Warmest welcome back

[anonconda]

Warmest "Welcome
Back"

Whether
it's been for days, weeks, or months, you and your lover have been kept
apart. But they have to have been desiring you madly all this time, right?
So you've decided to put on a show for them that will blow their minds and
make them want to never leave again. Your idea may be a sexy outfit or
costume, you doing an incredibly alluring act, preparing them a wonderful
atmosphere to come home to - or something that you never intended on going
through with, but they walked in on you, anyway!

1. Comment with your character,
preferences, & what "role" you'd like to play: the one giving the show, the
one coming back, or either! The more information you include, the better.

2. Tag others.

3. Thread

Comments

bard the bowman ➶ the hobbit [ m/f ]

[blackarrows]

( the one coming back; probably either pre-wife or far enough down the line that he's [somewhat] healing from her loss. )

Sara Lance | Arrow/Legends of Tomorrow

[strongerthanyouknow]

{ come back... be here, come back... be here

[whattodowithboyslikeyou]

It's been months. Months. Moonntthss.

Okay. Maybe not actually plural. But almost. So close it's almost insulting not to call it months. Because it was just so long. And it's not that she didn't love seeing South America. It was gorgeous, and it was completely different from home, both Starling and America, and there was so much to see. Sometimes. When they weren't in the middle of nowhere. Which they mostly were. In. The. Middle. Of. Nowhere.

For her mom's research, and the people she had to talk to for.

Sometimes for a week or two at time. Where there was almost no wifi, or the phone service in general was laughable. Which meant sometimes she got to talk to home, and sometimes she just got caught in not being able to say when she could, and then there was no one waiting, and the time zones crap, and work schedules, and everything.

And she wasn't great at letters after the first few weeks. Words got stuck. The same with emails. And there were post cards. Ocassionally. Lizards. Sunsets. Ruins. And then in voicemails she found herself almost suddenly rolling into words that probably shouldn't be said on a voicemail, except just hearing one of their voices on that stupid I'm not here yadda yadda just choked up her chest.

Especially the longer it got.

She was counting down to the day. Everyone was.
It was what she ended her rare messages and post cards with.

45 days. 21 days. 13 days.

And then a miracle happened. And her Dad was called from home, for a case of his that got reopened somehow or another, and it meant she was going to be home almost a full week early. And it was almost impossible not to call. Not to start screaming it at the top of her lungs. Every time she woke up. Every time she remembered. The day of. Laurel near as killed her with her boundless slingshotting between restlessness and excitement on the plane. The inability to keep it in. That she had been keeping it in this whole time. Not telling them.

Until it was today.

Until her bags were dropped at home, and she was speeding across the city.

Until she was at that door, praying praying praying someone was even home at this hour, and straightening her new-but-not-new-at-over-a-month Brazilian sundress under her almost always there jean jacket, and looking down at her dusty boots, making sure her the bright red heart lens glasses she had on were straight. While her heart was pounding in her ears, her mouth, every vein, like they all might burst as she finally reached out to ring the bell.

[notjustalostcause]

Entirely too many days have passed since the last time living sunlight graced him with its presence and Leonard can feel the lack of it down into his bones. Spreading across every inch of him, leaving behind the kind of empty feeling that threatens to swallow its victim whole. Maybe it's dramatic. Maybe it's over the top. But those don't make it any less true. Sara Lance was a bright and golden addiction, and Leonard was suffering a withdrawal from her. He knows the exact number of days that she's been gone. There has been a running count in his head since the day she said she was leaving on a family trip. Days before she left. Days since she left. Days left until she gets back. There are still too many left, even if they are approaching the last handful of them, and aren't even in double-digit counts anymore. Leonard has spent every minute possible over these too-long, too-hot days of summer in Mick's apartment, Lisa in tow more often than not. There's a shitty window-unit AC that only likes to work less than half of the time, and box fans covering various flat surfaces in every room. Leonard is pretty sure summer exists solely to make him contemplate murder; he much prefers the sharp, biting cold of winter. He's perched on the couch, trying not to be miserable. And bored. And miserably bored. Lisa's in the bedroom, either coloring or napping, she's been quiet for so long Leonard's more willing to bed the second. Mick is sprawled across the rest of the couch that Leonard isn't occupying, his head in Leonard's lap, as Leonard's fingers drag slowly through his hair, a steady almost heart-beat sort of pattern he hasn't stopped for at least the last twenty minutes. And then. The door. Leonard frowns and his fingers stop, his gaze drops and he's giving Mick the most quizzical look. "You expecting anyone today?" Because, honestly, most of the people that are here at any given time are already here, and the only one missing was busy being a billion miles away in... Peru or Brazil.

[bringstheheat]

Mick doesn't mind summer, it means more time with Lenny and Lisa at his place, which means they're safer. His place isn't exactly great with it's crappy AC and ratty furniture, but it's his.
Theirs.

Sara's been gone most of the summer and Lenny's been a dramatic mess about it. Not that he'd admit it out loud, the shit. But Mick always could read him like a book.
He misses her too. He misses her laughter, the way that she smiles at him like he's something special.

But Mick's also working two jobs to keep his place and save up a little for when Lenny and Lisa might need it. He's dozing on the couch with Lenny's fingers in his hair and it's damn near perfect.

His eyes flutter open, squinting over at the door. "No, and if Henderson thinks I'm taking his shift he's fucking crazy." Still, he hauls himself up and off the couch and away from comfort and calm to unlock the door and swing it open.

Oh.
"Hey." A full on smile, the kind only reserved for three people in the whole world and finally finally she's home.
She's home.

[whattodowithboyslikeyou]

"Hey?" Sara mocks him, even as light, light is exploding, and her heart, is exploding. "That's it? That's all I get?"

For surprising him. For keeping it a secret. But, but, but he's smiling like that and Sara can't stop herself. It's barely a step, it's so much more of a leap, and she's throwing her arms around his neck, and her body into his arms, and burying her face into his shoulder, and he's so. So. So. And she can't stay there. Has to pull back, has to look up at him, and is kind of already laughing, about his words, about her own.

And she has to reach up. Hands finding the bottom of his jaw like a frame.

And she can't not be looking at his stupid perfect face, and his stupid perfect smile, and his stupid perfect eyes,and all that hair and Sara's hands slide up into his hair to drag his face down and kiss it, him, that smile, but even that isn't sitting, standing staying still. And she ends up kissing his cheek, and his nose, before throwing her arms right back around his neck. Because he's just so solid, and so real, and so here. Mick, Mick, Mick. Her Mick. On the tempo of her expanding, expanding, expanding heart racing to beat the dawn.

And she can't stop herself nearly squealing into his shoulder, in a thing that tries but does not stay a whisper, does not stay anything but the pinnacle of this long, slow summer and count. "I'm home."

Even as she's on her tiptoes, not letting go, but having to look over his perfectly too tall shoulder, for what will make this even better, the best, the best of everything, all at once. The way it's alway best, always supposed to be. To look for Leonard.

[bringstheheat]

She's home.
She's home and there's light and laughter sparkling around her as she launches herself into his arms and Mick catches her as easily as breathing, swinging her around in a circle as she hangs on. Laughter, rare as it is, bubbles up in his chest as she kisses him.

Sara is everywhere, kissing him and Mick can only laugh and kiss her back when he can catch her lips.

They have missed her so so very much.

"Lenny," he calls. "Our girl. Our girl's home." It'll probably wake up Lisa, but Mick's sure he can be forgiven. Lisa has missed Sara just as much, maybe even more.

[notjustalostcause]

Leonard huffs something like a laugh as Mick reluctantly gets to his feet to go see who decided to disturb them. He's glad that Mick has already decided he's refusing any extra shifts for the day because he really needs the day here, at home and to himself. He has such a habit of picking up all the extras possible, to make sure there's at least a little extra in case of emergencies, but this is a so completely deserved day of rest. But it isn't Henderson at the door. Leonard can tell from the way Mick's voice inflects, even before that first, almost-laughing-as-it's-spoken echo of 'hey?' comes. But then it does and that voice is an explosion through his chest of something bright and warm and-- "Sara?" He's on his feet, and already standing just a few steps behind Mick before he even calls him over. There's the rarest of smiles on his face watching the two of them, wide and bright and reflected so openly in his eyes in a way that is never, ever a thing that happens. He's not doing much better than Mick with words yet. But God. She's here. She's home. And he isn't sure that anything has ever felt so right.

[whattodowithboyslikeyou]

He's right there. He's right over Mick's shoulder, smiling like someone forgot that Leonard is made of shutters, and Sara's never known, not even in all these months, with all these ups and downs, all these wrinkles and discoveries, that her heart could stretch this wide, this big, be this light and this overwhelming, with no end in sight.

When she's dropping her weight back into the heels of her boots, and she's smiling too broad, too pleased. For all the million calls where she missed one or both of themn, they're both here. Right here, when she got here, even though they didn't know to be here for them, and irresolutely joful child that she is, she steals Mick's word, as she steps away from Mick, one of her hands lingering a last second before it falls from his chest to turn to the last perfect part of all this. Them.

"Hey." She's barely contained. She's a threat of onslaught of so much.
Mick's voice is still calling her our girl, and Leonard is looking at her like.That.

When he looks like he'd take it just as well as Mick did, just throwing herself at him next, and she still gives him the time, the barely there seconds to define his own space, the way he so often needs, whether at school or here, even with just them. "You know, we have to hug next, right?"

It's a threat, and a tease, and a promise.

That there's no way to stop the onslaught of Sara Lance home.
That even if it's a question. It's not. She's going to hug him. Now.

Except for a sudden peel of "Sara!" shrieked at the top of a small pair of lungs, that had just registered at the edge of Sara's vision, in the end of the hallway, rubbing sleepily at eyes, and suddenly Sara isn't the person running into someone. It's Lise. As Sara has to laugh, even trying to keep her blance, even with something mingling delight and almost apology and almost teasing about being too late, so sad to Leonard. A what even and nothing has ever been this good in her whole life.

Even as Sara is bending down, having to catch the arms that have slung themselves tight around her bare calves. To tousle her curls and pick her up, with a grin that can only be Lise's, all adoration and silliness. "What's this? Hmm? What is this? Did you miss me, too?"

This half at Lise, and half at Leonard, all too knowingly, all too teasingly, right over Lise's head, as Sara is being hugged with tiny arms around her neck this time, while some stuffed animal or other is being squashed to her arm and half of her chest, and it's just so perfect. Too. Too. Even like this. With the most precious thing in Leonard's world in her arms hugging her, even if he can't yet, because she's stolen it first.

For Oliver { there's no place that's so dark, that I can't find you

[strongerthanyouknow]

Everything is too. Too everything. The lights are too bright. The floor is too solid. Her skin is too tight. Her body is. She doesn't know how it. It flashes. There's an impact to her center. One. Two. A third. Flashes of faces. Running. Flashes of red. Such anger. Fingers touch her. The air suddenly comes from a vent. Even her own shirt.

Even when everything feels strange. Too distant. Too near.
That's there, too. It's not a memory. There's. There's something wrong.
Everything is wrong. Dad won't stop touching her shoulder. Her cheek. Her hair.

Laurel looks like she's about to break into tears everytime she looks at Sara. She doesn't want to leave them. Like they are the only thing keeping the ocean together. From her falling off a board into a confused, consuming blackness. She listens. She understands the words. Even if they don't make sense.

She remembers she died, it's their every start. (She can remember dying seconds ago. She can hear Laurel screaming her name and sobbing.) They say she was dead a year. (She doesn't have anything to say to that.) They say Laurel and Thea brought her back, and the pit is destroyed. (She keeps expecting to turn and see Nyssa somewhere in the half shadows.)

They try to be nice about the last part. But they can't.
She killed people. She attacked people. She doesn't remember that.
Or if she does, it's not like that. It's so confusing. So jagged. Angry. Dark.

She still has to get away. Finds herself excusing herself to the bathroom, but not quite getting there. The main section of the bunker is empty somehow, and she doesn't know where that means Felicity ended up, but she finds herself in front of the Black Canary costume. The one her sister is wearing now. Her sister. In her shoes. Her sister. Who dared Ra's and The pit. Her sister. Who saved her soul, too.

[havingprecision]

He remembers that night.
Laurel's voice broken in grief. The copper scent of blood in the bunker. Sara's eyes. Open and empty. Dead.
He remembers tamping down on that grief, that terrible sense of loss because it was never supposed to be her. Not again.
He remembers standing on that rooftop, voice shaky with the grief that he tried so hard to contain. Laurel needed him to be strong. To find Sara's killer and bring them to justice.

Then Laurel and Thea do something terrible even after the League is done with them.
They bring Sara back and it's all wrong and she's lost and it's a damn miracle he gets a hold of Constantine to set things right.

It's a few quiet words in the bunker to give her some space. Distance.
Oliver moves quietly, but just enough for Sara to register he's there. He will always be there. Always.

[strongerthanyouknow]

The scuff of a foot makes her turn, too fast, hair pin fast, inhumanly fast, on light, silent feet, a hand rising at the same time. But there's Oliver's face. Open. Not open. Quiet. No words. No threat. In all this open, empty space. And at the same time. There's a flick of her eyes. To her hand. In front of her. The flat, sharp hold of it. As it starts to shiver. Like she couldn't even tell it had come up, until she saw it. That makes her weight shift back, sway. The confusion. Remorse. Embarrassment that doesn't even know itself well enough to blur into shame.

Like her hands even existing are somehow confusing.




She drops it.



Her voice so small when she finally says, "Sorry."

She can't stop saying that word.
She can't quite convince herself she means it.

Not the word. But the feeling. If she can feel what sorry means.

[havingprecision]

Instincts scream at him. Nerves grinding like metal demanding that he move, that he act. Be on his guard. He can almost hear the familiar rough growl of Slade Wilson in his ears a thousand years ago on Lian Yu. When Slade was his mentor and friend.

But Oliver does not move.
He holds himself impossibly still.
Open.

All he wants to do is draw her into his arms. To feel her warm and alive and he knows that he can't. He shouldn't.

"You don't have to be sorry, Sara. Not with me." Not ever.

[strongerthanyouknow]

She swallows. The space. The space is so empty. The space is so, so full. Even silent. It's pressing on her. Every inch of her skin. Every skipping, whirring part of her thoughts. He says she doesn't have to be sorry, and somehow she feels like it's the only thing she should be. Still doesn't quite know how to be. Should be.

It takes a moment to collect it to something else.
But maybe not something better.

"I just needed a minute. They're--"

She doesn't know how to. They are everything that is keeping her from drowning entirely into the sucking mire of the blackness eating everything in her head. (Laurel is the reason she's here. Her dad is... her dad. Lost her, and has her back. Again.) They are absolutely drowning her with every look, every word at the same second. They need. They need her, and she doesn't know that she's here. That's she's... here at all.

Except that Laurel brought her back.
Except that Laurel and Oliver and John saved her soul.

What is a soul? How does she feel like this if somewhere she has a soul? Why can't she feel any more or less about that idea than if someone told her she had the moon?

[havingprecision]

"It's a lot," he offers quietly. Not that he has any idea what she's gone through or how hard this is. But Oliver understands being overwhelmed and needing to just be away. To try and remember how to breathe. To stop the itch and crawl along skin that screams for something impossible.

Laurel needed her sister back.
But she didn't quite think about what her sister might have wanted or even needed. It's a fight that's neither here nor there because it's done. Sara is alive and with John's help she's been restored to herself. Her own mind. Oliver will be forever grateful for that alone because he needed her too. Missed her.

"I asked them to give you some space." Room to breathe. Room to sort out reality and being alive again and everything that's come with the last year.

[strongerthanyouknow]

Her eyelids briefly close for a second at those last words, like her body doesn't know how not to show that relief as transparently as though she were an actual piece of glass and it were heavier than her own bones know how to bear.

Yet her next breath is a slightly ragged thing, a jagged thing, a weight because she doesn't want to need even that. Feels like she shouldn't ask anything of them. Not even that. She tries to pull it in, hold it in, to her. As though there's anything under her skin to put anything behind. It feels like her teeth ache with just thought of thinking to do it.

She nods.

Even if she shouldn't. Doesn't.

A minutes' peace. (Another thing to apologize for.)

ella ♡ cinderella [ f/m ]

[iftheshoesfit]

( either/or )

Alfred ( Vikings )

[devilsandangels]

Harry Doyle ( Quantico ) m/m

[circumlocute]

Sabine Faber ( X-Company )

[presumptives]

Ren Nagai | original character | OTA

[rennotrin]

[Probably the one coming back; default is that perhaps Ren and your character were kinda-close fuck buddies, and Ren, well... usually when he leaves, it's not to come back. Not that it's a slight against the person he's been banging before. In fact, his reasons have nothing to do with the company he keeps. Just the company that he's unconsciously running from before they can get him first.

[Alternatively, he's coming back because that's somehow been resolved - violently or otherwise.

[I'm completely open to cross-canon/cross-medium (I have a live action pb account if these icons are a problem for you!) and Ren is not fickle about gender other than having a preference for dick - be it real or from other means - as far as smut is concerned.]

Oliver | Call Me By Your Name

[callyoulater]

Jesse Custer | Preacher | OTA

[commencing]

Hector | Castlevania (Netflix) | OTA

[forgemastering]

Jyn Erso | Rogue One | OTA

[wherehopegoes]