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OTP Drabbles Collection

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For a moment, the voices in Molly’s head go quiet. The rustlings of the leaves have lulled them to sleep. One second long, the soft summer breeze allows her not to think.

Of course the quiet can’t last. Little Osborn comes running, calling out for his auntie. Temples throbbing, Molly turns around and smiles at the little boy. 

He jumps on the low brick wall next to her, dirtying his blue trousers. The corners of his little mouth turn upwards as he asks, “What you thinking about?”

Molly can’t tell him the truth. She can’t tell him she’s thinking about his uncle, who is far away in Africa and who probably about now has found out that his brother died. Molly has been thinking all day of the painful grieve he must be feeling. 

Red lips turn upwards as Molly tries to distract little Osborn from the sadness in her eyes. “I was thinking about how happy everybody is going to be when your uncle arrives home.” 

“I can’t wait to meeting him,” little Osborn tells Molly in his broken English. The Squire does not spare expenses to teach his grandchild his father’s tongue, hiring a tutor as well as teaching him so words himself, but the boy still has some things to learn before he can speak English as well as his mother’s tongue.

“I bet he can’t wait to meet you too,” Molly assures the little boy. “He’s going to love you even more than we do.”

Molly is sure she’s speaking truth. Roger loved his brother -  they were two sides of the same coin, twins separated by years - Osborn’s child is going to be one of the two people who matter the most to him. 

Sometimes Molly tries to believe that she too is important to her best friend, that he holds her in an even higher esteem then Cynthia. Maybe he has realized Molly would make him a good life companion. But she knows it is only wistful thinking. He sees her the way she saw him up until recent times. 

Little Osborn’s eyes sparkle in the light of the June sun, the pair of them still fixed on Molly’s pale face. His little chubby legs swing, propelling his little feet against the red brick of the wall. 

Roger’s return will be good for the little boy as well as for his grandfather. He will tell his sire that having the mother around is beneficial for the boy. Little Osborn will not have to part with his mother. 

As for the Squire himself, Molly can tell he is still suffering, even when his demons have lost some of their power now that the pitter-patter of little feet can be heard in the halls of the house. He needs his son at home, where he can touch him, look at him as a reminder that he still has a son left. 

The only one who wouldn’t benefit from his return would be Molly. She is going to need to face him, knowing that he means more to him than she does to him. 

“Why you sad?” little Osborn asks, head cocked to the side as he looks at Molly with curious eyes. 

Suddenly, Molly can feel wetness on her cheeks. Tears have started falling down without her knowledge. With hurried hands, she wipes them away. 

“It is the sun, it’s hurting my eyes,” Molly lies, sinning to preserve the innocence of the little boy. She smiles at him, an attempt to ease his worry. “Maybe I should go inside before its beams blind me.”

“I did not know sun could do that,” little Osborn tells Molly, his eyebrows dipped downwards to indicate his confusion.

“Only if you’re not careful,” Molly assures the little boy. “That’s why I need to go back in the house. Would you mind accompanying me?”

Little Osborn puffs up his chest and nods his head. He seems eager to help Molly. Eyes earnest, he looks like a small gentleman, causing Molly to bite back a fond chuckle. 

“Shall we go, then?” Molly asks. She rises from the brick wall to smile down on little Osborn. The small boy curls his lips upwards in return as he jumps off of the wall without any help. 

He holds out his arm for Molly to take, like his grandfather taught him and Molly takes him up on the offer, as her father taught. 

The wind is still rustling the leaves as lady and small gentleman make their way beneath the green trees back to the house.

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Hugo’s eyes are looking longily at the garden, his small hands resting against the backdoor and his face pressed to the window. 

The sight causes a warmth to spread through Hermoine’s chest, manifesting itself in a smile. Her son looks adorable.

“He seems eager,” Ron, her husband, observes. He lays a hand on her shoulder as he comes to stand next to her. 

Hermoine turns her head to look at Ron. His eyes are on their son and his lips are pressed into a fond smile. As if he feels her looking at him, he turns his head as well to aim his smile on her. He leans forward, the smell of freshly mowed grass suddenly enveloping Hermoine and then he pecks her on her lips. 

“Okay, then. Let’s search them eggs,” Ron exclaims. He lifts his arm from where he’d laid it around Hermoine’s neck and turns to his son. “Are you ready?”

“Of course, dad. Been ready all morning,” Hugo replys, eager grin on his lips. 

Ron walks to the door and opens it. The soft march breeze blows into the small kitchen as it’s suddnely granted access. Both son and father step oustide into the garden.

With a heart that feels too big for her chest, Hermoine follows her little family. 

All morning, before Hugo had woken up, Ron and Hermoine had tried their best to hide the eggs as best as possible. Their son likes a challenge, eager to proof himself much like his mother. It had been fun, but Hugo finding the eggs is going to be even more fulfilling. 

Ron is watching Hugo, arms crossed, and Hermoine joins him. Both pairs of eyes are on the small boy as he runs from bush to bush, collecting brightly colored eggs on the way. 

A feeling of content seems to fill every cravice of Hermoine’s body. Ron’s arm wrapped around her waist feels nice, the warmth of his body feels like home. 

“We should hide them better, next time,” Ron mutters as his son finds the last egg. He holds it up in the sky, a triumphant grin on his small, dirty face. Streaks of dirt have painted his cheeks brown. 

“They were pretty good hiding places. Hugo is just too good at finding them,” Hermoine disagrees. She turns her head and with a fluttering heart, she kisses her husband on his cheek. 

Hermoine didn’t think she would ever feel this happy a few years ago. The years after the war, the scars had felt like they would never fade, that after all she’d been through, she and Ron would never really be happy. 

But she had been wrong. There are still some things she will never forget, things that she will always carry with her, but they’ve become bearible. Ron and Hugo have made them bearible. 

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“What’s your favorite flower?”

Roger is soft as he leans forward, his eyes kind and eager. They are so easy to read, as they’ve alwyas been to Molly. His eyes disclose that he’s trying to right a wrong, mend something even when he doesn’t know why it’s broken. 

The emotion in his eyes make it impossible for Molly to keep her eyes on Roger. With a fluttering heart, she turns her head away. 

Things haven’t been the same after Rogers return from Africa. There has been a tension, a devide between him and Molly - one that Molly knows they’ll never be able to bridge. And it’s all Molly’s fault, of course. 

The attention that Roger had paid her, had put her off, had frightened her. She used to enjoy whenever she and Roger had a moment alone together, rejoice when he talked to her instead of Cynthia, but now she flinches away everytime he focused his gaze on her, talked to her. 

It’s the idea that he might see what he means to her, that frightens her. The thought of him knowing the depths of her feelings makes her want to be in his vicinity has less as possible. 

Sometimes she wishes she could go back to the time that she didn’t know, even if it would mean that Cynthia and Roger would be back together and Molly would be hurting without her knowing why. 

The past few days, Molly had decided on the idea that she would attempt to try to alter her regard for Roger to a more manageble level. She was going to commence with talking to him again and teach herself to hid her feelings away in her heart until the puttered out. 

That is why she’s sitting next to Roger, as the Squire tells his grandson a bedside story in front of the heart. Molly has been observing them from where she is seated on the couch at a safe distance. Roger had joined her five minutes in and had asked the question five minutes later.

“A rose,” Molly divulges. Her eyes shift in Roger’s direction, focus on his for a breath before they move back to the lord of the house. His grandson is sitting in his lap and is nearly close to sleep. 

“If I buy you one, would you think of me, when I am away to Africa?” 

There is a strange quality to Rogers voice and it makes Molly return her eyes to his face. 

“I will always think of you, even without a rose,” Molly replies earnistly. 

“Do you  not want a gift from me?”

His eyebrows dip downwards, a line forms at the corner of his mouth. “Do you not want to except a rose from me?”

“I would like to receive a token of your regard, but don’t give it to me so I can’t forget you. I do not want you to think it necessary.”

Roger’s eyes grow soft again. With trembling fingers, he envelops Molly’s small hands. 

His touch is soft, warm and it makes Molly tremble in extasy. Oh, how great does his naked skin feels against hers. 

“Tomorrow I will bring you the rose.”

Roger’s gaze is overwhelming, freezing the air in Molly’s lunges. For a moment, her heart ceases to beat. 

But then he lets go of Molly’s hand and Molly shakes awake from her moment of utter elation. 

Roger pulls his gaze away from her and turns it to where his nephew is sleeping on the Squire’s lap. 

But Roger does not gift Molly a flower before leaving for Afirca, like he promised. His nephew contracted scarlet fever, which bared Molly from the house and made it impossible for Roger to come find her. 

Instead, he returns back home after being away for months with a dried flower and a decleration of undying love on his lips. 

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Margaret feels tired in every bone of her body. She never knew running a cotton mill would be so demanding. Surely sitting behind a desk or surveying the shop floor doesn’t take up a lot of energy. How was she to know that being an owner of a mill would entail more than those easy tasks.

Not that she’s complaining of course. She likes helping her husband with running the source of their income. And what’s more, John is even happy that she’s helping out. Most husbands would not like their wives to interfere with their work but not John.  He thinks her contribution is invaluable.

With Margaret helping at the mill, she doesn’t have any time to do any household chores. So, she and John had decided when they earned enough to be able to afford it to employ a cook as well as a maid.

The cook is nothing to boast about, but the dishes he prepares does satisfy the stomach. Tonight, he has made mashed potatoes and pork.

“So, what do you think? Should we buy another machine?” John asks Margaret. His eyes are dark in the candlelight and his cheekbones appear to be as sharp as a knife.

Margaret cannot believe how handsome her husband looks, seated next to her at the head of the table. His large form looks even bigger in the light brought forth by the candle they’re using to illuminate the night. His hair looks even blacker and his jaw seems even sharper.  

And he’s all hers and he loves her, just as much as she loves him. She cannot imagine a life without John and she knows he feels the same way.

Oh, how painful had been the months that she though she knew he resented her. She had been so sure that he wanted nothing to do with her, thought her a woman with no thought for propriety,  Thinking he thought bad of her, had hurt her so much.

How far they’ve come. They’re married, run a mill together and John cares for her opinions, much like he used to do before he had caught her with a man he did not know.

“Yeah, I think that is a good idea. We can afford it,” Margaret assures her husband. She smiles at him and lays her hand on his.

He smiles back at her, his eyes filled with adoration. The same emotion spills over his lips when he says, “And it’s all because of you.”

“Because of us,” Margaret corrects John, voice soft and full of love.

They have fought, have lost and gotten back up. Now it is time for them to enjoy the fruits of their labor.

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The realization that Cem is in love with Lena takes him by complete surprise. Before, he hadn’t like her, had hated how she treated his father only because he was in love with her stupid mother. Not to mention, she had looked down her nose at him, his sister and his father only because they were Turkish. 

There was no reason why the last couple of days, the way she smiles causes Cem’s heart to feel like an atom bomb. Or why a room lights up every time she enters it. 

But even though Cem doesn’t know why, the fact is that tonight he sees Lena’s face in the black blotches on his burned pancake. She, who’s sitting opposite him at the dinner table as she talks about a friend she’s made at school. 

Something churns in his stomach that has nothing to do with the terrible food in front of him. The friend Lena is talking about is a guy and she apparently considers him her soulmate. 

Cem can feel his dinner threatening to go back the way it came. He doesn’t really feel like throwing up in front of his family, or more importantly Lena so he tries forcing himself not to pay attention to what his stepsister is saying. 

It doesn’t really work of course. Someone can’t become deaf simply by wishing to be so. Cem will need to flee the room if he doesn’t want to hear anymore of Lena’s monologue.

“Well, I’m done,” Cem announces to the room. 

Lena stops talking and sends Cem an angry glare, apparently offended that Cem isn’t interested in how good of a friend Axel is. This is nothing new, but for the first time her anger hurts him. 

“Cem, we’re not done with dinner yet,” Doris, Lena’s mother, protests. She furrows her eyebrows in disapproval. 

“Well, I am. I’m going to my room.”

Cem gets off of his chair and with a chorus of protests as his soundtrack, he walks out of the room. 

But even though he has managed to escape the torture Lena had unwittingly put him through, there is no escaping his thoughts or the realization that he is in love with his step sister.  

He’s screwed. 

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“Potter. Stop following me.”

Malfoy  suddenly appears in front of Harry, taking the young boy by complete surprise. Harry stumbles back, away from Malfoy with a rapidly beating heart.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Malfoy wasn’t supposed to catch Harry stalking him. Harry was supposed to follow him around the castle undetected.  

And now Malfoy has found him out. Hermione is going to bite his head off, tell him off about letting his obsession with Malfoy get the best of him. She had told him to leave Malfoy alone and he’d ignored her. And now, Malfoy knows they’re watching him, or at least, Harry is.

Harry straightens his back and looks defiantly at Malfoy with narrowed eyes and chin up. “What are you doing, skulking around in the castle?”

“I’m not skulking,” Malfoy sneers, a look of contempt on his pale face. “And even if I was, it’s none of your business.”

Malfoy doesn’t look to good. There are bags beneath his eyes and his skin is even paler than usual. He looks skinnier too, his ropes doesn’t fit him as well as they used to. For a second Harry fills pity for the haggard looking boy in front of him. But as quick as it appears, it’s gone again.

“It’s my business if people’ll get hurt because you’re up to no good,” Harry barks at the other boy.

“Of course. Potter needs to save the world again,” is Malfoy sarcastic reply. He looks Harry up and down, making a what Harry is sure is an unpleasant shiver run down his spine.  “What’s the world’s come to that it has to rely on a speckled git like you to safe it.”

“Like I want to be a hero,” Harry spats at Malfoy. He’s just going to ignore the name Malfoy called him, he’s used to it.

“Yeah, you do,” Malfoy scoffs and he narrows his eyes.”You love the attention. You love people adoring you. It’s because your mother wasn’t around to dote on you, isn’t it?”

“Don’t you dare talk about my mother,” Harry warns Malfoy between clenched teeth.

“Or what?” Malfoy challenges, one eyebrow raised.

Harry takes the one step forwards that is needed to close the distance between him and Malfoy. The blonde doesn’t move, remains where he’s standing, showing he’s not afraid of Harry.

its Harry can feel puffs of air rush over his skin as he and Malfoy stand toe to toe, eyes locked as Malfoy waits for Harry to make his next move.

“Are you going to do something or are you going to keep staring at me,” Malfoy challenges.

Harry really was planning on either hexing Malfoy or attack him with his bare hands, but now that the other boy is so close, strength seems to have left his body. Maybe it’s his cologn or maybe it’s the intensity of his eyes but suddenly, he doesn’t have it in him to attack the blonde boy. His anger seem to have disappeared.

Instead, in its place, there’s an urge to lean forward and push his lips against Malfoy.

The thought, the feeling of wanting to kiss the infuriating boy in front of him takes Harry by complete surprise and its sends a jolt of fear through him.

Heart beating rapidly in his chest, Harry takes several steps back. His eyes are probably wide with fright. If the sneer on Malfoy face is any indication, they are.

Harry turns around and runs away.

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Luke is training when it happens. He’d had been practicing with a stick when a sharp stab of pain pierces Luke’s chest. He lets out gasp as the stick drops from his hand and unto the floor. He doesn’t hear the thud of his training tool hitting the grass, the sound drowned out by the buzzing in Luke’s ears.

The next thing that hits the ground are Luke’s knees. Strength has left his legs, leaving him a victim to gravity. His hands are quick to follow.

Tears are streaming down Luke’s face as he’s hunched forward. Howls of agony erupt from his mouth, screaming his sadness to the clouds.

Han is dead.

Luke’s friend and the love of his life is dead.

And it’s all his fault.

Kylo Ren has killed Han because Luke has been unable to keep Han’s son from the clutches of the dark side. He should’ve stayed, should’ve tried harder to bring his nephew back to the light side like he’d done with his father. But instead, he’d fled and now the person Luke cares most about has paid the price.

He thought by hiding away, making his home somewhere where his former student couldn’t find him, he would keep the people he cared about safe. Or at least that was what he’d told himself.

But he’d lied to himself. The real reason why he had felt to the far reaches of the galaxy because he was a coward. Luke is afraid, scared of his own failings. It’s something he inherited from his father. It hadn’t lured him to the dark side, like it had done his father, instead it had made him flee when he’d realized that fixing what he’d done wasn’t as easy as he’d hoped. He’d been too afraid to admit he’d failed; too scared to tell Han that he was unable to safe his son. Even after all these years, he’d still been too in love with the man to bear hurting him so deeply.

And now Han is dead and it’s Luke’s fault.

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The bark is scratching Caroline’s bare back, but she barely notices. All she can feel right now is Klaus’s arms wrapped around her waist and his lips pressed against hers.

His fingers pressed against her skin feel amazing. His kisses make desire burn in her veins. Caroline has never felt like this, like she’s on fire and no water can put it out.

If Caroline had known it would feel like this, she would’ve given into her desires years ago, back when she discovered that Klaus didn’t leave her as unaffected as she thought. But back then she had been too scared of her feelings to give into Klaus.

But now that she has and with Klaus pressing her up against a tree while he ignites her body with his fingers and lips, she doesn’t feel afraid anymore. She feels liberated.

Caroline lets out a gasp as Klaus’s fingers find the zipper of her jeans. He pulls it down and within seconds her jeans are off. Klaus’s are next to follow.

Klaus’s fingers are cold as he presses them to Caroline’s dripping center. The fabric of her knickers  stretches to accommodate his hand. His fingers feel amazing as they enter her heat.

“Fuck, you don’t have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” Klaus grumbles in his tick British accent. His voice is gruff with desire and muffled by the skin of Caroline’s neck. His mouth had traveled to this destination the same time that his fingers had entered Caroline.

“Fuck,” is all Carline say to Klaus’s confession.

“Later, love,” Klaus chuckles. He starts to move his fingers, setting every part of Caroline’s body one fire. “I want to make you come first.”

And that is what he does, more quickly than Caroline has ever done. All the lovers she had before had to do a lot to get her off but all that she appears to need from Klaus his him fucking her with his fingers and nibbling on her throat to fall over the edge.

“Fuck.” Now it is Klaus’s turn to curse.

He pulls his boxers down with quick fingers before grabbing a hold of Caroline’s waist with both hands.

Caroline lets out a whimper when Klaus enters her for a second time, now with something much bigger than his fingers. It’s stretching her deliciously.

“Fuck. You feel amazing,” Klaus groans. He stills inside Caroline as soon as he’s all the way inside of her. His mouth’s no longer attached to Caroline’s neck but it hasn’t wandered far. Short puffs of breath hit her heated skin as he breaths close to her neck.

“Move,” Caroline’s begs, not caring how desperate she sounds.

“Okay. Okay, love,” Klaus groans.

And he starts moving his hips, fucking Caroline against the tree. Klaus’s cock moving inside of her heat feels amazing. As do the arms that are holding her up and the mouth that has once again found its way to her lips.

Caroline has finally given in to her animalistic urges, to the attraction she still afraid of.

And it feels good. So good.

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God has given Shelagh many blessings in her life. First, He had shown her the delights of dedicating one’s life to Him. Then he had blessed her with the love of a man who had given her a family of her own.

One of the blessing He had not bestowed on her was the pleasure of having a baby of her own. At first, this had caused her a lot of pain. She had wanted to have a daughter or son so badly. He or she would have been a personification of the love that she and Patrick share.

But then they had welcomed a beautiful baby girl into the family. Shelagh had loved her the moment she had laid eyes on the little baby. She had been so tiny, with big innocent eyes.

The inability to carry a baby inside of her had pained her less and less as she raised her darling, Angela. The hole inside her chest had filled up with memories of first steps, first words and the smiles of her darling daughter.

But now another hole has been punched in Shelagh ‘s chest. All the pain she has not felt for two years comes rushing back. What she was told was impossible has happened.

Shelagh is pregnant.

Patrick is holding her hand and she is squeezing it very tightly.

Being a medical man, Patrick does not question the doctor’s diagnoses. He had thought it a possibility himself– having watched his wife’s symptoms – but had not dared to hope. He had not told Shelagh of his suspicions, not wanting to give her false hope and had instead taken her to a fellow doctor.

And now that doctor has confirmed what Patrick had dared to hope. He and Shelagh  are expecting their first child.

“Are you sure? I can’t be pregnant.” Shelagh still can’t believe it. She doesn’t dare hope again for something that is impossible.

“Yes. I’m sure. I heard the baby’s heartbeat,” the doctor assures Shelagh, a smile on his face. “Your husband can attest that sometimes women do get pregnant when earlier tests had indicated that they can’t. You, Mrs. Turner appear to be one of them.”

Shelagh’s  eyes are filling with tears and when she turns her head to look at her husband she can see that he is in the same state as her.

Deliriously happy.

Chapter Text

Will and Tessa file into the room, twin smiles on their faces. Will looks disheveled, something that has always looked good on him. He has been training for the past two hours. Tessa looks put together, not a hair out of place even though she has been training with Magnus to harness her new discovered powers.

All Jem has done today is lie in bed and play on his violin. He hadn’t allowed his illness to condemn him to do nothing but sleep while Will and Tessa were doing something useful with their days. So, he had composed and now he’s going to play the piece to Will and Tessa.

“Sweetheart, how are you doing?” Tessa asks in her soft voice. She sits down on the chair next to the bed. Will remains standing behind her.

His eyes are clearly showing the pain he’s feeling. It hurts Jem to see Will like this. It’s agony to know that he will be hurting Will and Tessa when he passes to the next life, more than the thought of dying itself.

Shadowhunters know they are going to die. They know that every mission can be their last. Fear of death and leaving loved ones behind should not scare them. It’s what mundanes do, who want to believe they are immortal.

And yet, Jem is scared. Maybe it’s the way he will die. He won’t die at the end of a sword or cut down by a demon. Now, he will have a slow deathbed. Will and Tessa are going to witness him wasting away, desperately and futilely trying to hold on to this life. They are going to share in his pain.

“I had better days,” Jem admits. He lets out a sigh and shuffles around so he can sit more comfortably.

“Should you be sitting up?” Will asks, voice laced with concern. His eyebrows are scrunched up, which makes him look kind of adorable.

“I need to sit up. I have not yet mastered the art of playing the violin while lying on my back.”

“Why are you playing the violin? You should be resting.” Will’s tone of voice is scolding.

Sweet, worried Will. Always concerned even when he doesn’t have to. It’s one of the many things Jew loves about him.

“I did rest.” Jew shrugs his shoulders and smiles at Will. “When I got too tired to play anymore.”

“You should be resting all the time, not only when you feel tired,” Will protests. He shakes his head which prompts Tessa to lay a hand on Will’s hand that’s resting on the backrest of the chair.

Jem can see that it calms Will down a bit, the way Tessa’s touch always calms Jem down as well.

“Babe, I think if Jem thinks his health can take a day of playing the violin, I think we should not scold him for doing so. Jem knows his own strength more than we do.”

Dear, Tessa. Once again the voice of reason.

“If I slept all day, I wouldn’t have had time to write this piece,” Jem tells Will. He grabs his violin, that he had put on the nightstand next to the bed, out of sight of Will and Tessa. He wanted to surprise them. “I wrote it for the both of you.”

“Wait. What?” Will stammers, eyes wide with surprise as he watches Jem put the violin beneath his chin.

“Let me play it for you.”

Tessa watches Jem with big surprised eyes that shine with curiosity. The look in Will’s eyes has transformed into one of reluctant curiosity. Jem knows this is not because Will doubts the quality of the violin piece but because he is still concerned about the strain on Jem’s health performing for him and Tessa will have.

The strings make a screeching sound as Jem puts the bow on them. He closes his eyes for a moment, takes a deep breath, opens his eyes again and starts playing.

Chapter Text

Strong hands grab a waist. Hands are pressed against cheeks. And then, lips meet. The sound of buckets falling over echo in the small enclosed space and then, a body is pressed against a concrete wall.

A gasp is heard as one mouth is opened by a tongue. It entangles itself with the other. The caress is very much appreciated –  a moan escapes from between a pair of lips.

Howard Stark is being pressed up against a wall by Steve Rogers and he’s enjoying every minute of it. The body being pressed against him is solid, taking from him what he’s oh so willing to give.

For the last three hours, he had been unable to touch. All he had been able to do is stare, but not too long, of course, because otherwise, people would start talking.

But now Howard is touching Steve all over and he has never felt so alive. Steve does that to him, ignites a fire inside of him he didn’t even know existed. None of the conquests he had before Steve have had this effect on him.

Steve presses his lower half up against Howard’s, letting him know he’s half-hard. Howard groans, grabs Steve’s ass and presses him even closer.

Now it’s Steve’s turn to groan.

There is a sucking sound as Steve separate his and Howard’s mouth. He grabs Howard’s hands and pulls them away from his ass cheeks. His voice is gruff when he says, “Not here.”

It’s a bit frustrating but mostly endearing that Steve refuses to have sex in public, though Howard does not count having sex in a closet as having sex in public but Steve does.

“Sorry,” Howard groans. He grabs Steve by his neck and presses their foreheads together. “You just turn me on so much.”

As they only got together a week ago, Howard and Steve are still in the honeymoon stage of their relationship. When Steve touches him, Howard is a randy teenager again.

Suddenly, the door to the closet is pulled open, which is odd because Howard could have sworn he locked it. He knows better than to make out with a man in a closet without locking the door.

Peggy Carter is standing in the doorway, the smirk on her face as clear as day even with the sudden brightness.

“You guys can’t go one hour without sneaking off to a closet to make out, can you.” She lifts one eyebrow. “People are starting to talk.”

Peggy is one of the few people who know about the nature of Steve and Howard’s relationship. Nobel as he is, Steve had told her the moment things had changed between him and Howard. He hadn’t wanted to lead her on.

Luckily, for both Steve and Howard, Peggy hadn’t become resentful when she heard the news. Rather, she told him she was thankful he had decided, to be honest with her and that he should be careful as being in a homosexual relationship was still illegal.

“Shit,” Howard curses. He should have known that the many breaks he took to make out with Steve wouldn’t  go unnoticed. If people really have started to talk, Howard is going to have to stop making out with Steve when they’re on the job. He’s going to have to wait until the end of the day to have his way with his boyfriend.  “And by the way, the last time we sneaked off wasn’t an hour ago, but three.”

“Semantics,” Peggy dismisses with a wave of her hand. “Now, come on, guys. The Nazi don’t defeat themselves.”

When both Howard and Steve are sure that their clothes won’t give away what they had been doing in the closet, they follow Peggy down the corridor, back to where people are working to defeat the Nazi threat.

Chapter Text

Ten had never meant to fall in love with one of his companions. That path only leads to heartache. For both him and them.

But against Rose he hadn’t stood a chance. With her eagerness to embrace everything he showed her, her willingness to help others even at the expense of herself and her devotion to him, she had wormed a way into his heart.

After he had realized that Rose was special to him, he had promised himself he was never going to kiss her. But then, she had kissed him and everything went downhill after that.

They hadn’t talked about the kiss for the weeks that followed. Rose hadn’t been herself, quite literally, when she kissed him, so she hadn’t seen any reason to mention it – that’s what she told him later.

But then one day, their lives were once again in danger and the dire situation had prompted Rose to confess that though she wasn’t the one to initiate the kiss,  it was something she had wanted to do, for months before it happened.

After that confession, Ten had known there was no way back. He couldn’t lie to Rose, tell her that the kiss hadn’t meant anything to him. When they had gotten back to the safety of the Tardis, he had kissed her.

That was three weeks ago.

Right now, Rose and Ten are standing on the surface of a beautiful planet. There aren’t any sentient creatures inhabiting either the pastures or the oceans at this moment in time. In a few million years, a race will have developed that will give the Daleks a run for their money.  The planet will be heavy with industry, by then.

But right now, it’s peaceful and filled with gorgeous plant life. That is why Ten decided to bring Rose here. To show her something beautiful.

Rose appears to like the view if the glint in her eyes and the big smile on her face is any indication. Ten wishes she could always look like this.

His Rose Tyler. Happy.

Her hands feel cold as Ten takes her hand in his, lacing his fingers with hers. His heart rate quickens as she squeezes his hand.

There are still times that he wonders if he did wrong by kissing her. Maybe it had been better if he had lied. But when moments like this happen, he knows he made the right decision. He did the right thing by telling her about his feelings for her. Even if it means he will have to watch her die someday.

“I will always love you,” Ten tells Rose in all honesty.

“You better,” Rose jokes as she looks up to him. He leans downwards and kisses her. She sighs against his lips and kisses back.

Time may rob him of Rose, but it won’t be able to erase her  from his hearts.

Rose pulls out of the kiss and grins at Ten. “I will always love you too.”

“You better,” Ten tells Rose with a grin.

Chapter Text

Louis hadn’t meant to kiss Nick. It just sort of happened. He had a lot of alcohol in his system and Nick’s lips looked so inviting.

Those lips Louis was kissing only a few moments ago are now pulled back in a smirk. Nick’s voice is triumphant when he says, “I knew you think I’m irresistible.”

Once again Louis is reminded why he hadn’t liked Nick. Had hated him in fact. He’s always too full of himself.

The gossip sites hadn’t been incorrect when they wrote that Louis and Nick couldn’t stand each other, though they hadn’t been right about the reason why. It had nothing to do with Harry. Harry can have a million friends beside him, for all Louis cares.

Louis hadn’t liked him because he was arrogant, unconsidered and obnoxious. And he had liked to drive Louis up the wall by painting Louis as an arrogant pop star.

Then a year ago, Louis had decided that he was going to kill Nick with kindness. He had stopped reacting to Nick’s taunts, both on twitter as well as in real life. Whenever he met Nick on formal occasions, he would act civil towards Nick. After a while, Nick had stopped attacking Louis. As a result, Louis had started to tolerate Nick Grimshaw.

Which is why he had said yes when Nick had asked if he wanted to get a pint after they had wrapped the filming of today’s X-Factor episode. Louis is now very much regretting his decision.

“What the hell. I’m not attracted to you,” Louis protests between clenched teeth. He would have raised his voice if they weren’t somewhere public. He has his arms crossed defiantly.

“That’s why you kissed me then because you think I look repulsive,” Nick scoffs. He looks smug, with one eyebrow raised.

“I kissed you because I was wondering what kissing a boy would be like.” Which is only half a lie, he had been wondering what kissing a boy would be like but it had been a specific boy.


Nick doesn’t believe him. Of course, he doesn’t. He probably thinks all men are attracted, even the straight ones.

“You know, not everybody is attracted to you.”

Nick doesn’t seem faced by Louis words or is narrowed eyes. He snickers. “Of course not. But you are.”

“I’m not,” Louis hisses.

“The lady does protest too much.” Nick starts wiggling his eyebrows. “Come on, admit it. You want me.”

“You’re a twit, you know that,” Louis spits at Nick.

Louis jumps up from where he had been sitting next to Nick on the bench and smacks the money for his pint on the table. He cannot be in Nick’s presence a moment longer. He might end up either punching Nick or kissing him a second time.

“I could say it was nice getting to know you, but then I would be lying and I don’t lie.” The last part is said with emphasis. “Have fun drinking your pint on your own.”

Louis turns around and stomps out of the pub. Nick doesn’t stop him.

Chapter Text


Kian should’ve seen this coming. He’d known Brian hadn’t been happy last tour. His smile wouldn’t reach his eyes the rare times he did smile, he would skip on band hangouts and his heart wasn’t in the songs he sang.

But Brian’s announcement that he wants to leave the band does come as a shock. To all four of them, apparently, because Nicky, Mark, and Shane all have looks of surprise on their faces.

Nicky is the first to speak, “How long?”

“I’ve been thinking about leaving for a year now but I didn’t decide I wanted to actually do it until the latest tour.” Brian runs a hand through his hair and lets out a quivering sigh. The look on his face is one pain but also relieve.”

“Why?” It comes out as far too vulnerable for Kian’s liking. He sounds like a girlfriend who is begging her boyfriend to tell her why he’s leaving her.

“I don’t feel happy being in the band anymore,” Brian replies. He turns to Kian and for the first time in a year, the other man doesn’t feel butterflies as Brian looks at him. “It doesn’t mean I don’t love you guys anymore. I’m not planning on stopping being your mate. I just feel like this chapter in my life is over. It was fun, but it’s time for me to do something different now.”

“And what is that then?” Shane’s voice is sharp. His eyes are narrowed and his arms are crossed. It’s clear he’s pissed at his band mate.

“I want to spend more time with my family.” Brian crosses his own arms but doesn’t answer Shane fury with anger of his own. Instead, his voice remains calm as he continues, “I may release a solo album. I don’t know what I’m going to want in the future.”

But he knows he doesn’t want Kian or the other boys in his life. He says he wants to remain friends but Kian knows better. Most days of the year, they spend on the road and the few days off they have, they spend with their families. There’s almost never have time to hang out with their friends.

Brian is leaving them and he’s acting like they aren’t going to be strangers to each other.

“We’re going to miss you mate.” It seems Mark is taking the end of their band better than his band mates. But then Kian sees the look on his face. Mark is taking it just as badly as the others, he’s just pretending that he’s not. The set of his mouth, however, gives him away.

“It’s bull shite.”

Everyone turns to face Kian as the words leave his mouth. They can probably see the tears brimming in the corners of his eyes. They know he’s upset, more then he should be.

Kian can feel the urge to run out of the room well up and it is what he does. He flees.

Tears start spilling from his eyes as he walks towards the exit with angry strides. When he opens the door, he takes a big gulp of fresh air. The cold wind freezes the evidence of his distress on his cheeks.

The wall is cold against his back as Kian leans back against it. The stars twinkle in the sky, undeterred, as if the world hasn’t suddenly changed. It’s because for them it hasn’t, even if for Kian it has. Brian will no longer be a part of his life.

Kian hadn’t thought that Brian would follow him, so he almost jumps out of his skin when the door suddenly opens and Brian appears next to him. There’s a sad smile on his face as if he feels sorry for Kian.

“It was all true, what I said. This isn’t about you guys. It is about me wanting to be there for my family.”

“Why do you suddenly care?” Kian wants to know. He narrows his eyes at his band mate – or rather is ex-band mate. “You didn’t care before. All the tours we’ve been on. All those years away from our girlfriends, wives and children, you didn’t care. Why do you do now?”

“Because of all those years. Because I spend all those tours without my family. It’s now time for me to put my family first.” Brian lets out a sigh. The smile disappears from his lips. “I know what this is extra hard for you.”

Kian’s heart jumps into his throat and suddenly he’s no longer cold, he’s sweating. “I don’t know..”

“It’s alright,” Brian interrupts Kian. There is no anger or disgust in his eyes. Only pity. “I am truly sorry you had to go and fall in love with a miserable sod like me. I couldn’t have…”

Here, Brian’s voice falters. “I don’t feel the same way, Kian. I’m sorry. I would’ve never, even if I stayed.”

Though Kian knew that his feelings were unrequited, it still breaks his heart to hear Brian tell him so. He shakes his head and lowers it. He can see tears fall on his shoes. “I know… I know that.”

“It’ll be good for you, me being gone. I know it’s going to be hard, but maybe it’ll help you get over me. It’ll probably take some time.” The last part is said in a joking manner.

There were times that Kian believed that he would never be able to get over Brian. How could this all-consuming feeling ever fade away? Right now, it’s surging through his body, making it ache with longing.

But Kian is not a girl. He isn’t going to tell that no, Brian being away from him will not help. Doesn’t distance make the heart grow fonder?

“You know, I’m not all that great.” Brian lets a sigh escape his lips as he runs a hand through his blonde locks. “I’m lazy, I snore and far too fond of myself.”

Why is Brian telling all the things he doesn’t like about himself? Doesn’t he know that when you love someone, you love all of them, lesser qualities included?

“That’s all true.” Kian lets out a shaky sigh. Without his consent, tears are falling down his cheeks. His face hurts as he gives Brian a watery smile. “And I still fell in love with you.”

Kian has finally said it. He has, for the first time ever, said out loud that he is in love with Brian McFadden. And the one he told it to was none other than the man himself.

Blue eyes grow soft and come closer to Kian’s equal blue ones as Brian takes a step towards him. They are almost chest to chest. Kian can feel Brian’s breath on his face.

And then their lips are touching. Bain is kissing him. And Kian is kissing back. Within seconds Brian opens his mouth and their tongues start caressing each other.

Kian’s hands are suddenly gripping Brian’s waist and then he’s pulling the younger man closer. Brian’s body feels solid, pressed against his. And he’s hard, Kian can feel it against his hip.

Kissing Kian makes Brian hard. This realization sends his mind reeling even harder than Brian’s lips already have.

Far too soon for Kian’s liking, Brian pulls back from the kiss. His irises are slits as he looks at Kian. Brian may not be in love with Kian but he wants him, at least right now.

Which is why when Brian proposes they should shag each other tonight, to get Kian’s crush on Brian out of his system, he tells him yes, he thinks it’s a good idea too.

He knows, one shag won’t stop Kian from wanting Brian in every way possible, but he’s willing to take whatever is given to him.

They go back inside. Brian’s hand burns through Kian’s sweater and shirt where it rests on the small of Kian’s back. Kian just hopes that the blush tainting his cheeks won’t give away to his band mates what he and Brian will be up to tonight.

Chapter Text

In Gordon’s line of work, people tend to get wounded. It’s part of the job, especially when you’re a cop in Gotham. Pennyworth knows this. But that doesn’t make seeing Gordon bleed on the sofa out of a wound in his chest any less frightening. He has grown rather attached to his master’s guardian.

After the parents of Master Bruce died during a robbery, officer Gordon had adopted him as a sort of ward. Gordon would visit the Wayne estate so often that he had become a fixture in the household.

Master Bruce is standing to the side as he watches Pennyworth is kneeling next to Gordon’s bleeding body. There isn’t any blood on his clothes or on his face. His hands are another story.

“Why don’t you wash your hands. I’ll look at the injuries,” Pennyworth tells his Master. “And look for the first aid kit while you’re there.”

Pennyworth doesn’t like giving his Master instructions. Master Bruce is supposed to tell him what to do. But right now, the young boy is in shock, so Pennyworth has to take charge.

The Master does not protest. While Pennyworth rids Gordon of his shirt, he can hear his retreating footsteps as he leaves the room to do what he’s told to do.

Gordon is still conscious, which is a good sign. Pennyworth doesn’t have to move his body, Gordon is doing it himself with the older man’s help.

“What went wrong?” Pennyworth asks as he inspects the wound. Gordon’s muscular chest is moving rapidly up and down. He’s in pain even if he isn’t showing it on his face.

“There were men behind us. I didn’t see them,” Gordon replies.

Pennyworth knows that Gordon will beat himself up for this mistake. He would do the same, maybe even more harshly. Back when he was in the army, it had been drilled into him how important it was to scan your surroundings. Knowing where your enemies were was vital to any mission.

Not wanting to cause Gordon more distress than necessary, Pennyworth doesn’t scold Gordon for making such a dangerous mistake when both his and Master Bruce’s lives are on the line. Instead, he says, “Well, you and Master Bruce are safe now.”

“Yeah, thanks to Bruce, not me,” Gordon scoffs. He hisses when Pennyworth gingerly touches the skin around his wound. “One of the bastards nicked my chest with one of his knives. Knocked him unconscious.”

Pennyworth can easily imagine Gordon taking a knife-wielding crook with only his hands. He doesn’t like to use his gun unless there really is no other way for him to win from his opponent.

It appears Gordon doesn’t need stitches. The wound isn’t too deep and the blood that is still spilling from it is negligible. Gordon’s going to be fine.

Pennyworth looks up and his eyes find Gordon’s. They’re a breathtakingly blue and they don’t let go of Pennyworth’s eyes.

Gordon’s eyes had been the first thing that had caught Pennyworth’s attention when he met him. Then his eyes had drifted to his plump lips and broad shoulders. He’d been a commanding presence, even though he was small. Pennyworth had been immediately drawn to him.

This happened, from time to time, Pennyworth being attracted to men. It’d been a bit of a problem during his time in the army but he’d managed to fly under the radar. Now, he’s free to pursue any man he likes.

And the man he likes right now is Gordon and that’s why he moves his face closer and when Gordon doesn’t flinch away, presses his lips against Gordon’s.

Gordon immediately kisses back. He grabs a hold of Pennyworth’s neck and deepens the kiss. Their tongues move together, explore each other’s mouth as they get lost in each other.

The sound of something crashing to the ground causes the two man to break the kiss. Suddenly, Pennyworth remembers where he is and that he’d told Master Bruce to come back with the first aid kit.

Master Bruce is standing in the doorway, with a shocked expression on his face and with the first aid kit lying at his feet where he’d dropped it on the floor.

Chapter Text

Zoe loves her son, but he’s a nightmare to put to sleep. There is always another story he wants his mother to tell or another song he wants his father to sing. Whenever they put him to bed, he would climb out of the bed five minutes later and run to his parents’ room to beg for, “Another, please mom.”

It took a while for Zoe and Wade to learn to say no. Only after it had gone on for months, did they send him back to his bed without another lullaby or bedtime story.

An hour ago, Arthur had come to his parents’ bedroom to ask for a bedtime story. Zoe had sent him back to his room right away. He hadn’t returned to their bedroom, even though it had only been the first time tonight. Could it be that he’s learning?

Wade has his arms wrapped around Zoe’s waist as she stares up at the ceiling. She seems unable to fall asleep.

‘Are you okay?” Wade’s voice is muffled

“Yeah, it’s nothing.”

The uncertainty is clearly audible in Zoe’s voice. Wade is going to think she’s lying. And maybe she is. She doesn’t know why she can’t sleep, maybe something is wrong.

“Are you still thinking about what that woman said?” Wade has extracted his face from the pillow and is now looking at Zoe with worried eyes.

A woman, who had just moved into Bluebell, had come into the practice today with her kid, who had a sprained ankle. While Zoe had checked out her daughter’s ankle, the mother had told Zoe just how bad of a mother she was for not staying at home until her son was of a school going age.

Zoe, though quite confident about most things, does often worry about her parenting abilities. She had freaked out when she discovered she was pregnant and for a second time when she discovered she had to raise a boy in Alabama. And now there was a woman, who basically accused her off given her son a complex because she put her wishes before her son’s needs.

At the best of times, Zoe has to reign in her anger when people are being asses but this time, she had really nearly lost it. She had been so angry and that anger had lasted up until she told Wade about what happened when he got home. Afterward, she’d cried and Wade had held her.

“I’ll probably think about it for weeks,” Zoe admits. She lets out a sigh and runs her hand down her face. “Thankfully we never eat at Fancy’s, otherwise I would’ve had to face her there. When I see her in town, I can at least ignore her or walk the other way.”

“Yeah, but if we did eat at Fancy’s, you could act like a spoilt guest. Send her back with your food, complain about your drink.” Wade snickers at the thought of Zoe behaving like a diva, putting her high standards to good use.

Zoe snickers at her husband’s suggestion. For a moment, she feels like doing as he says, let her vindictive side rule her sensible one. But Fancy’s is Lemons and the two of them have kind of become friends the past few years after they agreed on a tantive peace for Lavon’s sake. Lemon would probably have Zoe’s head if she would behave obnoxiously in her restaurant.

“But hé, you’re not a bad mom. Ask anyone who really knows you,” Wade assures Zoe. He shuffles closer and buries his face in her hair. He kisses her head softly. “You’re great mom, in my humble opinion.”

“You have to say that because you love me,” Zoe protests. Her mouth is pulled into a pout.

“That I do. But that’s not why I’m saying you’re a good mom.” Wade lifts his head and looks at her with eyes that seem to twinkle in the half-dark room. “You’re willing to drop anything when Arthur needs you. He loves the birthday parties you throw him. And unlike other kids, he likes eating healthy food and that’s because of you. And it isn’t as if he is alone when you’re at the practice. Lavon loves watching his godson. You’re an amazing mom.”

Wade’s words kind of make Zoe feels a little better. Because they are true. But Zoe isn’t sure if that makes her a good mother.

“I bet Stella makes mistakes. She may act like she’s a better mother then you but I bet she isn’t. That’s probably why she lashing out at you. To make her feel better to own mothering skills.” Wade looks rather pleased with his skills as an amateur psychologist. It looks rather adorable on him.

“Maybe.” Zoe doesn’t really think so but she’s willing to indulge her husband.

“I promise you, it’s not you, it’s her. “ Wade smiles at Zoe before leaning downwards and kissing her.

The kiss quickly changes into caresses, grunts, and moans. Desire and love soon chase away any thoughts of Stella.

The only emotions she feels when she falls asleep an hour later is love and happiness.

Chapter Text

Arthur knows that Merlin is an oddball, but he never expected to see his manservant with his tunic draped over his face.

“What the hell,” Arthur exclaims and throws the door shut to startle Merlin even more.

Merlin immediately grabs the tunic and lifts it from his face. His eyes are like that of a startled mouse as he scrambles for the right response.

“I was just… you know. Checking if I need to wash this tunic,” Merlin stutters his reply.

One eyebrow raised, Arthur points at the pile of clothes that on the floor in front of his closet. “It was on that pile, wasn’t it? So, yeah, I think it’s a safe guess that it needs to be washed.”

“Right. Right,” Merlin mumbles.

What the hell is going on? Normally Merlin fires back with a sarcastic retort and then Arthur punishes him for his subordination. Merlin is acting very, well, un-Merlin like.

“I’ll go wash it … I mean them,” Merlin quickly corrects himself. He hurries towards the pile of clothes and picks them up.

He doesn’t look at Arthur as he hurries out of the room.

As Arthur, with a shake of his head, starts changing into his hunting outfit, Merlin leans against the wall of the corridor on the other side of the door. He curses under his breath, berating himself softly so no one else can hear.

Merlin was lucky that Arthur believed his lie. At times it’s lucky that Arthur thinks that Merlin has sawdust for brains.

Sniffing the tunic was a very bad idea. He shouldn’t have done it. It is bad enough that Merlin has this huge crush on Arthur – someone who only sees him as a servant and a very bad one at that – but if Arthur ever finds out, hell will break lose.

Merlin should really learn how to control his urges.

Chapter Text

The pub is filled with smoke from all the cigarettes that have been lighted by lonely people from all walks of life, groups of friends huddled together and couples out on dates.

One of these couples are Trixie and Tom. They are seated in a corner booth and their proximity to each other is that of people madly in love. Tom’s pint of beer is standing securely on the table in front of him, his finger wrapped around the cold glass. Trixie’s glass of sherry is waiting in front of her red mouth as she laughs at something that Tom says.

She never knew Tom had such a delightful sense of humor. The ability to tell a funny story is not one usually associates with men of the cloth, so Trixie hadn’t. But much to her delight. She’s just now discovered that is not only very good looking and amazingly kind but also he has a droll sense of wit.

“That must have been very awkward,” Trixie exclaims. With her small pointer fingers, she wipes away a tear that threatens to escape. She’s laughed herself to tears.

“It was alright.” Tom shrugs his shoulders. As he’s taller than her, he’s looking down at Trixie with eyes that are scrunched into slits and which have lips beneath them that are pulled back into a grin. It makes butterflies erupt in her stomach. “Luckily, I was able to laugh about it afterward.

“That’s great. Who has time for embarrassment.” Trixie waves her hand in front of her face as if to wave away even the thought of shame. “I always try to laugh when I do something stupid. Unless it’s something serious, of course. If something really bad happens, laughing about his very bad form indeed.”

“That’s true. Or when someone else does something that makes them feel like a fool.” Tom agrees.

Trixie wanders if this is the minister in Tom speaking. A good Christian shouldn’t smile at something bad happening to their fellow men but wants to help them instead. Christ wanted the Jews to love their oppressor, the least that Christians like Trixie and Tom can do is love their brothers and sister of the same faith.

“No one likes a bully,” Trixie declares. Tom nods his head at that in agreement.

“So, how were your patients today?” Tom asks, apparently having decided that it’s time for a new subject to discuss.

Tom knows that Trixie loves her job. It’s what she’d wanted to be up when she grew up the moment she discovered what a midwife was. Like her wonderful colleagues, she sees it not as her job but as her vocation.

“They’re doing good. The woman who’s expected twins is suffering from Calcium deficiency, but we gave her tablets, so she’s going to be alright.”

“That’s great,” Tom declares.

Trixie finally takes a sip from her sherry. The taste burns her tongue in the most delicious way. This really is her favorite drink. It tastes amazing and always has a soothing effect on her nerves, that are always frayed at the end of the day, even if it is slow like this one had been.

Excited shivers run down Trixie’s spine when Tom puts an arm behind her and leans downwards. His lips meet hears and suddenly, the clamor of the pub sounds muffled, like their in a different room from the other people.

His kisses are careful but convey a promise. If they weren’t in public, he would be kissing her in a very different way.

Nowadays, sherry’s are not the only things that help her relax after a day of work. Tom kisses, the one he’s now pressing against her alcohol stained lips, as just as good of a medicine against stress as her favorite beverage.

Maybe she should trade all of the alcohol for this different kind of intoxication.

Chapter Text

The first time Simon borrowed Raphael’s clothes, he actually needed to. He’d been too eager and had spilled blood all over his shirt. As he had just moved in, he didn’t have any clothes of his own. They were still at the house, draped over a chair, strewn across his room or neatly folded in his closet.

So, he had to resort to borrowing Raphael’s clothes. The older vampire had grudgingly allowed him to put on one of his red shirts, while he had watched Simon for any sign that he was going to tear his precious piece of clothing.

Luckily for Simon, he was a vampire, so there hadn’t been a blush spilling down his neck and chest at Raphael’s attention. He had managed to hold on to his poker face while he looked at Raphael through the mirror.

After that one time, Simon had borrowed Raphael’s clothes on multiple occasion but all those times it had been because he’d liked wearing shirts and jeans that had been worn by Raphael in the past. Why that is, Simon has no idea. Maybe it has something to do with the crush that he has on the older vampire.

He had only found out about the crush the week before he’d borrow the red shirt. He had been minding his own business, texting with Clary about how he was settling in and how sorry she was that she had to leave him behind when some vamps had decided to mess with him. They hadn’t been all too pleased that a mere fletchling who even consorted with shadowhunters, had been given such an high-ranking possession. Simon had been no match for them and Raphael had to come to his rescue. After he’d chased Simon’s attackers away, he’d asked Simon if he was okay. He had looked genuinely worried. And Simon had liked that he was. That was when the penny dropped.

He had, of course, realized that Raphael would never feel the same way. He and Raphael would never be close the way that Simon wanted them to be. Maybe that’s why Simon likes to wear Raphael’s clothes. It allows him to believe that he means more to Raphael then he actually does.

Whatever the reason may be, Simon is once again knocking on Raphael’s door with the request to borrow his leather jacket on his lips. The older vampire does not look pleased when he opens the door.

“What you want?” Raphael asks the tone of his voice one of irritation. “I’m busy.”

“I want… can I borrow your jacket?” Simon asks as he smiles nervously at Raphael.

“We really need to get you some clothes of your own,” Raphael grumbles. He steps away from the door so Simon can enter.

There is no sign that Raphael was actually doing something when Simon enters the room. There is no one else in the room, there are no papers on his desk or bed and there’s no book that Raphael could’ve been reading.

Raphael extracts the jacket from his closet and hands it over to Simon. Their fingers touch and for a moment, it feels like his heart has suddenly started beating again. But then Raphael let’s go of the jacket and Simon is suddenly as dead as a doornail again.

“Thank you.” Simon’s voice sounds hoarse.

Raphael makes a shooing motion with his hands but the look in his eyes makes Simon think he wants him to stay.

It’s probably better that Simon does what the hands want. He doesn’t want Raphael getting mad at him for staying when he’s told to go.

So, that is what he does. He turns around and exits the room.

Raphael watches him as he closes the door behind him. Simon doesn’t know that Raphael’s world has just been turned upside down. He doesn’t even know his own has. Simon doesn’t know anything about mates.


Chapter Text

Jude’s heartbeat sounds as loud as the Connor the teachers played around the campfire. He’s sure he’s waking his classmates or at least the ones sleeping next to Jude and Connor’s tent as he looks at the other boy. He is sleeping, unaware that Connor is taking in each inch of his face.

At least, Jude thinks he is but then he opens his eyes. A grin appears to dance on his lips as he asks, “Do I have something on my face?”

Mortification makes blood rush to Jude’s face. It feels like it’s on fire. He shouldn’t have been staring at his friend. “I wasn’t… I mean… there’s nothing on your face.”

“Why were you staring then?” There’s humor in his voice. He turns his head to look at Connor. Due to the shadows in the tent, Connor can’t read his expression. He can’t tell if the humor is meant to hurt. Surely, Connor would never do that to him.

Jude can’t come up with an excuse as to why he was staring. The only lie that he could tell that wouldn’t make him look weird he has already discarded when he told Connor he didn’t have anything on his face.

At first, because of the darkness inside the tent, Jude doesn’t notice Connor moving closer to him, but then he’s almost on top of Jude. He lets out a yelp of surprise when Connor presses his lips against Jude’s.

Connor’s lips feel warm against his cold ones. And they’re soft and careful and wonderful. They’re just as he had secretly imagined.

Staring at Connor had been a great idea after all.

Chapter Text

Soft strokes tease a beautiful melody from the four strings. Long, agile fingers are the bow’s accomplishes as they press into the metal. The violin doesn’t stand a chance.

John Watson watches Sherlock Holmes thin fingers dance across the slender neck of the instrument. The other man is obvious in his delight at the focus of the doctor. He always enjoys it when the man he shares an apartment with has all his attention on him.

The fire in the hearth crackles as the violin goes from an F to an A. Someone shouts outside the apartment and a carriage drives by. Watson can hear the sound of the hoofs of the horse as it canters by with a carriage on its heels.

Holmes doesn’t lose his focus, all his attention is still on the instrument that he is caressing. Like always, he looks graceful as he becomes one with the music. His eyes are closed and his whole body moves with the music. He is no longer a man playing music, he is the music.

It does not matter how long Watson knows Holmes, the doctor keeps getting surprised how superior the only consulting detective is to other men. He surpasses most of them in intelligence, resourcefulness, and stamina. His looks are not of an average nature either.

This is why it had not surprised Watson when those unnatural urges that he had considered gone after medical school had resurfaced after Watson had lived with Holmes for weeks.

Even with all his observation skills, Holmes has as of yet not discovered Watson’s secret. If he had found out. Holmes would have gone to the Yard, as is his duty. But as this has not happened, Watson considers his secret safe.

Holmes opens his eyes and then he stops playing. His eyes wander to the dancing flames of the fire. Their brightness is reflected in Holmes’s eyes. The sight makes it difficult for Watson to breath.

“Did you enjoy the piece?” Holmes asks with a hoarse voice. The sound sends a shiver down Watson’s spine.

“It was beautiful,” Watson declares. His voice has the same quality as Holmes’s.

The violin does not make a sound as Holmes lays it down on the ground. The bow joins the instrument next to his chair.

Watson’s breath halts in his throat as Holmes rises from his chair. It takes Holmes one step to reach him.

And then he puts his hands on the armrests of Watson’s chair and leans downwards. Watson lets out a gasp in surprise when his and Holmes’s lips meet.

Chapter Text

“I always knew you had it in you,” Danny declares with a grin.

His whole face seems to glow in the lamplight of the restaurant. Riley has never seen him look this proud, not even when she told him she was expecting his child. Then again, that wasn’t an accomplishment, just an happy accident.

“You did?” Riley asks. She grabs Danny’s hand and smiles at him as she looks at him through her lashes.

“Of course. You very smart. You’re the smartest person I know. And you’re very hardworking. Why wouldn’t you get the promotion?” The grin has grown even bigger.

“So are the other paralegals.”

“And out of all the paras, they choose you.” Danny’s strong fingers squeeze Riley’s hand and she can feel her whole body relax. “You have something they don’t. That’s why you’re junior partner.”

“It’s paralegals, honey.” Riley can’t suppress the giggle that escapes from between her lips.

Danny’s eyebrows dip down. “Paralegals. Right. Well, whatever they’re called, you’re better then them.”

Up until now, Riley didn’t know she needed this, someone to assure her that she got the junior partner position for a reason. She had been too busy with celebrating she got the job she worked so hard for to think about why she got it in the first place.

But Danny knew that she needed to hear she got the promotion because she was just that little bit better than the other paralegals He may not be the sharpest crayon on the box but he always knows what Riley needs. It’s probably because he’s been in love with her for so long.

At times like this, she can’t believe how lucky she is to have him. She has put him through so much and he still stuck around. He didn’t stop loving her. Even when he had that thing with that girl his heart had still belonged to her.

And now they’re having a baby. She and Danny are going to be parents. This baby will want for nothing – with his mother a junior partner and his daddy a New York Rangers - and he’s going to be so loved. With every day that passes, Riley gets more excited for her baby to arrive. She can already imagine him on play dates with his cousin. They’re going to be so adorable.

“What you smiling about?” Danny asks. His large fingers entangle themselves with hers, a gesture that never felt this intimate.

“Emma and Robby are going to be best friends. I just know it. Maybe they’re going to be as close as siblings, they are going to grow up together.” Riley can already see it. Her Robby teasing Emma, she teasing him right back. When they’re teenagers, she going to start dating and Robby is going tell the boys that they better not hurt her.

“But she’s going to have siblings,” Danny protests.

“Probably,” Riley says. She would love to have more children with Danny. After they get married, of course. Riley might be a modern woman in most aspects of her life, but marriage isn’t one of them.

“She will,” Danny declares and nods his head.

“Yes, she will.” Riley snickers. Fondness has creeped into her gaze.

Fuck. She has never loved someone as thoroughly as this doffus.

Chapter Text

The sun embraces Paul as he sits down on the couch. Stuart watches him with rapped eyes, mesmerized by the sight in front of him. Big brown eyes twinkle in the sunshine and brown locks grow lighter. 

This boy, this vision in front of him, is the only person who can drive up the wall. Stuart is a mellow person, a drizzle to John’s hurricane, but Paul had been able to anger Stuart whenever he made digs that were meant to hurt Stuart. And the past few weeks, he had been able to enflame Stuart’s whole body with just a bat of his eyelashes. He probably always will. 

It had taken Stuart by surprise that Paul had been able to do that to him. He never looked at another man that way. He and John are close but only spiritually. Stuart had never wanted their connection to become physical. 

But Stuart had wanted to become close with Paul in that way and he had resigned himself this would mean that he couldn’t have what he wanted. And he hadn’t gotten what he wanted until one of their many fights had ended in a kiss. 

Nobody but Paul and Stuart know what happened afterwards. Neither their families or their friends know that from time to time, Paul and Stuart would met up, even after they had come back from the sinful city of Hamburg. Not even John knows what they get up to.

Of course, Paul does not want to wait. He wiggles where he is seated on the couch. The sharp sound as he loudly clears his throat breaks the silence of the room. 

“Are you going to draw?”

A fond smile plays on Stuart’s lips. A chuckle escapes from between them. 

“Patience, love.”

Paul bristles and sends the other man an annoyed glare. It makes him look like a pouting child. Paul doesn’t like it when Stuart calls him ‘love’. He says it’s because it makes him feel like a girl. 

The charcoal stripe that Stuart draws on the white paper feels like a caress. It dances lovingly as he conjures a beautiful face on the canvas. But it does not compare to the features that he tries to imitate. The lines that Stuart has lovingly pressed against the paper are an ignoble imitation of the lines that he will trace when he has finished the drawing that he will keep locked away until he can no longer fight the longing to look upon his lover.

Chapter Text

Niall didn’t mean to kiss him. But he was alighted - his first solo album had gone to number one in thirty countries for fuck’s sake - and he had been thinking about kissing his friend for weeks now. Bressie had leaned forward to hug him and Niall had gone on his tippy toes and had kissed him. Right in front of their friends.

Not that they hadn’t seen it coming. Laura had teased him relentlessly about his apparent obvious crush on Bressie almost as long as Niall had wanted to be beneath the much taller man. 

Because of course, Niall wants more than just kissing, like any hot-blooded man. He would love for Bressie to pick him up and take him to bed.

Thank fuck Bressie kissed back. He didn’t push Niall away or froze on the spot. His hands traveled to Niall’s waist and pulled him in. His large hands almost enveloped his whole waist and their tight hold made Niall weak in the knees.

Their friends had hooted and whistled loudly enough that Niall’s neighbors were probably going to complain in the morning. Niall is used to that. It doesn’t take a lot to get Mr. McAdams riled up. 

When they had finally parted for air, Bressie hadn’t smiled at Niall or said anything for a whole minute. But he hadn’t let go of Niall, giving Niall mixed signals. 

“Spur of the moment or long hidden desire?”Bressie had asked when Niall had given up the hope of a reaction. His face had been open and honest. He had cared for the answer. 

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you for weeks now,” Niall had admitted with a grin. 

“We can all attest to that,” Laura had interjected with glee. Niall had vowed to kill her later. 

“Good, because I’m planning on kissing you often from here on out,” Bressie had declared with a grin. 

Chapter Text

He has written songs about seeing her again. He had imagined it. Walking up to her, greeting her and asking her how she’s doing, hoping that he can see somewhere in her eyes that she misses him. That even though what they had didn’t last long, there are times that she thinks about it.

But this is nothing like that. He doesn’t seem able to move as he watches her talk to the journalist. She looks tanner, more grown-up.

She has been killing it. Succces has grown for her while it had dimished for him. His solo album hadn’t been as populair as he had hoped. But he’s really happy for her. He wishes nothing but happiness for her.

Journalists are calling out his name, asking him if what he thinks about his ex being with someone else, if he hates her.

Nathan know he should probably react. Tell the press that he doesn’t resent her, but he can’t do even that. He’s nailed to the ground.

And then Ariana spots him. Her eyes find his and she smiles. It looks wonderful on her pink lips. She looks genuinely happy to see him. It’s like a salve to his painful heart.

“Nathan,” she exclaims happily when she’s made her way to him. She grabs both his arms and kisses his face. He can feel color rise in his cheeks. “It’s good to see you. Loved the album.”

So, she listened to it. She heard the songs that were about her. He knew there was a chance that she would but he had never thought it would actually happen.

“Glad you liked it.” Nathan’s voice is hoarse, much to his mortification. He smiles back at her. “It’s great to see you as well.”

He searches her face. Fingers crossed, she thinks that he’s trying to memories her face. His palms are sweaty as he looks. Looks.

There it is. There in the corner of her lips. It always scrunges up a certain way when she regrets something. And the way she’s looking at him. He knows it’s him.

And no, she doesn’t regret she was once his girlfriend. No, she’s regretting breaking up with him or not being able to make it work.

“Time to go inside.” Her published tugs at her arm.

“Okay.” She doesn’t take her eyes off of Nathan. “Good luck tonight.”

“You too.” Nathan doesn’t have any doubt she’ll win every award she’s nominated for.

She smiles and inclines her head. “See you around.”

“Yeah, you too,” Nathan replies breathlessly.

He watches her walk away. It brings memories back of the day she walked out of his life. Would they have still been together if he’d run after her, had told her that they could make it work.

Nathan’s never going to know.


Chapter Text

If only his father could see him now. Prince of Ithilien and married to Eowyn of Rowan. Maybe he would be pleased with the former, not so much with the later.

But Faramir could never do this without Eowyn. She’s his life, his rock in the stormy weather that’s his life. She keeps him grounded.

And she’s asleep right now. Today has been very taxing. They’d arrived at their new princedom only three hours ago, having travelled straight from Minas Tirith. Both of them didn’t want to wait to lay their eyes on their new home.

Eowyn had fallen asleep almost right away but sleeps seems to allude Faramir. It’s just that there is so much to think about. He’s a new made prince tasked with the duty to rid the lands of men from the last remaining orcs.

“What’s the matter, my love?” Eowyn’s voice is soft with sleep. It sends Faramir’s heart aflutter.

“Did I wake you?” Faramir asks as he turns his eyes on his wife.

She’s blinking the sleep from her eyes as she looks at him. There’s a soft smile on her lips. Faramir will never grow tired of the sight of it.

“You did. But’s alright. I’m happy you did. Now you can unburden your thoughts on me.” Eowyn, as considered as always. It’s one of the many things he loves about her.

“They’re not thoughts. It’s more of a feeling.”

His hands find hers under the sheets and he laces his fingers with hers. Her skin feels soft against his. So different from how they felt when they first met. They had still been rough with the sword she had handled to avenge her uncle’s death.

“It’s a feeling of dread. Like the worst isn’t behind us, even though I know that not to be true.”

Eowyn smiles at him. Her hand finds its way out from under the sheet and up on his cheek. For a moment, he closes his eyes.

“There are times that I feel that way as well.” Her finger traces Faramir’s lower lip and it sends a shiver down his spine. Mischief finds its way into her eyes as she leans closer. “What always helps is distracting myself. Do you want me to distract you?”

“Yes, please.” Faramir sounds breathless and it makes the grin on Eowyn’s face grow even bigger.

The next second, her lips find his.

Chapter Text


“My name is Eliot. I will be your waiter for tonight.”

The dark haired man is smiling but something feels off. Maybe it’s the way that his eyes dance between the three people sitting at the table, the tone of his voice or that his smile doesn’t seem sincere but Liam could swear that he knows.

Liam almost jumps when a warm hand is laid on his tremble leg. It feels intimate, the way it always does now that they’ve lain everything on the table. There are no more innocent touches.

“It’s alright.” The voice is gruff and very much masculine.

Okay, Liam never had anything against guys who liked guys but he’d never been something he participated in. But then he met Louis and all of a sudden he had wanted to try it out.

Eleanor is smiling at him from where she’s seated at the other side of the table. Her upturned lips make butterflies erupt in his stomach the way it always does.

He had felt so guilty, crushing on his friend’s girlfriend. For days he hadn’t be able to look Louis in the eye. But Louis hadn’t confronted him, so Liam had thought he had gotten away with it. That was until he had told Liam he wanted to talk to him.

Liam is really thankful for the conversation that followed, without it he wouldn’t be sitting here.

“Sorry,” Liam apologizes with a shaky voice. He takes a soft, deep breath and tries to relax his shoulders, his legs and back.

Louis squeezes his leg but doesn’t move his hand, which Liam is thankful for. It makes him feel grounded. Or at least as grounded as you can feel when on a date with two people.

The waiter hands the menu’s over and Liam takes his with trembling hands. The waiter doesn’t comment on it, just smiles at him before walking away.

“Just relax, yeah?” Eleanor’s voice is as soft as the hand she lays on Liam’s. “For all they know, we’re just three friends having a bite to eat.”

“Yeah. Right,” Liam mutters.

Next to Liam, Louis chuckles good-natured. “You’re better of learning a mole to paint, El.”

Up until now, calling Eleanor ‘El’ was a privilege only given to Louis. Now Liam too can call her that whenever he wants to. And that honor feels amazing. Almost as much as kissing the both of them had.

Liam never thought he’d be here, on a date with his best mate and his girlfriend.

And he’s never been happier.

Chapter Text

It shouldn’t have surprised Gwen that Arthur offered to teach her how to use a sword. She’s found herself in a situation where knowing how to handle a sword would’ve come in handy more than once. It’s just that his father would skin him alive if he ever found out.

But of course, Arthur doesn’t care what his father thinks is proper when it comes to Gwen. Or at least, when it doesn’t involve their future together.

So, despite knowing that he’ll get hell for this, Arthur is standing in front of her, sword in hand. He smiles at her and for a moment the dimly lit room feels brighter.

“I assume you already know how to hold a sword?” Arthur asks.

He’s right. She does. It’s one of the perks of having a blacksmith for a father. Often enough he’d asked her to hold one of the swords he made so he could determine if the sword was finished. It’s only so much you can check when you hold a sword in your own hand.

She nods her head and Arthur hands the sword over to her. He looks in awe as he watches her hold the sword in front of her, almost skewering him to its tip.

“Perfect.” Arthur’s voice sounds a bit breathless, making Gwen blush. Her cheeks flush even redder when he adds, smirk on his lips, “Your … looks good too.”

“Are you going to teach me how to use this, or are you just going to keep giving me compliments?” Gwen jokes as she smiles at her prince.

“I would if you’d let me.” He smiles back at her as he kays a hand on the sword. He presses it down andn Gwen doesn’t push back. She’s nailed to the floor as Arthur walks towards her.

Why is he doing this? He told her they don’t have a future together yet here he is, complimenting her, moving in for a kiss.

She should push him away. Protect herself. But his blue eyes seem to have hypnotized her because she doesn’t turn her head as he leans forward.

When their lips meet, her legs almost give out from under her. His arms wrap around her waist, saving her from a fall to the cold stone floor.

If only he could safe her from heartbreak as well.

Chapter Text

Dean is a good hunter. But even he is sometimes taken by surprise. The vampire was just really good at hiding. He hadn’t expected the chick to jump him and he’s now paying the price for it. His arm is hurting like hell.

And Castiel is amused. He’s fucking smiling as he’s hovering over the older Winchester. Dean would very much like to kiss the smirk off of his face.

He has that a lot lately. Thoughts about kissing Castiel. And Dean doesn’t know what to do with them. He’s never been attracted to men. He’s always been a purely women kind of guy. And now here he is, thinking about kissing a man, or rather an angel. Maybe it’s because Castiel is an angel?

But then again, thinking about kissing Gabriel doesn’t sound as fun. Even if he wasn’t such a pain in the ass, Dean would rather kiss Lucifer.

So, maybe it’s because it’s Cas. Endearing Cass who is so eager to learn, who tends to take things too literally, who had decided to become their guardian angel just because he’d grown to like them.

“Can’t you just heal me instead of grinning like an idiot,” Dean barks at the angel, who still hasn’t used his power.

Sam is smirking as well. He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed as he watches his brother and their angel. Nice, really nice, laughing at your brother’s pain.

“No need to be so impatient,” Cas admonishes Dean. He shakes his head but he does put his hands over Dean’s wound. “It’s not as if you’re dying right now.”

“Sure feels like it,” Dean mutters, even though it doesn’t really.

“Drama queen,” Sam mutters under his breath but unluckily for him, there’s nothing wrong with Dean’s ears.

“Fuck off,” Dean curses and glares daggers at Sam. Sam doesn’t look impressed, of course.

Dean can feel a soothing warmth spread through his wounds as Castiel starts to heal him. It makes him feel a bit drowsy. If he isn’t careful, he might fall asleep.

Within minutes, Castiel is done. He pulls his hands away and moves to get back to his feet. But Dean’s hand on the back of his neck stops him. He watches Dean with a questioning look in his eyes.

“Thank you.” Dean’s voice is soft, careful. Why is he doing this? Has the vampire bite messed with his head?

It can be the only explanation why he sits up and kisses Castiel. Presses his lips against the angel’s.

Cas kisses back. Quit enthusiastically actually. And it feels really nice. Nicer then Dean thought kissing a dude would feel like.

Even through the blood rushing in his ears, he can hear his brother mutter, “Fucking finally.”

Chapter Text

Drake has never felt this nervous in his life. Not even when he had that date with that one really hot girl. Not that any of the girls that Drake dated weren’t hot but Zoe was a whole other level. That girl could make even top models jealous.

But this was Josh, his step brother, his best friend, the one who’d most likely kill for him. Or at least would die for him.

Is it any wonder that Drake has fallen in love with him? Even Drake, the heartbreaker, the womanizer, wasn’t immun. And it had scared Drake at first. He didn’t fall in love with boys. That wasn’t him. Was it?

Drake has grown past that. He’s found peace with the fact that apparently, he is attracted to one boy. He’s still straight, very much someone who enjoys girls, but it just happens that he’s fallen in love with a boy.

What scares him now, what makes him unable to sleep sometimes, is the fact that that boy is his step brother. If he doesn’t feel the same way, he still has to live with Josh for another two years. He would have to be under the same roof with the person who had rejected him.

That’s why he’s trying this. When Josh rejects him, Drake can lie and say he wrote the song for some girl. Josh would most likely belief him. Drake is sure that this will work.

Josh will be home at any minute. His shift at the cinema has ended half an hour ago. At any moment he’ll walk up the stairs and into their shared bedroom.

And there they are, Josh’s footsteps. Drake clutches the neck of his guitar as he waits with bated breath. His right leg is shaking with nerves.

“Hey Drake,” Josh greets Drake as he walks into the room, smile on his face. His voice is a bit raspy. Crazy Steve must have been extra crazy today.

“I wrote a song. Can I play it for you?”

The nervousness in his voice makes Josh turnaround, one hand still on the buttons of his uniform. Drake can see his very-much-not-a-girl’s broad back in the reflection of the closet mirror.

“Sure,” Josh replies, an encouraging smile on his pink lips.

Drake used gender neutral pronounces when he wrote the song. There’s no girls or woman in the lyrics like with most of his songs. Instead, he sings about an unrequited love, a friendship that bloomed into more. And Drake is looking at Josh the whole time that he sings. Surely he understands.

When Drake’s finished, Josh doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, he watches his step brother with careful eyes.

“What you think?” Drake asks, unable to stand the silence any longer.

Josh nods his head. “It sounds good. Did you have anyone in mind when you wrote this?”

Shit. Josh isn’t supposed to ask. He was supposed to know. He was supposed to tell Drake he felt the same way or use the out that Drake had provided.

“Yeah, I did.” He doesn’t have to tell Josh who.

Drake can see Josh’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. He looks nervous, eyes diverting from Drake’s face every few seconds. It makes a spark of hope ignite in Drake’s chest.

“Did you write it about me?” His voice is fragile, so breakable.

Drake’s own voice quivers as he says, “Yeah.”

A grin appears on Josh’s face, stoking the fire inside of Drake.


Chapter Text

Izzy is cleaning her seraph blade when Simon walks into the room. There’s a look of concentration on her face, eyebrows furrowed and her lower lip between her teeth.

She looks as beautiful and intimidating as she did when Simon first met her, even though years have passed. She’s still the Izzy he fell in love with.

They’ve been through so much and they’ve survived. Their love had withstood it all and if that isn’t a sign that they’re meant to be forever, Simon doesn’t know what is.

She doesn’t look up as he sits down on the bed next to her. For a few minutes, he doesn’t do anything to catch her attention. Instead, he revels in the sight of her.

“Do you want something?” There’s an edge of irritation to her voice but Simon can hear affection there as well.

“Yeah. I wanted to ask you something.”

And like that, the nerves that had disappeared when he’d lain eyes on her, are back in full force. His hands are suddenly sweaty and he can feel his face turn red. At times like this, he misses being a vampire.

This time, Izzy does look up. With one eyebrow raised and a questioning tilt to her lips, she watches him as he searches his brain for the best way to broach the subject of marriage.

For a few minutes, Simon doesn’t say anything. Izzy, like the wonderful girlfriend that she is, waits patiently while he gathers his thoughts. She’s used to him tumbling like this.

He’s just going to have to say it. Throw it out there.

“Do you want to marry one day. Me that is.”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he wants to put them back. Rearrange them so he doesn’t sound like a moron.

Izzie doesn’t look at him like he’s crazy, however. Instead, she’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Yeah, I do. Matter of fact, I planned on talking to you about it.

“Really?” Now Simon is grinning as well.

He scoots a little bit closer and takes Izzy’s hand in his. Her hands are cold from the cleaning agent she used for her blade.

“Really,” Izzie chuckles affectionately. Her grin morphs into a warm smile. “I’d love to be your wife.”

“Good. Good,” Simon mutters as he leans closer.

Just as they’re about to kiss, the door is thrown open and a harried looking Clary bursts into the room.

“There’s been another attack.”