrates Christmas.”

“Oh phew, good. Last thing I wanna do is offend anyone.” Moving aside, she swept the hanging sheet aside with a flourish and gestured for him to enter. “Enter la casa de Navidad, Señor Diaz.”

Marco crawled inside, instantly feeling more warm and cozy within the little nook than he had all day. Every blanket was red and green, the pillows stacked against the wall white with silver snowflakes. Even the panels seemed to shimmer with glitter, giving the illusion of falling snow. He suspected Star’s wand had been involved for that.

“So, you like it?”

“It’s nice,” Marco sighed, throwing himself onto one of the pillow piles and closing his eyes. Only then did he realize just how tired he was. Knight training been especially brutal today, and while he had sparred against Kelly for the past two weeks to make sure he was in top form, he hadn’t anticipated the blizzard that would whip down upon Mewni for most of the day. As if half freezing to death wasn’t bad enough, River had called him into his study once he returned to the castle to have a “talk” with him. At first he had thought he was going to be lectured for not accelerating as quickly as he should. Now Marco wished that had been what it was.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Sure your parents won’t be upset?”

Star snorted. “Why? Plan on being a little frisky tonight, Diaz?”

“A true squire would never treat his princess indecently,” Marco stated with his eyes still shut, holding his hand up in the air as if taking an oath before letting it drop lazily. He felt slender fingers lace themselves through his, her body slide down beside him as Star placed his hand around her waist, and a pair of soft lips caress the end of his nose.

“What happened?” She could read him like a book.

“I don’t really wanna talk about it,” Marco mumbled.

“C’mon...whatever it is, you can tell me.” Star bit her lip. She’d wasted so much time feeling like a terrible friend to him ever since she made him her squire, giving him orders in the midst of her overwhelming duties while he was ready to die protecting her, that once she became his girlfriend, she was determined to be the best one she could be. One that he deserved.

Marco shook his head, opening his weary eyes to find hers locked onto his in concern, and drew her even closer to him. “Just stay here.”

“Okay…” She turned her head to gaze up at the lights above their heads, and Marco followed suit. Something about the lights and the colors surrounding them made it feel like Christmas was alive in this tiny space. A time when people put their worries aside for a little while and just basked in the warmth of those they loved. Star let out a sigh of her own, snuggling into Marco’s arms under several comfy blankets to rest her ear against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. If this was what Marco wanted right now, then that was what he’d receive.

Marco titled her chin upward, his eyes lowering to her lips, slightly parted and glossy with balm, before he took a taste of them with his own. She deepened it and he succumbed willingly, cupping his hands around her head, his fingers tangling her mussed blonde hair while she slid her hands inside his hoodie, nails digging at the t-shirt underneath.

“Star…” he mumbled once their lips were free, letting his head fall back on the pillows.

“Yeah?” Star breathed, resting her chin on his chest. The anxiety briefly relieved by their passion had returned to his eyes, and she let her finger trail under his jawline almost coaxingly.

“Your dad and I had a discussion today,” Marco finally blurted out, turning his head to face her. “He doesn’t think I should continue my knight training.”

“W-what? Why?” Star sat up, her baby blues flashing, sounding outraged as her voice rose in volume. “You’re doing great! I think so, Mom thinks so, the royal guard, Kelly -- even Tom thinks so! What is Dad’s deal?!”

“Star--”

“I swear, first thing tomorrow, I’m gonna straighten this out.”

“Star, listen--”

“Nah forget that, I’m gonna march in there right now and tell him that you--!”

“He wants me to start prince consort training instead.”

Star blinked. “Say that again?”

“Prince consort training,” Marco repeated, each word making the bile rise higher into his throat. “He figures now that I’m legally an adult, I should stop fooling around.”

“What does that even mean, ‘fooling around’?” Star spluttered, her fingers scrambling for the ends of her hair to tug on them. “Knights have a very serious dangerous job protecting this kingdom! C-Consort training? That’s-- that’s insane!”

“Isn’t the prince consort...like...the husband of the future queen?”

“Or, ya know, steady boyfriend,” Star panted out, whirling away from him and clutching at her scalp, her knees drawn to her chest in a fetal position. “I know we’ve been dating for a couple years now, but Daddy wanting this so soon-- is he out of his mind?!”

“Your Mom’s apparently on board, too.”

Star growled, “They’re both gonna hear it from me!”

“Star, wait!” Marco grabbed her around the waist before she could exit the blanket fort and flung her against the wall of pillows. “I’m not saying anything has to be set in stone right now. But, maybe in the future...do you think me being your prince consort might be...a thing?”

Star exhaled, “Not if you keep throwing me against pillows like that.”

“Sorry,” Marco said, wringing his hands in his lap. “This whole thing, it just--”

“Freaked you out,” Star nodded understandingly, sliding back towards him on the piles of blankets. One of her hands cupped his face, her thumb gently rubbing over the mole under his right eye. “I just don’t get it. We don’t have any laws against princesses dating knights. And even if we did, I could change it.”

“I think your parents are...worried about me. Knights go on the front lines in battle, don’t they? If a war breaks out and I’m officially sworn into the ranks, there’s a good chance I might…” He trailed off, wiping his now sweating palms on his jeans. “They’re just trying to lessen the chances of something happening to me. For your sake.” His saddened brown eyes bore into her glistening blue ones, as if purposefully trying to lose himself in them. “You know I’d do anything to protect you. But the last thing I wanna do is break your heart.”

Star blinked back a sudden onset of tears, “Oh Marco...” She cradled his head as he buried his face in her nape, at a loss for words. She loved and admired him for his bravery, his ever-present willingness to stand by her side no matter what. But that often led them to deadly situations, and while Star knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she could face them with Marco, the possibility of ever having to face a future without him was too much for her to bear.

“Look,” she finally spoke up after a few silent minutes, “I like things the way they are now.”

“Me too,” Marco sighed happily, the absolute happiest he had ever felt as he tugged Star gently back into his arms. “But it’s not gonna stay this way. Everything’s changing really fast.”

“It’s been like that for awhile. But even through all of that, I’ve always been able to depend on you. You’ve...always been there Marco.” She slipped her arms around his neck, kissing both of his cheeks and finally his lips. “And I’d like to keep you here.”

“So if we had no responsibilities, no royal titles to worry about, and we didn’t just turn eighteen…” Marco swallowed hard, “Would you say you’d marry me if I asked you right now?”

“Probably,” Star snorted, “‘Cause I’m reckless and make hasty decisions, like Mom says.”

“Was I a hasty decision?”

The princess shook her head, exhaling slowly as her squire’s lips pressed against her jaw and inched down her neck. “No. That’s why you were the best one I ever made.” She cupped Marco’s face to get him to look at her, “If you agree to do the consort thing, I’ll go with you to your training until you feel comfortable.”

“You sure?” Marco asked. “I-I don’t wanna take away from your queen training.”

Star scoffed, “Whatever, Mom’s not going anywhere anytime soon. And besides, after all the time you’ve spent supporting and protecting me, it’s about time I returned the favor.”

Marco pulled the colorful wool blankets back up so he could tuck them around his girlfriend, so snugly until only her head peeked out. She looked so adorable in that moment that he couldn’t help chuckling. Pressing his forehead to hers, he let his fingers idly trace the hearts on her cheeks. “Thanks, Star. And Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Marco.”

And above them, the fairy lights continued to twinkle as they both drifted off into a peaceful slumber in each other’s embrace.

[catsafarithewriter]

Secret Santa: What Happens in the Cat Kingdom...

So, not so secret since Shelby is the one who got me going down this route, but, uh, Merry Christmas @tcrmommabear, and here is your Christmas present, which involves the Lost Ladies, the Bureau, and the ensuing chaos. (A bit of light-hearted humour for once!)

Haru hadn’t been sure what to expect upon meeting Baron’s sister.

Of course she figured that, being made alongside Baron, she would likely share a little of his... dramatic tendencies.

She didn’t disappoint.

Baroness Louise von Gikkingen was a tall, white-furred feline dressed in a long dusty-pink double-breasted jacket that swept all the way down to the hem of her green dress, compete with a matching cravat and parasol. Neat white gloves bore resemblance to Baron’s, and discreet lace lined both her dress and parasol. All in all, the whole attire was wholly impractical for anyone who dubbed themselves adventurers.

A little like Baron’s suit.

She didn’t come alone either; she was accompanied by a long-furred cat with white-and-tortoiseshell markings, not much taller but with more strength to her build. This was Persephone. Persephone was wearing a slightly more practical, but no less stylish, coat that looked suspiciously like a pirate’s coat. The tricorne hat and twin swords didn’t help matters much.

Louise was also not expected for another week.

Baron’s sister grinned at them, a grin that said the owner knew exactly what she was doing. “Baron. It’s been far too long. You’ve made quite the name for yourself, so I’ve heard.”

“As have you, it seems,” Baron replied. “How many of the stories are true?”

“All of them,” Louise promised, “except the boring ones.”

The twin Creations paused, considering the other, and then Louise swept Baron into a hug that looked like it could break bones. “Stop being so proper and hug your sister, dammit.”

“It’s good to see you too, Louise,” Baron managed. “May I introduce the Cat Bureau—?”

Louise released him. “But of course,” she said, bowing in a manner that was notably similar to Baron’s style. “Introduce away.”

Baron reclaimed what dignity he retained by returning to the kettle to distribute tea. He motioned to each Bureau member as he spoke. “Louise, this is Toto—“

“A pleasure.”

“—another Creation who helped me establish the Cat Bureau, and this is Muta—“

“Heya.”

“—who has been with the Bureau for nearly fifteen years now, and this is Haru—“

“Hi.”

“—a former client who has recently become part of the Bureau and,” there was only the slightest pause before he finished with, “a good friend,” but there was a knowing grin already on Louise’s face.

Louise bowed again, but this time in a movement that seemed far more natural, and motioned to her plus one with, “Baron, Bureau... Baron’s girlfriend—“

“Oh, I’m not—“ “We’re not—“ Haru and Baron protested.

“—may I present,” Louise continued, “the great and magnanimous once-Cat Queen and my ex-girlfriend, Persephone.”

The cat in the pirate coat rolled her eyes. “I wish you’d stop introducing me like that.” She looked to the Bureau with an apologetic smile. “I’m her wife. Of seventeen years, may I add,” she said pointedly to Louise.

“You’re Lune’s mother?” Haru asked.

Persephone perked up. “You know my son?”

“I... may have saved his life. And his wife’s. And almost been married off to both him and his father. And now be godmother to his kittens.” Haru smiled weakly. “Um, hi.”

“No way.” Louise turned to Baron. “You’re dating the hero of the Cat Kingdom??”

“Louise, we’re not—“

“I’m a hero?” Haru interrupted.

“Sure you are. Come on; you saved both the current Cat monarchs and caused the then-Cat King to abdicate? You’re a legend!”

Baron coughed tactfully at this point. “Of course, I suppose the stories also tell of a dashing cat who also helped...?”

“Oh, of course.” Louise turned to Muta. “Is it true you threatened to eat the entire castle?”

Haru watched as Baron took an aggressively large sip of tea, fascinated. She had never seen Baron so riled, and with so few words to boot.

“So, you’re the human who saved my Lune?” Persephone joined Haru, leaning against the sofa arm. “I suppose a thank you is in order then.”

“Oh, there’s no need,” Haru said quickly. Her mind jumped to the last time a cat had been in her debt. “Really. No need. At all.”

Persephone looked at her strangely, and Haru realised she was being Odd. Then the ex-Queen laughed — and it was a loud, abrupt laugh — and said, “Fair enough.”

“Is Louise usually so...”

“Not to quite this degree,” Persephone replied. She watched the Creations’ interactions with obvious amusement. “I think it’s a bit of sibling rivalry.”

“But Baron would never stoop so low—“

“I’ll have you know, I saved a princess from an unwanted marriage!” Baron’s tea was slammed down on the table, killing off whatever Haru had been about to say.”

Words failed Haru. “When...?”

“That’s you, Chicky,” Muta whispered. He was grinning from ear to ear.

“Oh, sure,” Louise replied airily. “I mean, kudos to you. You saved an almost-princess from an unwanted marriage. I just eloped with the Queen.”

“I can’t help feeling that you’re being a little sarcastic.”

“Me? Sarcastic? Never.”

“You know,” Haru said, “I always imagined that Baron’s sister would be as...”

“Emotionally constipated?” Muta offered.

“I was going to say as reserved as Baron, but that works too.”

In the time that Louise had been visiting, she had regaled then with countless stories, and Haru — given Baron’s own track record for the dramatic — would have believed them. All except for the wedding stories. She had told six conflicting versions so far of her and Persephone’s wedding, and each one getting progressively more outlandish.

“Accidental. As it turns out, you should probably research a world’s nuptial customs before visiting.”

“Online wedding. So, not a great service, but the reception was amazing.”

“We posed as pets for a year and our owners married us.”

“We disguised ourselves in the Cat Kingdom and got Natori to officiate it.”

“We never actually married; we just call each other wife.”

Haru rejoined Persephone, who was watching the precedings on the sidelines with a far too knowing look. “How many stories does she have?” Haru asked.

“Well, let’s simply say that if we wait for her to run out, we’ll be here for a while.” The cat took a long sip from her cup. “I hope your homeboy has a lot of tea stocked up.”

“Enough to sink a battleship,” Haru said. “So... what’s the real story? How did the wedding go?”

“Oh, there’s no story.”

Haru considered Louise’s behaviour so far, coupled with the fact that she was created alongside Baron. “I… find that hard to believe.”

“No. I mean there’s literally no story.” Persephone finished her tea and eyed the remaining sludge at the bottom of her cup. Then she grinned at Haru. “We don’t remember.”

“I... what?”

Louise snapped her head up, ending whatever remark she had been about to fire back at Baron. “Sephie...”

“Louise, they have to know sometime.”

“Yes. Next century. Let’s book it in the calendar and forget about it until then.”

“Louise...”

“Is that the time? Let’s go, Sephie; I think we have a party to crash in the Reptile Kingdom somewhere...”

Persephone gently grabbed Louise’s arm as the white cat started for the door, and steered her back to the group, strong-arming the parasol out of her grip and returning it to the coat-rack. “Louise, I think your family might want to know why they weren’t invited to the wedding, don’t you?”

Louise sagged and then sank down into the sofa, dramatically graceful even in defeat. “Fine. We don’t remember because we were blindingly, fantastically drunk that day. Happy?”

The Bureau exchanged glances, but Haru was the one to eventually raise a hand. “I have a few questions...”

Persephone leant down and kissed Louise’s head. “I’ll explain.”

“Fine.” Louise pulled her down to the sofa. “But sit while you’re talking.”

“Why? Are you missing me already?”

“Of course. But also together we look smoking hot and who are we to deny everyone that?”

Persephone laughed, throwing her head back and then leaning against Louise. “As you wish.” She looked to the waiting Bureau with a smirk as slanted as her pirate hat. “So, I believe the Human World has a place called Las Vegas...”

“Oh.” Suddenly Haru could see where this was going. “And the Cat Kingdom…?”

“Has Catmas.”

“Catmas? Like… cat-Christmas?”

“No, Chicky,” Muta said. “It’s literally called cat-mess ‘cause all the cats are in a mess the next day.”

Haru made a face at Muta. “I’m really struggling to tell whether you’re having me on because that’s just the way you talk but also it sounds like something the Cat Kingdom would actually do.”

“Oh, it’s legit,” Persephone said. “Plus, the Cat Kingdom has always been fond of its puns. So: Catmas. A festive held around the same time as your Christmas, involving much celebration and eating and catnip wine.”

“So much catnip wine,” Muta added, a tad wistfully.

“You always gave the impression you couldn’t stand the Cat Kingdom,” Baron remarked.

“Make decent catnip wine, and then we’ll talk.”

“Regardless, on Catmas, it’s not uncommon for couples to marry, provided they have the wedding rings and... not much else,” Persephone said. “You don’t even need an official cat to, well, officiate it. You just grab the nearest cat, sign the paperwork, and bamm. Married. We... wouldn’t have been the first couple to marry while under the influence of catnip wine.”

“What a night to have forgotten,” Louise sighed.

“So, simply put, that’s what happened. Like I said, there’s not a story.”

There was a pause as their audience digested this, and then Haru said, “Okay, so I might not know much about cat weddings, however close I got to one myself, but surely, if there are records, then there might be records of who officiated the wedding too? Perhaps they might be able to tell you how it happened?”

“She has a point,” Toto said. “I doubt anycat would forget marrying off their Queen.”

“Unless they were stinkin’ drunk too.”

Haru batted Muta. “That’s not helpful. Baron? What do you think?”

“I think that the current Cat King and Queen might just allow us to peruse their records if we ask nicely.”

After the Cat Kingdom adventure, Haru had assumed she would never meet Natori again.However, it turned out that only the ex-Cat King’s advisor had any idea how to navigate the old archives or the impractical dating system of the Kingdom.

“And why exactly do you wish to check the marriage records?” the old cat asked. Haru wasn’t sure Natori was ever enthusiastic about much, but he seemed particularly tired to be called out of retirement for something as trite as marriage records. Even the reappearance of the long-lost once-Cat Queen only caused a raised eyebrow. It seemed Natori was really doing his best to live a quiet life after everything.

“It’s for a case of utmost importance,” Baron said, and if there was a crack in his voice at the outrageous lie, Haru didn’t catch it. “We’re looking for a wedding that took place on Catmas, seventeen years ago.”

Natori made a face and started down the aisle of records. “You’ll have a job picking one out from the masses then. Seventeen years ago... that would have been the Year of the Lake Thief.”

Muta guffawed. “Guess what I was doing that Catmas.”

Natori spared a withering look to Muta and then pulled a heavy tome off a shelf. “Which names is it?”

Baron smoothly retrieved the book from the old advisor. “We’ll take it from here. Thank you, Natori.”

“Just don’t go making a mess. This room has a very strict system.”

“Yeah. Of nonsense,” Muta muttered. He grinned pointedly when he earned a final glare, and then dropped the smile when Natori left.

“Was the lake incident really on Catmas?” Haru asked quietly while the others flipped through the records.

Muta snorted. “Lots of things seem like a good idea on Catmas. Can’t remember much of that night. Unfortunately, a lot of other cats did.”

“And thus, Renaldo Moon, the legendary cat criminal, was born.”

“Hey, here it is!” Everyone crowded round Louise as she singled out a line. “On the Catmas of the Year of the Lake Thief, Her Majesty, the Great Cat Queen Persephone, the Just--”

“I didn’t write that title,” Persephone muttered. She leant over Louise’s shoulder and continued with, “--wedded Baroness Louise von Gikkingen--”

“--the Dauntless,” Louise added.

“How about the Reckless?” Baron offered.

“Try the Rude. I’m trying to read this. Wedded Baroness Louise von Gikkingen, which was officiated by... Renaldo Moon.”

There was a long, long silence. All eyes turned to Muta, who had paused, mid-bite of a fishcake he’d stolen from the Bureau before leaving. “Huh,” he eventually said, and swallowed his mouthful. “I really was busy that Catmas.”

Baron pinched the bridge of his nose and, very slowly and painfully calmly, said, “Muta. Why didn’t you ever tell me that you married my sister to the long-lost Cat Queen?”

“There was a lot of catnip wine drunk that year and I honestly don’t remember much of it.” He smirked. “Sounds like I had a blast though.”

“So, the good news?” Haru said. “We have the cat in question already here. The bad news: He remembers precisely zero about it too.”

Persephone flipped the book shut and returned it to its shelf. “Well, it was always a long shot, but at least we tried, Louise. Louise?” She turned to see her wife staring morosely at the wall of records. “Hey, Lou?”

Louise ignored Persephone and instead side-eyed Baron. “Oh, don’t give me that look, Baron.”

“What look?”

“The ‘my sister has just done something stupid’ look. At least I had the guts to propose, even if it is on a drunken Catmas night.”

“And what does that mean, Louise?”

“Oh, I don’t know; how about you ask your lovely lady client who you are obviously smitten with?”

Persephone froze, mid-way in trying to stop the ensuing argument, and at that point, backed away. “Nope. You’re on your own now, darling.”

“Louise,” Baron said, very very calmly, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t drag Haru into this--”

“No, no,” Haru said. “Haru doesn’t mind being dragged into this. She has a point there.”

“Haru, please--”

“If you’re going to call out Louise for her choices, I think she’s allowed to fire back a few points about your love life.”

“Haru--”

“You jumped off a flipping building the first time I confessed how I felt.”

“That... I’m not... I wasn’t trying to... call out Louise’s choices. I was simply...”

“Judging,” Louise finished.

Baron sighed and then smiled at his twin. “Louise, after all the years we’ve known one another, do you think I’m going to judge you at all for getting drunk--”

“So very, very drunk,” Louise supplied.

“--and marrying the cat you fell in love with?”

“I think you’re a little surprised.”

“Granted. Yes, I am surprised. And yet, not as surprised as I thought I’d be. You have got a track record of jumping before you look--”

“Hark who’s talking,” Haru murmured.

“--but since when have you cared what the rest of the world thought?” he finished.

“It’s not that. It’s simply that...” and here Louise hesitated. She glanced away and met Persephone’s eyes. “I didn’t want anyone to think it was a rash, spur-of-the-moment, drunken decision. I mean, yes, I was drunk, but I had the rings, I was going to propose - I had it all worked out, it wasn’t meant to go like that--”

Persephone laughed, that same laugh that rang round the room, and brought Louise into an embrace. “You idiot,” she sighed softly. “Do you think I would ever have stuck around for so long if this wasn’t love? Adventures and fun aside, it’s being together that matters most. That’s the biggest adventure of all.” She paused, and then added, “But I do really like our regular adventures too.”

Louise laughed back, albeit a little weaker. “Duly noted.”

“So, is everythin’ sorted?” Muta finished the last crumbs of the fishcake. “We all good? Cause I couldn’t help noticing a buffet when we came in...”

“I think we’re good.”

“Does your sister always cause so much chaos whenever she visits?” Haru asked. She waved off the couple from the Bureau doorway. It had only been a few hours, but she already felt knackered.

Baron watched them leave with a feline grin that looked uncannily reminiscent of Louise’s mischievous smile. “Always.”

“Oh, okay.” Louise and Persephone vanished through the portal, and Haru looked to Baron. “Also, your sister is right. We need to talk about us.”