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harrylilies · 4 years

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The Royal Series | Pt. I

The Royal Series Masterlist

I posted this series in 2018 but in late 2019, my blog got hacked and I lost all my work. This is me reposting the written chapters of The Royal Series after crying to my husband after I lost it along with all my writing on here. Enjoy. x

It had been long since you had let your hair down for a night.

You longed for a lowkey life, although you knew that the royal protocols you had been following since you were a child were far too embedded in you – yet, you knew how to have your fun.

You found fun in your trips to get milk and cheese yourself, in the strolls you went on in the early morning, when you attended a friend’s wedding, when your oldest brother wasn’t Prince William who was close in line, but a protective brother whom you teased for being old, when your ginger brother, Harry, patted you on the back and helped you with the plans that would make your grandma, the Queen, not necessarily pleased, when you danced with your best friend, and,

when you listened to music; which explained where you were that moment.

The arena was lit, some people who passed by you walking past you without a care, probably thinking that a princess in a Harry Styles concert in Los Angeles was too far-fetched, while others stood stunned.

In your defence, you looked unsuspicious in your black merch hoodie and black jeans, your best friend, Farrah – whom you met at university –, beside you in a casual attire as well, but the two bulky men walking behind you and close in black suits and wireless earbuds did little to conceal you.

Reaching your seats, you grinned at your best friend as you sat. From your peripheral, you saw your two private guards looking around, standing in the aisle beside Farrah’s seat.

“Hey,” you grabbed their attention, pointing with your thumb behind your back at the empty seats, “Would you please sit?”

“Your Highness w-”

"Please, it's a command. Sit here, enjoy the show." You told the two guards who intently looked at you before giving a reluctant nod.

In your balcony seat, your eyes then fell on the stage in anticipation.

"Your Highness," You heard someone beside you, making you look.

A brunet man, no older than 32, stood with a polite and kind smile.

You smiled. "Are you Jeffery?" He nodded, beginning to politely bow his head a tad. You offered your hand with a wide grin, "Thank you for giving me seats in such a short notice, I’m really sorry for any inconvenience."

"Oh no, it really is a pleasure, your Highness." Jeff tipped is head.

"Just Y/N." You smiled, glancing at the stage as the opening act were saying their goodbyes. "He's coming out now, isn't he?"

"Yeah, yeah, he is. Have you been a fan for long?" Jeff asked as you both stood alongside each other, looking at the stage.

"Quite long actually. Since One Direction," You giggled, shrugging, "Always wanted to attend one of their concerts but only now have I been able to do so. Harry has a lovely voice. I have the album on a lot." You laughed, letting Jeff in on your secret, “But hey, keep that between us.” You joked.

Jeff chuckled, "Who would've guessed that the Princess of the United Kingdom is a Harry Styles fan?"

“Trust me, you’d be surprised.” Farrah said, joining in as the three of you laughed.

“I’ll be right there with the rest of the crew,” Jeff pointed at a different place where people from the crew stood, almost all of them looking at you. At you looking at them, they all turned in embarrassment which made you chuckle to yourself before looking at Jeff who had a bashful smile, “Sorry about that. It’s exciting.”

“It’s exciting for me, too.” You assured him.

“Well, please call me or have anyone to do so if you need anything, your H-” you gave him a look, “Y/N.”

“Thank you, Jeffrey.”

“No problem, Y/N.”

The lights flickered off, your heart fluttering in excitement as you stood up, beginning to cheer with the fans.

The notes of Ever Since New York started playing before the lights were on, making you finally see the man you had flown out to see.

In a blue floral suit, Harry stood with his guitar before he began singing, Farrah recording you as you dramatically sang along.

With every song, you and Farrah let loose; dancing together and screaming the lyrics, vibing with Harry and his band. Hell, you caught one of your guards bob his head to Only Angel before his colleague swatted his arm.

It didn't take long for more people to notice the presence of the English Princess and her famous best friend, some phones and flashes being directed your way but experiencing the excitement and utter euphoria of it all, you chose to ignore the attention.

You were captivated to say the least by his performance, posting stories to your private Instagram account, isthataladybug, of a 102 follower.

You knew that he was a cheeky person who enjoyed a nice chat, so him walking around with his mic and talking to fans wasn’t of any surprise, yet, you didn’t predict him addressing you.

"I would just like to greet someone incredibly special here tonight," Harry said through the mic as he wandered on stage before looking your way, "Hi!" He grinned, waving at you. "All well?"

With a grin and flushed cheeks, you nodded and gave him thumbs up.

With a dimpled smile, Harry tipped his head and gave you a curtesy which sent everyone in a frenzy and you and Farrah to laugh.

Farrah nudged you, making you turn to look at her. "We're meeting him, right?"

You shrugged, "Jeff said we will. Said Harry would have his head if we didn’t.”

To say you were disappointed when Harry said his goodbyes after finishing the setlist would be an understatement, although the fact that you were meeting him seemed to brighten you up a tad.

Backstage was chaotic.

Everyone was running around, wanting to be on their best behaviours and look like it for when the Princess came in, every person telling the other that Jeff was on his way to get you and your best friend and that in just a few, they would be seeing the Princess of the United Kingdom in the flesh.

Harry was no better, pacing around the room, making sure he looked decent and collected. Running his fingers through his hair, he turned to look at his band, “How do I look?”

“Like you’re not going to pass out in any second.” Sarah said sarcastically.

"Fuck, I'm so nervous." Harry laughed, wiping his sweaty palms on his suit trousers.

"So am I. Who would've thought that I'm going to meet the Princess of the United Kingdom? Someone better film this." Clare said before letting out a breath as the band stood in the dressing room.

"I-" Adam was cut off by a knock on the door.

They looked at each other with wide eyes before Harry cleared his throat, standing straighter. "Come in!"

Jeff came inside first, his figure hiding yours before he walked further inside and you and Farrah were then seen. The grin on your face was contagious.

Lined, with Harry at the end, you began to shake hands with the band.

"You were absolutely amazing!" You said as you shook their hands, one by one before reaching Harry.

Neither of you knew that the other was about to pass out from the nerves and excitement as you both smiled at each other.

"Thank you for the show. You're as good live as the studio version, if not better." You said.

Blushing at the comment, Harry softly shook your hand. "It's my honour, your Highness."

"Y/N," you corrected him, your hand still in his. "Just Y/N."

"Y/N," Harry repeated with a charming smile. "An honour, Y/N."

Being this close to him, you noticed how emerald Harry's eyes were. Raspberry pink lips and blushing cheeks, he was a sight for sore eyes.

It was cliché, anyone from the outside would say so, but have a 23-year-old Princess meet a 23-year-old artist whom she had been listening to for years and try not to make it cliché; hell, cliché or not, it was a meeting for the stories.

Farrah clearing her throat was what brought you out of your trance, making you remove your hand from Harry's.

"Well, we were actually going out for a drink if you want to join? Is that okay for you?" Sarah asked, “Oh my God, I just asked the Princess to grab a drink with us, I’m so sorry, your Highness.”

“Hey, no, no,” you quickly shook your head, “It’s fine,” you glanced at the guards and your best friend who gave you a nod, "I’d love to join if you’re all okay with Farrah and I joining. We wouldn’t want to interrupt any band-bonding time."

"Of course!" Harry grinned. "We're more than okay."

Telling you the lowkey bar – that served “amazing fries and boneless chicken wings” as Adam said – they were driving to, you exchanged “see you later’s” before you separated ways.

Right as you sat in the car, Farrah turned to face you, “What was that?”

In confusion, you looked at her, “What was what?”

“You and Harry fucking Styles! What was that?” She laughed excitedly, “Please make it happen.”

“Make what happen? You’re a lunatic!”

“You just pulled a Nicholas Sparks back there; ogling at each other, holding hands like yes, Mr. Darcy, I’d let you wed me.” She said dramatically, putting the back of her hand against her forehead.

“First of all, never do this again,” you cringed jokingly, “Second of all, what’s wrong with you? I have a conversation with a lad and suddenly I should get married to him?”

“He’s not just any lad, don’t discredit him like that.”

“Why don’t you go out with him then, Miss Farrah?” You teased her.

“Because I’m Muslim and it won’t work out, you know with our fa-”

“I was kidding.”

“I wasn’t when I said you pulled a Nicholas Sparks.”

“I should’ve brought Emma instead of you.” You let out a sigh.

“Imagine if she could’ve joined though. It would’ve been Emma and I against you.” Farrah poked your arm.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Arriving at the bar, you and Farrah entered, finding that it wasn’t at all crowded but quite the opposite. Very few people were inside, all seeming to mind their business as they ate and drank, a jukebox playing music to add to the atmosphere of the place.

Among the people, your eyes fell on the band you were meeting, Harry instantly standing and waving at you with a grin.

They had left you seats, although you knew your guards were going to stand as your shadows.

Sitting on the opposite seat from Harry, you were seated beside Sarah, the “discreet” excited expression she gave to Mitch not going unnoticed but you only smiled to yourself instead of commenting.

“This was your second show, wasn’t it?” You asked, all of them nodding and replying with confirmation, “Any idea what this tour will have for you?”

“So many headaches,” Hélène replied in her French accent with a chuckle, “So, so many headaches.”

“Brighten up,” Clare nudged the photographer jokingly, “It’s only the second night.”

“I feel like this tour would be a milestone in all of our lives,” Adam replied, seeming to avoid eye contact with you before he looked at his bandmates, “Literally all of us.”

“A-Are you okay?” Farrah asked him, causing Adam’s posture to relax as he laughed.

“I just don’t know if I should look at you,” he said as he looked at you, “What if it’s disrespectful? Illegal?”

“Oh my God, no,” you laughed as you shook your head, “I’m sitting at a bar in Los Angeles with you, Adam, that’s not exactly a Trooping the Colour.”

“When we first heard you were attending,” Harry began, “We all just sort of,” his eyes widened before he laughed, “You know what?” He turned to look at Adam, “That’s a milestone right there.”

“You speak too highly of me,” you rolled your eyes jokingly, “What about all of you? That album, tonight, you should give yourself more credit.”

“Makes sense that people love you so much.” Mitch said with a small smile.

“Not everyone loves her, excuse you,” Farrah joked, raising her hand up.

“Ah, bullshit.” You rolled your eyes, “You love me the most.”

“No?”

“That’s denial.”

Conversations seemed to flow naturally among everyone at the table, laughter being heard as well as a few claps from how hard one of you would be laughing.

It wasn’t until you realised that you hadn’t drank anything that you stood up, “I’m going to grab something to drink. Does anyone want anything?”

A chorus of “thank you’s” was heard, you fully knowing that they probably hadn’t bothered to even ask you to get them anything because of your title.

“I’ll bring these fries and wings for all of us you told me about.” You pointed at Adam.

“I’ll join you.” Harry said, standing from his place and approaching you before the both of you walked towards the bar.

“Sorry if they make you uncomfortable.” You mumbled to Harry as you both sat on stools.

“Who?”

“Sid and Andrew, the guards,” you replied, “They’re the sweetest actually.” You smiled at the men who stood at a safe distance away from you but nearby, both of them tipping their heads at you before they began looking around.

“No, of course not,” Harry shook his head, “I thought you’d have more with you honestly.”

You waved off, “No, two are enough. Daddy wanted me to walk around with 6 but,” you laughed, “God, no.”

Harry smiled before his smile turned into a smirk, “Did you just say Daddy?”

“Ye-Gross, stop! That’s my father!” You groaned, stuffing your face in your hands as Harry laughed, “How old are you, Styles? 14?”

“And a half actually.”

“Ha, ha.” You tried to stifle your smile as you looked up at him, “It’s Mummy and Daddy for us, excuse you.”

“It’s cute.” Harry smiled timidly.

“It was until you commented.” You teased him, giving him a shrug.

“I apologise, your Highness. Please, don’t behead me.” Dramatically, Harry put a hand to his heart.

“I’ll think about it.” You put both hands on the counter gracefully, placing one above the other as you turned away from him before the both of you laughed.

Neither of you had noticed that you hadn’t ordered yet, only remembering when the bartender came over to take your order.

After ordering, you were both quiet, listening to the music that sounded in the place, you swaying slightly in your seat as you looked around.

"Are you not scared?"

You turned to look at Harry, “Excuse me?”

“Are you not scared?” He repeated.

"Of what?” You asked.

"Being seen in here. The rumours. I mean my rumours I can take care of but royal rumours?" Harry shrugged.

“Why? Are you scared?” The tiny smirk that was your lips were drawn into didn’t go unnoticed by Harry, feeling his lips lift into one of his own just at the sight of yours.

Harry took a moment to drink you up; the vibe you gave off was nothing he imagined. The dainty, soft princess he saw on the screen ever since he was young wasn't who sat in front of him.

In front of him was a confident woman, fearless and ready to seize whatever risk thrown at her. A woman who refused to have her identity shaped up and formed by her family and what the world was trying to limit her to, all for a title.

That's why with a thumping heart and an amused smile, Harry replied; "No, Princess. I'm not scared."

#harrylilies #I CANT BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING #The Royal Series #my babies #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fake au #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles series #harry styles fluff series #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fluff fanfic #harry styles au

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elliewritessometimes · 3 years

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hello! me n @mattieswheelers wrote another fic!! tiff is the most incredible writing partner and i- i just love them???? thanky so much for writing with me you are a stunning writer aaaa (y'all there will be a second chapter stay tuned fdhhddh aLSO we are posting this on ao3 it will be there at some point)

in other news: this was originally a request!! @notsomightymightytiger it may have taken me uh- a good couple of months but here is your fic!!!

for reference, these numbers apply to these tropes: first kiss/flowers of romance/blind date

LOVE YOU KIERA AND TIFF AAAAA HOPE YOU LIKE

tw: swearing, alcohol and drunkenness but not in an angsty farrah way just in a silly oops first date way, as per usual if there's anything at all you want me to tag let me know :D

---

Eva thought she was doing perfectly fine without a romantic partner. Her life was normal, one filled with work and friends and scrolling through Pinterest.

Apparently, in the eyes of her best friend, this was not a normal life. Farrah had always been a bit extra, that one kid in highschool who always seemed to know where the best parties were, or who was known by name to the baristas at the local Starbucks, and by the ripe old age of 22, she believed that a romantic partner was crucial to living a fulfilling life.

Or, at least, that you should at least try romance once before becoming a hermit in the woods, especially if your name was Eva Sanchez.

(“Look, normally I wouldn’t be like this,” Farrah drawled, leaning against a counter, “But deep inside you are nothing but a useless gay at heart-”

Her phone buzzed.

“-and you haven’t dated anyone, like, ever, and if I have to be the only one constantly dragging you out to social gatherings, I’m going to die early. So do me a solid, will you?”

“Hey-!”)

Eva did not agree.

But, she was a loyal friend, and that was how she found herself sitting in an overly posh restaurant on some random blind date with some random person that she’d never even seen before. It would be an understatement to say she was a little bit nervous, but then again, whenever Farrah was involved, that was normal.

***********: hi sorry i got your number from the blind date place thing but uh are you the person at the table in the corner

***********: ???denim jacket ?? pride pin??

Eva smiled, glancing up at the door. There was another person looking a little lost in the entrance, very obviously trying not to draw attention to themselves, their phone held close to their face as they squinted around at the restaurant. They were pretty, dark hair pulled up into a loose ponytail, obviously not dressed for a restaurant as upper class as this one. Eva liked them immediately. Raising a hand, she waved in their direction, laughing as her date gasped dramatically, hurrying over and nearly overturning a tray of drinks on their way.

“Hello.”

“Look-” Eva’s date slumped in the seat opposite, one hand awkwardly held behind their back. “I dunno about you, but I certainly did not willingly sign up for this. You see, my friend wanted me to apparently live a more interesting life and stop relying on Tumblr as my only source of interaction with anyone, and my friend is very persuasive, so here I am.”

Eva raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, so I wanted to get that out of the way before we even introduce ourselves. I am here out of spite only, so, uh, I hope you’re not too desperate.” They paused, finally taking a breath. “Right. The more I think about this, the more embarrassed I get.”

“It’s okay.” Eva gave a noise which sounded suspiciously like a snort. “Let’s not think about it then. I’m Eva. She/her. It’s nice to meet you, unwilling datemate.”

They grinned. “Kate. She/they.” She gasped a little like she’d forgotten something. “Oh! I brought flowers. Chess said it would be romantic.”

Eva accepted the offered flowers with a blush. This date was going better than expected. Farrah was going to lose her shit when she heard about it. “Wait- You have a friend called Chess?? Like, the game???”

Kate rolled their eyes, casually snatching a bright pink cocktail off a passing waiter’s tray. “Duh. You didn’t really see me walk in this fucking posh ass restaurant in my flannel and converse and think I’d be normal, right?”

Eva laughed then, properly. It had only been a few short, chaotic minutes, but she was already warming to this mystery person and, God, they had good taste in flowers. Even if Eva’s nerd hermit brain did helpfully choose that moment to remind her that this particular bunch of flowers presented a meaning that translated almost exactly to ‘fuck you’. She wondered if Kate was aware of that. However, perhaps that was a fun fact for the second date.

“Hey, Eva?” Kate was slightly tipsy. Only a little bit! Really not that bad. Not at all. Definitely not too drunk for a first date. Shut up. “Hey! You’re- so cool.”

Eva giggled - she was equally as drunk, but not quite so intoxicated as to stop wondering why the restaurant hadn’t thrown them out yet. “Noooooo. ‘m a nerd.”

“Yeah, but a cool nerd.” Kate twirled the decorative candle between her fingers, drawing stares from disapproving patrons. The flame reflected in Eva’s glasses, making her just a little bit more smitten by the second. They enclosed their hand around the candle holder as best they could, standing up just a little shakily. “Eva-” It was like they got a rush from just saying her name. Eva thought it was endearing. “Hey- we- we should go…”

“Why?” She narrowed her eyes, also standing up, her long-discarded denim jacket slung over one arm, the other naturally slipping to link arms with Kate.

“....Arson.” Kate sounded entirely serious, still twizzling the candle in one hand. Eva blinked dumbly at her, mouth slightly open. They pressed a gentle kiss to the side of Eva’s mouth, giggling uncharacteristically at the motion. “I’m jokingggg! Don’t look so shook, my dude.”

Eva stuttered a little, letting Kate pull her finally out of the restaurant, marvelling at the fact she’d only known this incredible, crazy person for a matter of hours. Who knew where tonight would take them?

They found themselves in a park, gazing up at the stars, now dim in the reflections of the city lights. Kate’s phone flashed 11:46 in the dark, the lock screen filled with notifications from a contact who’s name consisted only of a chess piece.

Eva lay down on the grass, spreading her arms out towards the stars. “Do you ever think about life?”

“Sure. All the time. I’m alive, and so are you, and I think you’re really pretty. Does that count?” Kate flopped down beside her.

“I- I mean, yeah- um,” Eva tried not to sound flustered, thankful for the darkness that hid the color rising in her cheeks. “But like, life. Scientifically. Relatively.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, I totally do. Um. Do I?”

Eva laughed, turning her head slightly to gaze at Kate. Under the light of the stars, they looked… ethereal. And really, really, really beautiful. And-

Eva coughed slightly, turning back towards the night sky. “Just… think about it. I’m lying here beside you, on a giant marble that hurtles through space. Relatively speaking, our orbit and path are unique, and all around us, the other planets are… swirling in harmony, and we’re just. We’re just here to see it.”

Kate hummed. “You sound like those philosophical people, all ‘if a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to hear it, did it really fall?’ and ‘relatively speaking I am relatively here, and I’m relatively certain… blah blah blah.’”

“Huh. Do I?” Eva shrugged, putting her hands behind her head. “I dunno. I’m drunk. I think. Oh, no, I’m relatively drunk, ha ha- okay no, I’m just drunk.”

“You are,” Kate nodded wisely. “We both are.”

“Do you know what Albert Einstein said once?” Eva asked abruptly, closing her eyes. “He said, ‘When you’re courting a nice girl, an hour seems like a second. When you sit on a red-hot cinder, a second seems like an hour. That's relativity.’ And if that isn’t the most relatable thing he’s ever said, then, well- okay yeah I’ve lost my train of thought.”

“Wow,” said Kate. “Did Albert Einstein court lots of nice girls?”

“Pfft.” Eva rolled onto her side, laughing openly in Kate’s face. “Sure. Why not.”

They rolled to face Eva, curling up into a ball, softer than the 22-year-old had seen her all evening. “Not as nice as the one I’m courting right now.”

“Even though neither of us really wanted to be here earlier?”

“Yeah. Y’know, I’m fucking glad our best friends basically set us up. It’s very pog of them.”

“You did not just say ‘pog’. You did not.” Eva groaned into the slightly damp, slightly disgusting grass, listening to Kate cackle next to her.

“Shit, dude, my secret’s out. I’m just as much of a nerd as you.” She leant their head on Eva’s outstretched arm, burrowing into her side.

Eva paused then, draping her other arm around Kate, thinking quietly. It was stupid, really, that they were cuddling in the openness of a park at almost midnight. Dangerous, definitely, especially when you took in the candle still flickering far too close to Kate’s now loose hair. Some more sensible people, maybe Farrah’s sister, would say that it was stupid how close they’d grown in so few hours. But Kate and Eva weren’t sensible people, not really, and maybe this was completely normal for them. Nerds lived life differently. “We’re not like other girls… we’re nerds.”

Kate barked out a laugh again, pressing yet another small kiss to the top of Eva’s head.

Eva thought she might melt into a puddle right then and there.

God, she was so in love.

Kate looked up at the sky. “Y’know, for all your philosophical talk, you should be an inspirational speaker. Be on goddamn TedTalks or something, blow the crowd away with all that ‘the future’s in the palm of my hand!!’ bullshit.”

“Well,” Eva said, trying to sound completely sober (and failing), “I think all I could ever want is in the palm of my hand, right now.”

Kate paused for a moment, registering the fact that Eva had just cupped her hands around their face. “Wow. That was smooth.”

“Right?? I’m honestly impressed and I was the one who said it. Wait, is that hubris? Oh shoot, am I developing an ego? Or maybe I’m just drunk?” Eva’s head was seriously starting to hurt.

“You deserve an ego,” Kate nodded sagely. “You are so amazing. Seriously. You should have an ego. Dab on the haters and all that jazz, right? Right.”

Eva giggled, unable to take her eyes away from Kate’s. “What the shit?”

“Dude! Dab on the haters. ‘m fuckin’ right, and you know I am.”

“Mkay.”

“Lit.” Kate dragged her gaze from Eva’s, instead staring up at the stars. “If we weren’t drunk right now, I’d be kissing the hell out of you.”

Eva pouted. Apparently Drunk-Eva was limited to the facial expressions of a twelve year old. “Who’s to say you can’t kiss me now.”

“We’re drunk, Eva.” They waved their hands, casually flipping off the moon. “Consent.”

“If you think about drunk...ness. Drunkenness? Drunkness. Whatever.” She coughed. “If you think about it like maths, then because we’re both drunk, it cancels out, right? Like, drunk you minus drunk me equals zero drunks overall, yeah?” Pausing, she ran a hand over her face, watching Kate smirk and wriggle closer out of the corner of her eye. “What I’m saying is, yes, I give you permission to kiss me-” Kate leaned closer and Eva laid a gentle finger on their lips. “But only if I get to kiss you back.”

The two met in the middle, naturally coming together. Some might describe them as magnets, two poles attracted, unable to stay away from each other. Others might say soulmates, meant to find each other from birth. Or, just maybe, stars, gravitationally pulled together, ready to explode into another plane of existence, one so different from our reality that we can’t even begin to imagine the wonders that they’ll find.

However, this is reality, and somehow Kate and Eva are still grounded on our Earth, stars maybe, but ones made of ancient stardust no longer free to travel the universe. They found themselves pulling apart after two worlds collided, an unknown period of time passing as it happened. Eva’s fingers didn’t untangle themselves from their comfortable seat amongst Kate’s hair, the closeness making their noses brush, spouting giggles from both young adults.

“Well, that was fun.” Kate brushed hair out of Eva’s face, one arm still wrapped tight around her waist, pulling her closer as she shivered in the night air.

“Yeah?” Eva pressed her forehead to theirs. “Why don’t we try it again, huh?”

---

“I told you so,” Farrah smirked, picking at a freshly baked blueberry muffin. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Eva huffed, failing to come up with an argument.

Over by the kitchen counter, Mattie snorted. “I find it kinda funny that the single girl insists that love is the answer to anything.”

“Well- it’s not like I’ve never dated!”

“Suuuuure,” Mattie rolled her eyes, hopping off the counter and snatching a muffin. “Anyways, at least Eva has a significant other now. That’s the biggest victory, right? Other than the celebratory muffins, of course.”

Eva sighed. “Is it really that big of a deal that Farrah’s plan worked?”

“Yep!” Farrah grinned, taking a bite of muffin.

“Technically, my plan, but okay,” Mattie shrugged.

Eva almost dropped her muffin. “What.”

Mattie grinned, a devilish glint appearing in her eye. “Believe it or not, I am also friends with none other than the amazing Chess, and since her friend Kate- who is also my friend, by the way- was being a mopey mess around the same time as you, I just had to take it upon myself to play matchmaker! So I’d like at least 50% of the credit and reward, please and thank you.”

“I- what-” Eva sputtered, trying to come to terms with the new information. “Mattie- you- oh my God.”

“Oh my God indeed,” Mattie bit into her muffin and swallowed. “So anyways, you’re welcome for getting you a girlfriend.”

Eva stared at the younger girl, mouth slightly open and muffin hanging loosely in her hand. Farrah clapped a hand over her mouth as she wheezed through a mess of sugar and blueberries, earning herself a death stare from Eva. Phone in one hand, Mattie continued eating her muffin as though nothing had happened, the teasing look on her face only exaggerating as her phone pinged with a message. “Oh! Speaking of, Chess is outside-”

She was cut off as the door burst open, the handle crashing into Eva’s bookcase, knocking her alarm clock to the ground and presenting two dishevelled figures in the doorway. One of them, a tall student probably in their last year of uni, puffed out a breath, a hand tightly clinging to a much shorter student squirming angrily. “Before you say anything, I tried to prevent any of this happening. Wheeler, I’m blaming you entirely for this.”

Mattie only laughed, offering Chess a muffin with her free hand, “Dude, it was totally your idea.”

Eva tried very hard not to stare as Kate finally freed herself from Chess’ grasp with an indignant yelp. “Fuck off! Eva, babe, sweetheart, love of my life, tell me you didn’t fucking know about this beforehand or I will break up with you.”

“No! God, no! You know I didn’t want to be there just as much as you did.” She rested her head gently on top of Kate’s, arms draped over their shoulders. “Believe you me, I’ve also been sorely betrayed today.”

Farrah gagged across the kitchen. “Ew. We should never have set you two up.”

“Bitch.” Eva grinned affectionately at her best friend, batting Kate’s hand down as they sent a middle finger in Farrah’s direction. Conversations carried on for a while, Chess finally being introduced to Farrah, with a muffin being forcefully placed into her hand. Kate whispered to Eva for a second before going out to take a call. Eva smiled knowingly, leaning on the counter to address Mattie, “So…”

Mattie made a face as Eva raised an eyebrow in her direction. “What are you thinking, Sanchez, I don’t like that face.”

“I don’t know…” She feigned thinking, sticking her tongue out as Kate re-entered the room. “Maybe, a little thank-you gift?? Y’know, me and Kate were thinking just now… Seeing as you set us up so nicely, how about you try a blind date yourself?”

Chess and Farrah stifled a laugh in unison, choking a little on their muffins as Mattie’s eyes got wider in horror. “You didn’t.”

Kate smiled sweetly. “Yup! Tonight, seven thirty. It’s payback time, kid.”

“I hate you.”

#ITS HERE #AAAAA IM SO HYPED ABOUT THIS #fhsbdhsbdjs #tiff is the most wonderful writing partner i could ever ask for i love them so much heck #aLSO KIERA LOOKY #fhsbdjsn #caps tw #swearing tw #alcohol mention #Proper Tag Time™#we are the tigers #kate dalton #eva sanchez #kateva #chess watt #tiff (co author now we're a business)#kiera (yay for gay)

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papermoonloveslucy · 3 years

Text

REMINISCING

August 14, 1977

By Frank Swertlow, Chicago Daily News

BEVERLY HILLS - During the first years of television, Ed Wynn, the radio and stage comic, was trying to break into television with a half-hour comedy on CBS. (1)

One night, he invited a couple of second echelon performers to make an appearance: a comedienne, known as "Technicolor Tessie" for her blazing red hair, and a song-and-dance man, best remembered for hollering "babalu."

Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz were the couple, and they, like Wynn, were sampling the waters of the new medium. CBS had asked Miss Ball and her conga-drum pounding husband to develop a comedy show for television. Later, after months of thought and testing their ideas on the vaudeville circuit, the couple came up with "I Love Lucy," the misadventures of Lucy and Ricky Riccardo. (2)

It made its debut on CBS in October 1951. More than a quarter of a century afterwards, "I Love Lucy" easily can vie for the honor of television's most successful show. It was the archtype [sp] domestic comedy, the bumbling husband and his daffy wife. It gave birth to two other Lucy shows, a host of specials and a giant production company, Desilu.

"We spent months thinking about what we should do," Miss Ball recalled. "We didn't want to be the average Hollywood couple. Nobody would think you had any problems if you had a car and swimming pool and a nice house.

"Ultimately, we wanted a show in which people could identify with us. Everybody could understand what it was like to struggle for a buck. I was an ordinary, everyday, middle class housewife. I wore the same dress often. My husband worked and tolerated my mistakes. It was something that everyone could identify with."

With the debut of the TV series, Lucille Ball, the former Goldwyn girl who started her film career in the 1930s, had a new career.

"I never expected the show to go more than a year," said Miss Ball. "I wanted to do the show on film so I could use them as home movies. Who knew about television then? It was a no-no to do TV work. The movie studios were against it."

To Miss Ball, who was not a new face to the public, the impact of her show was incredible. "We went to New York on a trip once and we were unprepared for what happened. People rushed up and wanted to touch you. They knew you, and called you by your first name. I had been in pictures for years, and most of the time I was never identified."

If the movers and shakers of the film industry who gave Miss Ball her start during the 1930s were alive, they would have been shocked. To them, simply and kindly, Lucille Ball was a B-movie queen, one of the many second-line actresses who never attained star billing, but who was an important ingredient to the motion picture industry.

Unlike many performers who labored under the cruel studio system, Miss Ball fondly remembered her early years in Hollywood. "It was nice to be under the umbrella of a studio. You always had a poppa. I loved it. I loved being part of the business. I would have swept floors just to be in it."

Miss Ball, however, did not forget the tactics of the brutal and disgusting lords of movieland. Harry "King" Cohn, the ruler of Columbia Pictures, stood out. "He made the biggest dent in everybody. He was ruthless. He always had to take a devious route." (3)

Miss Ball, who is not exactly a pushover, laughingly recalled the time she outwitted the sly Cohn.

Miss Ball had received an offer to work in a Cecil B. DeMille film, but Cohn refused to loan her to the producer. He was being mean. Then, Cohn decided to drop her contract. To do it, he sent the actress a horrible script something that the trade called a lease breaker. "Oh, everybody was dying to play opposite John Agar and Raymond Burr," she recalled jokingly. "I was going to be a harum [sp] girl." Naturally, Cohn expected her to refuse and it would be the end of her contract. (4)

The savvy Miss Ball decided to do the film and collect her check. When she made this announcement there was an uproar. She coyly told her bosses: "Oh, I want to do the film. It's a wonderful film."

Meanwhile, Miss Ball, who had been trying to get pregnant for years, found out she was going to have a baby. Now, she was in trouble. If Cohn found out, he would break her contract. "I only told my mother and my husband I was pregnant."

Keeping her lips sealed, she went ahead with Cohn's film. "The wardrobe girl kept looking at me in my harum [sp] girl costume and saying, 'What's wrong with you, you are getting so big.' "So, I told her, 'Don't worry, I ate a big meal last night. Just put a little more taffeta on my dress.' Well, I finished the film and I collected my $85,000."

"Then I had to go to Mr. DeMille and tell him I couldn't do his film. I was pregnant. 'What,' he said. And I replied. 'I'm going to have a baby. 'Get rid of it,' he said. And he was serious.' She declined. (5)

While Miss Ball's career as a TV star is secure (she still has a contract with CBS) (6) she is not so certain about the state of the industry. Today, unlike when she started on the air, shows are yanked off the screen within a couple of weeks. This, she said, destroys performers.

"If a show is canceled, the actor takes the blame. He or she suffers for it. They suffer inside. The rejection - they failed. (7)

"I would fail. You can't protect yourself. It's out of your hands. It's always Lucy failed or Rhoda failed or Farrah Sauset Fawcett Sauset, whatever her name is, failed. It's rough." (8)

Even so, Lucille Ball, the red-haired girl from Jamestown, N.Y., would still be on top.

# # #

FOOTNOTES FROM THE FUTURE

(1) Ed Wynn (1886-1966) was a vaudevillian who hosted “The Ed Wynn Show” on television from 1949 to 1950. Lucy and Desi guest-starred on the show.

(2) ‘Riccardo’ is probably a misspelling of ‘Ricardo’, but it was also the way their surname was spelled on “I Love Lucy” in early episodes!

(3) Harry Cohn (1891-1958) was a much-despised executive at Columbia Studios. Lucille Ball once facetiously told Louella Parsons that she liked Harry Cohn too much to ever sign a contract with him. What Lucille meant is that Cohn had a reputation for being difficult. Despite that fact, a casting draught forced her to sign with Columbia in 1949.

(4) Lucille Ball had often complained to Cohn about the quality of the pictures she had been doing at Columbia. At the time The Magic Carpet was made, Ball was only obligated to Columbia for one more film, and Cohn had producer Sam Katzman, who turned out most of Columbia's low-budget "B" pictures, concoct a cheap Arabian Nights fantasy as a punishment to Ball for her constantly challenging him. More salacious writers insist that Cohn’s frustration with Ball was due to the fact that she would not submit to him sexually.

(5) The DeMille film in question was The Greatest Show on Earth, a movie set at the Ringling Brothers Barnum and Bailey circus. Lucille was set to play the elephant trainer, a role that went to Gloria Graham. It was a film Lucille really wanted to do - but she wanted a baby more. Later in life, Desilu created a TV version of the film. Lucille also guest-starred as the ringmaster on “Circus of the Stars II” in which Lucie Arnaz was featured as.... the elephant trainer!

(6) Lucille Ball had started working at CBS on radio and was considered their premiere star. In 1980, after her television shows had ended, she signed with NBC, a partnership that yielded very little except that Ball was obliged to appear on Bob Hope’s many specials, something she frequently did anyway. Both CBS and NBC declined her final series “Life With Lucy” which producer Aaron Spelling finally convinced ABC to air.

(7) Although this article was written ten years before “Life With Lucy”, Lucille could very well be describing her own devastation when the series was cancelled even before all the initial episodes aired. She was widely criticized and the series often turned up on “worst show” lists.

(8) Rhoda refers to a character on “The Mary Tyler Moore Show” that was played by Valerie Harper, a performer that appeared on Broadway with Lucille. In 1974, the character was spun off into its own eponymous sitcom which aired for four seasons.

Farrah Fawcett-Majors was a beautiful blonde actress and poster girl that burst onto the TV scene in the mid-1970s. A year after this interview, she was in the hit series “Charlie’s Angels” entering American iconography for her feathered hair and curvaceous figure the same way Betty Grable had in the 1940s.

#Lucille Ball #Valerie Harper #Harry Cohn #Farrah Fawcett #The Greatest Show on Earth #Life With Lucy #Cecil B. DeMille #The Magic Carpet #Lucie Arnaz #Gloria Graham #Desi Arnaz #Ed Wynn #1977 #Frank Swertlow

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annewritesfic · 3 years

Text

Happy Endings Don’t Exist

i sat down and worked on this for the last FIVE HOURS y’all better appreciate it

based on chapters 4, 6, 9, and 10 of scarlet by marissa meyer

tw: mentions of gun, knives, blood, attempted murder... i think that’s it but lemme know if i missed anything

word count: 7266

The incarceration of Captain Farrah Thorne had gotten off to a rocky start.

(Farrah was fully aware, of course, that technically she’d been only a cadet when she’d gone on the run, but captain just sounded better.)

After the soap rebellion, Farrah had been put in solitary confinement, but she’d managed to sweet talk one of the guards into giving her their port screen. It was honestly probably because the guard thought Farrah was an idiot and wouldn’t be able to do anything with it, but no matter the reason, Farrah was now sitting cross-legged on her bed, fidgeting with the port screen.

Of course, the guard was right about Farrah not being able to do anything with the port screen.

She’d had it for several hours now and still hadn’t accessed her comms, any news feeds, or anything else useful. Looking up “how to break out of a high-security prison using only a port screen” probably wouldn’t get her anywhere, so now she was just absentmindedly entering the names of people she used to know, wondering where they were now.

The cell was painfully, obviously quiet, but slowly, Farrah noticed the sound of what almost seemed like a drill, coming from the ceiling. She looked up and briefly scanned the room, but there wasn’t much to see - the same plain, shiny white walls. If the prison was remodeling, Farrah hoped her cell was next.

The drill noise suddenly came louder, clearly directly above Farrah’s cell, and she watched curiously as one of the ceiling tiles was removed and someone jumped down, landing in a crouch and facing the wall opposite Farrah. The someone had messy brown hair tied in a ponytail, a crumpled white prison uniform, and one bare foot… and one metal foot. In fact, Farrah realized that the person’s left hand was plated with metal, too, and one finger had a screwdriver sticking out of the tip.

“Hello,” she said pleasantly. The cyborg jumped and slipped, turning to look at Farrah. “It seems you’ve stumbled into the wrong jail cell. Do you need directions to get back to yours?”

The cyborg narrowed her eyes at Farrah. “What…?”

Farrah smiled charmingly.

“These cells aren’t supposed to be occupied,” the cyborg said. Her voice was a little bit hoarse, like they hadn’t spoken in awhile.

“Special circumstances.”

“You’re not a murderer, are you?”

“Stars, no.” Farrah popped her collar proudly. “I started a riot in the yard. We were protesting the soap.”

The cyborg stared at her.

“The soap,” Farrah said again. “It’s way too drying. I have sensitive skin.”

“Huh,” the cyborg said, turning away. They stood up and kicked the fallen floor tile to the side, looking around, then knocked the side of her head with the heel of their human hand. “Stupid, stupid… one room off.”

Farrah watched them press a hand against the wall and blink a few times, like there was something stuck in their eye. “You’re escaping, aren’t you?”

“Not at this very moment, but that is the general idea, yes.” The cyborg sighed frustratedly, then spotted the port screen in Farrah’s hand. “Hey, what model is that?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” Farrah said honestly.

The cyborg crossed the room and snatched it out of her hand. “I need your vid cable.”

“My what?”

“Your vid cable. Mine’s on the fritz.” The cyborg sat cross-legged in the center of the room, port screen in her lap. Farrah realized that the screwdriver in their metal hand was a drill, and she watched curiously as the cyborg used it to remove the back panel and pulled out a yellow wire. She kicked the port screen aside and reached up to the back of their neck, unlatching a panel there. After a moment of fidgeting, the cyborg pulled out a blackened wire and then replaced it with the yellow one from Farrah’s port screen. She tossed the blackened wire aside and sighed, a brief smile crossing their lips. “Ugh, that’s so much better.”

Farrah picked up the port screen, mind whirling. “You have a port screen in your head?”

“Something like that.” The cyborg began running a hand across the wall. Farrah watched her pry one of the panels off the wall, and tried to make small talk, but the cyborg ignored her.

“When they locked you up, didn’t they think that maybe there were some… security weaknesses with you?” Farrah asked.

The cyborg sighed, sitting back on their heels and blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes. “There weren’t. The hand is new.” They stared at the open wall for a moment, thinking.

“You wouldn’t happen to be convicted of breaking and entering?” Farrah said, only half joking.

The cyborg rolled her eyes. “If you really have to know, two counts of treason, resisting arrest, and unlawful use of biolectricity. Oh, and illegal immigration, but I kind of think that’s a little excessive.”

Farrah squinted at her. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“How the hell-”

“It’s really complicated and I don’t wanna talk about it,” the cyborg snapped.

“O-kay.” Farrah sat back. “By the way, what’s your name?”

No response. The cyborg kept doing… whatever they were doing behind the panel.

“I’m Captain Farrah Thorne,” she said. “Most people call me Thorne, though. Or Captain. Or Captain Thorne-”

“Kate,” the cyborg said. “Just Kate.”

“Wonderful to make your acquaintance!” Farrah smiled brightly. “Are you in need of an accomplice? Because I happen to be a criminal mastermind-”

“Go away.”

“Um.” Farrah looked around the small, one-room cell. “Where?”

Kate closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, then kept working.

“What’s your plan for when you get out?” Farrah asked.

“The most direct route out of the city is north,” Kate muttered. White flecks of plastic from the wall dusted their dark hair, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Oh, my poor, sweet, naive little convict,” Farrah tutted. “That’s exactly what they’ll be expecting from you!”

“Please stop distracting me.”

“We might be able to help each other!”

“Leave me alone.”

“I have a ship.”

Kate actually looked at her.

“A spaceship,” Farrah said in a sing-song voice.

“A spaceship,” Kate repeated doubtfully.

“Yep!”

The cyborg paused, as if reading something on the wall behind Farrah. “It wouldn’t happen to be a stolen ship from the American Republic?”

“Yeah, how did you…” Farrah trailed off, then grinned and tapped the side of her head. “Port screen in the head?”

“The Republic hasn’t found the ship yet?”

“Nope. At least, I hope not. Stripped the tracking equipment, and it’s hiding in a warehouse over by the plague quarantines.” Farrah raised an eyebrow. “So? Need that accomplice?”

Kate said nothing and turned back to the wall.

“You look exhausted,” Farrah commented. “Need a back rub?”

Kate jolted upwards with a growl and whipped around to face Farrah. “Please, just-- just stop talking. Leave me alone.”

Farrah gasped a little and fell back against the wall, mind whirling. Kate’s image wavered just a bit, like heat in a desert, and Farrah’s heartbeat sped up, her head filling with thoughts of worship and devotion and surrender.

She was beautiful. Divine. Perfect.

“All right,” Farrah said slowly. “Anything you’d like.” She turned to face away from Kate, eyes watering, and the silence settled over both of them. Farrah and the cyborg, prison mate, goddess.

FARRAH THORNE

ID #0082688359

BORN 4 JUNE 106 T.E., AMERICAN REPUBLIC

FF 437 MEDIA HITS, REVERSE CHRON

POSTED 12 JAN 126 T.E.: EX-AIR FORCE CADET, FARRAH THORNE, HAS BEEN CONVICTED AND SENTENCED TO A SIX-YEAR PRISON SENTENCE AT THE END OF A SPEEDY TWO-WEEK TRIAL…

The green text scrolled across Kate’s vision without prompting, showing them a detailed record of the crimes of the annoying convict sitting just ten feet away. Despite only having turned twenty a few months ago, Farrah Thorne was guilty of one count of military desertion, two counts of international theft, one count of attempted theft, six counts of handling stolen goods, and one count of theft of government property.

“Government property” didn’t seem to do justice to the fact that Farrah Thorne had stolen a spaceship from the American Republic military. The spaceship she was so proud of.

She was currently about six months into her six year sentence in the Eastern Commonwealth (for attempted theft of a second-era jade necklace), but she was also wanted in Australia and, of course, America, and after this sentence was completed, would be standing trial and serving time in those countries as well.

Kate didn’t pause their work to think, even though her mind was racing. Escaping from prison was one thing, but could she really aid the escape of this actual, real criminal, in a stolen spaceship?

It’s a whole lot harder to find a criminal in space than on Earth, their mind tempted. Kate scowled and shoved away the thought.

Behind them, Farrah Thorne sat on the little white cot, chin resting in both hands, staring at the wall. Kate only risked half a glance back every few minutes - just looking at her made them feel guilty.

Leave me alone.

The words had tasted like fire, like ashes and burning and smoke. That heat had spread through Kate’s veins again - not as painful as it had been at the ball, but still not comfortable, either. She was pretty sure that using her gift - a genetic trait Lunars were born with that allowed them to sense and manipulate the biolectricity of other living creatures - wasn’t supposed to burn like that, but it was probably just a side effect of using it again for the first time in years. Probably for the first time ever, really. Kate didn’t know much about the Lunar gift, but it seemed unlikely that a three year old would be able to control it, and she’d only lived on Luna until they were that old.

Thirteen years ago, though, Queen Levana had tried to murder Princess Selene.

She’d tried to murder Kate.

By some miracle, Kate had survived and was smuggled down to Earth, and now thirteen years later, the lost Lunar princess was kneeling in a jail cell, white flakes of plastic decorating her white prison jumpsuit, the drill implanted in their metal hand helping her break out of New Beijing prison.

Literally, what the fuck?

Dr Erland had figured it out weeks ago, but had only decided to tell them less than twenty four hours ago, after Levana had recognized them at the annual peace ball and threatened war if Kate wasn’t immediately thrown in jail for being an illegal Lunar emigrant. Dr Erland had decided that was the perfect time to pay Kate a visit, give her a new foot (seeing as theirs had fallen off on the palace steps), a fancy new cyborg hand with the latest attachments, the biggest shock of her entire life, and instructions to meet him in Africa. Right. Easy-peasy. Break out of a high-security prison and meet a crazy doctor in Africa.

Kate risked another glance back at Farrah, still sitting on the cot with that dazed smile. A spaceship would make it easier to get to Africa…

Still, just looking at Farrah brought back that flash of guilt, and Kate had to turn away.

She hadn’t meant to use their gift on Farrah. They were still learning how to use it. It took three tries to convince a guard to move her to a more convenient cell, and shutting Farrah up had been completely on accident - she’d just wanted Farrah to stop talking for ten seconds, and the heat of their gift had surged from the base of her neck and spread to her fingertips and leaked into her voice, prompting Farrah to do…

To do exactly what Kate wanted her to do.

It hadn’t felt good. It made Kate feel awful and guilty and like the worst person on Earth - stars, how could Lunars stand having this gift, let alone love it the way they did?

I don’t want to have this gift. I don’t want to be Lunar.

I just… wanna be the old me again.

Kate pushed away their spiraling thoughts and stood up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Farrah looked up at them with wide eyes, sitting up eagerly.

“I’m sorry I manipulated you,” Kate said, the words coming out a little bit jumbled. They tried again, slower this time. “It was an abuse of power and it wasn’t fair. I’m sorry.”

Farrah frowned. “Are you the same person who was just here?”

“Yeah…?”

“Oh.” Farrah looked her up and down. “You seemed a whole lot prettier before.”

A little bit of Kate’s guilt faded away. “Listen, Cadet-”

“Captain,” Farrah corrected.

“Cadet,” Kate repeated forcefully. “You can come with me if we make it to your ship, and if you try not to talk so much.”

Farrah eagerly stood up, almost losing her balance for a moment. “Sick!”

Kate glanced back at the hole they’d created, having found the entrance to the air ducts. “So this ship of yours is the one you stole from the American Republic, right?”

“I prefer borrowed. They didn’t exactly have proof I wasn’t gonna give it back.”

Kate immediately began to regret this.

“And you’re sure the ship isn’t traceable?” they asked.

“Of course I’m sure.” Farrah tossed her hair over one shoulder. “I told you, I removed all the tracking equipment immediately.”

“Oh, that reminds me.” Kate held up her left hand and ejected the stiletto knife in the thumb. “We need to remove your ID chip. Hope you’re not squeamish.”

Farrah’s eyes widened, but she closed her eyes and held her wrist out. “Please try not to hit anything important, okay?”

Kate quickly removed the ID chip and tossed it aside, then cut a strip of cloth from Farrah’s sleeve for her to wrap around the wound. There was already a scar there, probably from where she’d cut out her ID chip the last time she’d been on the run.

Farrah pressed the cloth against the cut on her wrist and grinned at Kate. “Is it just me, or is this a big moment in our relationship?”

Kate glared at her. “Do not make me regret this.”

The air duct was cramped and hot and uncomfortable. Kate’s metal leg scraped against the bottom of it every time they crawled forward. Farrah, to her credit, stayed quiet, but Kate was so agitated that even just her breathing was annoying. Any sound ran the risk of getting them caught. Honestly, it was a surprise they hadn’t already been caught.

Kate checked the clock in her head. She’d left their cell thirty two minutes ago.

The prison blueprint glowed brightly on the retina display over the dark air duct, a tiny blue dot representing Kate and displaying where exactly they were - and with Farrah in tow.

Stars, Kate had to sneak both of them out safely. This was going to be hard enough on their own, how was she supposed to get both of them out?

You could glamour her.

Kate bit their lip. That was true… she could convince Farrah that she wanted to tell them exactly where her ship was, then make her decide that she didn’t want to come after all. Farrah wouldn’t have a choice but to listen.

“You good?” Farrah asked softly.

Kate shook her head just a tiny bit. No, they wouldn’t glamour her. Not again. She’d made it sixteen years just fine without a Lunar gift, and they’d be fine without it now.

“I’m fine, just… checking the blueprint,” she whispered back to Farrah. “Almost there.”

“Bluepri- ohhh, port screen-”

“In my head, yes.” Kate rounded the corner and saw a grate just a few feet ahead, casting a checkered square of light into the duct. “Okay, that’s it.”

Slowly, carefully, Kate crawled over the grate and then awkwardly turned around so both of them could look down. Below was a loading dock, where food and other supplies were brought in for the prisoners, and almost directly below the grate, a storm drain, exactly where Kate’s blueprint promised it would be. The drop was a full story, and there was concrete below, but besides that, this was almost going to be easy.

“The exit ramp should be that way,” Farrah whispered, pointing.

Kate shook their head. “No, we’ve got to get into that storm drain.”

“We’re going through the sewer?”

“What, did you think we’d just walk to your ship in broad daylight wearing bright white prison uniforms?” Kate rolled their eyes. “The sewer is our only way out.”

Farrah started to reply, but the sound of voices below made both of them duck away from the grate, out of sight.

“I didn’t see her dancing with the cyborg, my sister did. Her dress was soaking wet and wrinkled like a garbage bag.”

“But why would the empress dance with a cyborg? And then for them to go off and attack the Lunar queen like that… no way. Your sister was seeing things. I bet she was just some crazy who wandered in off the street, bitter over some cyborg injustice or whatever.”

The conversation cut off at the sound of a delivery ship. Kate bit their tongue at the voices shit-talking them and dared to peek over the grate again. The delivery ship passed by below, backing towards the loading bay and coming to a stop directly below where Kate and Farrah crouched in the duct. Kate took advantage of the noise and unscrewed the grate’s screws, then Farrah carefully lifted it up and to the side. Kate ignored the way their heart was thundering and carefully moved lower, looking down to get a better view, and saw, just a foot away, a rotating camera.

Kate jerked back up and crouched lower automatically, her retina display recommending deep breaths to calm down. The camera wasn’t facing their direction, thank God, but between the camera and the delivery workers unloading below, there was no way they’d make it to the storm drain undetected. And every second brought the risk of a guard discovering their empty cells - twice as many empty cells as Kate had planned to leave behind.

They made a decision and, without leaving time to question it, slowly and carefully reached their cyborg hand out, palm flat against the ceiling, and felt around for a moment before finding the camera’s lens. The plastic crushed easily in her bionic fist, the crunching noise terrifyingly loud.

“What the hell was that?” Farrah hissed.

“Camera.” Kate listened for a moment, but none of the workers below seemed to have noticed. “Time to go. We probably only have a few seconds before they realize they’re missing a camera.” Kate took a deep breath, pulled herself over the edge, and dropped down onto the roof of the delivery ship. Farrah followed.

Kate’s metal leg clanged loudly against the roof of the ship, and the whole thing shook on both impacts, immediately drawing the attention of all three workers. For a moment, the five of them just stared at each other, but then one of the workers reached for the port screen on his belt.

Kate focused for a moment, and the man’s hand never reached his port screen, hovering in the air just above it instead.

“Don’t,” they hissed, pushing away the guilt. The fire began to spread through her body again, but they ignored it, mind whirling.

Turn around.

They did.

Close your eyes.

They did.

Cover your ears.

They did.

Hum.

They did.

Farrah gaped at Kate. “What are they doing?”

“Obeying,” Kate muttered over the buzz of the humming. Hopefully that would keep them from hearing the storm drain open and realizing where the two escaping convicts had gone, and that was the only thought that kept Kate from releasing them, even as the guilt and the hatred of this stupid goddamn gift began to spread alongside the fire.

The fall into the storm drain was about as far as the fall onto the ship, but this time, Kate almost gagged at the sensation of the oily water against their bare foot. She envied Farrah’s shoes as she landed beside them, replacing the grate, and then they both turned to the round concrete tunnel beside them. It was only waist height and stunk like garbage and mildew, but Kate set their jaw and crawled into it.

“Ew, oh my God, that’s disgusting! Get it off me!”

Kate nearly slipped in their haste to turn around and look back at Farrah, who was jumping and squirming in the cramped tunnel, shrieking. Kate’s embedded flashlight flicked upward to the ceiling, and the cluster of cockroaches made her shudder, but they turned away and kept going.

“A cockroach won’t kill you,” they called.

“It’s in my fucking uniform-”

“Be quiet, there’s a manhole up ahead.”

“And we’re exiting through that manhole, right?”

Kate scoffed.

The idea of a cockroach in their shirt did make her shiver a bit, but Farrah’s squeamishness wasn’t as important as the map of the sewer system overlaid on top of their vision, guiding her to the warehouse where Farrah swore her ship was.

Plus, Kate was walking through ankle-deep sludge with one bare foot. That was easily worse than a thousand cockroaches.

“Wait, what's that noise?” Farrah asked.

“The combined main line,” Kate answered just as the worst stench Kate had ever had the displeasure of experiencing reached them.

“Aces and spades,” Farrah said, choking. “That had better not be what I think it is.”

“We’re not just gonna be walking through surface water runoff soon,” Kate said simply.

“You’re joking. For the love of fuck, tell me you’re joking.”

Despite the stench, Kate smirked.

That smirk didn’t last long as the stink got worse. They both took shallow breaths, but Farrah had her shirt over her nose by the time they reached the sewer connection. Kate’s flashlight washed across the edge of a concrete wall, then against the metal grate on the far edge. It was stable enough for maintenance workers, although unfortunately covered in rat droppings - although the rat droppings were easily preferable to the churning, brown, two-meter river of sludge between them and the grate. Kate hadn’t eaten since before leaving the apartment building before the ball, which was the only reason she didn’t vomit from the stench.

“Alright, ready?” She inched closer to the edge. “The faster we do this, the faster it’s over with.”

“Wait- no, no, what the hell are you doing?”

“What do you think?”

Farrah almost backed up against the wall, but thought better of it when she felt the slime there. “I’m not walking through that. Don’t you have some sort of gadget in that fancy hand of yours that could get us across?”

Kate rolled their eyes and glared. “Oh, wow, thanks for reminding me about my grappling hook.”

The water, thankfully, only went up to their thighs, but Kate still barely managed not to gag as they crossed, the current surprisingly strong against her legs. Something squished under her foot, and Kate almost screamed. Thankful for the weight of her metal leg keeping them from losing her balance, Kate made it to the other side and crawled up onto the grate, still taking shallow breaths even as they began to get light headed.

“Okay,” they shouted across to Farrah. “You either cross, or you can go back and serve the rest of your sentence, but you have to decide right now.”

Farrah gulped, staring at Kate’s legs. They risked a glance down and pushed away the wave of nausea at the way the stark white pants now clung, greenish-brown and sopping wet, to their legs.

“Are you coming?” Kate shouted.

Farrah scrunched her face up and muttered a series of creative curses, then lowered herself into the sewage and trudged across, still muttering curses the entire time. She finally made it to the grate and heaved herself up beside Kate, glaring daggers. “That was the worst thing I’ve ever had to do.”

“That’s what you get for complaining about the soap,” Kate said lightly. “Which way?”

Farrah pressed her lips together, thinking. “It was near the old Beihai Park, whichever way that was.”

“You mean we didn’t have to cross that river?”

Farrah’s eyes widened. “What?”

Kate smirked again. “Only messing with you. C’mon, this way.”

“How long have we been walking?” Farrah asked as they started down the tunnel. “Feels like hours.”

Kate checked her internal clock. “Twelve minutes.”

“Bullshit.”

Kate saved their breath and didn’t answer. To Farrah’s credit, it did sort of feel like they’d been walking for a few lifetimes, hearing the sounds of rats skittering past and water dripping from the ceiling. Kate’s flashlight glistened on the slimy walls, and they passed another manhole before finally making it to the one by Beihai Park.

“We’re about a block away from the park,” Kate said, putting a hand and a foot on the ladder. “Does West Yunxin sound familiar?”

Farrah squinted. “I think?”

Kate rolled their eyes and started to climb. She pushed the manhole cover up and to the side, almost gasping at the sudden gust of fresh air, before a hover glided overhead. Kate ducked down below the manhole, heart pounding at the lights atop the vehicle, but then it turned a corner and the red cross painted on the side revealed itself as a medical hover, not a police one, easing Kate’s fearful vision of androids with cold, emotionless voices and brain-interface-overriding tasers. The old warehouse district was near the plague quarantines, so it made sense that there were medical hovers.

Kate glanced to make sure the road was deserted before pulling themself up and into the sun, uniform glaringly bright against the pavement. Farrah followed and replaced the manhole cover, and Kate crossed her arms, pushing down the worry about being caught. “Okay, which way?”

Farrah squinted. Turned in a circle. Twisted her lips to the side thoughtfully.

Kate resisted the urge to scream.

“You have to recognize something, right?” they asked desperately.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just been awhile,” Farrah said quickly. She turned to face down the street. “This way!” She walked five steps, then stopped and looked around again. “Or, um… maybe this way?”

“Do you have an address?” Kate demanded.

“A captain always knows where her ship is! It’s like a psychic bond,” Farrah protested.

Kate glared. “If only we had a captain, cadet.”

Farrah rolled her eyes and marched down the street with spectacular confidence, and Kate followed, jumping at every sound and hugging themself nervously. They walked for three blocks without seeing anyone, and Kate started trying to think of a backup plan as Farrah slowed and began scanning the nearby buildings.

“There!” Farrah said, pointing. “That one, I’m sure of it!” She walked up to the warehouse, which looked the same as every other warehouse within a mile, and tried the door. “Goddamnit, it’s locked.”

“D’you have a key?”

Farrah glared at Kate. “Yep, let me just pull it out of my prison issued pocket.”

She’s got your escape ship, Kate reminded themself, teeth grit. You can’t hit her.

They kneeled down besides the ID scanner, examining it. “D’you think it’s alarmed?”

“It had better be! I’ve been paying rent this whole time, and it wasn’t for my darling to be sitting in an unprotected warehouse.”

Kate was beginning to wonder if one punch would really be so bad when the door swung open.

“Thorne!” the strange man said loudly. “I just saw the news, thought you’d be showing up here soon!”

Farrah’s eyes lit up. “Hey, Alak, what’s up? I’m on the news? How do I look?”

Alak’s attention flitted over to Kate, and the smile slipped from his face. Kate kept her expression neutral (mostly, but a glare was part of their resting expression anyways) and took a second to check the newsfeeds. Sure enough: ESCAPED CONVICT. CONSIDERED ARMED AND DANGEROUS. IF SEEN, COMM THIS LINK IMMEDIATELY.

“Saw you on the news, too,” Alak said flatly.

Farrah coughed a little. “Hey, I need to pick up my ship. We’re kind of in a hurry.”

Alak shook his head. “Sorry, Thorne. The feds already watch me close enough. I can always claim ignorance to storing a stolen ship, but assisting a felon, and assisting… one of them-” Kate wondered if he was referring to their Lunar heritage or cyborg limbs- “If they track you here, I’m toast. I won’t tell anyone I saw you, but I can’t let you take your ship ‘till this all blows over. You understand, yeah?”

Farrah made an extremely offended face. “But she’s my ship! I pay you a lot of goddamn money, Alak, you can’t keep her from me!”

“Every man for himself, you know how it is.” Alak looked back at Kate with an expression of revulsion. “If you leave now, I won’t comm the police. And if they show up here, I’ll tell them I haven’t seen you since last year when you dropped off the ship. But if you stay a minute longer, I swear to fuck, I will comm them myself.”

Kate glanced down the street, and their heart leaped into her throat at the sight of an emergency hover without the red cross on the side. “Look, we need that ship. We don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Alak sneered and stepped back into the doorway. “I’m trying to help you out, ‘cause Thorne’s been a good customer for awhile, and I don’t rat out my customers, but it isn’t a favor to you. I wouldn’t blink twice about sending you off to rot. It’s the best you freaks deserve. Now fuck off, before I change my mind.”

Kate clenched her fists, barely containing a cry of pain as the burning returned, white hot as it spread from the base of her neck. They managed to stop the burst of electricity, white spots blinking in their vision, just in time to see Alak’s eyes roll back as he passed out.

Farrah caught him, groaning. “Aces, he weighs a ton!”

Kate fell back against the wall, suddenly dizzy. “He’s not- fuck, he’s not dead, is he?”

“No, I think he’s fine.” Farrah groaned again under the weight. “Ugh, help me, will you?”

Kate reached for Alak’s feet, and they tugged him into the building. The office to the left had two net screens with security footage on one side and a newsfeed on the other.

“He’s a selfish ass, but he’s got good taste in jewelry,” Farrah murmured, holding up his limp wrist with a golden watch.

Kate slapped her hand. “Can you focus?” They both turned and scanned the warehouse, packed with all sorts of ships - cargo ships, podships, personal flyers, raceships, ferries, cruisers-

“Hey, look, there was another jailbreak.”

Kate looked back at the netscreen, reading the words that scrolled across the bottom. LUNAR ESCAPES FROM NEW BEIJING PRISON. CONSIDERED EXTREMELY DANGEROUS. Wonderful.

“This is awesome!” Farrah said with a laugh. “If they’re tracking down a Lunar, they won’t think twice about us!”

Kate pressed her lips together and looked back at the array of ships.

“Wait… you’re Lunar?!”

“Yes, dumbass, I can’t believe you haven’t noticed.” Kate put their hands on their hips and raised an eyebrow, hiding the way she wanted to curl up under the desk and hide until the world forgot Kate Dalton had ever existed. “Which ship is yours?”

“Woah, woah, woah. Assisting a crazy Lunar is a bit out of my league-”

Kate laughed sharply, humorlessly, throwing their hands in the air. “If it wasn’t be me, you’d still be rotting in that fucking jail cell, so you owe me. And you’re already on the news as my accomplice, so it’s a bit too late to go back. You look stupid in that picture, by the way.”

Farrah looked at the screen that showed her own prison picture besides Kate. “I think I look pretty good.”

Kate took a deep, shaky breath. “Farrah, please.”

Farrah thought for a moment, then sighed heavily. “Fine, let’s go.”

Kate managed a sigh of relief and followed Farrah into the mess of ships. “I hope it isn’t one in the middle.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Farrah pointed up. “The roof opens.”

“Huh.” Kate looked where Farrah was pointing, at the seam across the ceiling. “Convenient.”

“Here she is!”

Kate’s retina display automatically began downloading the ship’s information as Farrah proudly pointed to it. It was larger than they’d anticipated - way larger. A 214 Rampion, Class 11.3 cargo ship. Two satellite podships, six crew quarters, a galley and a washroom… definitely enough room to avoid each other.

“You know, there was a time when she housed a crew of twelve men,” Farrah said, patting the side of the ship.

Kate walked around to the main entry hatch, noticing that the seal of the American Republic had been hastily painted over with the silhouette of a lounging woman. “What the hell?”

“Painted it myself,” Farrah said.

Kate sighed.

“Over here!” an unfamiliar voice shouted from across the warehouse. Kate glanced back and saw a man in the uniform of the Eastern Commonwealth’s military crouched over Alak’s unconscious body.

“Shit, fuck, shit,” they muttered and shoved Farrah’s shoulder. “C’mon, time to get out of here, let’s go.”

Farrah turned to the hatch and cleared her throat. “Alright, Rampion. Code word: Captain is queen. Open hatch.”

Nothing happened. The hatch stayed stubbornly closed. Kate started to panic.

“Captain is queen,” Farrah said again. “Captain is queen! Rampion, it’s me! Captain Thorne! What the hell-”

“Shh,” Kate said quickly, pressing up against the hull of the ship. Just on the other side, soldiers with searchlights had begun making their way through the warehouse, combing it for them.

“Maybe the power cell is dead,” Kate thought aloud.

“But it’s just been sitting here-” Farrah cursed. “I left the headlights on, didn’t I?”

Kate ignored their rising panic. “Maybe it’s the auto-control system? I’ve never worked on anything bigger than a podship, but I doubt it’s that different.” They put a hand on Farrah’s shoulder. “Stay here and keep trying to get in, okay?”

“Where are you-”

Kate snuck around the side of the ship, moving as quickly as possible, the blueprint she’d downloaded a few minutes earlier glowing over their vision. She found the access hatch easily and got it open even easier, and crawled into the undercarriage of the ship, barely avoiding the wires that criss-crossed in her way. The second interior door was more of a challenge, but with their flashlight and screwdriver, Kate was in the engine room within a minute.

The engine was bigger than she was, looming against the opposite wall. Kate brushed past it and found the computer motherboard, pulling the universal connector cable from their hand as they went, and snapped it into place. The flashlight dimmed, and Kate turned it off as her power was diverted, reading the pale green text that took over her retina display.

DIAGNOSING COMPUTER SYSTEM. MODEL 135v8.2

5% … 12% … 16% …

Farrah pressed herself behind the landing gear, heart pounding in her ears. “Captain is queen, captain is queen,” she hissed, even though she was pretty sure it was useless.

A subtle hum started up over her head, and she looked up at the running lights flickering on near the ship’s nose with a spark of hope. Gears started to rumble, and Farrah rolled out of the way just in time to avoid being squashed beneath the ramp.

“There!” shouted one of the soldiers.

Farrah swung herself up onto the ramp. “Rampion, close hatch!”

Nothing happened.

A bullet pinged off the overhead light. Farrah swore and ducked behind a plastic crate. “Rampion, I said close hatch!”

“I’m working on it!” said a voice overhead.

Farrah froze and nervously glanced up. “Rampion…?”

No response.

Just before the soldiers could follow Farrah onto the ship, the ramp creaked and began to rise, blocking more and more bullets as it went. Once it was safe, she rushed to the cockpit, keeping her balance with a hand against the wall as she slid into the pilot seat. The windows were filthy, but she didn’t have time to worry about that right now.

“Rampion, ready for liftoff!” she ordered.

The dash lit up - only the most important controls and screens.

That same cold feminine voice rang over the speakers. “Farrah, I can’t set the automatic lift, so you’ll have to take off manually.”

“Why is my ship talking back to me?!” Farrah yelled, panicked.

“It’s me, dumbass!”

Farrah furrowed her eyebrows. “Kate?”

“The auto-control system has a bug, and the power cell is weird, too. I think it’ll make it, but you have to take off without computer assistance.”

Farrah gulped. “Without- are you sure?”

“You know how to fly, right?”

“Y-yeah, of course!” Farrah scanned the controls.

“We’re fucked.”

Farrah reached for the controller on the ceiling and blinked as the warehouse doors opened, smacking her in the face with a bright beam of sunlight. She jabbed at the ignition and engaged hover mode, smoothly easing the ship off the ground with the help of the magnets beneath the city. Farrah’s breathing began to steady.

Then the ship began to tilt to the left.

“Woah- hey, stop that!” Farrah shouted, leveling the ship.

“The power cell is going to die. You’ve got to engage the backup thrusters.”

“The wha- wait, no, I found them.”

The sudden jolt of power made the ship lurch to the right, and Farrah winced as she slammed into the ship beside her. A wave of bullets slammed into the starboard side. Farrah shivered.

“What’s going on? What the hell are you doing?”

“Stop distracting me!” she shouted through gritted teeth. She tried to right the ship, but overcompensated and they tilted too far to the right.

“We’re gonna fucking die.”

“This isn’t as easy as it looks! Normally I have an automated stabilizer to take care of this for me!”

Oddly enough, she received no sarcastic reply.

Another panel lit up to her right. MAGNETIC CONDUCTORS STABILIZING. POWER OUTPUT: 37/63 … 38/62 … 42/58 …

The ship settled and once again began to hover evenly.

Farrah grinned. “Exactly like that!”

The engine roared as the ship soared upwards, a last wave of bullets sending them away as they broke free from the warehouse.

“C’mon, darling,” Farrah said softly, as the ship easily broke through the magnetic field of the city and speared through the clouds of the morning sky. The skyscrapers of New Beijing were only visible for a moment before they dropped away, and then it was just Farrah and the ship and the open starry sky ahead of them.

Farrah’s knuckles were white around the controls until the ship made it to neutral orbit, then she slumped back into the chair, shaking. She forgot to speak for several minutes, her heart too loud to hear anything else, before she said “hey, if you want a permanent position on the crew, you’re hired.”

No response.

“And I don’t mean, like, the lowest rank,” she continued. “First mate? I mean, everything’s available. Mechanic… cook… a pilot would be nice.” She waited. “Kate?”

Nothing.

Farrah sighed and pulled herself to her feet, leaning against the wall as she walked along the hallway that was as familiar to her as her cell in the prison had eventually become, down to the engine room. The screen by the door didn’t say anything about space vacuums, or about a living cyborg inside.

Farrah unlocked the door and shoved it open. The engine room was loud, hot, and stank of melted rubber. It was too dark to see, but Farrah squinted anyway, a bit terrified of what she’d see.

“Cyborg? Are you in there?”

Nothing.

Farrah squeezed her eyes shut. “Lights, on.”

A red emergency light was the only one that turned on, casting a sinister light over the revolving engine and masses of cords.

Farrah spotted something white.

“Kate?” she called again, getting closer. Kate didn’t move. As Farrah got closer, she saw them on their back, dark hair fanned over the steel floor, eyes closed and bionic hand plugged into a computer panel.

“Hey,” Farrah said nervously. She put a hand on Kate’s shoulder and gently shook, but got no response. Farrah pressed an ear against her chest, but the engine was too loud to hear a heartbeat.

Farrah reached and unplugged Kate’s hand from the computer panel, and a robotic voice came overhead, the same one Kate had used to talk to Farrah during takeoff. “Auto-control system disconnected,” it said. “Engaging default system procedures.”

“Cool, you do that,” Farrah said, dragging Kate into the hallway. God, whatever the hell those cyborg limbs were made out of, it was way heavier than a normal human limb.

Farrah propped Kate up against the wall and frowned. At least in this brightness, it was obvious that they were breathing. “Do you have, like, a power button or whatever?”

Her gaze fell to the hand, a cord still dangling from her pinky.

“Aha!” Farrah leaped to her feet and opened the podship dock, then tugged Kate in between the two small podships. She grabbed for the podship’s charging cord from the wall, then paused, looking back and forth between the charging cord and Kate’s cord. Dammit, two males. They’d never connect.

Farrah glanced down and saw the small latch on the back of Kate’s head.

“Aces and spades,” she groaned. “Tell me it’s not…”

But all signs pointed to yes.

Farrah kneeled next to Kate and looked away as she opened the panel, then snuck a glance and breathed a sigh of relief when she realized Kate’s control panel hid any brain tissue from view. The compartment was shallow enough that the ship’s lights were enough to see by, and she quickly spotted a small outlet, the same size as the plugs.

“Gotcha,” she whispered, hoping she wasn’t about to majorly fuck up as she plugged it in and leaned Kate back against the wall.

For a moment, nothing happened, but about a minute later, something hummed inside their skull. It got louder and louder, but then stopped, and Farrah gulped, tucking her knees up to her chest.

Kate’s eyes flew open, and she gasped, looking up at Farrah.

“Kate…?” Farrah said nervously. “Are you dead?”

Kate took a moment to speak, and when they did, the words were slurred. “Auto-control defaults… almost drained my power system…”

“Uh, I think it did.”

Kate stared at her for a moment with a confused expression, but then reached up for the cord still plugged into the back of their head and yanked it out, slamming the panel shut. “You opened my control panel?” they demanded harshly.

“I didn’t want to! And I saved your life!” Farrah pointed out.

Kate paused and thought for a moment.

“Well… I guess that was quick thinking,” Kate finally assented.

Farrah grinned. “Are we having another moment?”

Kate slumped back on the floor. “I guess. If you consider another moment to be me not wanting to strangle you for the first time since we met - although maybe I’m just too exhausted.”

“I’ll take it!” Farrah stretched out on the floor beside Kate, enjoying the coolness of the steel, the humming engine next door, the smell of sewage still wafting from their clothes, and the sensation of freedom.

#we are the tigers #the lunar chronicles #kate dalton #farrah watt #blood tw #gun tw #knife tw #ask to tag #holy shit this took forever #this is probably going to be the longest installment of this whole series #enjoy

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myfriendthedictionary · 4 years

Text

WATT Characters as Things That Have Been Said in My Ethics Class, PT. 2

Riley: This class really isn’t teaching me anything except that murder’s a valid option. Isn’t this an ethics class? I feel like that’s the opposite of what it should be doing.

Cairo: Starting to think I’m the only sane one in this class. I knew I was the only hot one, but this one I did expect some competition for being vaguely stable.

Kate: Fun fact: I’m gay, so if you choose to kill me with a trolley here, it actually counts as a hate crime.

Chess: Can we take a break, please? I just kind of want to lie down for a while and not have the headache you keep giving me.

Eva: Oh, come on! For one day, can we please just not threaten murder?

Annleigh: Hold on, I’ve got to pray on this. *fifteen second pause* Yeah, no, God said I’m still right.

Farrah: *asked about what she was drinking* Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to. Actually, it’s Sprite, but I wanted to be ominous for a sec.

Reese: Sorry, I got distracted by my own internal monologue.

Mattie: Is it too late to drop this class and do something less terrifying with my life?

Clark: I trust that no one here would kill me on purpose! (“On purpose?”) Oh, I expect to be killed by accident. I’m the ideal candidate for being too polite to tell someone they, like, hit me with a golf cart or something.

26 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor, 7 (Branjie) (and background everyone) - Ortega

a/n: ayo folks! ur all getting a slightly earlier chapter from me this week because i happened to write it very quickly! i had so much fun writing this one, it’s a bit eventful so hang onto your hats!! hope u all love it, feel free to give it a little like or a reblog or send some love!! love u all xo

fic summary: Strictly Come Dancing enters its 18th series and its producers, after being goaded by a rival dance show on its inclusivity, commission it to be an all-female cast. Unlike Akeria who’s just here to bone her potential dance partner, dancer Vanessa is ready to act like a professional.

And then TV presenter Brooke Lynn walks into the rehearsal room.

***

18th October 2020

Vanessa sits on the floor opposite Crystal, both of their knees tucked in under their chins, both of them glugging from their water bottles. It’s Sunday and Vanessa’s wasted no time in choreographing, having roped Crystal in to help her after their pro dance rehearsal. Crystal is doing a Waltz this week, which Vanessa could only be of minimal help with, but her friend didn’t really mind all that much.

“Ten of us left,” Crystal comments in the silence, and Vanessa nods with her. The dance off last night consisted of Scarlet and Plastique again and, to the shock of no-one, Farrah and Aja. The judges elected to save Farrah and Aja, and so poor Scarlet’s Strictly journey came to an end. Vanessa feels sorry for her but secretly she’s happy Plastique’s been knocked down a peg or two and has bowed out early this year. She doesn’t dislike the girl, but she’s too confident for her taste. Nothing wrong with being humble every now and again.

“Hard to believe this is dance number four.”

Crystal hums quietly in response. She’s got a sort of look on her face that prompts Vanessa to narrow her eyes at her.

“What’s the drama, mama?”

Crystal lets out a sigh, stretches herself out so she’s lying on her stomach and props her head up with her elbows. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Depends what it is, boo, I’m not tryin’ to be in no courtroom.”

Crystal laughs in her own, airy-fairy way. Then she sighs. “I think I like Gigi as more than my dance partner.”

“Oh, Lord above,” Vanessa mutters without thinking, the amount of schoolgirl crushes flying around Elstree studios becoming suddenly overwhelming. Crystal gives her a funny look and Vanessa waves her away. “Sorry, Crys. Ignore me, I’m just bein’ cynical.”

Crystal winces as if she’s put her foot in it. “Right. Yeah, God, sorry, Vanj.”

Vanessa thinks for a moment back to what Crystal’s told her. She cracks a smile. “You got feelings for a model, that’s when you know you’re fucked.”

“There’s a moment you know…you’re fucked,” Crystal sings quietly. It makes Vanessa snort. Crystal pouts, lets out a whine. “It was all the Rhumba’s fault. Stupid sexy Rhumba.”

“Don’t blame it on the sunshine, don’t blame it on the moonlight, don’t blame it on the good times…” Vanessa deadpans, and Crystal is already giggling as they finish the joke together.

“…blame it on the Rhumba.”

“It was a hot Rhumba, though. Nobody could blame you,” she shrugs. Vanessa is still riding the high of briefly topping the leaderboard last night, even if she was toppled off by Jan and Jackie, Akeria and Asia, and Crystal and Gigi themselves. But still…fourth is the best they’ve ever done, and she’s proud of them both.

“You’ve got a bit of a hot one this week, you know,” Crystal cocks an eyebrow at her. “Anything you want to tell me?”

Vanessa shoves her on the shoulder and sends Crystal rolling over the dusty floor. “Behave.”

Crystal shrugs in spite of the brief attack from her friend. “All I’m saying is I’ve seen the way Brooke Lynn looks at you.”

Vanessa’s brain hotwires and she says about twenty sentences at once. “Shut up! No, she doesn’t. That’s not…that’s not a thing, Crystal, you…how does she look at me?”

Crystal blurts out a laugh and Vanessa supposes she has to join in. As their laughter dies down, Crystal thinks for a moment. “It’s like she’s the moon and you’re-”

“The sun? Jesus, Crystal, how predictable can you be?”

“Will you let me finish my damn sentence! Hostia…” Crystal exhales in irritation, and Vanessa has to stifle a laugh at her swearing. Her face softens and she gazes at Vanessa with intrigue. “She’s the moon and you’re the stars. She’s happy to coexist with you, she’s happy to just be beside you and admire you for as long as you’ll let her.”

Vanessa feels as if her insides are glowing. She smiles at Crystal. “So you think she likes me back?”

“A-ha! I knewit! Back! You said back!” Crystal screeches, and Vanessa only has the willpower to roll her eyes, because Brooke looks at her like that. Crystal calms down, and then shrugs. “Well if she doesn’t want you now, she will after this Salsa. Fuck knows how the BBC allowed that song, but they did.”

“Is it too sexy?” Vanessa frowns, suddenly doubtful.

“Yes,” Crystal says instantly and seriously. She pauses before she allows a smile to spread across her face. “It’s perfect.”

The next morning, Vanessa has carefully strategised to ensure she looks the best she can in her rehearsal gear. She’s got her black exercise leggings on- the ones with the high waist that make her bum look good- and she’s gone for a red oversized jumper that’ll inevitably need peeled off when they start warming up. Underneath she’s picked a strappy sports bra that somehow doesn’t completely flatten her chest, and there’s a strip of toned skin between where it stops and her leggings begin. She’s pulled her waves of hair into a messy ponytail and she’s done an ever-so-tiny amount of makeup too- mascara, eyeliner, the tiniest bit of concealer, a little bit of liquid highlighter to make things pop. She’s standing looking at herself in the mirror when Brooke arrives, and she chooses to ignore the way her eyebrows raise involuntarily when she sees her.

“Hey, boo,” Vanessa greets her lightly, giving her a wave. “How you feelin’? Still ridin’ the high of Saturday night?”

“God, yeah. That was incredible, we smashed it!” Brooke gushes, throwing her gym bag to the floor. “Fourth is good. We just need to stay there.”

“Or move up,” Vanessa shrugs. Brooke points and nods at her in agreement as she throws her hair into a ponytail. She looks good herself- she’s in an oversized t-shirt which she’s tied at a knot at her stomach and a pair of loose-fitting black shorts. Fuck, why hadn’t she thought of shorts?

“What’ve we got this week?” Brooke asks, hair finally fixed. Vanessa feels like taking a deep breath before answering.

“We’re doin’…a Salsa,” she reveals. Brooke claps her hands together, excited. Vanessa smiles. “Do you know much about what a Salsa involves?”

“Uh, I know it’s a Latin one,” Brooke shrugs, leaning against the barre so she’s opposite Vanessa.

“Cuban.”

“That’s what I meant.”

“Sure. Okay, well…the judges last week said they wanted to see some more chemistry,” Vanessa prefaces her explanation. “So a Salsa’s a bit of a hot one. We’ve done a couple’a fun dances, we did the angry Paso, and now we gotta sexy Salsa.”

“Okay,” Brooke nods, a little hint of a smile on her face. Vanessa had been waiting to see her reaction and it’s not what she’d expected- she thought Brooke would maybe get a little bit bashful about it, but Vanessa supposes the woman’s a professional. “I can do sexy, that’s fine.”

“I’m sure you can,” Vanessa finds herself saying before she can think, and as soon as the sentence is out of her mouth she turns away from Brooke, slaps a hand over her mouth and fiddles with her phone so that Brooke doesn’t see her blush. “Uh…you warmed up?”

“Yeah. Ready to get even more warmed up,” she replies, and when Vanessa turns around she sees that Brooke’s wiggling her eyebrows at her. It makes her laugh.

“Okay, sweet. I’m gonna show you what me an’ Crystal choreographed yesterday for it,” she says casually, despite the fact that her heart is beating out of her chest, so anxious is she to see Brooke’s reaction. Vanessa motions for Brooke to come close to her so she can see her phone and as soon as Brooke can see, Vanessa hits play.

The dance starts.

“Oh,” Brooke comments quietly. It’s only about ten seconds in and Vanessa’s already whining against Crystal who’s got her hands behind her head. “Oh, wow.”

The appreciative noise makes a proud smile spring to Vanessa’s lips. There’s a lot of very intricate arm movements to a salsa, and she explains this to Brooke as she and Crystal twist and twirl each other around the dancefloor, their arms moving and intertwining like clockwork. The song reaches the part where they both stop, press close together, and Crystal runs her hands up Vanessa’s thighs, her waist and her sides. The lyrics are loud through the speakers.

“And baby I know what you’re after…it’s all in the details, and every inch of me matters…”

“Oh wow,” Brooke comments again, her voice little above a whisper. It makes a little thrill of electricity shoot down Vanessa’s spine. “Oh shit!”

“Oh yeah, we’re gonna do a bit of a lift,” Vanessa explains a little late, as the video has just shown Crystal swinging Vanessa up and holding one of her legs tight so she can kick her other leg in the air while upside down.

“Christ,” Brooke laughs. The music is still blaring from the speakers. They’re both silent as the lyrics ring out, but there’s a certain atmosphere in the air and it’s making Vanessa anticipate the moment they start dancing.

“I know you love it when you go down under, I’ll be moving for you like no other, so much body for your lips to discover…”

Vanessa sneaks a look in the studio mirrors at Brooke’s expression. She’s got an impassive facade as she watches but Vanessa can see the pink blush on her cheeks, her face betraying her. She bites her lip in a smile as she looks back down at her phone. Vanessa’s hooked her leg over Crystal’s thigh as Crystal dips her and brings her up, her hands supportive on her back and Vanessa’s hair skimming the floor. They spin each other round again and then Vanessa stops, her leg positioned out. Crystal is down on one knee, runs a hand up her leg from her calf to her thigh. Brooke is silent as she watches.

“Me an’ Crys got the giggles so many times doin’ this,” Vanessa attempts to lighten the mood. Brooke gives a small laugh.

“I bet,” she murmurs. There’s something in her tone that makes Vanessa squeeze her thighs together.

“Mmm, go back, go back…I think you missed a spot…”

The dance finishes with Vanessa on one knee and her hands on Crystal’s popped thigh. She puts her phone back into her gym bag and fixes Brooke with a smile that she makes deliberately cheerful and light. “So! Thoughts?”

Brooke blinks about six times in quick succession. She runs a hand through the ends of her ponytail and looks to the floor. “God, um. Yeah. It’s definitely, uh…God. I’m flustered!”

Vanessa’s heart feels like singing. Her plan’s working and they’ve not even started dancing yet. “Good, it’s meant to make you flustered when you watch it! As long as you don’t get flustered dancin’ it.”

“That’s um…that is just a song about oral sex, right?”

Vanessa lets out a hoot of a laugh. “Oh, baby, it gets way worse.”

“Worse! How can it get worse?” Brooke laughs. Vanessa decides to wind her up a bit, starts swinging her hips as she sings the second verse that the BBC has insisted they can’t air before 9pm.

“You wanna hit it, wanna hear me hit a high note, I let you rub it, touch it, lick up on this, I know-”

“Aah!” Brooke cries comedically, planting her hands over her ears. Vanessa giggles, decides to stop teasing her.

Well. They’re about to start the routine, so she supposes she’s just going to start teasing her in other ways.

“We don’t really have a story to tell this week. We’re gonna be the story,” Vanessa explains, and Brooke nods, taking a deep breath at the same time.

“Right. Let’s get started.”

So Vanessa starts teaching Brooke. And it’s more fun than she’d ever imagined. She peels her jumper off too early just so she can feel Brooke’s hands on her bare skin a little more than usual. When they practise the part where Brooke runs her hands up Vanessa’s thigh she almost goes into cardiac arrest at the thought of doing it in costume, where both of them are going to be in tiny dresses and bare legs. But just because there’s lots of fun, sexy moments doesn’t mean the dance isn’t tricky, and a lot of their first rehearsal is spent getting the arm movements right.

“I think it’s going okay,” Brooke comments during their first break, after taking a long drink from her water bottle. “There’s this one bit though I think I need help with.”

“Okay, shoot,” Vanessa shrugs. Suddenly, she swears she can see a little glint in Brooke’s eye as she starts talking again.

“Uhh, the bit where you like…grind against me. What am I doing there again?”

Vanessa pauses for a moment before she speaks. She swears Brooke’s playing a game, but she doesn’t mind playing along. She shows her what she’s meant to be doing, says the counts at the same time. Brooke nods like she understands. “Let’s see you do it first?”

Brooke does it perfectly. Then, she speaks again. “Can we just run that section a couple more times?”

Vanessa narrows her eyes and quirks her a smile. Brooke laughs. “What? What is it?”

Some things are better left unsaid, so Vanessa bites the smile away. “Nothin’, nothin’. Okay, we can run it a couple times.”

They run it again three times and Vanessa makes sure to whine incredibly slowly and deliberately against Brooke each time. She certainly doesn’t mind, and from the looks of it neither does Brooke. Brooke then asks if they can run the bit where they’re pressed up against each other again, because apparently she’s forgotten what to do with her hands. Vanessa realises that she’s being well and truly played at her own game, but if she gets to have Brooke’s hands all over her again she’s not going to mind. She stands in position with her arms looped over Brooke’s shoulders and around her neck, and Brooke’s hands are on her thighs. They’re so close together that it’s almost painful.

“Okay so on the counts, you’re going-” Vanessa takes Brooke’s hands in her own and moves them confidently where they’re meant to be going. She instantly notices the way Brooke’s eyes fly open ever so slightly. “- thighs, ass, waist, ribs, like one, two, three, four. But obviously it’s gonna be a lot more fluid than that.”

Brooke looks like a deer in the headlights, so Vanessa smiles as she follows it up with, “An’ remember eye contact. Don’t be afraid to look at me, baby, ‘cuz your hands are already all over me.”

Brooke gives a sort of choked laugh. Vanessa counts her in. “Five, six, seven, eight-”

As Vanessa sways her hips she feels Brooke’s hands glide up her body, and it’s almost entirely too much. Brooke’s obediently taken direction about eye contact and her gaze is dark as she looks into Vanessa’s eyes. When she stops, neither of them move. Vanessa’s still got her arms looped around Brooke’s neck, and her face is so close. Brooke’s got both her hands positioned on either side of Vanessa’s back and her palms are touching the bare strip of skin Vanessa’s got on show. The skin-on-skin contact is almost burning.

They’ve still not looked away from each other, and Vanessa sees Brooke’s bottom lip drop over a little bit. She wets her own, bites it. Vanessa can feel her eyes fluttering closed-

“Morning!” there’s a loud, cheerful voice, and Vanessa almost leaps out of Brooke’s hold as the door to their studio is almost booted off its hinges by the film crew. “Just here for the first day rehearsal shots!”

Right. Of course. Because they’re filming a TV show.

Vanessa greets the crew politely and then looks at Brooke. She’s rubbing the back of her neck and looking to the floor, and when she looks up at Vanessa they share a guilty smile. Vanessa punctuates it with a wink before clapping her hands together and striding over to the film crew and asking them what they need from them both.

Because Vanessa hadn’t imagined it- they’d shared a moment, and they definitely, 100% had been about to kiss before the fucking film crew had strode in. The thought buoys the rehearsal process for the rest of the week, and the atmosphere between them, whatever it is, doesn’t dissipate. It takes Vanessa until Tuesday afternoon to realise that the “it” is sexual tension. The lingering looks between them during breaks have turned longer, the dance seems to flow way easier. Brooke’s paying attention to detail and getting things right every time, and it’s fast becoming their best dance, but the lift is still a bit of an issue. Every time they attempt it Brooke freaks out, doesn’t follow through because she’s scared of dropping Vanessa. Vanessa doesn’t mind, she doesn’t care, but she just wishes Brooke would at least attempt it.

And then it gets to Wednesday, the 21st of October.

The earth has turned on its axis 365 times since the event, and Vanessa wishes she didn’t remember the whole thing as clear as day but it’s hard not to when it’s exactly a year to the day since it all happened. She tortures herself that morning before Brooke arrives, looks up the articles written by tabloid newspapers, looks at the photos again even though they still embarrass her. Akeria and Monique send her supportive texts and Vanessa is appreciative of them but they don’t help. She blocks it all out of her mind and when Brooke arrives Vanessa is positive that they’re going to tackle that lift today. Brooke knows there’s something up, Vanessa can tell, but she doesn’t let on. She pushes and pushes her, makes Brooke practise it more than she knows she should, but when she’s rehearsing and dancing she’s not thinking about what happened a year ago so they do it again, twice, three times. Vanessa knows that Brooke’s also fallen silent, isn’t enjoying the repetitiveness.

“One more time. You need to get me higher off the ground so I can extend my leg,” she tells her. Brooke simply nods once.

It’s Vanessa’s fault when it happens. She starts counting Brooke in when she’s not ready, so Brooke is fumbling to support her and get her arm locked in place at her knee, but she doesn’t manage in time. She drops her, Vanessa’s head hits the floor, and Brooke recoils in shock.

“Fuck,” they both say at the same time, but for two very different reasons. Brooke then follows it up with two more while Vanessa rubs the back of her head. She didn’t fall that far but she did land on her head, so she can’t be too careful.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Brooke panics. Vanessa feels guilty, waves her away.

“No, I’m sorry. It was my fault, I was pushin’ you too hard.”

Brooke kneels down beside her, helps her up with gentle hands and strong arms. She puts one hand to her cheek and another to the back of her head, feeling for a lump. “Fuck, Vanessa…”

“Brooke, please, it’s not your fault. I’m sorry, you weren’t ready,” Vanessa sighs. She can feel a lump starting to form at the back of her throat. Why the hell is she so upset?

“I’m going to get you an ice pack. Stay there,” Brooke babbles, dashing out of the room. Vanessa’s head is sore but her heart is warmed by Brooke’s caring nature. She sits up. She’s not dizzy or sick which is a good sign but she shuffles over to lean against the mirror, puts her head in her hands and exhales in a bid to calm herself down. Brooke returns quickly carrying a bag of frozen chips wrapped in a blue paper towel. Vanessa can’t help but laugh.

“Jesus Christ, I know the NHS is underfunded these days, but is this what it’s come to?” she quips. Brooke smiles at her, glad to have got a laugh.

“It’s all the canteen had. Here, put it on the sore bit,” she says soothingly, sitting down close beside her and positioning the bag of chips against her skull. Vanessa thanks her, leans back against the mirrors and sighs. She can feel Brooke’s eyes on her.

“Anything you want to talk about?” she asks her quietly. When Vanessa turns to meet Brooke’s gaze she snaps her eyes away and down to her lap. She finds it endearing. Brooke’s voice is hesitant as she continues. “You don’t seem your happy self today.”

Her words are heartwarming, and God knows she needs them. She supposes it wouldn’t do any harm to talk everything through with someone other than a therapist, Akeria or Monique.

“Uh, today’s a year since…everything happened last year. With, y’know. Kameron. And her dance partner,” Vanessa explains. Brooke screws her face up, winces.

“I’m sorry.”

Vanessa snorts a sardonic laugh. “You don’t need to be sorry, you didn’t fuckin’…do anything.”

Brooke sighs beside her. Vanessa knows that Brooke knows what happened. She will have seen the photographs the paps took of the pair of them in the street, pressed up against each other in a drunk kiss. She’ll have seen the papers with said photos splashed on the front cover. She’ll have seen the interview with the two of them where they both grovelled and sent their futile apologies to the viewers. For a moment, Vanessa is embarrassed. She voices this to Brooke.

“What do you have to be embarrassed about?” Brooke frowns at her. Vanessa shrugs helplessly.

“Just…I don’t know. I know you know what happened, everyone knows what happened. That’s the worst bit. That was the worst part about the whole thing. Everyone’s fuckin’…pity.”

Brooke cocks her head, thinks. “Yeah, but what would you rather have? Pity or the whole nation wanting your head on a stick?”

Vanessa laughs a little more genuinely this time. She sighs. “I know Kam didn’t do it to hurt me. These situations…I mean, fuckin’ look at our dance. You get close with people…I get that. Just…”

“She didn’t trip and fall on his mouth, Vanessa,” Brooke says sharply. Vanessa narrows her eyes at her, and Brooke shrinks back a little. “Sorry. That was out of turn. Just…in public too. Paps fucking everywhere. It wasn’t even like it was the one kiss and then she pushed him away, it was-”

“Yeah, I know what it was, thanks, Brooke,” Vanessa snaps at her. She instantly regrets it. “I’m sorry. That’s not fair of me to take my problems out on you.”

Brooke smiles sadly at her, reaches a hand out to lace in hers. Vanessa accepts gladly. Brooke mumbles as she speaks again. “I remember feeling so sorry for you at that time. Even though I didn’t know you then. To be cheated on is bad enough, but in the public eye like that…and with her partner too. I’m sorry it happened.”

“I feel more sorry for her,” Vanessa shrugs. “I mean she left the show…we tried to make it work but it just wasn’t there any more…and there’s no damage to his fuckin’ career. Because…of course there ain’t. You know apparently his new standup tour is actually about the whole damn fiasco?”

“Fuck, I hate men so much,” Brooke sighs. Her gaze turns steely again. “But you don’t have to feel sorry for Kameron, V. She still kissed him when she was with you and working with you on the show. That’s bad. That’s low.”

“It was so shit. She came home and she told me the next morning. I can still remember the whole conversation…” Vanessa says, her voice quiet. It’s not a lie. The memory sometimes jumps out and scares her just before she goes to sleep. The hurt, the betrayal. Trust cracking and breaking, a foot on a thin sheet of ice.

She feels Brooke tug gently on her hand, a soft c’mere with it. Vanessa doesn’t resist and before she knows it she’s discarded the bag of frozen chips and Brooke’s holding her against her chest, the pair of them curled up on the floor. She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t hurt. Brooke is holding her, and it feels correct. She feels safe and protected, like her feelings will never be hurt again (she knows this isn’t true, but she goes with the feeling like a leaf floating on water).

“Just for the record, and I know you’ve probably heard this about a thousand times over the course of the last year,” Brooke mutters against her hair. “You deserve way more than that. I can’t imagine anyone being lucky enough to have you and then idiotic enough to cheat on you.”

Brooke’s right- Vanessa has heard it all before, but it means something different coming from Brooke. She feels her heart speed up as Brooke continues. “I would never do that to you.”

Vanessa feels as if her heart is a grenade and the pin’s just been pulled out. She must have stiffened in Brooke’s arms, because Brooke tenses up and relaxes her hug. “I mean, to anyone. I would never.”

Vanessa doesn’t follow it up because she can tell Brooke’s backtracking, but it’s already out- she would never do that to Vanessa, Brooke’s promising her her trust and they’re not even…anything at all. She doesn’t know why she finds that so comforting. Maybe because there’s an unspoken element of yet to it all.

“How’s the head?” Brooke asks swiftly. Vanessa cracks a smile, gives Brooke a wink.

“Ain’t had any complaints.”

Brooke grins back at her, softly pulls her up from their position on the floor. “Let’s try that lift again, then.”

They try it again. Then again, and again, until Brooke finally nails it and Vanessa can get her leg extended the whole way. The speedbump they hit in the rehearsal process has been steamrollered, and the rest of the days pass easily.

Until it gets to Saturday, the rehearsal before the performance later that evening, and Vanessa can’t really remember how she arrived at rehearsals or what they were doing before now- it’s odd. For some reason they’re also dressed in full costume even though they’re just rehearsing at their usual studios.

There must be a reason for it.

Vanessa can’t really concentrate though, as she and Brooke are rehearsing that part of the dance again, the one where Brooke’s got her hands all over her and their faces are close together and Brooke’s eye contact is dark and sultry. Brooke’s hands are on her thighs and Vanessa bucks her hips a little, all part of the dance, but then suddenly out of nowhere Brooke’s pulling her close and their lips meet, she’s kissing her and it’s deep and urgent and Vanessa’s moaning a little against her mouth and fuck, this feels so right. She pushes a hand into Brooke’s hair- it’s loose and down her back. She wonders why it’s like that in rehearsal (Brooke always wears it in a ponytail) but there must be a reason for it. Brooke’s hands are on her waist now, and Vanessa is suddenly acutely aware of the fact that her legs are still spread and Brooke’s are straight in between them. Brooke’s lips drop down to her neck.

“Fuck, wanted this since I met you,” she whispers against her skin, and Vanessa lets out a whine.

“Touch me.”

Brooke’s hands slide back down to her thighs, lips back against Vanessa’s as she keeps one hand steady against her leg and brings the other up to rub against the silk of her underwear, and fuck, it already feels so good and Brooke’s barely even touched her at all.

“Fuck, so good…”

“I bet you taste fucking amazing,” Brooke murmurs against her lips, and Vanessa lets out a gasp, brings her hand round to tug at Brooke’s ponytail-

Wait.

How come her hair’s in a ponytail?

But Vanessa doesn’t have time to question it because she can feel her orgasm building quickly with every little movement of Brooke’s fingers and she can hear herself telling her, and she squeezes her eyes shut as she starts to throb and when she opens her eyes-

She’s in her room. In her bed. She’s just woken up from a sex dream about her dance partner.

And she just came from it.

Vanessa is disorientated, confused, and wet. She feels on her bedside table for her phone. It’s Saturday morning.

“What the fuck?” she questions out loud. Then she gives a tired giggle. She rubs her eyes, still a little sleepy, and then scrolls to Whatsapp. Akeria and Monique are going to die when she tells them.

V: guys i just woke up from a sex dream about her

V: like i literally just orgasmed myself awake

She locks her phone after she’s sent the messages, sighing and shaking her head. Fuck her fucking brain. Vanessa lies in bed and stretches a little, a few minutes ticking by. She’s surprised that the girls haven’t immediately pounced on the message. She knows they’ll be awake- after all, they’ve got rehearsals to go to as well. Frowning, she unlocks her phone again to see if the message has sent.

It has sent.

But not to the girls.

The realisation dawns slowly and ice cold over Vanessa as she realises that, in her half-asleep state, she’s not sent the revelation to her group chat with the girls. She’s sent it to Brooke Lynn.

She shoots up in bed, at once entirely wide awake with horror and adrenaline. She could always un-send the messages and she contemplates doing so, but the two blue ticks beside each one and the “Online” under Brooke’s name glare back at her mockingly. So Vanessa’s heart sinks and she swallows her pride with a crimson face, typing frantically before Brooke can get there first.

V: oh my god. Oh my fucking god. PLEASE ignore that it wasn’t meant for you

She’s already cringing so much she thinks she might die, but Brooke’s reply makes it worse.

B: Well good morning to you too x

Vanessa wonders what she could even type to get herself out of the situation. At least she’s still leaving a kiss at the end of her texts.

V: i’m cringing so much i’m SO sorry x

B: Who’s the lucky girl x

Christ it just gets worse. But then as Vanessa’s head clears a little, she wonders if this is Brooke’s way of flirting with her. She plays it safe, decides not to risk things especially since she’s already embarrassed herself and it’s only eight in the morning.

V: god can we please pretend this never happened x

B: Whoever she was she clearly did a good job x

Vanessa’s heart thuds and she can feel the heat building between her legs again. She throws caution to the wind and decides to fuck the element of risk as she types her next message.

V: Yeah she did x

B: She the same person you’ve got a crush on? x

Vanessa’s heart is beating much the same as if she’s drunk three red bulls back to back (she knows because she’s done this before during a particularly stressful pro rehearsal day). She thinks about admitting, her body ruling her head, because the thought of some early morning dirty texts followed by sex in Brooke’s dressing room is entirely too tempting right now, but ultimately her head decides to make a sensible decision because being woken up via literal orgasm is probably the best she’s going to get today.

V: Might be x

V: A lady never tells x

B: You’re no fun. See ya at dress run x

Vanessa locks her phone and hops out of bed to take a freezing cold shower that she hopes will eliminate every iota of sexual thought out of her brain.

It works, until she gets to costume that night and sees Brooke in her outfit and her jaw almost hits the floor. She’s in red, a short dress with a plunging neck which stops midway at her chest and is strung together with glittering silver thread. It’s tight with a little skirt that flares out, and Vanessa knows it’ll look good during the dance. It’s also backless, and the sight of Brooke in it makes Vanessa instantly reach for her water bottle.

“Shit,” she says, and Brooke turns around in surprise. She can’t find any more words. “You look insane.”

Brooke smiles bashfully, motions to the hanger. “Thanks, baby. Yours is the same, it’s just black.”

Vanessa is suddenly gripped by nerves. She wonders if she’ll even be able to do this dance at all. But then Brooke’s smile grows on her face and she bounces on the balls of her feet. “I’m really looking forward to tonight. I think we’re going to do great.”

And if Brooke is so confident, who is Vanessa to let her down?

They’re up last tonight, so they get to watch most of the dances from the Divinatorium. Monet and Monique do a showstopping Jive to Dance Apocalyptic and Vanessa thinks the applause they get might rip the roof off of the studios. Willam and Phi Phi Charleston to a version of Fancy, but she struggles manfully and her scores plummet again. Vanessa can tell she’s disappointed but she doesn’t miss the hug she gets from Courtney once it’s over. Maybe that makes up for it, Vanessa doesn’t know.

Shea and Peppermint Viennese Waltz to If I Ain’t Got You, and it’s lovely even if Peppermint does mess up the footwork a little. Akeria and Asia Quickstep to Yeah (it shouldn’t work but it does), and Jan and Jackie are also doing a Salsa to Wrapped Up. Their performance is more fun and flirty than fiery and hot, and it worries Vanessa a little that she’s perhaps taken things too far. They also complete a lift, Jackie hoisting Jan in the air and holding her there at the end of their dance and making it look easy. They score 30 altogether, the same as Vanessa and Brooke last week. Vanessa’s stomach churns.

Eventually their time rolls around, and they’re standing in the darkness watching Gigi and Crystal Waltz to a version of Perfect with no pronoun changes through gaps in the curtains. Vanessa can feel her pulse surging through her like the bassline of a dance track, her nerves only building with every passing moment. Brooke’s standing behind her to watch, and when she wraps her arms around her waist in a hug from behind it does absolutely nothing to calm her down. Brooke’s swaying softly as she watches Crystal and Gigi together, the two girls holding each other steadily and their gaze tender as they look at each other. The sight makes Vanessa’s heart melt. She lets herself be swayed in Brooke’s arms, and Brooke drops her head to rest in the crook of Vanessa’s neck, her lips moving against her skin as she softly sings along to the song.

“I have met an angel in person, and she looks perfect…”

Vanessa feels like telling Brooke everything. How much she likes her, how calming a presence she’s been in Vanessa’s life even though she’s only been in it for six weeks. How beautiful she thinks she is. But Gigi and Crystal’s dance comes to an end. They’re holding each other tightly on the dancefloor as the audience claps. Vanessa wonders if maybe Brooke’s holding her just as tight. She feels Brooke’s arms drop to her sides as she straightens up, takes her hand.

“Fuck. It’s us. You ready?” she whispers to her. Vanessa looks into her eyes. She doesn’t think she’s ever been more or perhaps less ready to dance with a gorgeous woman she’s partnered with and finds entirely too attractive, but she cracks a smile anyway.

“So ready. Let’s crush it.”

45 notes · View notes

less--beans · 4 years

Text

so i might need a little time before i heal

despite having writer’s block for literally the last 3 months, i’ve written like 3 watt fics in the past week. here’s one that i wrote tonight!

word count: 2039

summary: Cairo's headed back to school for the first time since the infamous second sleepover. Kate finds her in the bathroom crying.

Cairo lets out a deep breath. The school looms ahead of her, students milling around in front of it, laughing and talking with their friends.

She automatically looks for the cheer team, knowing that Riley prefers them to hang out before school, no matter how quiet and awkward it is. She sees a flash of red hair and starts to head for it-

No.

She stops, remembering. She won’t see Riley smiling, beckoning her over. She won’t sit on the stairs with her, watching the team sit awkwardly around and listening to her best friend talk. She won’t see Chess laugh at some dumb sarcastic comment Kate muttered under her breath. She won’t see Farrah try to sneak a swig of something from a flask, hiding from Annleigh’s disapproving glare. She’ll never see any of that again, because Chess and Farrah are dead. And Riley is in prison for their murder.

Cairo falters, not knowing where to go, when her name is called. She looks over, surprised, and it turns out to be Reese who is now calling her over. She hesitantly walks in the direction, silently sending up a thanks to whoever is listening that it’s on the opposite side of campus than their normal spot. As she gets closer she realizes the rest of the team is there too, sprawled out on a staircase. It seems as if they decided to keep hanging out in the morning, even in their captain’s- former captain’s absence.

“Good morning Cairo! Come sit with us,” Reese says with a smile. Cairo decides to try to ignore the obvious pity and hesitance in the expression and just comply. She sits on the bottom of the steps and figures she’s not going to even try and pay attention to whatever the girl is going on about. Instead, she surveys the remaining members of the team.

Kate sits at the top of the stairs alone. She doesn’t seem to be listening either, staring off across campus with an empty expression. There is an obvious gap between her and the rest of the team, as if someone were sitting there, a painful reminder of a time when someone did. Annleigh is a sharp contrast, paying too much attention. She is grinning widely, though it seems to be physically hurting her, and she’s nodding as Reese speaks. Mattie seems scared, and Cairo wonders if she feels worse for the girl they wrongfully imprisoned or the girls who lost people to whom they rightfully imprisoned. Someone drops something metal across the campus, and Mattie flinches, drawing into herself with a haunted expression on her face. Eva looks unsure of what to do, standing awkwardly. She’d never gotten to know the team before the drama of that night. Cairo almost smiles. What a wonderful first impression they’d made.

The bell rings, loud and jarring, and Cairo startles. She hasn’t even noticed the time passing, too busy trying to adjust to the changes. She gets up and walks away without a second glance, not bothering to try and make conversation with any of the other girls as they all headed to class. There was only one person she wanted to talk to, and she’d never be able to again.

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

The bell signals the end of class, and Cairo drags herself to her feet. The two classes she’d had so far seemed to go by in a blur, but they also seemed to last forever. The colors and noises ran together, and for most of the classes she’d been left staring at the empty desk beside her.

She makes it to her locker, trying her best not to look at the pictures she’d had hanging up in it. She is just starting to think that maybe she’ll get through the day intact when she overhears a conversation from across the hall.

“Can you believe that we had our very own Death Of A Cheerleader right here in this town?” Cairo stiffens. She can’t believe her luck. Of all the things for the girls to be gossiping about, it has to be this?

“I just wonder what caused that girl to snap. I mean, everyone knew that team was the worst, but murder?” Riley’s comment about being “the worst team ever” plays through Cairo’s mind, and she thinks she’s going to throw up.

“She killed only the drunk and the junkie though. Oh, and that cute boy- I wonder what she was thinking,” one girl comments thoughtfully. The other girl laughs scornfully.

“She wasn’t. She’s, like, insane. Didn’t you hear? She had a whole breakdown-” and that’s all Cairo can stand before she’s pushing through the crowd towards the bathroom.

She manages to make it to a stall before she throws up. It’s the little things, she thinks cynically, slumping to the floor and leaning against the wall. She realizes she’s crying with some surprise as the tears roll off her face. She wonders for a second if the splotches the tears are leaving on her jeans match the splotches the blood would’ve made and has to stop as she feels bile rising in her throat again.

The door opens and for a second the loudness of the hallway is all she can hear before the door swings back shut and the silence returns. The girl who entered shuffles on her feet awkwardly and Cairo waits for her to go into a stall so she can leave without having to interact. Instead, the girl speaks.

“Cairo?” With a jolt of surprise, Cairo recognizes the voice as Kate’s. Despite Cairo’s lack of response, she continues hesitantly anyway. “Cairo, I know you’re in here.”

Cairo briefly considers pretending she’s not there before realizing she’s visible from underneath the stall. She sniffs, wipes her face, and stands up, unlocking the door.

Kate takes one look at her and makes a move as if to hug her, but clearly thinks better of it. “The bathroom isn’t really a good place to sit. Germs on the floor.”

Cairo looks at her. “Yeah, I guess.”

“So let’s go outside.” Cairo thinks she must have lost her mind.

“We have class,” she points out. “We can’t skip.”

“Sure we can,” Kate says, shrugging. “Come on, follow me.” Well, why not, she figures.

Cairo doesn’t really remember how they got outside. The bell must have rung, because the halls are empty, but she can’t recall hearing it. All she knows is that Kate dragged her through the building and now they’re sitting in a hidden spot in the courtyard, a place known among the students as a good place to skip class, seeing as none of the teachers know of its existence. Surprisingly, there are no other people in sight.

“Why are we out here?” Cairo says, breaking the silence.

Kate sighs, still not looking at her. “Like I said, the bathroom is dirty. Not a great place to sit. No one will bother us here either.”

“Yeah, but why do you care?” It isn’t a secret that Kate and Cairo have never really liked each other. Riley used to complain after practices that half Cairo’s attention was always on the other girl, not on the routines. Something about the other girl just rubbed her the wrong way, though.

Kate finally faced her. “Because I wasn’t going to leave you sobbing your eyes out on a dirty bathroom floor.”

Cairo scowls, opens her mouth to say something about the fact that she was not sobbing her eyes out, and closes it as she realizes that she kind of was. Kate raises an eyebrow at her, and her scowl deepens. “I would’ve left you.”

“I know,” Kate says simply. “And I almost left you. But… I know what it’s like to lose your best friend. And it sucks. It really, really sucks. And sometimes you end up crying in a bathroom stall. And the one person who would’ve noticed you were gone and come to find you and comfort you is the one you’re missing most of all. So I wasn’t going to leave you there alone, not when she already did.”

Cairo’s crying again. She hates crying, especially in front of Kate of all people, but she can’t help it. “You’re not supposed to be this nice.” Kate looks confused again, and she opens her mouth to say something, but Cairo cuts her off. “You’re supposed to hate me. You do hate me. And we’ve hated each other for years. I bullied you for no reason, I mocked you when Chess… when Chess died, and here you are, comforting me. And over Riley! She killed Chess! My best friend killed your best friend, and you’re comforting me for missing her.”

She finally looks at Kate, ready for Kate to realize she’s right and yell at her before leaving, but instead Kate’s crying. “Yeah, your best friend sucks,” she admits, and Cairo lets out a surprised little choked half-laugh, and then they’re both crying harder and somehow laughing through it. Once she’s calmed down, Kate continues, “Just because we don’t often get along doesn’t mean that I’m just going to leave you crying in the bathroom alone. And I don’t think you would’ve left me either, not when it actually comes down to it. And,” she turns to Cairo, her eyes fierce and watery, “you can’t blame yourself for what Riley did. That’s not anywhere near your fault. No one could’ve seen it coming, not even you.”

“Thanks,” Cairo says, her voice coming out as a whisper. Kate offers her a gentle smile before facing forward again. They sit quietly for a while. It feels… surprisingly nice. Cairo hadn’t realized how much she needed to vent, and now that she has, it feels like a little bit of the weight she’s been carrying has been lifted. She’s not sure how much she believes Kate, but just hearing what the other girl had said has helped her come a little closer to accepting it.

“The bell’s going to ring soon,” Kate said after some time. “We should head back in a few minutes.” Cairo nods.

“How’s Annleigh holding up?” Cairo asks, thinking of the other girl who’d lost people that night.

“She’s- well, she’s not fine. But she’s getting there. We Skype pretty often, usually in the middle of the night, and we talk about them. Do you want to join the calls?” Kate offers.

Cairo shakes her head. “No. No, I’m alright. But…” she hesitates. At Kate’s encouraging nod, she continues, “Can we do this again sometimes? It helped to talk.”

“Yeah, we can. Just let me know when, alright?” Kate passed her phone over. “Put your number in and just shoot me a text.”

“I already have your number, remember? Team captain and all that,” Cairo reminds her, handing the phone back.

“Oh yeah! You’re the new team captain. I’d forgotten about that. How are you holding up with it?” Kate asks.

“I’m worried about it. I’m not really a people person, that was always her job. I don’t think I’ll be anywhere near as good,” Cairo admits. It’s funny, she thinks. Before today she never would’ve told Kate of all people this. But there’s something about crying your eyes out with a person over your dead or imprisoned best friends that really lets you open up easily.

“Hey, the bar’s pretty low on this one. Just don’t murder and you’ll already be doing better than she ever was,” Kate points out with a wry smile on her face.

Cairo chuckles a bit and looks down. “Yeah, I guess.”

“You’ll do fine. Trust me.” Before Cairo has a chance to dispute this, Kate is checking her watch and standing up. “The bell is about to ring. Come on, let’s head in.”

Cairo takes the hand offered to her and stands up as well. “Thanks again for this.”

Kate smiles at her. “Much better than a dirty bathroom stall, isn’t it?”

Cairo laughs and smiles back. “Very much so, yes.”

The bell rings, and the halls fill with students as they sneak back in. Cairo waves to Kate and heads to her next class. The seat next to her doesn’t feel quite so empty, and she thinks that maybe, just maybe, she’ll be alright.

#we are the tigers #watt #kate dalton #cairo watt #healing #comfort #grief

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rhaenyratargeryn · 4 years

Text

31 Days of Wayhaven

Prompt: Day 5, Moon Pairing: Adam du Mortain x f!detective Summary: Unit Bravo and the detective visit the local Halloween bonfire and things (oh god im gonna say it) HEAT UP between the detective and the commanding agent. Come and get ya pining juice. Notes: The idea is that Adam and the detective are KINDA in a relationship by now. They have definitely kissed and then promptly never discussed it. So yeah. By Adam’s standards they are practically engaged. Ao3 link

Meadow Outside Wayhaven, October 31. Halloween Night.

Even from their place atop the far hill overlooking the meadow, the light from the roaring bonfire was visible, casting an orange glow across the dark field, only stopping where the milk-light of the moon blended it out from pastel to pale silver.

The moon was full this year and would be all the way unto November 1st. The veil between the worlds was already thin around this season, for reasons the Agency had yet to divine, and the presence of the moon served to even further part the rifts.

It was as much a holiday for the humans of Wayhaven as it was for the inhumans. A time where they could more readily slip their glamor and live openly… though as Adam painted it, few took such a risk. Unit Bravo was on patrol, even tonight of all nights, but it was a half-hearted one as even Adam had come to sit as near to her as he would allow.

Farah was down among the people, mingling with a growing entourage of admirers as she asked endless questions on their costumes and their customs— playing the “small town southern girl from the States” card enough to let any questions they might have slide. Nate was doing the lord's work, taking it upon himself to mingle with the Mayor alongside Rebecca, a task the detective was happy to relent.

Morgan… the detective couldn’t quite recall when she last saw Morgan, but most likely the solitude was doing the agent good as she kept up checking the perimeter away from the strong smell of burning wood and the chatter of people.

The detective shifted, fishing a rock out from beneath the soft flannel blanket she had spread out on the side of the small hill and chucking it away. When she resettled, she gingerly shifted closer to Adam, feeling more keenly the warmth coming from him when she did so.

“Are you cold?” Adam’s voice nearly startled a jump from her, his green eyes turned with concern to her, “You should have brought a thicker jacket.”

To be honest, she wasn’t that cold, not really.

“Yeah, kinda a weird balance between freezing and roasting out here.”

She hoped it was enough of a white lie that he wouldn’t sense the change in her pulse or her breathing. Could he even do that? God, she hoped he couldn’t do that.

Adam was silent for a moment, his attention going straight ahead again towards the flames. The tension in his body was hard to ignore and the reason for it obvious when the detective felt his arm brush slowly at her lower back. He kept his grip loose, but it was unmistakably there as Adam settled his arm around her waist.

He seemed at a loss for what to do with his hand, so kept it balled into a slight fist and pressed at her side.

“Is… that better?”

No. Because now she was absolutely, most definitely combusting.

“Yes.”

Adam seemed satisfied because he did not press the subject further. In fact, he was doing his best to not appear to notice her at all, despite the fact she was fairly certain she was all he could notice by the way he was still holding unto so much tension in his shoulders. He seemed determined now to do his best not to move.

She noted to her annoyance, she had frozen up too. They were never going to get anywhere if every time they so much as touched they transformed into statues. The detective remembered at the carnival how she had leaned over and rested her head on Adam’s shoulder… how he had not drawn away and if anything he had softened beneath the touch.

Maybe that would happen now? Or maybe it would send him scrambling away from her. There was only one way to find out and so, as tentatively as he had reached out around her, the detective slid herself flush against his side and let her head gently fall back against his shoulder.

It took everything in her to get her heart to quiet and her muscles to uncoil, taking in a deep breath and releasing it in a sigh… a very contented sigh at that. She had no idea where it had come from beneath the layers of anxiety and longing that often twisted in her when Adam was around. But then again, nothing terrible had happened, neither of them turned into monsters or burst into flames… Adam was holding her and the world, miraculously, was not ending.

Neither of them spoke. She felt Adam’s touch become more confident, the pressure firmer as his fingers uncoiled themselves from a fist and spread out on her hip.

The detective wasn’t sure what possessed her to place her hand on top of his, a perfect smaller mirror, curling her fingers between his own. Just enough to guide them.

And Adam was letting her.

The drag of his palm over the denim left a trail of heat that she could feel down to her skin. His hand a warm solid weight that now so easily came to rest on the side of her thigh.

She heard him swallow, the sound catching her gaze as she turned slightly to see if she could make out his expression.

Warmth erupted from the top of her spine down to her core when she saw Adam was not looking away, he wasn’t even looking at her really, but at his hand on her. Icy green eyes were dazed, dream-like and far away. She felt his fingers flex, just barely kneading the softness of her thigh before he drew it back up and stroked down the length again in one slow, languid motion.

The detective’s hand was still on top of his, but she was doing nothing to guide him now.

Adam had moved his palm closer to her inner thigh, his thumb stretching out to rub a small circle at the furthest most point he could reach. There was absolutely no reason for her mouth to go dry and for her to feel the sharpest most delicious ache deep within her center. Just this tiny brush of contact, so far away and yet so close to where she really wanted him, needed him, was enough to make her breath catch in her throat and heat bloom on her cheeks.

“Woods are clear.”

Morgan’s voice sent a different kind of fire through the detective as she jolted nearly upright. Adam, to his credit, had let his arm go immediately lax, leaning back on his palms and all traces of the previous contact smoothly removed.

The detective noted, as he spoke, that her back still touched along his arm. He had moved, yes, but he was still touching her. A part of her demanded she read nothing into it and yet another, louder part of her demanded just the opposite.

“Good,” Adam said with a nod,, “It seems to be setting out to be a quiet night. If you’d like to join the others, I can see no reason why you should not.”

Adam’s voice was curt, but it was nothing Morgan would find offensive. He had not turned to look at the other agent yet, so the detective risked a glance over his shoulder at Morgan now.

The positively shit eating grin the dark haired woman was wearing was enough to make the detectives own expression sour. She mouthed a silent but good natured fuck off Morgan’s way, which only made her grin wider as she pressed a cigarette to her lips and chuckled darkly.

“I think I’ll do that.” Morgan answered, to her or Adam, the detective couldn’t say.

And with that Morgan swaggered off down to the bonfire, accosted immediately by Farrah and her gaggle of admirers…. though judging by the way Morgan seemed to be sauntering closer to one such woman, that was probably part of her new evening plans.

Adam did not put his arm around her again, the detective doing her best to repress a pout. They sat in silence once more, but the detective noticed that the tension did not return, and, after a few lengths of a heartbeat… his arm slowly, but purposefully wrapped around her again.

“Tell me if you get too warm. I will move over.” He mumbled, trying and failing at playing off a disinterested and business like manner to his actions.

The detective couldn’t find it in herself to find fault with that, she was too busy getting comfortable once more, laying her head on his shoulder and smiling to herself as she did so.

“I’m freezing. Positively Arctic. Will be all night most likely.” She said, voice a perfect picture of bliss.

Adam’s own smile was faint.

“But do let me know if your arm falls asleep.” She added quickly.

“Would you even move if I did?”

“No, but I promise to feel really bad about it.”

“Considerate of you.” Adam chuckled, but did not protest her declaration. His warmth, the smell of his cologne, woods and spice and the smoke and heat from the bonfire beneath it all did as much to soothe her as it did to set her nerves aflame themselves. One day she promised to herself and to him, in the dark under the Samhain moon, she would feel those hands on her thighs again.

#adam du mortain x detective #adam du mortain x fdetective #adam du mortain #twc fanfic #the wayhaven chronicles #twc adam du mortain #also features a brief cameo of Farrah Nate and Morgan #but only Morgan speaks #31daysofwayhaven #twc

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i-want-anne-hathaway · 4 years

Text

WATT as Things I’ve Said pt. 3

I’m doing this again because it’s fun.

———

Annleigh: How did you manage to set crab dip on the fire. All you had to do was put it in the microwave

Farrah: I didn’t set the crab dip on fire...

Annleigh:

Farrah: I set the cup the crab dip was in on fire

———

Farrah: I just found out that the cup I’ve been drinking my smoothies in is actually a candle holder and now I’m just confused.

———

Kate: Why are you on the floor laughing

Chess: I had a mental breakdown and now I’m laughing at how pitiful I am

Kate, flopping on the floor next to her: Can I join you?

———

Farrah, in the middle of flying: Oh look, a yellow plane

Riley: Pay attention or you’re going to fall

Farrah: *falls* I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU LET ME FALL AND NOBODY WARNED ME

Riley: Wha- I WARNED YOU!

———

Farrah: Oh, she’s so fancy. She’s the highest ranked flyer in the state, oh get fucked. I’m a flyer too, she’s not special

Kate: Yeah, get fucked. Wait- THAT’S MY HIGHEST RANKED FLYER IN THE STATE!

———

Cairo, trying to get over Riley: I need to find like, a big flaw or something to help me move on

Kate: Ooh, here’s one. SHE KILLED PEOPLE!

———

Kate: Open the door please

Eva: Open the- please tell me you’re not outside my house right now

Kate: I have a policy against lying

———

Reese: If you were to die, what would you want your cause of death to be?

Farrah: The whooping cough

Annleigh: Why?! Why not something noble and heroic?

Farrah: Because I think it’d just be the funniest tombstone ever

———

Annleigh: Do you ever feel weird being the only virgins on the team?

Mattie: We chase our grades instead of getting AIDS

The rest of the team: *dying of laughter in the background*

———

Kate, texting: The whole team is food

Kate: *good

Cairo: The whole team is just a fucking meal

Kate: Stop!

Cairo: A whole ass snack

Kate: THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT!

———

Riley: I literally told you not to date him. I told you he was trash and did you listen? No

Cairo: That’s what I’m here for. Asking for advice and doing the opposite

———

Reese after almost hydroplaning on the road: Oh my god, are you okay?

Mattie: That was so... COOL!!

———

Eva: I like Kate, and I’m like 97.8% sure she’s a lesbian

Cairo: Only 97.8? She’s literally writing you a Valentines Day card with Girl in Red lyrics

Eva: But what if she’s doing it to be friendly

Cairo: Lesbians, I swear

———

Cairo: Y’all must be gay because straights know how to sit, well, straight

Reese: You might wanna check your legs, Cairo

Cairo, sitting on top of her tucked leg: Shit

#we are the tigers #watt #thats my queue #this is probably my favorite of the three ive done #i scrolled through so many messages for this #i want to do the one where my oven caught on fire #but i feel like if i do that #i have to put the video with it and i cant find the video #some of these werent texts #which made them so hard to think of #i was really tapping into my inner Farrah ya know

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gaycrouton · 5 years

Note

I love your writing! Any chance will do more of Mulder sex therapist?

HELL YEAH MY DUDE!! I’ve been saving this ask for so long, but here we go!! I will update this story every time there is a new season of Sex Education. So lets all hope I have a chance to write more! As always, thank you to @admiralty-xfd for the beta!

Here’s the link to chapter one

For the first time in seven years, Dana Scully had no idea where her vibrator was. The pink, compact friend that had been tucked in an easy-to-reach location at all times, all over the U.S, was missing.

And she didn’t care.

She was certain her little buddy had gotten lost sometime during her initial ‘therapy session’ with Mulder two weeks ago, but she didn’t have the slightest urge to find it. Mulder offered to look for it, but she told him it didn’t matter anymore.

“I hope you don’t think you need to stop masturbating on my account,” he’d reassured. “In fact I encourage it.”

But it wasn’t that. She’d spent years coming with that toy. Scully remembered vividly all the fantasies she’d enacted using it, pretending it was Mulder’s hand touching her, nuzzling into the pillows around her as if the firmness against her back or underneath her pelvis was actually Mulder’s body, desperate to push into her own. She still loved her vibrator, but she had years of human-induced orgasms to catch up on.

She had an inkling Mulder felt the same because she’d never come so much in her entire life as she did with him. His fingers, his palms, his mouth, his cock, even that one time with his knee. She was surprised she could even walk right anymore. She’d never had a lover so in-tune with her body, so responsive to her needs; you’d think they were his own.

Scully just wished he’d let her reciprocate in kind.

Mulder was satisfied, of that she had no doubt. She’d never seen him as happy or carefree as he was nowadays. But for every instance of him going above and beyond to pleasure her, she was met with a ‘that’s okay’ or ‘wait, I want to try something with you’. Sometimes he’d relent if she told him how much she wanted to focus on him for a moment, but she could see behind his haze of pleasure that he was focusing on whether or not she was comfortable and when he’d be able to return to lavishing her. Her body appreciated it, but there was so much she wanted to do to him. So much he deserved to have done to him.

She didn’t understand why he was so reluctant to just enjoy himself without worrying about her. Well, it was kind of in character for Mulder. Maybe she was reading it wrong, but that’s how it felt. Did he think she was going to leave him? Or that this was conditional based on their first time having revolved around her issues? It made her uncomfortable to think that he was worried she’d up and leave if he wasn’t doing enough.

Maybe it was his hyperfixation. She’d seen it in play many times, and it usually held this much intensity. Was her pleasure his newest fascination? Probably. Maybe he was just always like this with other lovers. But why?

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asked from the opposite side of the couch, pulling her out of her mental contemplations.

Lately they were usually at one of their apartments or the other. They were a bit like teenagers when it came to their excitement at their newfound intimacy. Sneaking around, stealing kisses, part of her wanted to roll her eyes at the juvenility of it all, but she was enjoying it far too much.

One of her favorite recent developments was the game they’d play. Pretending all day like they weren’t going to go home together until one of them caved and asked. Asking was a role usually taken on by Mulder, as he found a lot of enjoyment in finding new ways to ask her. Asking her to come over through a crossword puzzle he’d made was a little silly, but it was cute nonetheless.

Tonight they were at his place, and she’d spent the whole time mentally formulating a way to bring up the question of ‘why won’t you accept my love as easily as you give me yours?’ She didn’t want to scare him; Mulder had the tendency to be as unnecessarily self-deprecating as possible and she didn’t want to give him any reason to go down that rabbit hole.

She turned to him, the Shiner bottle in her hands clammy with neglect. “I was just thinking of our first time,” she replied.

A familiar thousand-watt smile beamed at her as he waggled his eyebrows. “Oh?” he prompted.

“Mhm,” she nodded, slipping a leg underneath herself as she turned to face him on the couch. “I still can’t believe I didn’t know you were an underground sex therapist for so many years,” she mused.

“I’m a man of many secrets,” he joked.

“You tell me everything,” she retorted.

He nodded in agreement. “That’s true. In my defense, you accidentally found one of Frohike’s porn tapes in the office in your third month of working with me. I didn’t want you to think I was a total pervert.”

She rolled her eyes goodnaturedly and teased, “Does Frohike know he has a stash of sex tapes and nudie mags in your office and your home?”

He gasped lightly in mock-offense and replied, “Scully, you snooped?”

“Looking for towels in your hallway closet was not snooping. It was an awful hiding place, Mulder.”

“That’s fair,” he conceded with a smile. “Does it bother you?”

“No, me being mad at your tapes would be-” she started.

“No. I mean, that I didn’t tell you,” he interrupted.

She shook her head immediately. “Not at all. I just think it’s interesting. I’d never talked that candidly about my sexual history as I had then,” she answered.

He smiled, inevitably remembering all of the embarrassing things she’d confessed. “Did you find it helpful at all?” he asked, grabbing the remote and turning the TV down a bit so there could be more focus on the conversation.

“What do you think?” she laughed, looking at him playfully. He smiled back at her bashfully, and she made her move. “Have you ever done it?”

“Done what?” he asked, unsure of her meaning.

“You were the sex therapist, but have you ever talked as openly about yourself as your ‘patients’ have?” she clarified.

He looked down at his pants shyly and she knew her answer before he even spoke. “Uh, not really. I never really had anything substantial to say,” he shrugged.

“I doubt that, Mulder,” she chastised. He shrugged again as if to dismiss the topic, but she wasn’t done. “I want to hear your answers.”

“To what questions?” he prompted.

“Well, like the ones you asked me,” she answered.

“But, Scully,” he started lowly, leaning into her as if confessing something. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m very sexually happy as of late. I don’t need therapy.”

She grinned at his words, but pressed again. “But I want to know more about that aspect of yourself, Mulder. You got to hear about me defiling my childhood teddy bear for the sake of getting off. It’s only fair,” she replied.

He nodded thoughtfully at that and leaned back comfortably against the couch cushion. “So you want to be the doctor today, Dr. Scully?” he asked with a playfully sensual emphasis on her title.

“I do,” she nodded, excited he was taking her up on this.

“So, what would you like to know?” he prompted, turning to face her.

She thought for a moment, trying to think of the phrasing of the first question he’d asked her when the situation was reversed. “Describe your first orgasm, in as much detail as you can.”

“It was similar to yours, actually,” he began. “A sensation I didn’t understand, but was curious about. As I’m sure you know, Doctor Scully, when I was really young I had some dry orgasms because my body wasn’t mature enough. It was never really ‘masturbation’ though. It was just me rubbing myself all around my bed until I shivered.”

“Shivered?” she chuckled.

He laughed with her and nodded his head. “Yeah, I had no idea. Then a few years later I decided to try and jack off. I knew the basic concept, but I’d never executed it myself.”

“What did you masturbate to?” she asked. “I’m presuming you didn’t have your tapes back then?”

“Don’t laugh,” he warned.

“No promises.”

“Mrs. Brady,” he admitted sheepishly.

Her mouth dropped open in amused shock, bust she kept in the laugh that threatened to escape. “Really? I took you as more of a Farrah Fawcett red swimsuit poster type of guy.”

“Well, that was definitely a heavy feature of my masturbation sessions in my later years, but my first love was Mrs. Brady,” he laughed.

“Was it the Hawaii episode?” she asked.

“It was that episode where the kids tried to scare Alice after having a battle between themselves, but the subplot was Mrs. Brady making a bust of Mr. Brady’s head out of clay to submit for an art competition,” he explained.

“I didn’t know you were such a fan of the arts,” she deadpanned.

“Ha. Ha. I don’t know what it was. Hell, she was in a green smock for most of the episode, but there was something so loving about her. One minute I was watching it, the next my extremely attractive 70s neon short-shorts were tented up to my belly button,” he shrugged.

She made a mental note to ask him for embarrassing photos of those shorts, but in the meantime, “Then what?”

He shifted in his seat and looked chagrined at the idea of finishing the story. “I went to my room and did the deed.”

“No, no. Mulder. Details. What aren’t you telling me?” she asked with a smile.

“It’s so embarrassing,” he laughed. She took pity on him, remembering a similar situation where he’d extended her that kindness. “It’s okay if you don’t want to answer. I don’t want to make you feel bad if it’s-”

But much to the relief of her curiosity, he shook his head with a meek smile. “No, it’s okay. Just bear in mind that I was young with no brothers or friends to give me advice. I was clueless.”

“No judgement here,” she stated honestly.

“So I went into my room, locked the doors, laid in my bed, and took it out,” he stated, almost becoming entranced by the scene he was setting up. “I just played with it with my fingers and my palm, moving the skin up and down. I could tell something was different because it was wetter than usual.”

“Precum?” she asked.

“Precum,” he confirmed. “It also felt like it had a heartbeat, which was really freaky to me.” He licked his lips and took in a deep breath and she had a feeling the embarrassing part was coming up. Then, from out of the blue, he asked, “Do you know what edging is?”

“Almost bringing yourself to orgasm but stopping right before so you can cool down and build yourself back up. Some say it creates a more intense orgasm while prolonging foreplay,” she answered.

“Exactly,” he nodded. “I didn’t know that’s what I was doing, and I didn’t really even mean to be doing it. I just didn’t understand what was coming with the orgasm. No pun intended.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was my first real time. The only thing I could compare the sensation to was having to pee. Every time I was about to come, I thought I was going to piss myself. So for a good hour I was just edging,” he laughed awkwardly.

“Holy shit,” she balked. “As a kid?”

“Yeah.”

“Damn. Why didn’t you go to the bathroom?”

He pursed his lips a little bit before nodding slowly. “Well… I did. But the reason I didn’t was because the only bathroom was connected to my parents’ room.”

“Oh no…” she cringed.

“So I all but ran in, locked both bathroom doors, and went to the toilet, where luckily a Diner’s Club Magazine was there with a nice looking woman on the cover,” he laughed. “So I ran the water and resumed touching myself and within a few pumps of allowing myself to release, I came.”

“That wasn’t embarrassing, Mulder. We’ve all masturbated to things we’re not proud of,” she reassured, squeezing his hand. She saw his face cringe and she knew there was more. “What?”

“I didn’t know about the ejaculation portion of an orgasm since all of mine had been dry. It was a lot, and I was so scared by the come and the power of my orgasm that I thought I was dying and I just screamed. Not words like you, just an ugly, guttural scream,” he admitted. “My dad burst down the door before I had a chance to even realize I was still on this mortal coil.”

Scully’s face turned into a mask of sympathetic horror. “I’m so sorry.”

“What made it worse was that the page of the magazine had turned so I came all over a McDonald’s ad,” he admitted honestly, but not able to hold in his laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Not Ronald!” she gasped in mock offense.

“Ronald, The Hamburglar, Grimace, all of them,” he laughed. “My mom never let us eat there again.”

“Is that why you always take us to Wendy’s?” she asked.

He nodded in embarrassment. “I still have shame everytime I see those golden arches.”

This was absolutely not the avenue she thought they’d be exploring when she started this, and while this was a new realization that did inform her on her partner’s eccentricities, she still wanted to get back to her main goal. But she wasn’t really sure how to bounce back from such a story. “Did you masturbate after that? You know, after you realized the Diner’s Club hadn’t killed you?”

“No, Scully. I abstained. I have never touched my penis in two decades. The porn tapes and nudie mags are for decoration,” he deadpanned.

She threw back her head and started laughing and by the time she regrouped she saw him staring at her with mirth in his eyes and a wide smile tugging his lips upwards. “I’m sorry, dumb question. So your shame didn’t keep you from it?”

“No,” he shook his head, still smiling. “I just made sure it was when they weren’t home and learned to suppress my sounds when they were.”

“When did you achieve orgasm by someone else?” she asked before seeing his smirk and adding, “What?”

“Are you copying all of the questions I asked you?”

“I am,” she nodded playfully, bringing her other leg up onto the couch so she was sitting cross-legged across him.

“Um…” he contemplated, thinking back. “A school dance when I was fifteen,” he nodded. “A ball would probably be the more accurate word.”

“You came at a ball?” she asked in shock.

He laughed and waved his hand to dismiss her. “No, the night of the ball. It was a county wide thing. One of those pretentious things to make sure our parent’s children had manners and what not. I went alone, but a girl from a Catholic high school started making moves on me.”

Scully always forgot that Mulder came from money. He never acted like it. His upbringing only ever came out through the polite, chivalrous gestures he’d direct her way. “She kept dancing too close to me. I guess she hadn’t heard to save room for Jesus,” he joked. “I ended up getting a boner and she told me she could help. She took me to some abandoned room and gave me a handjob.”

“The snake handler,” she teased, remembering an offhand joke he’d made a few cases ago.

He nodded his head in affirmation. “Yep. I’d kissed a few girls before that, but my reputation of being the weird kid with the missing sister usually got the better of me and they’d leave before anything happened. That was my first time having a girl touch me like that and I came really fast.”

She frowned at the reminder that his ‘Spooky’ status had been a constant in his life. She couldn’t imagine how hard that type of ridicule would be for a boy who was recently traumatized during one of the most sensitive stages of life. “Did you see her after that?” she asked.

“Uh, no. I didn’t really know how to please a woman, so reciprocity didn’t even dawn on me. I just… I told her thank you and gave her a hug,” he admitted with chagrin.

“Awwh,” Scully beamed. It was embarrassing, but equally endearing.

“Well, she wasn’t thrilled I didn’t return the favor, but she was even more mad that I accidentally came on her dress. She punched me in the face,” he chuckled lightly.

“Oh,” Scully chirped.

“Yeah.”

There was a lull in the conversation before she thought of something to move on with. “Did anything else happen before you became a sex expert at Oxford? Or was that where you flourished?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call myself a sex expert or say that I flourished per-se, but thank you. But in high school, I only had two other noteworthy experiences. One was another girl from the Catholic school who gave me my first blow job. I accidentally thrust my hips weird and she almost threw up. I felt really bad and she was really mad,” he explained.

Scully had no actual therapist experience, but it was obvious to her that his experiences with girls and getting pleasure in his formative years were marred with shame and guilt. Was that why he wasn’t concerned with handjobs, blowjobs, or any real attention to his body? It evoked the same reaction as whenever he apparently drove past a McDonalds? “What was the other noteworthy one?”

“A girl who lived down the street from me, Millie. Our families were friends and she knew me before Samantha was taken. She was a few years older than me, but one summer day when I was seventeen and she was twenty, she invited me to come to her place for a drink. Her parents were out of town and one thing led to another, but we had sex,” he told her, for the first time this evening he seemed to recall this encounter with a small smile on his face.

“Was it good?” she asked, eager for him to share a happy memory.

“Well, the very first time wasn’t. Millie had far more experience than I did, and I naturally didn’t last very long. She just… she said I had a lot of potential. She was honest and said I was average, but it was out of ignorance not out of lack of trying,” he stated, leaning forward to grab another beer out of their six pack.

“Not out of lack of trying?” she repeated.

“I was so scared from the other times that I wanted to to be good for her. But I was just honestly grabbing her chest blindly with no regard to anything, and I just-” he broke off to laugh for a moment before adding, “I wasn’t focusing on the right places at all. I was just kind of groping around and hoping for the best,” he admitted.

She was about to ask him another question before he continued, “Millie told me to meet her at her place at the same time every week. So of course I did, and each week she’d teach me another thing to do. How to eat a woman out, how to find the g-spot, how to fondle breasts, all of it. I learned so much that summer, and it was her lessons I took with me to Oxford. The few girls I was with afterward seemed to reap the benefits of her guidance.”

“Still are,” she joked in earnest.

He smiled at her and took a swig of his beer. Mulder really was the best lover she’d ever had. He made her feel things she’d never even felt before. Thanks, Millie. “Do you miss her?” she asked.

“No, I sometimes run into her when I go back home, but we were polar opposites. She’s married to a woman now and I think they intend to move,” he replied.

“Hmm,” she nodded peacefully.

“So,” he prompted, sitting up with a teasing smile. “What’s my prognosis, Doc?”

“My slightly biased, unbiased opinion?” she asked, waiting for him to agree. “I think your primary focus in sex is always your partner. Which from first hand experience is phenomenal, but I think it comes at the sake of your own enjoyment,” she answered.

“You think I don’t enjoy myself?” he asked, the prior trace of humor in his voice being replaced by concern as his brow furrowed.

She rolled her eyes and rubbed her foot against his leg in a gesture of reassurance. “I know you enjoy yourself, but I don’t think you ever let your own pleasure take centerfield.”

“Keep spouting baseball references and you can see my pleasure in play in no time,” he joked.

“Deflect with jokes all you want, but you know I’m right,” she replied, leaning forward and taking the beer from his hands and taking a swig.

“I’m not sure I understand your point?” he admitted.

Deciding to forego all pretenses of tact, she blurted, “You never let me reciprocate.”

“Wh-yes I do,” he stammered, surprised.

“No, you are always so focused on me that you put yourself second,” she stated firmly.

“But I’m happy, I don’t need anything else but to know you’re enjoying yourself,” he murmured, placing his hand on her calf and rubbing it smoothly.

“Every man enjoys attention, Mulder. I want to make you feel the way you make me feel,” she revealed, her tone coming out a bit more seriously than she’d meant.

He leaned over as best as he could so he could place a loving kiss to her lips. She closed her eyes and kissed him back, enjoying the newness of their open intimacy. After a beat, he pulled back and whispered, “Scully, I don’t even have words to describe the way you make me feel.”

She smiled and felt her face flush under his direct attention. She had no doubt he meant every word he said, but she still felt like nothing was changing. “What if pleasing you is something that turns me on?” she posed.

“Then I suspect that you must be in a constant state of arousal,” he replied.

She let a little huff of laughter exhale through her nose before leaning forward and pressing another kiss to his lips. He was about to reach his hand around her head before she leaned back, staying close enough that she could feel his breath on her lips. “I want to make love to you,” she whispered.

“I’m all yours,” he replied, leaning in again only to be stopped by her hand on his chest.

“I want you to let me have all the control. Let me be in charge,” she requested.

He stood up slowly, taking caution to avoid knocking her off the couch. He offered her his hand and pulled her to her feet. “I suppose the laws of physics won’t let you carry me to the bedroom?” he joked with feigned disappointment.

She walked past him, making her way down his hallway to his room. “I have other ways of getting you there,” she teased, whipping her sweater off over her head and tossing it to the ground to reveal her completely bare back to him.

She stepped out of her pants and over the threshold of his room simultaneously, and was pleased when she heard him walk up behind her. Though, as soon as she heard the now-familiar sound of his belt being undone, she spun around and grabbed his hands.

Mulder paused his motions and looked down at her with a cocked eyebrow. She leaned up on her toes to press an open-mouthed kiss to his lips, throwing her arms around his neck so that her underwear clad body was pressed completely flush to his bare chest. She felt her nipples strain against his coarse chest hair. He extracted his hands from in between them and placed his palms on her bare back, pressing her to him while his hands roamed her skin.

She smiled into the kiss when she felt his erection twitch against her belly. Leaning back, she watched as his eyes fluttered open slowly, heavy from lust and anticipation. Easing herself back onto her heels, she grabbed his belt and started unbucking it. “I want to do this,” she whispered.

He kept his hands on her while she worked, moving them to her shoulders, then down her biceps. She struggled a bit getting the belt out of the loops, partially glad Mulder’s hands kept her from stumbling back, but he let her do it all by herself. She tossed the belt to the ground carelessly and returned her attention to his fly. She unbuttoned him and pulled down the zipper, feeling a surge of arousal in her core as she felt the heat of him radiating through the fabric of his boxers.

She hooked her fingers under both waistbands and dragged them down swifty, staying at his feet for an extra moment to help him step out of his socks. When she stood back up, she was met with a smile and Mulder’s hands going straight for the elastic of her underwear. “Wait,” she demanded, grabbing his hands.

Scully felt his hands start to pull away instinctively at the word, a look of worry passing his face as she held his fingers. She looked up at him with a confident smile and stated, “It’s my turn. I want you to just lay back and let me do everything.” She gestured to the bed as she said this, and was glad when he finally took the direction. With a few brief strides, he threw himself on the bed and laid in the middle on his back.

“This is how I like my Mulder,” she mused with a pleased grin, taking in the sight of him under the dull yellow glow of his lamp.

He smiled at her praise and squirmed restlessly on the bed. She walked over to the end of the bed, so that she was standing in between his legs and patted the edge. “Come sit here,” she demanded.

Mulder followed her instructions, scooting himself so his legs were hanging over the edge with her in between them. He absentmindedly raised a hand to her hip and ran his thumb over the skin. She knew she wasn’t being firm in the rules of her own game, but she let him touch her a bit more like that before easing herself to her knees. The hardwood underneath the carpet creaked under her weight as she adjusted herself so that her elbows were on either leg and her breasts were on display.

She grabbed his swollen erection in her hands and was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath from Mulder. This was one of the first times she’d been able to examine his cock so closely, and while the word struck her as odd for the situation, she couldn’t help but think it was beautiful. He was big, above average by a couple inches, and he had the slightest curve that always felt amazing inside of her.

She pumped her hand up and down slowly, watching his skin stretch slightly as she did it. He thrust into her hand lightly in reflex and quickly muttered a soft, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. You’re so sexy, Mulder,” she replied, looking up at him only to see he was staring down at her with full rapture.

Scully smiled at him sweetly before turning her attention back to the matter at hand. She licked her lips and slowly moved her mouth towards the bottom of his shaft, sticking out her tongue and placing it at his base and dragging it up slowly to his tip. “Fuck,” he murmured reverently as her tongue swirled around his tip.

She was just about to take him in her mouth when she felt his hand on her shoulder. “Scully, you don’t have to-”

The fact that other women had treated this as an obligation was evident in his voice. He didn’t want to sit here and have her do this under the presumption she got nothing out of it. Mulder clearly didn’t understand the power of having a man reduced to nothing but gasps and prayers just by a few well placed licks and a bit of suction. The thought of what she could do to him brought on another wave of arousal. She could feel her own wetness starting to seep through her lips and onto the cotton of her underwear.

She stopped him with a firm look and purred, “But I want to.” To punctuate her sentence, she licked him tip to base and watched as goosebumps erupted on his arms.

He nodded and placed his hand back onto the bed. Taking the go ahead, she leaned forward, blowing on the wet trail she’d created lightly before plunging her mouth down on him. “Oh my god,” he rasped, tensing beneath her as she bobbed her head up and down.

Mulder was bigger than any of her prior partners and she could feel him hitting the back of her throat while she still had a few inches left to go. Easing herself higher on her knees, she took a deep breath through her nose and relaxed the back of her throat, resulting in her lips hitting his pubic mound as he went all the way in. “Holy shit,” he moaned, clutching onto the bedspread.

She could feel tears start to gather on her lashline in reaction to the unnatural sensation, but she ignored it and continued her actions, letting her tongue squirm against him as she deep-throated him. Scully could feel him trying his hardest to keep his hips firmly on the bed to avoid causing her any discomfort and she was grateful.

When she needed to take a breath, she eased up and gasped in a quick lung-full air, her subsequent breaths coming out as shuddered pants. She felt Mulder’s hand come up and brush her hair back behind her ear as he stroked her cheek. While he did this, she continued to play with his tip, running her tongue playfully under his head, causing him to gasp. “Scully,” he whispered, a drop of precum leaking out as he spoke.

She leaned back up and resumed her prior movements, letting him slide all the way down her throat as she rotated her head, letting his cock brush against every surface. His breathing was shallow and she could hear him moaning with every new movement.

After a few minutes of alternating between different techniques while Mulder demonstrated his surprisingly enduring stamina, he put his hand on her shoulder again. “Scully,” he said in a shaky breath.

She let him bob out of her mouth, a thick mixture of precum and saliva trailing from him to her mouth in a lewd string before snapping onto her chin. Her face was flushed and she knew her makeup was smudged. “Hmm?” she rasped, catching her breath.

“I won’t be able to hold on for much longer if you keep doing that,” he admitted. She laughed and stood up on shaky legs, using his legs for support. When she was on her feet she heard him whisper “Holy shit,” and she looked at him and saw he was staring at her crotch.

“What?” she panted, leaning over to see before being stopped by a hand on her hip. Mulder brought his other hand up and rubbed the cotton front of her panties, making a shiver run up her spine.

“You’re soaking wet,” he murmured, amazed. “I can see it through your underwear and on your thighs, and I haven’t even touched you.”

She grabbed his face with both of her hands and drew his attention to her face, his hand still idly rubbing her through the dampened fabric. “It turns me on to do this, Mulder. Attention directed towards you doesn’t mean it does nothing for me,” she explained, leaning down to kiss him when she was done.

She broke apart after a moment and beamed down at him with a predatory gleam in her eye. “Now sit against the headboard.”

Mulder did as he was told and she quickly discarded her underwear down her legs, shivering at the trail of slick wetness she felt rub against her inner thigh. She got on the bed, making eye contact with Mulder as she crawled on all fours to him. The usual self-consciousness she’d felt with other partners when she was this bold and wanton was gone with Mulder. He looked at her like she was giving him the best present he’d ever received by simply loving him. In her heart she knew it was probably true.

Scully didn’t sit in his lap immediately. Instead, she kept her head at chest level and leaned forward to playfully lick one of his nipples before bringing it into her mouth and rolling it between her teeth. She felt the rumblings of laughter in his chest begin before it turned into a moan of pleasure. She attended to the other one while reaching in between her legs and gathering some of her own arousal on her hand, bringing it in between them and coating Mulder’s erection with it.

“Oh my god, Scully,” he groaned, his hips undulating in their spot while she pumped him a few times.

She suckled on his neck, enjoying the feeling of his erratic pulse beating under her tongue. “You’re so beautiful,” she murmured as she hoisted her legs on either side of his hips, aligning them for the moment they’d both been waiting for.

She could tell he was about to say something sweet back to her, but the words were stolen from his lungs as she sank down on him, sheathing him inside her. She settled until her ass was firmly on his lap and they were panting a few inches apart from the other, sharing a connection with their gaze as well as their bodies.

Slowly, she eased herself back up on her knees before sinking back down, creating a steady rhythm while the headboard hit the wall and the bed creaked beneath them. None of that mattered to her, all that mattered was the pleasure smattered across Mulder’s face, the way he was coaxing her with his sensual baritone, and the vice grip he had on her hips.

Suddenly a thought came to her. It wasn’t something she’d really ever done, but with how many tapes and subscriptions he had, it may be something he liked. Leaning towards his ear, she rasped, “You feel so good inside me, Mulder.”

He responded by closing the gap between them and placing kisses all over the hollow of her throat and the crook of her neck. She wasn’t trying to emulate a porn star. No. She just wanted to tell him what he deserved to hear. What she suspected he liked hearing in those tapes. Validation.

“You have no idea how much you turn me on,” she murmured on a downward stroke. She kept herself on his lap for a moment and rocked her hips forward, grinding their pubic bones together.

“Fuck, Scully. You feel amazing,” he gasped back, drawing his arms around her and pulling her flush to him so her breasts were against his chest.

She continued riding him the best she could in this position, raising one hand to wipe the sweaty hair back and litter kisses across his face. “I love you,” she gasped, her orgasm hitting her suddenly from the angle of his cock and the friction against her clit.

Scully felt his hips thrust upwards frantically as he came inside her, his hot seed spilling out a little bit from each thrust and adding to the mutual wetness between them.

When their orgasms had both subsided, she collapsed and fell onto him, resting her head against his neck. He nuzzled his face into her hair, pressing kisses against her scalp as he deftly reached and grabbed a blanket, pulling it up to cover them and tuck her even more into him. She felt his eyes grow heavy as she was comforted by the post-coital smell of him and the feeling of being wrapped in each other’s arms.

“I love you too, Scully,” he murmured, rocking her softly in his arms.

She found the strength to raise her head and kiss his chin. “So? How did you like your therapy session?” she teased.

Her whole body moved with his laughter. “I think you have another career path for you if this doesn’t work,” he teased.

She laughed with him and laid back on his neck. “Thank you,” she beamed.

There was a moment of silence as he continued rubbing circles in her back. Then, in a more serious tone he explained, “I’m sorry I’d been reluctant before. I had just never had someone treat me like I wasn’t an obligation before. I never knew how good it could be when both parties care so much about the other.”

“Well, with me you’ll never forget.”

WATCH SEX EDUCATION ON NETFLIX. STREAMING JANUARY 17TH 2020

#gaycrouton #my fanfiction #msr #smut #mulder #scully #mulder and scully #x files fanfiction #sex education celebration

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spartanguard · 5 years

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all the memories that we make will never change (CSJJ 2020)

Summary: Oh don't you wonder when the light begins to fade? / And the clock just makes the colors turn to grey / Forever younger growing older just the same / All the memories that we make will never change (Henry and Lucy find some polaroids of a long-lost night, of a couple in the throes of young love. / Emma and Killian meet in a nightclub, and their lives will never be the same.)

rated M | 5.3k words | AO3

A/N: Here’s my contribution to @csjanuaryjoy 2020! Thanks to the organizer for putting on this event again; it’s my third time participating and it’s always fun! This was inspired by the song “Golden Days” by Panic! At The Disco; it’s told in present-day and flashbacks (and it will all make sense at the end). (it was also slightly inspired by my parents, even if they didn’t meet until a few years later.) enjoy!

2020

“Hey, Dad? What are these?”

Henry looked up from the bin of records he was sorting through in the musty basement, over at where his daughter was doing the same. Or had been; Lucy’s attention was less on the old albums in front of her and instead focused on what she’d apparently found within them.

“Seriously? You don’t know what a Polaroid looks like?” he teased as he set down Aladdin Sane and stepped over. “I thought I raised you better than that.”

She huffed. “No duh, I know what they are. You only played ‘Hey Ya’ a million times when I was little.” Okay, maybe he was the one failing if that was her only frame of reference on instant photos. “But look!”

She shoved the stack of pictures into his hands, and once he got a look at the one on top, it was like being jolted into the past.

Frozen in time was a couple clearly in the throes of young love; it was obvious from the way they only had eyes for each other, though the background suggested they were at a club (a disco, maybe?). The date on the corner said August 1979, but the woman’s Farrah Fawcett curls and strapless jumpsuit, paired with the man’s wide-open, chest-baring top and perfectly coiffed hair, did a good job of telling him the era on their own.

He glanced over the next few pictures behind it: all similar, and a good number with part of an arm in the shot; a vintage selfie. He suspected a number of couples nowadays had similar sets of photos on their phones. (He knew he and Ella did.)

But as curious as he was to continue skimming, he couldn’t help but feel like he was intruding—there was something intimate about these images that modern digital photography couldn’t match.

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

1979

Killian nursed his rum probably a bit more clinically than he needed to. While it had been his favored vice not too long ago, he was trying to put those days behind him. But his friends insisted he still needed to get out and “have fun,” whatever that meant anymore. At least they were—he could see Jasmine and Al twirling their way across the illuminated dance floor from his seat at the bar.

The deejay played decent music, he’d give it that. But drinking and dancing were in his past, he was sure.

Until he spotted an angel on the other side of the club, and wondered if maybe he’d been too hasty in writing off this outing.

Her likeness to a celestial being had minimal to do with the style of her hair, even if it was clearly modeled after one made popular on a certain ridiculous television program. No, it was the way she moved freely and joyfully in her red, fitted jumpsuit; the joy as she threw her head back in laughter at something one of her companions said; and her easy smile as she danced, full of a youthful exuberance that Killian was pretty sure he’d never had; he’d done a lot of living in his 25 years.

He didn’t typically even go for blondes, but before he knew it, he’d downed the rest of his drink, hopped off the bar stool, and started to pick his way across the dance floor. He checked himself over as he maneuvered around moving bodies, briefly debating if he needed to do up another button on his paisley shirt or rather undo another, and then realized: he had no idea what to say.

He froze feet away from her. Just what was he doing?

Then someone bumped into him, making him stumble forward—almost into her arms. Which might have been better than the sharp way his chest collided with her shoulder, sending her reeling into the brunette next to her.

“Hey, man—watch out!” the other woman shouted as she set her friend to rights.

“Apologies; I meant no...harm…” he tried to explain, trailing off when he saw Jasmine from the corner of his eye, giving him a sheepish grin as they danced away. He should have seen that coming, really.

“It’s fine,” the blonde sighed, annoyed, and Killian felt his chance slipping away faster than the overall sobriety level in the club.

But then she turned to him, and there was concern in her big green eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I think so, yeah,” he said, then quickly added, “but I’d be better if you danced with me.”

She quirked an eyebrow and gave him a wry look. “Oh yeah? Can’t say I’ve heard that one before.”

“That’s because you haven’t met me yet.” He had no idea where this swagger was coming from, but he didn’t want to think too hard about it, lest it disappear. “Name’s Killian.”

“Hi, Killian,” she said, offering a hand. “I’m Emma.”

He took her dainty hand in his and brought it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on the back while holding her gaze—which, if he was being honest, seemed as much confused as it did flattered.

“What do you say, love? Care to take a turn about the floor?”

She bit her glossed lip and looked back to her friend, who was giving her a wolfish grin in return and promptly shooed her away. “Okay,” she shrugged with a smile when she turned back to him.

He grinned back, partly in relief but mostly that he hadn’t been shot down. It was a boost to his confidence he didn’t realize he’d needed—and it just might have broken his freshly healed heart if she’d said no.

He led her a step or two away from her friend, so they could have a bit of space, and placed his blunted wrist on her hip. She glanced down at it and he froze; he was finally starting to get comfortable with his lack of appendage there, but most people still acted squeamish about it.

To his surprise, though, she didn’t seem to take much note of it and found his eyes again. If anything, she moved closer, and they wordlessly started to sway to the pounding rhythm—or, at least, their hips began to shift in time with the music and each other, and really, that was all that was needed.

Their feet eventually got the message, picked up the beat, and began to carry them around the floor. Killian found himself falling into some ancient habits he wasn’t aware were still in his muscle’s memory, and his heart skipped a bit as he watched an amused smile take over Emma’s face.

“You sure are a swell dancer,” she told him. “How’d you learn to dance like this?”

“It’s simple, really; there’s only one rule,” he replied, then leaned in closer. “Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

She grinned and looked down, but if she was trying to avoid letting him know her thoughts on the matter, she failed—even in the orange light, he could see the blush on her cheeks.

For a moment, he worried he might have come on too strong and she’d push away, but quite the opposite happened: she moved even impossibly closer, sliding her hand down to his waist to pull herself to him. The pinpricks of light from the disco ball danced over them like stars, illuminating the glitter on her collarbones and cheeks; goodness, were they in a dance hall or a fairy tale?

The bodies and music around them began to fade away as his focus narrowed on Emma: on the soft pout of her lips, the easy smile that played at them, the feel of her body against his…

And then the rest of the club came back into startling clarity as the music abruptly changed, loud horns signifying the beginning of an overplayed and overhyped Village People tune.

“Oh god, I hate this song,” Emma cursed, equally jarred by the change, it seemed. But she hadn’t made a move away from him.

“Agreed,” he replied; but if she didn’t want to dance, he needed another way to stay close to her. “Can, uh...can I buy you a drink?”

“Sure!”

He wasn’t expecting her enthusiasm, and the wide-eyed look she gave him after suggested she wasn’t expecting it either. He chuckled, but squeezed her hand and led her back to the bar.

They found an open spot near the end and the bartender was quick; Emma ordered red wine, and Killian said “Make it two.” The bartender glanced between them, then grabbed a couple glasses and set a bottle down in front of them, with the direction to have fun.

“Well, he was awfully presumptuous,” Killian said, again not wanting to come on too strong.

Emma just shrugged, though, and popped the cork. “He didn’t say what kind of fun.” Her tone was laced with innuendo, though, as she poured their glasses. “For example, we can have fun with this,” she continued, offering her glass up for a toast; he took his and clinked it with hers before taking a sip (not the best he’d had, but not the worst). “Orrrr, with this!” she exclaimed, reaching around him for something on the bar.

She produced a Polaroid camera, looking proud as punch with her prize. “Is that yours?” he asked.

“Nope,” she answered, popping the ‘p’. “It was just sitting here.”

It was a good thing he was staring at her in dazed admiration, because the next thing he saw was the bright light of the flash temporarily blinding him. “Bloody hell,” he cursed, blinking. “Warn a man next time!”

“Oh, but candid shots are always best,” she teased, pulling out the picture and shaking it. “I can’t wait to see it.”

“Oh really?” He wasted no time in setting down his drink and taking the camera from her, relying on speed for shock, and quickly snapped a pic, too. “That should be a good one, then.”

“Asshole,” she tried to complain, but her smirk gave her away. “That’s gonna be terrible.”

“Impossible,” he countered, “when the subject is so lovely.”

She was leaning on the bar, rolling her eyes, so he stepped closer and mirrored her pose. “You’re full of it,” she laughed.

“I’m actually quite shy and reserved.”

“No you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” he conceded, and snapped another picture with his outstretched arm.

“Oh my god, you—!” Whatever she was about to say was lost in the struggle of her wrestling the camera back from him; he let her take it, especially when her chest brushed against his in the friendly scuffle. She yanked out the photo and put it on the bar with the others, shaking her head. “You’re wasting film, you know.”

“I highly doubt that.” She hadn’t made any effort to leave his personal space yet again.

“Besides, there are so many better things to take pictures of.”

“Also not true.”

“I’m just saying—why would you bother with pictures like that, when you could take ones like this?” she said, looking up at him through her lashes.

“Like what?”

She answered by grabbing the lapel of his vest and hauling his lips to hers. She pressed herself against his entire upper body as her mouth claimed his, and he was quick to surrender to her passionate kiss. He heard the flash bulb go off as she likely took another snap, but he was too lost in her to care much. He wrapped his left arm around her to hold her close while the other found her waist and anchored himself to her.

They eventually broke apart for a breather, but he continued to pepper kisses down her chin and neck, and he could feel her fingers toying with his chest hair. Another flash bulb.

“You don’t work for Playgirl or something, do you?” he breathed.

“No,” she giggled. “Just liking what I see; and I don’t want to forget it.”

“Nor do I.”

They resumed kissing for a moment, Emma going so far as to wrap a leg around him and bring her core to where he was obviously wanting her—which only seemed to egg her on, and he had no reservations in palming her pert rear end through her jumpsuit.

“Do you live nearby?” she asked on their next breath.

“Aye,” he nodded; he could hardly remember where, he was so intoxicated by her, but at least knew that much.

“Do you want to go back?”

“Only if you do.”

“I definitely do.”

“Alright then.”

She gave him another kiss on the cheek, then asked him to sit tight as she let her friends know. He quickly downed the rest of his glass, threw some cash down to pay the tab (probably not the right amount but he hardly cared), then gathered up the pictures they’d taken from where they landed scattered across the bar.

He didn’t know what lay ahead, but something told me he’d want something to help him remember this night.

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

2020

“What are they wearing?” Lucy giggled. “That shirt is so ugly!”

Henry chuckled. “That was just the style back then; he actually would have been considered pretty debonair and suave at the time.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”

They continued to flip through the photos. “Say what you will, but she seems pretty into it,” he lectured; not like he had much room to talk—he had no idea how he’d managed to catch Ella’s eye with the kind of stuff they wore in the late 90s. (There was definitely a bonfire fueled by a pair of JNCO jeans and ratty plaid shirts in his past.)

The background of the photos changed as the pair moved out of the club and onto the street—one he immediately recognized. It changed again to a dock, with ships bobbing behind the pair.

“Is that…?” Lucy asked when the couple apparently boarded one of them.

“Yeah, looks like it is,” Henry had to agree; he knew exactly where they were.

And the next couple of pictures told him exactly what they were doing. (He made a point to keep those away from Lucy’s view.)

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

1979

Emma still couldn’t believe she’d proposed this. She had a kid; what was she doing out on the town, following a guy she’d just met back to his place?

(Ruby, that’s what—she could never say no to her best friend, especially when said friend’s granny was providing free babysitting and said friend had also told her to “do him before I do”.) She pulled up the top of her strapless (borrowed) jumpsuit, amazed that it had stayed on this long, and took in a deep breath of the refreshing air outside the club.

“That’s much better,” Killian said, and then Emma registered the pop of the flashbulb behind her closed eyes.

“You’re gonna make me regret picking that thing up,” she teased. “And I wasn’t gonna steal it!”

“Too late,” he shrugged. Even in the yellow light of the street lamps, she could see the mischief sparkling in his blue eyes and hiding in the dimples that cut into his scruffy beard. He didn’t seem like he was too much older than her, but he’d clearly been through a lot. Which was good, since she had, too.

“Are you just gonna be the paparazzi or are we going to go somewhere more fun?” she asked, pressing herself into his space—partly because she liked the kind of shocked look he got on his face when she did, and partly because she just wanted to be close to him and his impressive display of chest hair.

“I’d be more than happy to escort the lady to a more comfortable location,” he said, making her swoon; god, she never did that. She almost lost focus in stealing the camera back, but managed to before he could fight it.

“Lead the way,” she whispered.

He just swallowed and nodded, then took her hand and led her down the sidewalk.

The air cooled as they went and she could smell the salt of the harbor as they got closer to the docks; not a long walk, but not too short that they couldn’t get to know each other a bit. His last name was Jones; he was 25; he’d enlisted in the Army right out of high school and served a few years in Vietnam, until he lost his hand. “I didn’t want to fight, but I didn’t really have any other options. My brother died over there, so I guess I thought I’d avenge him, or something,” he admitted. “Not my best idea.”

She knew all about that. After all, she was 21 years old and already a mother to a 3-year-old; she clearly had no room to judge. He took it in stride, though, and was quick to ask about her kid; it was actually refreshing not to have someone do the math in their head and start scowling. “It’s been hard, but he’s probably the best thing that ever happened to me,” she told him, establishing some boundaries.

“Well, you strike me as a tough lass, Swan,” he replied; she was beginning to love the sound of her last name on his tongue. “It sounds like you two are doing just fine.”

She hid her blush by taking a picture of his encouraging smile, which quickly turned into a sputter.

He stole back the camera—and her breath—with a kiss after that.

She returned the favor, pressing him against a fence at the marina—but not too forcefully; she didn’t feel like swimming tonight.

“Hopefully you’re alright with sailing, though,” he murmured, guiding her down one of the docks.

“You live on a boat?”

“Please—it’s a ship.”

Whatever it was, it was gorgeous—all hardwood and classic-looking. The sails were tucked away but she had to imagine it looked impressive out at sea, and the idea of Killian at the helm, sun tanning his skin as the wind whipped them along...damn, what an image.

(Okay, maybe Ruby had been right earlier when she said Emma needed to get laid.)

He casually stepped onto the ship, unphased by the way the deck shifted under him, and extended a hand to her to help her down. Her platform sandals were absolutely not the right shoes for this, so she nearly stumbled as she stepped aboard—right into his (strong, sturdy) arms.

“It’s about bloody time,” he purred.

“Like I haven’t been over you all night,” she countered (and made sure not to bring up the body glitter that had found its way into his chest hair).

“No, but it’s nice to finally be alone.”

“It is.” Without another word, they picked up where they’d left off in the club: hands wandering, lips tasting, bodies not able to get close enough—but she didn’t have enough balance on the rolling deck to try to hitch her leg around him again.

“You got a bed on this thing?” she panted.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

A minute later, they were below deck, in a cozy cabin. Two minutes later, he’d undone the zipper on her jumpsuit, letting it fall around her ankles. Three, and she’d opened his way-too-many buttons to reveal his frankly stunning array of chest hair and was quickly discovering how far south it went. (Answer: all the way.)

The bed wasn’t exactly large, or solid, but anything would do once he got her worked up, his fingers dancing over her breasts, overheated skin, and aching sex.

He hovered over her after he got the condom on, clearly nervous even though they were both stark naked and had been dry humping for who-knew-how-long.

She drew her bare heel up over his firm thigh and pert ass, then pressed against it, bringing his hard length almost to where she wanted—no, needed it. “Please,” she panted, not sure what else to say.

“As you wish.”

That took her by surprise—she wanted to ask if he’d read her favorite book, The Princess Bride—but then he was pressing into her and anything she could say came out as a gasp. Holy shit, did he feel good.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said in a strained voice; fuck, she’d said that out loud.

“You should,” she answered. “And if you want another—move.” She punctuated the command by pressing her other heel into him.

As eager as she was, she wasn’t ready for the feel of him dragging along her inner walls, then pressing back forward; it really had been too long since she’d done anything like this with another person. But she got the impression Killian was in a similar boat (pun not intended).

That didn’t stop him from being “fucking amazing,” she sighed.

“You...too…” he grunted as he pressed. She did all she could to keep up and match him thrust for thrust, but all too soon, she was gripping his broad shoulders for dear life.

It was like riding a roller coaster: she was climbing, climbing, climbing, and then she was free falling with a shout as her orgasm peaked and carried her away with it. He wasn’t far behind, coming with a shout of her name and eventually collapsing beside her. It made the whole bed shake but honestly, it was no worse than what they’d just put it through.

Once they both caught their breath, he pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder and then got up to clean things, but was back faster than she expected he’d be, flopping down next to her.

“Bloody hell, love; that…”

For someone as seemingly verbose as he was, having him speechless was definitely a boost to her ego. “Incredible? Fantastic? Far out? Groovy?”

“I’d never dream of putting something like that so colloquially,” he answered, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. “But perhaps we need to give it another go so I can properly describe it.”

“Mm, I think I’d be down with that,” she said, smiling. Normally, she’d be headed for the door already—but there was just something about Killian that made her want to stay, and it wasn’t just the mindblowing sex.

“Good.” He pounced on her lips again, and round two was just as fabulous as the first. (So was the third.)

And a few hours later, she woke in his arms to the obnoxious sound of an alarm clock blaring. But he just gripped her tighter from behind and buried his head in her neck, tickling her with his beard.

“You gonna get that?” she asked, both annoyed and still sleepy.

“Ugh, I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Because then I need to get ready for work and you’ll have to go.”

She turned in his arms and placed her hands on his hair-covered pecs. “What if I came back sometime?”

He gave her a sleepy smile. “I’d like that very much.”

“Me too.”

He finally shut off the clock and stretched; she had to avert her eyes, or staring at the way his trim muscles moved under his skin would make him even later. And the sooner she got home to her kid, the better.

Somehow, she managed to get dressed again, pointedly ignoring the heat of his fingers on her back as he zipped her outfit. (It was less easy for him to hide his arousal when she buttoned up his work shirt.)

The morning was chilly when they got back up on the deck and the sun was just starting to rise over the horizon; she shivered immediately. “Oh, bloody hell,” he cursed, then ran back below deck, returning with a blanket. “Here, love; I’d be a shameful host if I let you catch a cold. Do you need me to call you a cab?” he asked as he wrapped it around her shawl-like.

“No; I’m only a few blocks away,” she answered, pulling the blanket tight. It was soft and smelled like him. Hopefully, he didn’t want it back.

“Can I walk you home, then?”

“Won’t you be late?”

His reply was a shrug.

“Alright then.”

She started to head to the edge of the ship to disembark, but then he said, “Wait.” She turned to see what the holdup was and only saw the light of the flashbulb again.

“Seriously?” she laughed.

“Yes, completely,” he answered through his own chuckle.

“You’re such a nerd,” she tossed back, but god, was he adorable. If she wasn’t careful, she was probably going to fall in love with him.

But honestly, would that really be so bad?

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

2020

The last photo was of the blonde woman in early morning light, wrapped in a blanket with a lazy smile on her face. It was obvious what they’d been up to, but that was a different kind of happy expression—more than just physical bliss.

“God, she was so beautiful,” Lucy breathed.

She always had been. “And she still is,” Henry added; Lucy hummed in agreement.

Reaching the end of the stack, they set the photos aside and kept browsing the records, pulling some out here and there as they caught their eyes. A bit later, armed with Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, Damn the Torpedoes, and A Night at the Opera, they headed upstairs with their prizes—Henry making sure to grab the stack of Polaroids.

“You’re done already?” Henry’s mom called out from the kitchen, where she and his dad (well, stepdad, but he’d raised him) were busying themselves.

“Yeah! We found some great stuff, Grandma!” Lucy shouted, running down the hall and promptly gushing over her new treasures.

His mom had been reading at the table, but she put down her magazine when Lucy barged in. Henry hung back for a moment, though.

The smile on her face was the same one in the photos, even if Emma’s hair was more gray than blonde now and she needed glasses. It was a little jarring, to be honest; growing up, he didn’t notice it as much, but looking at her as she was when he was a kid and comparing it to now made him realize just how much she’d changed in the last 40 years. But the grin she sent his way as Lucy babbled hadn’t at all.

“What have you got there, darling?” his dad interjected, stepping away from the stove to inspect the collection of albums. Killian, too, was all silver now, but for a man in his sixties, was in damn fine shape; Henry only hoped he’d look that good when he hit that age. The crows feet around Killian’s eyes had deepened with time (and laughter, and smiles), but they were still the same bright blue behind his bifocals and he still wore the same scruffy smirk.

Emma threw a concerned look Henry’s way, which told him he’d spent far too long staring. “Everything okay, kid?” she asked when he joined them.

“Yeah, yeah; it’s great. But uh, we found something else, too.”

“Oh yeah?”

He pulled the photos out of his jeans pocket and set them down on the table in front of his mom; Killian peered over her shoulder to inspect. They both hitched their breath at the same moment.

“Oh my god, I forgot about these!” Emma exclaimed as she picked them up.

“Same,” Killian said, almost breathlessly. “But I haven’t forgotten that night,” he quickly added, pressing a kiss to Emma’s temple.

“I’d be worried if you had,” she said. “This was our first date,” she explained to Henry and Lucy, “and someone here thought it’d be a good idea to steal a camera from the club we met at.”

“Pardon me, but you started it, love.”

Emma snorted and smacked his prosthetic hook where it rested on her shoulder, but a nostalgic kind of look came over both of them as they looked them over.

“Good find, Lucy,” Killian said, pulling his granddaughter close and kissing her cheek.

Emma set the photos aside and Killian went back to cooking dinner (which was delicious, as always). The flashback the photos had given him made Henry want to stay later and reminisce—on their wedding, on weekend trips on the Jolly Roger, on that one time he and his sisters tried (and failed) to throw a kegger in the backyard—but it was a school night and Lucy had homework.

He kept coming back to one thing, though, especially as they said their goodbyes and headed home: the way his dad looked at his mom in 1979 was the same way he did in 2020. Henry had always been happy that, despite their rough starts, his parents had managed to find each other; he couldn’t think of anyone more deserving of the kind of true love they had. And they made sure that their children knew and saw that same kind of love every day; if only everyone could be that lucky.

(Thankfully, Henry was; when he greeted Ella at home that night, he knew he still looked at her the way he first had in 1998, and she still smiled at him the same way she did that night from across that party. Henry had known then what true love looked like, and what it looked like now, and what it would look like in 20 years. And he couldn't wait.)

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

After Henry and Lucy left and dinner was cleaned up, Emma got out the pictures they’d found again; hazy memories were coming back into sharp clarity in her mind (though some had never really dulled).

“You’ve got that look in your eyes, Swan. What are you thinking?” Killian said, taking a seat next to her on the sofa.

“Swan? Pretty sure I’ve been Jones for almost 40 years,” she teased, scooting into his side.

“Aye, but you’ll forever be my gorgeous Swan,” he answered, like he always did, his eyes also on the old photos. It was kind of amazing they were still in decent shape.

“Well then, I’m thinking that we looked damn hot,” Emma finally said.

“Indeed we did. Though you still do,” he added, kissing her cheek.

“So do you, silver fox. You still got that shirt?”

“That ugly thing? Heavens no.” He sounded genuinely offended—although he never quite learned how to fully button his shirt, and she cast a glance at the silvery chest hair exposed by his v-necked shirt today. “But I might be able to come up with something similar...if you still have that jumpsuit,” he said, leering seductively.

Emma just laughed. “It’s cute that you think I’d still fit into that after two more kids and a few decades. And that was Ruby’s anyways.” Some parts of her had never quite recovered from having Hope and then Alice in fairly quick succession, but it didn’t matter to Killian so she’d never minded much.

“Well, then I guess you’ll have to wear nothing,” he purred. “I seem to remember that being part of that night, too.”

“Only if you wear the same.”

“As you wish.”

(He had indeed read The Princess Bride, it turned out, and they had excitedly taken Henry to the movie when it was first released; their VHS copy was later worn down by the girls, once they were old enough.)

Some days, it was hard to believe they’d been together for over 40 years—time flies while having fun, and all that. There’d been great ones and hard ones and plenty of just average ones in there. They weren’t the same people they were when they met; hell, they weren’t even the same as when Alice moved out ten years ago.

But some things had never changed, and never would; for one, how easily and amazingly they were able to satisfy each other physically, and how well they fit together, especially when they were cuddled close, sated.

The most important, though, was their love.

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

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#cs ff #cs january joy 2020 #csjj 2020 #cs smut #my ff

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