#chloewritesfandoms

[fandomwritings-cm13]

The Case of the Shadow Murderer (A BBC Sherlock fic, Victorian era): Chapter 3

Summary: Elizabeth finds her father murdered and calls upon the famous detective Sherlock Holmes.

Word Count: 1427

Sherlock's POV:

I step out of the taxi behind John, staring up at the large estate before me. They obviously have money, plenty of it. 

I lead the way up the stairs to the large, dark wooden doors at the top of stone steps. I knock twice, still taking in my surroundings. My gaze returns to the door when it is opened. There stands an older gentleman, more than likely the butler. He looks awestruck and slightly confused. 

"Scotland Yard sent me to do some further investigating," I say flatly, quickly recalling the lie I invented for Elizabeth's sake before erasing it. 

The butler nods once before moving aside to let John and me inside. I enter first, glancing around the entry hall. There are servants cleaning in various places inside the hall. 

The butler leads us through the house to a lavish sitting room. John takes a seat in one of the chairs, but I remain standing. 

"I'll send Ms. Ford down shortly," the butler says with a small bow. 

I turn my attention to the contents of the room, examining everything to entertain myself as I wait. 

"What's taking her so long?" I hiss under my breath. She's expecting us to be here!

"Have patience, Sherlock," John reprimands. 

Several moments later, the heavy doors open, revealing Elizabeth. 

"What can I do for you, Mr. Holmes?" she questions.

She still looks incredibly fatigued though slightly rested, dark circles and some puffiness still present under her eyes. I watch as she slowly walks into the room and takes a seat in a chair opposite from Watson. 

"What did you see the night your father was murdered?" I ask. 

"I saw nothing until the next morning when I was awoken by my mother's scream," she replies. "I hurried to their room just down the hall from my own, only to find my father laying there with a knife through his back." Her gaze moves down to her lap, and I assume she's crying. “Nothing in the room seemed off other than that.”

"Do you know why someone would want him dead?" Watson questions gently in an attempt to keep her as comfortable as possible given the current situation and line of questioning. 

She shakes her head vigorously. "He was kind, a good father to us." There are tears in her voice, and a few of them fall to her skirt. "He spoke well of his business partners. The few who came by the house seemed like decent men..."

"I need to see the bedroom," I state. 

She looks up at me, her cheeks stained with tears. "A-Alright."

Without another word, she rises to her feet and leads us upstairs. We walk down a hall with three doors on one side, two on another, and one at the very end. The door at the end of the hall is larger than the others in the hall, so that must be the parents' bedroom. 

She opens the large door at the end of the hall. Once I see the inside, my inference is found correct. There's a large bed along the center of the wall on the right. On the far side of the room, windows line the wall. To the left, more doors, a closet and washroom I presume. I look directly to my left and find a desk, a rather large one at that. 

I head over to it, examining the papers on the top. Mainly business papers, financial records and the like. I open the drawers one at a time and find writing supplies, more business documents, and trinkets here and there. But the largest one, the bottom drawer on the right, won't budge. 

"Where's the key?" I ask Elizabeth. 

"I have no clue," she replies. 

The three of us set about searching the room. No where I look turns up the key. 

"Found it," Elizabeth calls. 

I rush over to her. In one hand, she holds a ring of keys; draped across her other arm, she carefully holds a silk robe, a man's robe. Her father's. 

"But which key is it?" Watson asks. 

Elizabeth flips through the keys, closely looking at each one but occasionally glancing at the lock on the desk drawer. After a few moments, she holds up one of them, handing it to me. I take it and rush back to the desk, quickly unlocking the drawer. Inside are two velvet covered cases. I pull them both out, examining the outside of them. They're both rather small, light in weight. 

"What's inside?" Watson asks. 

"They're locked," I state. 

Elizabeth takes the keys from the desktop where I left them and begins looking at them again. She hands me one after a couple moments. I open one of the cases and find jewelry inside that appears to be from another country. Using the same key, I attempt to open the second case. But it doesn't work. 

"Let me see the key ring again," Elizabeth says. 

I hand it to her, and she looks at the keys again, handing me another. It opens the case. Inside is more jewelry accompanied by some papers that appear to be notes and legal things, but something is off about the jewelry. They look similar to the ones in the first case, but something seems off about them. I look over at Elizabeth when she reaches into the case and takes out a piece of jewelry. I watch as she examines the piece closely. 

"It's a fake," she states, setting it back in the case. 

"How could you tell?" Watson questions, obviously surprised. 

"Its shine is duller than the ones in the other case," Elizabeth explains. "It could mean that they just aren't cleaned often, but knowing my father, these are fakes.

"You've read my papers," I state. 

She blushes a faint pink as she nods. "I found them interesting though I haven't had much use for them until now."

"Unbelievable," Watson mutters. 

"I think I should take one with me and leave the other with you," I say. 

Elizabeth nods, handing me the second key she handed to me mere moments ago. "No one has to know. I can just keep this one here in the drawer." She takes the first key she handed to me off the key ring and slips it into her dress pocket. 

She goes over to the closet and looks through the contents for a few moments before pulling out a bag a little bigger than the case. She takes the case I have in my hands, closes it, and places it into the bag. She's clever, concealing potential evidence, and places a few pieces of her father's clothing into the bag as well. I take it when she hands it to me. 

"Care to walk us out?" I ask with a smirk. 

“Gladly, Mr. Holmes,” she replies with a small smile. 

She grins as she closes the velvet case and sets it into the drawer before shutting and locking it. When she stands up straight, she looks at Watson then me and begins walking. We follow her back through the house to the front door. Along the way, I notice the butler watching the three of us closely. 

Watson heads straight to the curb to wait for transportation back to Baker Street. I remain back with Elizabeth for a moment. 

"I'll have William get a carriage around for the two of you," she says, starting to walk back into the house. 

I quickly grab her arm, pulling her back to me. "It'll be alright. We'll figure this out. You have no reason to worry."

"I'm just worried about my family," she mumbles. 

I gently squeeze her hand. "I will figure this out."

She nods. "I know. You're a great detective. There's no doubt about that. Thank you so much, Mr.-"

"Please, call me Sherlock."

She smiles, another faint blush filling her cheeks. "Alright. Thank you, Sherlock."

"I'll keep you updated on my progress."

She nods once then heads back into the house. I head to the curb and stand beside Watson.

"That was rather unusual," he comments. 

"Indeed it was," I reply, mostly to myself, as my mind wanders slightly to Elizabeth. 

"I saw what you did back there. That was....very out of character for you."

"What?"

"You were flirting with Ms. Ford."

I roll my eyes. "No, I was not."

"You were," Watson counters. "I know flirting, and that was it."

"Don't be ridiculous, Watson."

"Oh yes, of course. Because the great Sherlock Holmes doesn't have feelings."

"That is how you portray me in your stories."

[fandomwritings-cm13]

The Case of the Shadow Murderer (A BBC Sherlock fic, Victorian era): Chapter 2

Summary: Elizabeth finds her father murdered and calls upon the famous detective Sherlock Holmes.

Word Count: 1508

Elizabeth's POV:

The day goes by slowly. Not much is done because of my mother's state of mind and being. So, I'm taking charge. It's what is necessary at the moment. My next oldest sibling is sixteen, and George isn't ready to handle this responsibility on his own just yet. Father had worked to prepare him for his own household, but with how much time he likely has until he’s married, there was no need to rush.

After I had returned to the house, I found Scotland Yard inside, investigating. I had tried my best to stay out of their way. But when they tried to talk to my mother, I stepped in and tried to support her while answering, allowing her to sob into my shoulder as needed. 

I answered the questions the Detective Inspector had for me, as her and I along with only a couple servants saw the aftermath of what happened last night.  

I take care of my siblings, especially the youngest three, while Mother mourns. Letters and telegrams are brought to me throughout the day as they come in. I manage the house and keep track of things. 

My siblings eat together in the dining room, but I continue to work around the house. I make sure my mother gets some food and eats to keep her strength up. I end up eating by myself though William sticks around with me. We talk while I eat. 

After supper, I help Mother get ready for bed before helping my younger siblings do the same. Alexander asks me to stay with him for the night. 

"I will, okay?" I reply, knelt in front of him with my hands on his sides. 

He nods slowly, looking up at me with eyes full of innocence. He goes into his room and begins getting ready for bed. I go from room to room, ensuring everyone is doing okay in getting ready, including my mother. I'm the last one to attempt to get ready. My eyes are incredibly heavy by the time I start getting ready, and I'm practically asleep by the time I go into Alexander's room

He's seated on the bed, patiently waiting for me to come into his room. A smile forms on his lips when I enter. 

I go over to the bed and lay down beside him. He curls up into my side as I get comfortable, his head against my chest. I wrap my arms around him as I pull the blankets over us. 

I run one hand through his hair while the other rubs his back, gently lulling him to sleep. I remain awake even after Alexander has fallen asleep. 

I'm troubled by the fact that I don't even know who killed my father. And Sherlock Holmes won't even be bothered to help. 

I stiffen slightly when I hear the door open, my train of thought interrupted with thoughts of who could be entering and how to avoid any trouble. I quickly close my eyes and pretend to be asleep. I keep my eyes open just a smidgen to see who's there. 

A dark figure moves around the bed to where my front faces, the wall opposite the door. I can't see a face as the person's face is concealed by a hood. But I do notice a weapon in their hand. 

I remain still, too afraid to move. The figure stands there for a few moments before leaving. I let out a sigh of relief and hold my youngest brother even closer, feeling tears well up in my eyes, after I hear the door close behind the figure. 

I could've lost my brother....

My mind is filled with questions. Why were we left alone? Why did they just leave? What caused them to leave without doing something?

I don't fall asleep all night, too scared and worried to fall asleep. Each time my eyes close, I see the figure looming beside the bed with the knife all over again. And I bolt awake, searching the room each time.

The next morning, I quietly leave Alexander's room and head to my own. I get dressed in a less elaborate dress than yesterday before going down to the kitchen. 

"Where are you headed this morning, Ms. Elizabeth?" William asks, surprising me as I didn't see him. 

"I need to go run an errand," I reply simply.

"Getting the latest copy of The Strand Magazine?"

I grin softly and nod. "Of course."

"I do hope you'll allow me to read it when you're finished."

"As always, William."

"I'll have the carriage readied for you," he says before beginning to leave the kitchen. 

"Thank you," I call after him. 

I grab some food and begin eating as I head outside. A carriage pulls up just as I walk down the stone steps outside the house. William is there at the bottom of the steps, holding his hand out to me to help me into the carriage. 

"You must allow me to go with you, Elizabeth," he says.

I shake my head, still unsure of who to trust. "I'll be fine. Thank you, William."

"I don't want you to leave unprotected. It's dangerous for you to travel alone."

I give him a reassuring smile as I climb into the carriage. "I promise I'll be fine. This trip won't take very long." I gently squeeze his hand before releasing it. "I'll be back soon."

He shuts the door, and the carriage drives off, heading towards London. I struggle to remain awake during the boring journey identical to the one I made yesterday. 

The driver stops when I tell him to and does as I say when I tell him to stay nearby but not to follow me. He nods once, not questioning me. 

I walk off down the crowded street, heading towards Baker Street. It seems as though it's more crowded today, but that could just be caused by my exhaustion. 

Once I reach the famous door, I knock twice with the golden colored knocker. Mere moments later, the same woman from yesterday answers the door. Without a word, she lets me in, and I head up to the sitting room. I enter without knocking. 

Both men are seated in their own comfortable looking chairs and look shocked to see me again. I take a seat on the couch without so much as one word to them. 

"Sherlock-" Dr. Watson starts. 

"You're tired," Sherlock observes, studying me further to make more deductions. "Something happened last night to keep you awake."

"That wouldn't take much to deduce," I reply, shocking them further. "I'm back here, so obviously something must have happened in order for me to return." Sherlock goes to say something, but I continue, cutting him off. "Because of your unwillingness to help me, Alexander could've been killed!"

Sherlock's brows furrow in confusion and thought as he considers what I've just said. 

"Who's Alexander?" Dr. Watson questions, looking to be very confused. 

"My youngest brother," I answer. "I am the oldest of six children."

"How old is Alexander?"

"He is five years old. By far, he is the most vulnerable and innocent of the entire household." I pause for a moment, considering last night's events. "I don't understand why...."

"What don't you understand?" Sherlock questions almost rudely. 

"Two things of note occurred last night. First, my youngest brother was targeted instead of my oldest brother of sixteen years, the one who will take the estate next. Second, the hooded figure left upon finding me with Alexander.... Why not kill us both?"

"Compassion?" Dr. Watson suggests. 

"I'm afraid for that to be the case," I reply unsteadily. 

Silence fills the room for several moments. I fight the urge to cry and fall asleep during this time.

"I'll take the case," Sherlock says. 

I look at him, almost glaring at him. "Why the sudden interest? Yesterday, it wasn't worth your time."

"It sounds more complicated than it appeared yesterday," Dr. Watson replies for him. 

"The killer seems to be someone you know," Sherlock says then pauses to make further deductions about me. "You have many servants at home, all of which are viable suspects at the moment. I need to see them."

I shake my head. "It would be suspicious for you to show up at the estate. I'm not sure who to trust yet."

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Then how am I to help?"

"You'll need some kind of cover for showing up..."

"We shall stop by later this afternoon."

"Thank you Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson," I say gratefully as I rise to my feet. 

I exit the flat and head back to the carriage. On my way back, I purchase the latest edition of The Strand Magazine. The driver is there waiting at the carriage when I arrive, so I climb in. He immediately begins taking me home. Meanwhile, I slowly allow myself to fall into a much deserved state of rest, my copy of the latest The Strand Magazine resting beside me on the cushioned carriage seat.

[fandomwritings-cm13]

The Quiet Mill Inn (A 20s!AU Steve Rogers Fic) -- Chapter 6

Pairing: 20s!AU Steve Rogers x OC (Jaelyn Roberson)

Series summary: Jaelyn is sent back in time to the year 1920 by a devious acquaintance, Max. He sees her as more than a friend or acquaintance, and his goal in sending her back is to convince her that he’s good for her.

Warnings: fluffyyyy, sweet Steve

Word count: 1224

I wander into the staff dining room, surprised to see only Rosalie seated there.

“Where are Bucky and Steve?” I inquire as I take a seat.

She looks over at me, her attention was on her lap and a cup of tea in her hand. “Bucky is in the kitchen. I haven’t seen Steve for a while.” She looks back down towards her lap.

“What’re you doing?”

“Just reading.”

I nod, and my gaze wanders. After a few more moments, I get up and wander into the kitchen, but I stay lingering in the doorway.

“What’s on the menu this morning, Bucky?” I ask, my voice relatively quiet.

He turns from the stove with a grin. “Nice to see you this morning, Jaelyn. I’ve cooked up some biscuits and sausage gravy.”

“Sounds delicious. Could I have a plate?”

He turns and grabs a plate and puts some food on it. He hands it to me, still grinning. “Anything to drink? We’ve got the usuals.”

“Some tea, please.”

“You go sit, and I’ll bring you silverware and your tea.”

I turn and go back to my seat in the staff dining room. After setting my plate in front of me on the table, I put my hands in my lap, my gaze wandering the room again.

“Here you go, doll,” Bucky states, setting silverware and a cup of tea down on the table in front of me.

“Thank you,” I reply.

He smiles at me before returning to the kitchen, a towel over his shoulder.

My attention is drawn away when I hear heavy footsteps approaching where Rosalie and I are seated. I look at her, seeing her watching the door with her brows furrowed, then the doorway to the hallway. A moment later, Steve steps inside. In his arms, he holds a package wrapped in plain brown paper. He looks between me and Rosalie for a couple seconds before approaching me.

He moves to set the package in front of me but stops when he sees my plate, his cheeks heating with a blush. “I’m sorry to interrupt your breakfast.”

“I haven’t started yet, so you’re not interrupting,” I assure him.

“I’ll go get started on my tasks for today, so you two have some more room,” Rosalie states as she rises to her feet. She has her cup and her book in hand, and she smiles at me before she heads toward the kitchen. 

“She didn’t have to leave,” I mumble, a little disappointed.

“She means well,” Steve replies, pulling a chair closer to me so he’s facing me. Once he takes a seat, he sets the package on the table next to him. “She wouldn’t have left if she didn’t want to.”

“I should’ve woken up earlier to eat with her.”

He shakes his head, resting a hand over mine. “After what’s happened over the past couple days, you need rest.”

I stare at our hands for a second before looking at him again. “What is this?” I motion to the package.

“Well,” he smiles, “I wanted to get you something that you could use since winter is coming quickly. Didn’t want you to feel cooped up inside without the proper footwear.” He pauses briefly. “Do you want to open it now?”

“If that’s okay…”

He nods and slides the box closer to me. “Of course, doll.” 

I look him in the eyes for a couple seconds before reaching over and beginning to tear the paper.

“Here,” Steve interrupts, causing me to stop. He reaches over my arms and moves my breakfast out of the way. “Go ahead, Jae.”

I pull the box a little closer and tear the paper more but struggle with the string holding it in place. Steve reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pocket knife. He places his hand on top of the box then cuts the string, pulling it off the top of the box for me.

“Thank you,” I timidly say.

He smiles at me, watching for me to continue opening the package. 

I take a deep breath then continue tearing the paper, quickly revealing a box. I look up at him for a second before lifting the lid. Inside is a pair of brown boots that lace up. 

“Try them on,” Steve encourages. “See how they fit.”

“What if they’re the wrong size?” I ask.

“Then I’ll take you with me to get you the right size.”

I bend over and pull my shoes off. I grab one of the boots and pull it on, struggling to pull it on all the way.

“Is it too tight?”

I shake my head. “Just tough.” I slide my foot all the way to the bottom and fit it into the insole. I roll my ankle a few times, testing the fit. “Doesn’t feel like it’s too small or too big.”

“I’m glad,” Steve replies. “Let me help you with those laces.”

I sit back and watch him with a blush heating my cheeks. He tightens the laces as his hands move up the boot. He lifts my skirt slightly so he can reach the top and tie it off. I watch as he ties a bow then look up at him when he sits back.

“How does it feel now?” he inquires.

“Fine,” I answer.

“Just fine? Did I tie it too tightly?”

I shake my head. “It doesn’t feel like it’s gonna fall off.”

“Stand up and see how it feels when you walk around.”

Steve extends his hand to me, and I take it as I rise to my feet. I take a couple steps away from the table.

“Do you like them?” he asks.

I nod quickly. “Thank you so much.”

He grins. “You’re very welcome, doll.”

We both look over when we hear footsteps, and Bucky appears in the doorway to the kitchen.

“How’s your breakfast, Jae?” he asks, a wide grin on his face.

I blush and look away. “I haven’t started eating yet…”

Bucky chuckles. “Nice going, Steve.”

. . . . . . . .

“He’s sweet on you,” Rosalie claims.

“Who?” I scoff.

“Steve.”

I shake my head, focusing back in on dusting around the dining room. “No, he isn’t.”

“Why else would he have given you a pair of boots?”

“Because I’ll need them?”

“Jaelyn, he hovers around you as much as he can.”

I stop and look at her, thinking back to what happened when Max came here to try to find me. How protective he became. How worried he was about me.

“And you’re sweet on him,” Rosalie adds.

“Maybe…” I reply.

“Come on, Jaelyn. You’re constantly blushing when he’s around you, and you can barely take your eyes off him except when he looks at you.” She pauses for a couple seconds, I guess gauging my reaction. “There’s nothing wrong with having feelings for him. You’re new to town and spend most of your time here. It makes sense you’d be falling for one of the two owners.”

I look away from her, unable to stop the steaming hot blush that fills my cheeks. I had hoped my interest in Steve wouldn’t have been so obvious.

“What’s wrong, Jae?”

“I’ll have to go home eventually…”

“Says who? If you want to spend your life with him, you should stay here and build a life with him.”

“I guess I’m just homesick…”

[fandomwritings-cm13]

The Case of the Shadow Murderer (A BBC Sherlock fic, Victorian era): Chapter 1

Summary: Elizabeth finds her father murdered and calls upon the famous detective Sherlock Holmes.

Word Count: 734

A/N: I'm back on my Sherlock kick lol. As always, let me know what you think! Check out the links in my masterlist, if you're interested!

Elizabeth's POV:

My father is dead. 

Those were words I never thought about together in that order. Not until this morning when I woke to a new world. 

He lays on his back, eyes closed, with a knife plunged into the middle of his back. It's a gruesome sight. 

My mother doesn't want to leave his side though he's been dead likely for hours. But I have somehow managed to pull her away. I guess reminding her of her responsibility to her children snapped her into a more proper state of mind. I can see the grief in her eyes. It's as plain as the day. 

Before attempting to pull her away from her husband, I had ushered my younger siblings into their rooms to get ready to face the difficult day ahead of them. They protested, but I got them to listen to me by telling them that Mother needs her space for right now. 

I hurry in getting dressed and ready for the day, needing to go to Baker Street. I cannot tell anyone that I'm going there, for I know not whom to trust. Any one of our servants could've done it, and I do not wish to worry or alarm my mother. 

To hide the grief of my family in order to keep people, especially reporters, from prying, I dress as I usually would. This dress is Alexander’s, my youngest brother, and my favorite dress because of the cheerful shade of yellow. 

I hurry out to the stable, getting one of the many household servants to take me into town. They do as I command, and I'm soon walking on a busy London street. Not safe for a young woman to venture on alone, but it's necessary at the moment.

I maneuver through the streets with confidence, making my way to Baker Street. To see Sherlock Holmes, the great consulting detective.

My eyes wander the street, searching for 221B. I see the golden numbers and letter on a black door close to a shop or something. I quickly approach the door and knock firmly. A woman is soon at the door. She appears to be my mother's age if not older. 

"I'm here to see Mr. Holmes," I explain. 

"He should be upstairs, dear," the woman says and moves aside.

I step inside and head up the stairs to another door. I knock, but no reply comes. I slowly open the door and step inside, glancing around. 

It's a cluttered room with seating accommodations for more than one person. So, I take a seat on a couch on the opposite side of the room from the fireplace, close to the door I went through moments ago. I sit with my back straight and my hands folded on my lap.

I look over when the door is opened after a few moments. Two men walk in. One is tall and lean while the other is shorter and slightly less lean. Both look shocked to find me sitting here. 

“What are you doing-” the shorter man begins. 

"A case, John," the tall one says as he goes over to one of the chairs close to the fireplace.

"What happened that brought you here, Miss?" the short man asks. 

"My father was murdered last night while all of us were sleeping," I say without much emotion to my tone. 

"Why is that any concern of mine?" the tall one questions, and I assume he's Mr. Holmes.

"I want to know who killed my father, Mr. Holmes. I'd like to make sure they don't get whatever it is that they want that called for the murder of my father," I reply sharply. 

Both men look shocked, the short one more so than Mr. Holmes. 

"It's one murder of dozens," Mr. Holmes replies after a moment. "What's so important about it?"

"Why wait until all of us are asleep? Father usually spent plenty of time off to himself in the house during the day," I answer. 

"Likely used the cover of darkness to better conceal their presence. I have no interest. Please leave."

I grit my teeth as I rise to my feet and leave, heading back to where the servant who brought me waits. As I begin heading home seated comfortably in the carriage, all I can think about is how you should never meet people you admire and are fascinated by. They never measure up.

[fandomwritings-cm13]

The Only Human (TOS-Era fic): Chapter 6

Summary: Lieutant Evie Logan experiences her first away mission, and things certainly don't go as expected.

Warnings: very cliche, obsessive prince, forced relationship

Word Count: 1138

A/N: I've created a ko-fi. Feel free to buy me a coffee if you'd like. There's absolutely no pressure :)

Let me know what you think of this chapter!

Prince Atakheramen had initially tried to get me to stay with him round the clock, but I insisted upon having my own space. He arranged for a room to be prepared for me, conveniently right next door to his. Conveniently for him.

Over the past few days, I have tried to sneak away to find my crewmates since he hasn’t yet fulfilled his end of our agreement. To no avail. I can’t find where they are when I try to explore in the middle of the night. I’ve searched so many hallways, I’m unsure of where to look next. 

Atakheramen insists on spending all day together. Tairin comes every morning to dress me for the day, and when we exit my room, Atakheramen is there waiting for me. We eat breakfast together. He takes me around the palace or the grounds until lunch, usually eaten in the gardens. He shows me more of the palace and grounds then we spend the remainder of the evening talking. I share what I can about my life and the Earth without completely violating the prime directive, and Atakheramen shares what life on Varilia is like, at least for him and the royal family.

A warm breeze blows through the window I stand beside, causing the thin curtains to float around me. I’m nearly completely wrapped up in the curtains, so I close my eyes and simply enjoy this feeling for the brief moment I have it.

Everything is silent, apart from the wind and the occasional march of guards below.

When the breeze dissipates, the curtains settle back into place. I glance over my shoulder at the door for a moment before stepping away from the window. Immediately, I grab the robe left on the dressing table and put it on, tying the sash as I approach the door. I open the door then step out and shut it behind me, trying to be as silent as possible. I glance around the hallway, both looking and listening for any sign of the palace guards. Upon seeing none, I head down the hallway. 

I walk through the stone hallways barefoot, a feeble attempt at reducing the volume I produce. Tonight, I’m taking a similar route to the other nights, though I take a few different turns. Without my communicator, it’s next to impossible to know where I should be looking for my crewmates. It feels like I’ve searched every possible hallway, but this palace is so large there could be many more places to search still.

Throughout the night, I search every room and hallway I can find. Typically, I go to the end of the hallway. This particular one is the longest I’ve encountered thus far, and there are no windows so I can’t keep track of the time.

It takes longer than expected to clear this hallway, but on the bright side, it’s a dead end. As I begin making my way back to my room, the exhaustion begins to hit me. My body and eyes feel heavy, so my pace slows. Once I reach more familiar hallways, there are more and more windows. 

And the sun has already begun to rise.

I’ve been out all night.

My gut drops, and my heart races painfully in my tightening chest. If Tairin has already made it to my room, she’s likely to have informed Atakheramen, which would be disastrous for me. 

My pace quickens, and I’m soon back at my room. I open the door and step inside, closing it right behind me. My stomach again drops when I see Atakheramen standing across the room staring out the windows. Tairin waits by the foot of my bed.

“Sire, she’s returned,” she announces.

I fiddle with the sash holding my robe closed as he turns to face me and the rest of the room, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Tairin, go to the chief guard and tell him I’ll be meeting with him shortly about updating our security measures for Evie,” he commands. “When you finish, come back and remain outside until I leave.”

She nods once. “Yes, sir.” She walks past me and exits the room. 

I don’t turn to watch her go, unable to look away from Atakheramen. He stares at me in silence. That is, until the door has closed behind Tairin.

“Where did you go?” he demands.

“Nowhere,” I answer.

“Nowhere?” His brow furrows and he takes a step toward me. My eyes move to the floor to stare down at my feet, my grip tightening on the sash around my waist. “You disappear from your room for gods know how long, which is only discovered when Tairin comes in to get you ready for the day! Were you trying to leave?”

I shake my head. “No… I-” My voice shakes as my throat constricts. “No, I-I wasn’t.”

“Then what exactly were you trying to accomplish?”

I shut my eyes tightly as tears fill my eyes. 

“Answer me, Evie!”

“Please stop yelling…”

His footsteps sound his approach, and a couple seconds later, I feel his hand under my chin, gently tilting my head up.

“Evie,” he says softly, “open your eyes.”

I take in a short, shaking breath then do as he says. A few tears slip down my cheek as soon as my eyes open. 

“Tell me what’s going on.”

I shake my head quickly. “I-I can’t…”

He eyes me warily, an eyebrow raised. “You say you weren’t trying to leave. What am I to assume this was? Mere exploration?”

“Yes…”

He sighs, shaking his head. “How long have you been exploring the palace at night? Was it not enough for me to take you all around the palace during the day?”

“It’s just my nature to be curious.”

“What were you hoping to find?”

I shrug, looking away from him again as my gaze drifts down to the floor.

“This cannot continue,” he states firmly, his hand falling from my chin, and I look up at him again, my eyes wide. “I cannot risk your safety.”

“I’ve never felt unsafe in these halls!”

“Evie,” he breathes, pausing briefly, “I can’t believe you’ve been wandering the palace at night for however long simply out of curiosity. Something else is going on. I could help if you would tell me what you were attempting to do, but until we are wed, there will be guards posted outside your room.”

“That really isn’t necessary.”

He shakes his head. “Saying that makes it sound as if you either don’t wish to be here or were trying to escape.”

“Believe me, I wasn’t!”He cups my cheek. “I wish I could believe you.” He stares into my eyes for a few seconds. “You keep so many things secret or say you can’t share specifics. How could this be much different?”

[fandomwritings-cm13]

The Quiet Mill Inn (A 20/s!AU Steve Rogers Fic) -- Chapter 5

Pairing: 20s!AU Steve Rogers x OC (Jaelyn Roberson)

Series summary: Jaelyn is sent back in time to the year 1920 by a devious acquaintance, Max. He sees her as more than a friend or acquaintance, and his goal in sending her back is to convince her that he’s good for her.

Warnings: lots of dialogue, protective Steve and Bucky

Word count: 1726 words

Rosalie looks over at me for a brief second as she stirs the pot on the stove. “Are you doing anything for Thanksgiving?”

I shake my head, keeping my gaze on the vegetables on the cutting board. “No, family’s too far.”

“Ah, I see. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’ll be fine, I think.” I pause. “What about you?”

“My family lives in town, so I’m going home for at least a couple days. You’re welcome to come with me.”

“And leave Steve and Bucky alone?”

“I’m certain they’ll manage.”

“Are you sure? It seems like they’re the type to burn anything they attempt to cook.”

Rosalie laughs so hard it turns into a cackle. It takes her a moment to calm her breathing enough to speak. “Well, they’re more capable than they seem, for sure.”

“I’d still like to see them in here instead of us for once. Might be entertaining.”

“I certainly would find it interesting.”

. . . . . . . . .

“You sure you’ve got this, doll?” Bucky questions. It’s hard to tell if he’s teasing or not. When I look over at him, he’s leaning against the doorframe, his eyebrows raised. “I can step in if you need me to.”

I feel my cheeks heat with a blush, and I redirect my gaze back to what I’m trying to cook. “I’m sure I’m good. Thanks for asking, Bucky.”

It’s silent for a few minutes, so I concentrate on trying to cook the vegetables and beef for the Thanksgiving meal I’m preparing. I flinch and clutch my hand when I accidentally touch the edge of the oven, biting my lip as tears well up in my eyes.

“Here, doll,” Bucky soothes, gently grasping my shoulders and maneuvering me away from the stove. He guides me out of the kitchen entirely. “Steve, get Jaelyn a cool cloth. She just burned her hand on the oven.”

Concern fills Steve’s features, and he’s quick to approach. He quickly takes me from Bucky, guiding me to sit at the staff’s table, separate from the dining area for guest use. Once I’m seated, he rushes off and out of sight. While I’m left cradling my burnt hand, though it hurts less now.

Steve returns a moment later, a small cloth in his hands, and the concern hasn’t left his eyes. He rushes back over to me and takes my hand from me. He searches my hand for any evidence of the burn.

“Steve,” I say, attempting to pull my hand from his grip, “I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt that badly any more.”

His grip tightens momentarily, only to get me to stop pulling on his grip since he loosens his grip when I stop moving. “Still needs to be tended to, even if it’s not hurting.”

He doesn’t move again until I nod. He locates the place of the burn on my hand and wraps the cloth around it, tying it off so neither of us have to hold it in place. It’s then he takes a seat at the table beside me. He looks at me for a few seconds longer before picking up the newspaper and reading it again.

I look at the front page, what’s visible to me, as Steve reads something on the inside pages. I look up at him as he sets the paper down on the table.

He’s staring out the windows looking out over the front of the property.

I glance out, too, hoping to find what he saw. “What is it? What did you see?”

“I thought I saw someone outside,” he replies, standing then approaching the window.

I follow and look out the window at his side. I search the area in front of the inn. There’s really no one there, since people are generally on the other side of town to get last minute supplies or at home.

Until a familiar face crosses into sight, and immediately, my stomach sinks and my heart races. I hide behind Steve, clutching onto the back of his shirt as I shrink in on myself, in the hopes that I remain out of sight.

“What? What is it?” Steve questions, and I can feel him trying to turn to look at me.

“Don’t!” I cry. “I’m not here!”

He’s silent for a moment. And still. “Is this the gentleman you mentioned?”

I nod quickly, tears beginning to fall from my eyes. 

Steve turns and quickly guides me out of the room, one arm around my waist. We’re soon back at the kitchen. Bucky looks over immediately. 

“Keep Jaelyn safe here,” Steve commands before Bucky can even say a word. “The man who sent her here is back and out in front of the inn.”

Bucky takes me and keeps an arm firmly around me, perhaps in an attempt to comfort me. I can only watch as Steve disappears then I turn into Bucky’s chest and continue to cry. 

“He won’t find you, Jaelyn,” Bucky assures me, running a hand through the ends of my hair. “We won’t let him take you.”

I clutch onto him tighter, terrified at the silence. It feels like ages before I can hear anything. 

“I said, we’re closed,” Steve yells. “Now get off my property before I get the sheriff.”

Silence follows, and my heart beats wildly in anticipation of what will happen next. I can hear footsteps approaching, and I hide my face in Bucky’s chest, still clutching onto his shirt.

“He’s gone,” Steve states, “at least for now.”

“For now?” Bucky inquires.

“He didn’t seem convinced that she wasn’t here. He went off into town. He’s bound to return at some point again.” 

I whimper and turn my face the opposite way from Steve, not wanting to worry him further with even more of my tears.

Bucky rubs my back in an attempt to soothe me. “He won’t find you here, Jae. We’ll make sure of it.”

“You don’t know that!” I cry. “He’s a lot smarter than you think. He knew I likely wouldn’t have been very far from where he dumped me.”

“We’ll get a contingency plan in place with at least one back up plan,” Steve says firmly. “We know he’s going to come back. Now, we just have to be ready for him.”

“What if he gets-” Bucky begins but stops suddenly, though I can’t see why. Instead, he tightens his arm around me briefly. “Why don’t you go sit back down in the staff dining-” He stops when I quickly shake my head no. “Steve will go close the curtains, and he’ll stay in there with you.”

I pull back, wiping at my cheeks with the back of my sleeve. “What if he sneaks in?”

“I already locked up all the outside doors,” Steve assures me. “It’ll just be the three of us until morning.”

I look between the two of them for a moment before taking a step away from Bucky. He smiles gently at me before I step around him to follow Steve into the staff dining room. As I enter, he’s shutting the curtains for the window, and the room is considerably darker as a result. He turns his attention to the fireplace, stoking the flames and adding a couple more logs. As he does that, I find the matchbox and light the candles on the table. Steve approaches as I blow out the match and set it in the discard bowl. 

“How’s your hand feeling?” he asks, gently taking it into his grasp again.

I shrug. “Feels fine.”

He unwraps the now room temperature cloth from my hand and examines the burn. “No blistering yet, but it still looks a little red. We’ll keep an eye on it and get you another cool cloth before bed if needed.”

I nod slowly, my gaze wandering over to the lone window in the room now concealed by the curtains.

“You don’t have to worry, Jaelyn. He’s not going to come back tonight.”

I look down at my feet. “You don’t know that…”

“Well, he’ll have to break in, and I’d be getting the sheriff involved if he did. Which would put him further out of reach from you.”

“Temporarily. They wouldn’t be able to keep him locked up indefinitely.”

“No, but we may be able to get our hands on that machine and send one of you back home.”

I look up at him. “One of us?”

He nods slowly. His cheeks are a faint pink, and it seems he’s biting the inside of his cheek.

“Who would you send?”

He looks away from me, his cheeks burning a brighter red.

“Who would you send?”

He shakes his head and turns his back to me. Before he can walk away, I grab his hand, which brings his gaze to our hands then to me.

“Jaelyn,” he breathes.

“Answer my question,” I command, though my voice is nearly as quiet as his.

“I thought you’d get the idea… I mean, I’ve tried to…” He stops, rubbing his brow as he looks down. A couple seconds later, he looks me in the eyes, and I can see tears in the corners of them. “I’d send you back if you wanted me to.”

I squeeze his hand gently then release it. “Thank you, Steve.” 

. . . . . . .

“You have to tell her eventually,” Bucky says in a matter of fact tone.

“I know, I know,” Steve sighs, pacing in front of the fireplace. “She’s still an employee, Buck.”

“Does that mean you can’t have feelings of attraction for her?”

“It means I need to be respectful and careful. I wouldn’t want to do anything indecent.”

“If she���s your girl, who cares if it’s indecent? Especially what’s done in private.”

“Who’s to say we’d even have that much privacy anyway?”

Bucky shrugs. “I guess you’ll figure it out.”

“How do we know she has feelings for me and not you?”

Bucky chuckles. “That’s a risk you’re going to have to take, though I wouldn’t mind her attraction or attention. But I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Steve.”

“What makes you say that?”

“The way she looks at you.”

Steve looks over at him, no longer pacing. “How does she look at me?”

“Like she wouldn’t mind you giving her more attention than you do.”

Steve takes a seat, his mind swarming with thoughts as he stares into the fire.

[fandomwritings-cm13]

The Case of the Missing Maid (A Paul Drake fic) - Chapter 9

Summary: Maisie arrives in Paris with Paul, Della, and Perry. Paul takes Maisie out to dinner at a familiar cafe to her.

Warnings: Lots of dialogue, bit of a lazy ending, drawn out scene

Word Count: 3155

The group enters the hotel, The Obsidian Pinnacle. Paul takes Maisie’s suitcase from her before she approaches the front desk. Perry is glancing out the large window in the waiting area they stand in. Della is glancing around in awe at the lovely decor, but her eyes stop on Paul as he admires Maisie at the front desk, conversing so easily in French with the woman behind the desk.

When Maisie turns to return to the group, Paul quickly diverts his attention elsewhere, finding his shoes most interesting.

“The rooms are all ready,” I say cheerily. “I hope you two gentlemen are alright with sharing a room.”

“And what about Della and you?” Mr. Mason questions, an eyebrow raised and a teasing lilt to his voice.

“Well, we’re in separate rooms, not that that’s any of your business.” I hand one of the keys to Ms. Street and give another to Mr. Mason. “Shall we?”

I begin heading to the elevator, and I can hear the others right behind me. The elevator opens, and all four of us step inside. I direct the operator to take us to the sixth floor. We then wait in silence as the elevator ascends through the building. There’s a chorus of thank you’s from us as we exit the elevator when the door opens.

We walk down the hall in silence, until we reach where the rooms are.

“Are we going out to dinner?” Ms. Street asks.

I glance around the group to find them all staring at me. “Well, I do know of a few good restaurants, if you’d like to go out.”

“Are you not going to join us?” Mr. Mason inquires.

“I’m not sure. I have a rather early morning tomorrow to get ready for the showcase.”

“Does any of this getting ready involve shopping?” Ms. Street interjects.

I grin. “Yes, in fact, it does. I do need a rather fashionable dress for the afterparty.”

“Think about it,” Mr. Mason gently commands. “We still have a little while before dinnertime.”

I nod once. “Thank you, Mr. Mason.”

I watch as both he and Ms. Street disappear into their respective rooms. Paul, however, remains by my side. Once the doors are closed, I look up at him.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to go out for dinner, honey?” he asks, his voice quiet and just a little husky.

I shrug my shoulders. “Perhaps. How are you planning on convincing me?”

“I could selfishly ask you to join me for dinner, just the two of us, at some cozy, romantic little number down the street. Would that be convincing enough for you?”

I shake my head and look down at my suitcase, reaching out to take it from him. I stop, however, when he moves it further from my reach. 

“I have to get up very early tomorrow, and the longer you stall out in the hall, the longer it’ll take me to get ready,” I counter. “Means less time to enjoy dinner, since I’m sure you’ll get me back to my room at a reasonable hour, Mr. Drake.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Is that a yes then, honey?”

I nod, giving him a sort of sly grin. “Yes, it is.”

“See you in fifteen minutes?”

“You need to freshen up as well, Mr. Drake?” I tease.

He chuckles but shakes his head, tucking one hand into his pocket. “No, just want to give you the chance to, honey.”

“Well, thank you. I’ll see you in fifteen.”

I turn and unlock the door to my room, quickly stepping inside. I shut it behind me without glancing back and step further into the room. It’s fairly spacious, with veranda windows that lead out onto a small terrace, fashioned with a wicker bench and wooden table. The bed is as large as the one I have back home, and both the bedding and pillows look just as comfortable.

I set my suitcase on the foot of the bed and open it up. Everything is still neatly packed away, folded or in little cases. I pull out a black dress and my makeup case then head to the vanity. I set the makeup case on the wooden table then the dress. It gives me the hands to get out of the pencil skirt and nice blouse I had chosen for today’s trip. 

I remove the clothes and put on the black dress. It’s got a loose skirt, going down past my knees. There’s a sash in the middle which leads into a lacy bodice. The neckline and mid-forearm length sleeves are a mesh, see through material.

Moving quickly, I put the skirt and blouse on the foot of the bed beside my suitcase then return to the vanity. I settle into the seat and pull out some makeup, some face powder and some lipstick. I take the little poof, put a little powder on it, and dab it all over my face. Setting it aside, I swipe some fresh, red lipstick on.

A knock comes from the door, and I look in the direction of it. I stare for a couple seconds before rising and approaching. When I open the door, Paul leans in the doorway, still in the same charcoal gray suit he started the day in. He’s without a tie now, leaving the top two buttons of his white dress shirt undone.

He smiles when he sees me. “Hello, beautiful.”

A blush heats my cheeks, and I look down at my shoes. “Paul, I-...”

“Are you ready to head to dinner?”

I look up at him quickly. “Is Mr. Mason or Ms. Street joining us?”

“I thought it was just you and me. Did you want all four of us-”

“No, this is fine. I just don’t want them to struggle to find a place to eat.”

“Could I humbly suggest room service?”

I chuckle. “By all means.”

“Or,” he extends his hand to me, and I take it, “we could simply leave them to their own devices, and go to dinner on our own.”

“Paul, are you sure?”

“Would you rather I tell Perry my suggestion, honey?”

I nod slowly. “I’d feel better, leaving them here with that.”

“Get your purse,” Paul commands gently, “and I’ll tell Perry.”

I nod once before turning around and heading back into my room, not even bothering to close the door. I grab my purse from the bed and return to the door. Paul isn’t there, and my heart sinks a little. I, however, still close the door and lock it before standing by the wall to wait for him. 

The hall is silent for the few minutes I wait. This silence is broken by the door across the hall opening. It’s Paul stepping out, grinning ear to ear.

“See you later, Perry,” he says, a cigarette between his lips. He closes the door behind himself and turns to me. His grin widens. “You ready, honey?”

I nod. “Yes.”

He gently grasps my elbow and begins walking us toward the elevator. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting out here too long.”

“Not too long.”

We soon reach the elevator, and Paul pushes the button with his free hand. His hand still remains on my elbow, even as we enter the elevator. I tell the operator to take us to the first floor then the elevator falls silent.

“Merci,” I tell the man as Paul walks me out of the elevator.

We walk through the luxurious lobby, now quite dark with the setting of the sun, and the doorman holds the door open for us as we exit the hotel.

“Now, where is this cozy, romantic little number I can take you to?” Paul questions, pulling me a little closer into his side.

I look at him with derision in my eyes. “You didn’t notice anywhere?”

He’s still grinning as he shakes his head. “Nope, not a place. In my defense, I was rather distracted.”

I roll my eyes. “You can’t win with that card with me.”

“Well, I certainly tried, didn’t I?”

I shake my head, smiling a little. “Well, I happen to know of a little restaurant we could try. Might be booked full.”

“Yeah?”

“We’re heading in the right direction, at least.”

There’s several minutes of walking, silent between the two of us, before I guide Paul over to the entrance of the restaurant. There’s a glass door that leads into the restaurant. Paul opens it for me, and I step in with him just behind me. The hostess’s focus is on the desk in front of her, likely the reservation book.

When she looks up, her eyes immediately meet mine and light up. “Mademoiselle Maisie! It’s so nice to see you again!” She turns and shouts over her shoulder. “Monsieur Raoult! It’s Maisie!”

The owner, Mr. Raoult, looks over from the bar, and his eyes also light up when he sees me.

“Mademoiselle!” he exclaims, walking quickly towards us. “How lovely to see you again! It’s been too long, no?”

“Far too long. My apologies for not coming by on my last visit. You know how crazy things get when it comes to preparing for the showcase.”

“Absolutely. I see you’ve brought a gentleman friend with you.” He smirks at me, an eyebrow raised knowingly. 

“Yes, this is Paul Drake.” I motion to Paul. “He works with a lawyer named Perry Mason in Los Angeles.”

“Your grandmother likes him?”

“Certainly seemed to,” Paul comments.

“Could we get a table tonight?” I inquire. “It certainly looks like you’re busy, which is definitely good for business.”

Mr. Raoult chuckles. “If you can wait about fifteen minutes, I can get you a table.”

“Are you sure? We didn’t even place a reservation.”

“You're an old friend so it’s no trouble at all. It’s nice to see you again, Maisie. You’ll have to come by again before you leave for America.”

I nod. “Absolutely. I have a couple more friends with me. I’m sure they’d love this place.”

“Whenever you come, I’ll have a table ready.” He turns to the hostess. “Reine, take them to the lounge. I’ll get them when their table is ready.”

The hostess, Reine, nods once then turns to us. “Follow me, please.”

Paul’s grip loosens on my elbow, and my arm slides out of his grip. His hand moves to my back as we follow Reine through an archway and into a room littered with couches. Cigarette smoke hangs heavy in the air, and I can’t stop a cough as we enter the room with how hard it hits me.

Reine leaves us in the far corner at a small pink settee. Paul grabs my hand and helps me ease into a seat on the settee before taking a seat beside me. He reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out his cigarettes, putting one in his mouth and lighting it.

“You want one, honey?” he asks, letting out a long puff of smoke.

I shake my head. “Not right now, thank you.”

He tucks the package back into his pocket. “How many times have you been to this place?”

I shrug. “Too many to count.” 

I shift on my seat, feeling the stares of other patrons. I don’t know if it’s that we’re not speaking French or if Paul is speaking too loudly for their liking. Either way, I try to ignore it and instead focus on him.

“Then this place must have some pretty good food,” he adds.

I nod. “This was my favorite place to come and unwind when I felt overwhelmed by the amount of work I had from Madame Batteux.”

Paul puts his arm on the back of the couch and practically around my shoulders. “It doesn’t seem like you could feel overwhelmed by her work.”

“While that’s true now, it wasn’t always.”

“What do you mean, honey?”

“Well, in the beginning, I was learning so things were more challenging. I didn’t have the head for designing I do now.”

“What all did you learn under Madame Batteux?”

“Mostly women’s fashion, but I learned how to hem garments and how to wash them properly.”

“Fascinating. You’re a well-rounded woman, for sure.”

I chuckle lightly, smiling at him. “What can I say? I certainly tried to be.”

“Um, mademoiselle, monsieur, your table is ready,” the hostess Reine interrupts.

Both Paul and I look up at her for a split second then rise to our feet. We follow her out of the lounge and through the restaurant to a quiet little corner in the back. She places menus down at both place settings before stepping aside to let both of us take seats.

“What can I get you to drink?” she asks as we settle into our chairs.

“Some tea for me, please,” I answer, “with cream and sugar.”

“Coffee, please,” Paul answers.

“I’ll be right back with those,” Reine states. “Damien will be by shortly to take your order.”

I nod once. “Thank you, Reine.”

I watch as she walks away, disappearing amid the people in the restaurant. After she’s out of sight, I turn my attention to the menu, risking a glance at Paul. He looks utterly lost and confused, his brows knit together.

“See anything interesting, Mr. Drake?” I inquire, teasing him.

He practically glares at me over his menu. 

“Would you like some help?”

He sighs, nodding as he sets the menu down.

“What would you like?”

“A hamburger?”

I chuckle a little. “They, unfortunately, don’t have anything like that here. How about a quiche? Or perhaps some escargot?”

Paul raises his eyebrows, a worried look taking over his eyes. “Escargot…?”

“Snails.”

He wrinkles his nose.

“I’ll take that as a no then. A quiche would be filling. The Lorraine is divine here.”

Paul nods. “I’ll try it.”

“I have a coffee and a tea,” a gentleman states as he approaches the table.

“The tea is mine,” I state, resting the menu on the table in front of me.

The waiter, Damien, sets the tea cup and saucer in front of my place setting at the table. The mug is placed in front of Paul. “Do you know what you would like to order?”

I nod. “Yes, we do. The gentleman will have an order of the quiche Lorraine.”

He jots down the order and replies without even looking up at me. “And for you mademoiselle?”

“Do you still have any fresh ratatouille?”

Damien pauses for a couple seconds before looking at me again. “I believe so, mademoiselle. Could I get another dish in case we don’t?”

“Quiche Lorraine will do just fine.”

The waiter nods once, writes down my order, then walks away without another word.

“He seems just swell,” Paul comments, picking up his mug and taking a swig.

I chuckle. “Do you not like him?”

“I don’t know what to think of him.”

“He’s an interesting character. Very talkative if you can get him out of his shell.”

Paul raises his eyebrows, leaning toward me slightly. “And you have?”

“I came here far too often and stayed well past my welcome while studying under Madame Batteux.”

“Does that mean underneath that cold, hard exterior is an interesting and warm gentleman?”

I nod once. “Smiles and laughs, too.”

Paul lets out a snort. “Is this a man you’d be interested in?”

I look at him sideways, an eyebrow raised. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Mr. Drake.”

“And if I am?”

“There’s no need to be. He’s engaged to the hostess who seated us.” I look away and pull my tea closer to me, followed by the cream and sugar. “They’ve been together for a while, since I was studying here.”

“Well, that certainly changes things.”

I stir in some cream and sugar, looking up at Paul. “Feeling less jealous?”

He nods once but says nothing.

“How’s the coffee?”

Paul shrugs. “I’m not picky.”

Before I can say anything else, Damien returns with our food and sets both in front of each of us respectively. 

“Anything else I can get for you two? Some wine, perhaps?” he questions.

“Please,” Paul answers before I can say no.

“Red or white?”

Paul looks to me for an answer.

“Uh,” I fumble, “red please.”

Damien gives me a knowing smile. “Yes, mademoiselle.”

As he disappears, I turn my attention to my food. I dig in immediately, and when I look over at Paul seconds later, he’s staring down at his plate.

“Is there something wrong, Paul?” I inquire.

He looks up at me and shakes his head once. “No, just not quite sure how this will be classified as ‘filling.’”

“Try it and you may just be surprised.”

He takes his fork and stares at his plate for another couple of seconds. He eyes me with an uneasy look before he stabs the quiche and breaks off a piece. He gulps before eating what he broke off. I can’t tear my eyes off him as he chews. His eyebrows raise, and he nods.

“I may get a second helping of this,” he comments.

I chuckle, picking up my fork and getting a small bite of ratatouille. 

As I take the bite, Damien returns with two glasses of wine and sets them in front of us. I nod and cover my mouth in an attempt to express my gratitude.

“Thanks,” Paul states.

Damien nods once then walks away, presumably to another table.

Paul and I continue eating, conversing easily until we’re both finished. Damien collects our dishes, we order a dessert to share with some more wine, then continue chatting while we wait. Dessert is finished fairly quickly, but we remain at the table, sipping wine and talking. 

When we go to the register to pay for our meal, most of the other patrons who arrived before or just after us have already left. Mr. Raoult is the one at the register to close our check. Paul has his wallet out and is paying before I can even open my purse.

“It was lovely to meet you, Mr. Drake,” Mr. Raoult states warmly, a kind smile on his face. “And it was lovely to see you again, Maisie. Good luck with the showcase, and don’t forget to come back before you head home.”

“Thank you, monsieur. We’ll definitely be back,” I assure him.

“Good night,” Paul says with a small wave to Mr. Raoult, his other hand going to the small of my back.

“Good night,” Mr. Raoult replies.

Paul guides me out of the restaurant with a firm but gentle hand. As we walk through the cool night air, his hand doesn’t move. It’s silent between us for a few minutes.

“Thank you for dinner, Paul,” I murmur.

“You’re welcome, honey,” he replies with a similar tone. “I quite enjoyed it, more than I thought I would.”

“I’m glad.”

“I can certainly see why it’s one of your favorite places.”

[fandomwritings-cm13]

The Only Human - Chapter 4

Summary: Lieutant Evie Logan experiences her first away mission, and things certainly don't go as expected.

Warnings: this is going to be very cliche, obsessive prince, minor bullying by a co-worker, forced relationship

Word Count: 2405

A/N: I'll be starting to write some more next week when my grad school classes end! Also, I've created a ko-fi. Feel free to buy me a coffee if you'd like. There's absolutely no pressure :)

Let me know what you think!

I shift the strap of the tricorder on my shoulder, hidden underneath my cloak, before the door for the transporter room slides open. As I approach the transporter, I keep my gaze focused downward and my hands at my side. From a brief glance as I take my place, I can see five others. My briefing stated that I would be accompanying Commander Lavir, Lieutenant V’Lulac, Lieutenant Commander Daulitt, Lieutenant Traimo, and Ensign T’lain. 

A few seconds later, we’re beaming down to the planet, known to us as Varilia. In the blink of an eye, the landscape changes. Instead of the inside of the ship, miles and miles of sand stretch before the eye.

“It seems the entire planet is covered in sand,” one woman states, and I assume it’s Traimo, “apart from a couple large bodies of water, several rivers, and several smaller bodies of water.”

I turn and face the opposite direction, seeing massive brick structures being constructed. They look to be similar to the pyramids in Egypt on Earth.

“Commander, could this culture be based on Earth’s ancient Egyptian people?” I posit, gazing at the myriad of buildings in view. All of them are ornate, at least the tall ones.

“A possibility,” she replies. “Are there any threats nearby, ensign?”

“None here, Commander,” T’lain replies. 

“I suggest we continue towards the city,” Lieutenant V’Lulac adds.

“Are you certain it will be safe?” I question.

He turns to me, a brow raised, but he gives no answer.

“I pick up no advanced weaponry,” Ensign T’lain states.

“That doesn’t mean they’re not threatening to strangers,” I retort.

“We have prepared for interactions with them, and the universal translator is functioning properly,” Commander Lavir interjects. “We require interaction to study them and their culture. Let us proceed.”

She begins walking towards the buildings. They must be at least a couple miles away, since we beamed far enough away to hopefully be inconspicuous.

Everyone falls into step behind the commander, and I am the last one, shaking myself from my admiration of the architecture. I fall in line behind T’lain, and it takes her several seconds to realize I’m behind her. When she notices, she stops briefly, just enough for me to pass her, then continues behind me. 

It takes several minutes of walking for us to arrive at what appears to be a market. Crowds of people are clustered everywhere. People’s voices fill the air, all jumbled together and talking over one another. There are vibrant colors all over: materials hanging or worn, spices, rugs, foods. 

My eyes wander the market, and my pace slows considerably. Seconds later, I come to a stop in front of one of the stalls. The gentleman who likely owns the merchandise is conversing with another man, haggling over the price of one of the rugs hanging up for display. 

The intricate patterns keep my gaze focused on the rugs. So many colors. I make a mental note of commonalities among them. 

I step away before the man can acknowledge me then disappear further into the crowd in the marketplace. 

In the few moments I was at the stall, I lost the landing party. I can’t even see them, since there are so many people and I cannot see over them. This will likely fare pretty poorly for me in the long run. My first away mission and I’ve already been separated from the landing party. Plus, there’s no way to discreetly check in with each other. 

 I run into someone, my face squished against a strong back. I take a half step back, about all I can take in the cramped space, and sheepishly look up at the person. The man turns around with a brow raised at me. He’s practically scowling down at me.

“My apologies,” I mumble timidly, a blush faintly heating my cheeks.

He simply stares in return, his eyes following me as I gingerly step around him.

With my head ducked to avoid anyone’s gaze, I weave my way through the people in the crowd. It takes me several minutes to find a clearing, and it’s just my luck that the landing party is standing several yards away from the edge of the crowd. T’lain notices me immediately, and soon, the entire group is watching me approach.

“My apologies, Commander,” I state. “I got a little distracted…”

“Distracted? How could you allow yourself-” V’Lulac begins.

“V’Lulac, calm yourself,” Commander Lavir interrupts. “She is human, and her ways of observation are different.” She makes eye contact with me. “What did you find?”

I shake my head dismissively, brushing everything off as unimportant in my shame. 

“Perhaps we should continue then.”

“There are more structures in the northeast direction, less crowded,” T’lain adds without even glancing at her padd or tricorder.

“Let’s head in that direction.”

“Try to keep up, Lieutenant Lo-” V’Lulac begins, muttering to me under his breath.

This time, he is interrupted by someone outside of the landing party. Four men approach us. All are dressed in a simple, white skirt-type garment, with a sword in hand.

“You,” the one at the front points at me, “will come with us.”

“She is an off-” T’lain begins to explain.

“For what reason? What has she done?” Commander Lavir questions the men.

“He wants to see her,” the man replies.

“He? Who wants to see her?”

“No more questions,” one of the other men replies sharply, pointing his sword at the commander. “Get moving.”

The first man begins walking away, and before beginning to follow, I look around at the other officers of the landing party. My heart races as my feet begin carrying me along the same path as the man. The others close in around me tightly, and the men escorting us do the same. The closeness makes my stomach churn uncomfortably.

It doesn’t take long for us to approach a large structure with columns around the perimeter of the building and art etched into both it and the columns. The first room we enter is rather spacious, various decorations like vases and statues intentionally placed throughout.

We pass through a curtain made of thin material, hung up in a fairly large doorway in a large wall. Past the curtain, there are two thrones. An older man sits on one, and a woman of about the same age sits on the other. A younger man, presumably their son, stands beside them. Men dressed the same as those who came to retrieve us, all also armed with swords, litter the room.

The four men stop in the center of the room and bow, their right fists resting on the left side of their chests. 

“Kneel,” one of the men who escorted us commands in a hiss. 

Not one of us moves.

V’Lulac and Lavir are shoved, both ending up on their knees. The remaining four of us are quick to do the same to avoid any physical confrontation. I drop my gaze to the floor just in front of me, my stomach churning as footsteps echo off the floor and sound to be nearing our group. 

A moment later, there’s a hand under my chin tilting my head up.

I’m face to face with the man I bumped into in the market.

He takes a half a step back, smirking as he releases my chin to extend his hand to me. I stare up at him for a couple seconds before my gaze moves to his hand. 

“Take it, my dear,” the man insists in a smooth voice. “Trust me.”

“Logan, don’t,” Commander Lavir commands in a whisper.

“And why not?”

There’s no response from the commander, but I still shrink back a bit, shifting my hands on my legs.

The man’s gaze hardens, and he drops his hand to his side. “Take them out of here.”

I watch as the four guards turn and each grab one of the officers of the landing party. Another approaches and grabs the last one. As they’re being escorted out, I rise to my feet and begin to follow. However, I only make it a step before there’s a strong grip on my arm. I’m nearly immediately pulled back and spun into the chest of the man I can only assume is a noble or royal given his presence in the throne room. His other hand rests on my waist.

“You’re not going where they’re going,” he states firmly.

“Why not? I came with them,” I reply.

He chuckles. “Well, let’s just say you’ll be keeping me company.”

My brows furrow in thought, and I look away from the man.

He squeezes my side, which brings my gaze back to him. “Walk with me.”

I shake my head. “No, I-... I shouldn’t. My… friends and I should be leaving.”

“It wasn’t a request, my dear.”

His hands shift, one moving to my elbow and the other settling into place along my waist. My back is practically against his chest as he begins walking me out of the room. I have no choice but to walk with him. We walk through several halls, deeper into the building, before he enters a completely different room. There’s a large, elaborate bed, and standing at the foot of it is a couple of women. They face the entrance of the room, but only one watches us enter. 

“First things first,” the man states, “let’s get you out of these strange clothes. Tairin,” the woman who watched us enter raises her eyebrows, “get her changed. Alert me when you’re finished. I’ll be waiting in the hall.”

His grip is gone a second later, and the women take his place. They take me, guiding with feather-like touches, across the room to where a change of clothes waits. 

One removes the cloak and takes it away. The other, Tairin, nears me just after. She first removes my tricorder from where it hangs across my chest then pulls the long tunic over my head. She hands everything to the other woman then pulls another dress over my head. It’s white and a thin fabric. She steps behind me, and a second later, a heavy weight hits my chest. I look down to see a beaded collar made of blue, red, gold, and black beads.

Fingers comb through my hair as Tairin steps in front of me again. She makes no eye contact as she removes the loose pants I wore under the tunic then ties a sash tightly around my waist. The other woman stands behind me, holding me steady as I step out of the pants then tying my hair back and off my neck.

“Go get his highness,” Tairin commands the other woman, reaching over on the dressing table for a pair of golden cuffs.

The other woman walks away as Tairin slips each cuff onto my wrists.

“My, my,” the man’s voice sounds from across the room. I can’t bring myself to look at him, a blush flaming in my cheeks. “What a lovely sight you are.”

“Anything else, sire?” Tairin asks.

“No, you’re both free to go.” 

After both are out of the room, the door is shut behind them. 

The man doesn’t come over to me but goes to my belongings, looking at everything.

“What are these things?” he inquires, a smirk playing on the corners of his lips, as he holds up my tricorder and communicator. When I don’t reply, he looks at me. “Well?”

I shake my head.

He takes a large step towards me, but I quickly back away, my eyes wide.

“My dear, all I want is an explanation,” he calmly adds.

“I can’t give you one,” I state, my voice far too quiet to convey any sort of confidence.

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

He chuckles, setting the instruments back on the bed. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter, interesting as it would be.” He takes a step closer to me but grabs my waist before I can back away from him any further. His grip is tight and pulls me flush against him. “I’m going to make you mine.”

I push against his chest, leaning my torso away from his though I don’t get far from him at all. “Let go of me!”

“Calm yourself, my dear.” His hands move to my wrists as I continue pushing on his chest and move them into one, allowing the other to return to my waist. This doesn’t deter me from continuing to struggle. “I said, calm yourself!”

I freeze when he raises his voice, staring up at him with wide eyes.

“You’re a very lucky woman.”

I struggle in his grip for a brief moment before he tightens his grip and pulls me closer. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“My dear, you’re going to be my wife. Have you any idea what that means?”

I shake my head.

“You’re really not from around here, are you?” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, simply put, it means that we will be the most powerful people in the world.” He squeezes my waist. “And the gods will bless us greatly.”

I shudder at what I assume he means. 

My reaction must have amused him because he chuckles again. “Don’t act so disgusted, my dear! After all, you’ll be well taken care of.”

“You don’t even know me!”

“I don’t have to.”

“Well, where I’m from, people don’t generally marry strangers.”

He pauses, staring thoughtfully across the room. After a few seconds, he looks at me again. “That’s rather surprising. Is there someone who has expressed a desire to marry you?”

I stare up at him, thinking for several seconds. How am I supposed to respond to this? If I’m honest and say no, I may not have a way out of this. Alternatively, if I lie and say yes, who knows if I’ll be able to save myself, let alone my crew mates.

“Well?” the man states, an eyebrow raised.

I steel myself. “There’s not been someone. Not recently, at least.”

He smiles. “Then perhaps you’ll give me a chance.”

I pull back a little, only able to gain a little space for myself in his grasp. “I’m not sure that would be wise. I have a responsibility to the people I came here with.”

“I’ll allow you to visit with them if you teach me how marriage works where you’re from.”

With hardly a thought, I reply, “Agreed.”

[fandomwritings-cm13]

Necessarily Worried (An Orlando Oxford Imagine)

Summary: Reader and Conrad were close before he died, so they are also close to Orlando. Reader tries to take care of Orlando after Conrad’s death and even tries to go on the mission to take down the Shepherd.

Request: Orlando Oxford if you can. Maybe some angsty stuff, I like angst. Could be about the reader getting hurt and he is worried he'll lose them too. You can decide if you want a good or bad ending. The reader can be whatever gender you prefer to write with

Requested by @lievlogan

Pairing: Orlando Oxford and (gender neutral/no physical descriptors given) Reader (non-romantic; Orlando views her as more of a daughter)

Word Count: 1125

A/N: I’m kind of back. My apologies for taking so long to write this. I have this and other requests I’m currently working on, along with new chapters for some of my series’s. Work plus grad school has really wiped me out, so I haven’t had a lot of time or energy to spend writing. But I want to get back into it. Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

The door closes with a quiet thud behind them. (Y/n) watches as Orlando meanders down the hallway, appearing to be going through the motions rather than consciously choosing what to do. They stand there in the foyer for a few seconds before following him into the house.

Orlando disappears into his own bedroom, not even noticing or even acknowledging that (Y/n) was behind him.

(Y/n) makes their way down the hall and toward their own room. Once the door is shut behind them, they allow themself to finally let go. The tension leaves their body as they lean back on the door. All the tears they had been holding in for Orlando’s sake at the funeral run down their cheeks.

A knock on the door startles (Y/n), making them step away from the door and face it.

“(Y/n),” Polly’s voice comes through the door, “tea is almost ready in the parlor.”

(Y/n) wipes one cheek with the end of their sleeve, taking in a breath to try to conceal the fact they had been crying. “Thank you, Polly.” They curse silently because of how their voice wavers. “I’ll be out shortly.”

(Y/n) listens carefully as Polly’s footsteps disappear down the hall. Only when they can no longer hear her footsteps do they release a long sigh and wipe the other cheek’s tears away.

After changing out of the clothes they wore to the funeral, (Y/n) leaves their room and heads straight for the parlor. Orlando is already there, seated in his typical chair with a seemingly untouched cup of tea on the table beside him. (Y/n) takes a seat in their usual chair. Their gaze drifts to where Conrad would sit.

If he were here.

These thoughts don’t linger because Shola is immediately at their side with a cup of tea in hand. Which (Y/n) takes and allows their gaze to drift back to Orlando. They take a sip of their tea, considering what to say.

. . . . .

(Y/n) enters the dining room with a tray in both hands. On the tray is breakfast: cherry scones, over easy eggs, and sausage. Orlando sits at the head of the table, staring blankly at the newspaper in his hands. (Y/n) goes around the table and sets one plate in front of him. The other plate is set where they typically sit, and the plate of scones is set between both of their seats.

(Y/n) sets the tray at the other end of the table to take breakfast dishes back to the kitchen after the meal is finished. They take a seat and settle in, wiping the sweat from their forehead. At the same time, Orlando turns to the next page in his newspaper, not even taking a bite of breakfast.

“Anything of note?” (Y/n) questions, looking to him.

Orlando glances over at them, staring for a few seconds before shaking his head. He then sets the paper to the side, carelessly folded in half. It’s only then that he begins eating.

There’s no conversation between the two of them. Only silence fills the room.

. . . . .

Over the next few weeks, (Y/n) does the little things around the house. Making sure Orlando has his paper in the morning. Preparing breakfasts they know he enjoys. Cleaning up when he leaves a room without taking care of things.

He’s fairly quiet and antisocial over the several weeks following the funeral.

(Y/n) does their best to help him grieve, but things stay relatively quiet until it becomes clear that the Shepherd must be dealt with.

“Orlando,” (Y/n) states firmly, “I want to go with you.”

“No,” he answers with some finality, waving his hand dismissively. He doesn’t even look in their direction as he prepares.

“Why not? I could be useful!”

“No!” He slams his fist on the desk in front of him. He stares at (Y/n) for a moment before his features soften, and he hangs his head. “I can’t lose you, too, (Y/n)…”

“I’ll stay out of the way, away from the main action.”

“The answer is still no.”

“But-”

He looks (Y/n) in the eye. “End of story, (Y/n).”

. . . . .

Somehow, Polly convinced Orlando to allow (Y/n) to come, given that they stay with her.

And that’s exactly how it turned out.

(Y/n) cowers in the shack with Polly, though they’re unwilling to admit (perhaps even to themself) that they’re terrified. The sound of rapid gunshots in the direction of the shack both are in causes (Y/n)’s heart to race uncomfortably within their chest.

A stray one enters the shack, and (Y/n) isn’t hidden properly and, shortly after, feels sharp pain in their shoulder. They shift to be closer to Polly, to be hidden better from the gunfire.

Time passes slowly as they wait for Orlando to meet up with the rest of the group. As the four of them return to the Oxford estate, (Y/n) tries to remain still and out of the way, though pain radiates through their shoulder. They’re able to successfully mask their pain since everyone’s attention is primarily focused on Orlando. No one really pays much attention to the fact that (Y/n) remains off to the side, not hovering over Orlando.

No one notices.

Until they return to the Oxford estate.

“Let me take your coat,” Polly insists, her hands on the collar of their coat.

“No, I’m alright,” (Y/n) tries to insist, attempting to evade her attempt at taking the coat off their shoulders.

Polly’s grip is firm and doesn’t allow (Y/n) to evade. However, Polly’s able to pull the coat from their body, exposing the bloodied sleeve of their shirt.

“(Y/n),” Polly breathes, her eyes wide.

(Y/n) is quickly moved into the study by Shola, with Orlando trailing just behind, as Polly heats up water and gathers the necessary supplies to clean the wound. They’re quickly seated, and Shola applies pressure to the bleeding. Orlando paces as he waits.

Polly hurries into the room, her arms full of supplies. Immediately, she begins tending to the wound on (Y/n)’s shoulder.

“How did this happen?” Orlando questions.

“I don’t know,” (Y/n) replies tensely, their fists clenching as Polly cleans the wound.

“What happened, Polly?”

“I’m not sure, sir,” she replies.

“How does no one-!” Orlando shouts.

“Calm down,” (Y/n) interrupts, pleading. “I’ll be fine.”

“I knew this would happen!”

“I stayed low and out of the way. There was nothing Polly could’ve done differently.”

Orlando sighs, collapsing into the chair across the room.

“(Y/n) will be just fine, sir,” Polly states optimistically as she begins stitching up the wound.

[fandomwritings-cm13]

How ______ Would React... Kids on a Plane/in an Airport

A collection of headcanons about how most characters/actors I write for would react to how your kids act on a plane to or from a vacation.

Note: My first headcanons collection! I got inspired this weekend with some travel I did. Hope you enjoy! Comment, like, and reblog :)

Total word count: 1248

Conrad Oxford:

Conrad is calm and patient, level headed the entire time. When the baby cries, he takes them and rocks them. He even holds them so you can snack.

Your older child is set up with their tablet on the tray table. Snack is inevitably messy. There are candy wrappers that end up going everywhere. To prevent further mess, Conrad takes the candy and sets it aside.

“More please,” your child requests sweetly.

Conrad shakes his head. “We need to clean up first. We shouldn’t leave a big mess for the flight attendants. Can you pick up the wrappers and give them to me?”

Your oldest struggles to unbuckle, so Conrad helps them. Your child squeezes down between the seats and dutifully picks up all the wrappers, handing each to Conrad. They then settle back into their seat, and Conrad helps them buckle back in.

The rest of snack time is much less messy since he takes the wrappers as the candy is eaten.

Paul Drake:

Paul is more of a runner. He’ll go and get things, whatever you or the kids need. He’ll run them around to blow off steam before boarding the plane.

However, he loves nothing more than sitting beside you at the gate. He reads the paper, and you read a book or watch something on your phone. The kids often either sit on your laps or on the floor at your feet. And he’s usually the one to quell the questions of “how much longer till the plane gets here” or “where’s the plane” or “when are we leaving.”

He’s the one who runs ahead to get the rental car when you arrive to your destination or your vehicle when you arrive home. You don’t wait long for him to pick you up.

Steve Rogers:

Steve is great at entertaining the kids during flights. He usually has them sit with him, as much as is possible on the planes, to give you the chance to read your latest book or whatever you want to do.

As you’re exiting the plane at your destination, the kids have a bunch to talk to you about and practically talk your ears off as you all walk to the baggage claim.

Steve goes and gets your rental car as you and the kids get your luggage. He’s outside at arrivals by the time all of you step outside and gets out to help load up the car.

The ride to the hotel is much quieter than the plane, giving you and Steve plenty of time to talk. He asks about you about what you read or did on the plane.

Bucky Barnes:

Bucky gets a little overwhelmed on flights and in airports, but he tries to put on a brave face for your kids. The crowds are a bit much, and the large number of people in a small space isn’t any better.

Usually, he sits at the gate and keeps a couple seats for your family while you run the kids around to the bathroom, to get drinks, and to get food.

Your youngest loves sitting with him instead of going around the airport. Often, you come back to find him sitting on Bucky’s lap watching something on Bucky’s phone. 

The kids kinda tend to pile on top of him while waiting for the plane to arrive, all wanting to talk to him and have his attention. Once, you tried to get at least one to sit in a chair or with you. But Bucky just hugged them closer while looking at you with the biggest grin.

Later, when you talk to him alone about it, he confesses that focusing on taking care of the kiddos helps him to feel less overwhelmed.

Chris Evans:

Chris does it all; corralling the kids, getting snacks and drinks, entertaining the kids, and making sure everyone gets to the right gate on time.

There’s a small bump in security, and it leads to a bit of a meltdown. Before you can even move to do anything, Chris is already right there. You watch as he scoops up your youngest in his arms and reassures them with ease. You move the other kids to get their things from the x-ray line. You get yours then get Chris’s and your youngest’s.

You look on again after moving the other kids to some benches just beyond security. Seconds later, Chris approaches with your youngest in his arms still. You sit beside your youngest on the bench as Chris kneels to put their shoes on.

“Everything okay?” you question, running your fingers through your youngest’s hair but looking at Chris.

He nods. “Just some extra surprises hidden in pockets.”

You look at your youngest child, who’s now grinning mischievously. “Did you sneak some toys in your pockets?”

They giggle.

You shake your head and roll your eyes, unable to stop a smile. “I’m not surprised.”

Clark Kent/Superman:

Clark is amazing at corralling the kids when you’re in the airport. They notice everything and want to stop to see it all! His grip on their little hands is firm, but he doesn’t drag them along.

The youngest, Jonathan, doesn’t quite understand why Dad keeps saying no. Tears, and maybe a bit of a tantrum, ensue. He motions for you and the other kids to keep going to your gate, watching you walk away for a moment as Jonathan sits sobbing on the floor at his feet.

He kneels down, more on Jonathan’s level. “What’s going on, bud?”

Still in full meltdown, Jonathan points in the general direction of what he saw.

“Use your words, bud.”

“Truck.”

“Did you see a truck on one of the signs?”

Jonathan nods quickly, his breaths still shaking his little body. Tears still flow down his cheeks.

Clark looks at his watch. “We’ve got to get to our spot so we’re ready when the plane comes, so we don’t have long. How about you help me get drinks for everybody and we’ll look at the truck on the way back to Momma?”

Rubbing his eye, Jonathan nods.

Clark smiles down at him and dries his cheeks before scooping him up in his arms. He begins heading back down the terminal, looking for a store to get all the drinks in at once. “What should we get for Sis?”

“Juice!”

Clark chuckles. “I know that’s what you want,” he tickles Jonathan’s side, causing him to squeal, “but what about your sister?”

The two get drinks for the family then begin heading for the gate. And there’s no tears the entire time.

Henry Cavill:

Henry makes sure to get all the carry-ons and luggage, which leaves you to corral the kids. However, that doesn’t mean he won’t step in. He knows when you start to get overwhelmed by everything, so he’ll trade a bag for a kid with you.

Usually, it’s your youngest. They’ll try to sag onto the floor to not go any further, but Henry picks them up with ease and continues walking. Tears are inevitable in this instance, and Henry lets them cry it out a bit before trying to reason with them, get to the root of what’s wrong.

He’s the one the kids go to on the plane when they get freaked out by the sounds or movements of the plane. His voice is gentle and calm as he explains what’s going on with the plane, and it entrances the kids.

[fandomwritings-cm13]

The Only Human -- Chapter 3

Summary: Lieutenant Logan is struggling to adjust to life aboard the Osiris, and Captain T’Kauvott decides action is needed.

Warnings: lots of dialogue, not a lot of action, more of a filler chapter

Word Count: 880

“You wanted to see me, Captain?” I state, timidly stepping into his quarters with my hands behind my back.

He rises to his feet but remains behind his desk. “Yes, Lieutenant.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Is something,” I pause, thinking for a second, “unsatisfactory about my performance?”

“No.”

“About my relationships with my crewmates?”

“No.”

“I-... I don’t understand, sir.”

“Dr. T’shiluth has informed me of the details of your first week. She believes there is more to be done for you.”

“I still don’t follow what you mean, sir.”

“She stated that you have been distant and quiet, remaining in your quarters for most of your day.”

“Still getting used to being aboard, sir. My apologies if I’ve caused any offense-”

“Not necessary, Lieutenant. Go to Dr. T’shiluth’s office. She is waiting for you.”

“Captain, I don’t see how-”

His voice is still practically monotone as he continues. “There is no option, Lieutenant. You require additional support to adjust to life aboard this ship.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Dr. T’shiluth will give me a report on a weekly basis of your progress. Report to her office immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

I turn on my heel and exit Captain T’Kauvott’s quarters. My body relaxes slightly as I maneuver the halls. They’re silent apart from the noise of the engine, despite the number of crew moving about. I keep my eyes ahead, avoiding meeting anyone’s gaze.

It takes only a few minutes for me to reach her office. It’s not far from the sick bay, and on top of that, the foot traffic in the halls is relatively light. 

The door immediately slides open when I approach it. Her office is carpeted and has a few well-cushioned seats. This room looks far too comfortable to be onboard a Vulcan ship.

“Lieutenant Logan, come in,” Dr. T’shiluth’s voice states from across the room.

Her voice catches my attention, and my eyes find her where she’s seated behind her desk. She rises to her feet when we make eye contact then begins approaching me.

“Have a seat, Lieutenant.”

I approach the couch and take a seat, settling in as T’shiluth does the same in a less cushioned chair across from me.

“Let’s begin with how things have gone thus far,” she states, crossing her leg over the other.

“Things have gone well enough,” I explain. “There hasn’t been much need of me yet, so I spend most of my time reading through the records onboard.”

“Have you come across anything interesting?”

I nod once. “A planet early on in this ship’s mission, I believe. Ceabos was its name.”

“What caught your attention?”

“I’m not sure. The culture of the planet was vastly different than anything on present day Earth. With the large temple in the center of the city, their lives were focused on one deity, Brahena. The temple was a massive structure with intricate architecture.”

“I see. So it was the architecture which intrigued you.”

“Correct.”

She pauses for several seconds, her gaze focused up on the ceiling. When she looks at me again, her stare is so intense that I shift a little in my seat and look down at my lap instead. 

“I want you to feel safe and comfortable in this space,” she states, her voice calm and even. “What happens or is said here, stays here. You don’t have to pretend when we’re here.”

My throat tightens, and my eyes burn slightly at the tears welling in them, though I try to suppress them as best I can. 

“Others on this ship may have things to say about you being emotional, but that will never be the case here. And this space is always available to you. If you need an escape, the door is open.”

One tear escapes, and it’s quickly followed by several more until my cheeks are drenched in tears and I struggle to breathe. 

Dr. T’shiluth remains silent for what feels like hours as I cry. Once I’ve calmed down significantly, she offers a handkerchief to me. My breaths still tremble as I dry my face and neck. 

I reach out to return it, but she shakes her hand dismissively. So I tuck it into my hands on my lap, my eyes focusing on it instead of Dr. T’shiluth. 

“What’s on your mind?” she inquires, her voice softer than before. 

I shrug my shoulders. 

“It seems you’ve been bottling up your emotions.” She continues when I don’t respond. “Has someone said something to you?”

I shake my head no, rubbing the soft fabric of the handkerchief with my thumb. 

She pauses for several seconds. “Have you made any friends onboard?”

Again, I shake my head.

“There is an officer who has a job similar to what you did previously, before you were transferred to this ship. Perhaps-”

“No,” I pause, swallowing as tears prick my eyes again. “I-... I couldn’t…”

“Why not?”

The calm has not left her voice once since I entered her office. I’m unsure if it’s thanks to her training or her Vulcan nature.

“I miss my friends and family,” I mumble quietly.

“What would help you to feel more comfortable being aboard this ship?” Dr. T’shiluth inquires.

I shake my head quickly and tightly shut my eyes. “I don’t know.”

[fandomwritings-cm13]

Sounds Like Sense and Sensibility to Me (A Clark Kent drabble)

Pairing: Clark Kent x f!reader

Summary: (Y/n) gets her heart broken by a guy she ran into at a coffeeshop. And who does she turn to? Her closest friend, Clark Kent.

Warnings: fluff, heartbreak, rain, wet clothes trope, reference to Sense and Sensibility (starring Alan Rickman!)

A/N: A brief, self-indulgent interlude while I work on requests :) It’ll take me a bit because of work, but I’m really excited to share them with you all! Please let me know what you think -- like, comment, and reblog!

Word Count: 877

Requests are open!

Clark could hear her teeth chattering long before she was anywhere near his apartment. He waited until she was closer to get a look at her, but when he saw her shivering and crying, he immediately stopped, choosing to have her explain than jump to conclusions.

Time seems to slow down to a snail’s pace as he waits for her to knock. He has to restrain himself and slow his pace when she finally does. When he opens the door, (Y/n) looks up at him, and his heart sinks.

Her jeans and hoodie are completely soaked. So much so that there’s a puddle of water accumulating around her feet. But the tears that continuously roll down her cheeks are what pull on Clark’s heart strings. Her teeth chatter, and she shivers. In a feeble attempt at keeping warm, she has her arms wrapped around herself. 

Without a word, Clark steps aside to let her in. Her gaze goes to the floor as she steps inside, and she can’t bring herself to look at him as he closes the door behind her.

“Go change into some dry clothes,” Clark commands gently. “I’ll get some cocoa going.”

She nods slowly, still not looking at him as she disappears back to his room.

Clark doesn’t move until she’s out of sight, moving into the small kitchen. He’s in the middle of warming cocoa on the stove when (Y/n) returns silently. 

“Warming up?” he questions, glancing over his shoulder at her.

She nods slowly. 

Her gaze is unfocused, though directed in his direction as opposed to the floor. He decides it’s best to leave her be for the moment and focuses his attention on making the cocoa. Silence fills the room, so the only sounds come from the stove and pot. 

Once the chocolate has melted completely, he moves the cocoa from the heat then reaches up into the cabinet and grabs two mugs. He pours cocoa into each without spilling a drop the approaches where (Y/n) still stands in the doorway of the kitchen.

“Living room?” Clark suggests.

(Y/n) stands there for a moment before she nods slowly. Without a word, she walks beside Clark into the living room and settles into a seat on the couch. He plops down beside her then hands her the mug in his right hand. She takes it, but it remains in her hands, in her lap.

“What’s going on, (Y/n)?” he asks, his tone serious.

She only shakes her head.

“You showed up to my apartment in wet clothes. I think I deserve some sort of explanation.” Instead of a chuckle as usual, he’s met with a sniffle. His brow furrows, and he sets his mug aside to rest his hand on her shoulder. “What happened?”

Silence.

“Weren’t you supposed to meet-”

“Yes.”

“How’d that go?”

Her hands tighten on the mug as tears blur her vision. Clark, hearing the pounding of her heart, grabs her mug and sets it aside before pulling her close. Enclosed in his embrace and his scent, (Y/n) finally lets go, sobbing into Clark’s chest. He tightens his arms around her, rubbing her back, and rests his head on hers.

She sits back, drying her face with the backs of her hands.

“What happened?“ he questions.

“He never showed...”

“What? I thought he was really into you!”

She shakes her head. “Apparently not.” She pauses to pull her phone out of her pocket and hands it to Clark. “I texted him a couple times...”

He glances at her before unlocking her phone and pulling up the texts she’s referring to. “How long did it take for him to respond?” He glances up again at her silence, an eyebrow raised. “How long did you sit in that coffeeshop alone?”

“A couple hours...”

He tilts his head in her direction, his brow going up further.

“Okay!” She blushes. “Maybe more like half the day...”

Clark’s nostrils flare, and he forces himself to look at the texts (Y/n) wanted him to look at. He can’t stop a snort as he reads them.

“What?” (Y/n) asks, looking at her phone over his shoulder.

“His ghosting of you sounds more like Willoughby.”

She sits back, her cheeks warming again with a blush. “I’ve made you watch that movie too many times, haven’t I?”

He chuckles but shakes his head no. “Not too many times.”

She looks down at her lap as he hands her phone back to her.

“I know that look. What is it?”

“You must think I’m silly for coming here after... I-...” She pauses, meeting Clark’s gaze. “I thought you wouldn’t want me to come here after he ghosted me, so I waited outside.”

“Well, it certainly gave me the chance to play Colonel Brandon for you, didn’t it?”

“Thank you, Clark. I really appreciate you.” She chuckles a little. “You always seem to be taking care of me.”

“You make it easy.”

She shakes her head. “Hardly.”

“I do think a movie is in order. How about Sense and Sensibility?”

She shakes her head more vigorously, wrinkling up her nose. “How about You’ve Got Mail instead?”

“I should’ve guessed. I’ll get it ready. You drink some cocoa and get comfortable again.”

[fandomwritings-cm13]

The Quiet Mill Inn (A 20′s!AU Steve Rogers fic) -- Chapter 4

Pairing: 20s!AU Steve Rogers x OC (Jaelyn Roberson)

Series summary: Jaelyn is sent back in time to the year 1920 by a devious acquaintance, Max. He sees her as more than a friend or acquaintance, and his goal in sending her back is to convince her that he’s good for her.

Warnings: lots of dialogue, kinda pushy reader (she knows what she wants and she wants to be useful)

A/N: This is honestly more of a “filler” chapter, but it’s still got plot important stuff :) Hope you enjoy this chapter! Feel free to like/comment/reblog if you enjoyed!

Word Count: 1020

“I take it you feel better, doll?” Bucky inquires, plopping onto the stool beside me at the bar.

I look over at him and nod. “Yes, thank you. I’m sorry to have caused any trouble or worry.”

“Doll, you were no trouble at all. You must stop saying that.”

“Can you blame her?” Rosalie comments, pouring more tea into my cup. “Cooped up all day every day for a week and a half in that room.”

“Did you feel cooped up, doll?”

I nod, taking a sip of tea.

Steve enters the room, boots clunking heavily on the wooden floor as he approaches the bar. He slumps into the stool on the other side of me. Rosalie immediately sets a mug in front of him and fills it with coffee.

“What’s wrong?” I question, tentatively resting a hand on his arm. His muscles twitch at the touch, but even the rest of his body doesn’t relax.

“It’s nothing,” he replies quietly, staring off behind the bar. He doesn’t look at any of us as he takes a long gulp of coffee then stares into the mug once it’s on the counter again.

“You look far too worried for it to be nothing.”

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“I only want to help if I’m able.”

“Doll, he’ll figure it out,” Bucky assures me quietly. “Trust me.”

Steve stands quickly and disappears back upstairs, coffee mug in hand. I watch as he disappears from view, my brows furrowed.

“Doll, don’t worry about him,” Bucky states. “He’s smart enough to figure this out.” He pauses. “Well, at least smarter than me.”

“Bucky, it doesn’t look like it,” I reply. I stare at the stairs for a moment longer before standing and following Steve’s path, leaving the tea and Bucky behind. 

I ascend the stairs and go for the open door, peeking inside. Steve’s inside and seated behind a desk. He’s practically hunched over the desk as he pours over the book before him.

I knock on the open door, and Steve replies only with a grunt. I walk in and quietly approach him, picking at my thumb nail.

“I know you said not to worry about repaying you,” I begin, causing Steve to look at me with his hand on his chin, “but I want to help.”

“Like I said, you don’t have to,” Steve replies. “I appreciate that you’re concerned, but I assure you, there’s no need for it.”

“But, I can help.”

He shakes his head, his eyes returning to the book in front of him.

“Steve, you’re stressed out. Perhaps a new set of eyes would be helpful.”

Again, he shakes his head. “I wouldn’t want to trouble you with it.”

“I wouldn’t be offering to help if I felt it would be troublesome.”

“There’s a lot of numbers here.”

“Nothing I can’t handle, believe me.”

He raises his hands in surrender and doesn’t stop me when I step closer to the desk to take a look at the large book on the desk. He’s right, there is a lot of numbers even just on this page alone.

“What is this?” I ask, flipping back a page.

“The accounting for the inn,” Steve mumbles.

My brows raise, and I pull the book closer to me. There’s numbers on here for meat, flour, sugar, vegetables, taxes on the property, payroll, sales. 

“Do you have a scrap piece of paper?” I request.

He slides a blank sheet and a pencil to me. I immediately begin separating out the different transactions, what’s increasing versus what’s decreasing the available money or assets. Once they’re all listed for the past month, I begin adding each column.

“How do you know how to do this?” Steve inquires once I’ve set the pencil down, eyeing me as he picks up the paper.

“I took a few accounting courses before switching to education,” I reply.

He looks up at me, his jaw dropped slightly. “Really?”

I nod. “I thought it was what I wanted.”

“Well, you’re clearly good with numbers.”

“Thanks.” I pause as his attention returns to the paper in front of him. “I think you need to do something. You might lose the inn.”

He shakes his head. “There’s nothing we can do.”

“I think there is.”

He turns to face me, setting the paper on the desk. “What do you think?”

“We should reach out to the community. Then, they know we’re here, and we need to do things to engage them.”

He smirks. “Anything in particular you had in mind?”

“Christmas is always a time of year for events. I’m not sure what you’d want to do.”

There’s a certain fondness in his eyes, that turns his smirk into more of a genuine smile.

“What is it?”

“We used to have a Christmas Eve ball every year when I was growing up.”

“Why did they stop?”

He shrugs. “I guess the family decided they didn’t want to do it.”

“Why couldn’t the inn be the new place for it? I’m sure it would create a lot of nostalgia for people like you in the community.”

Steve purses his lips. “I’m not sure we can afford it.”

“Then we’ll do things a little differently, so we can get some more positive traction.”

“Let me talk to Bucky first.”

I nod once. Silence then hangs in the air for several seconds. “Do both of you own the inn?”

“Yes. Our parents owned it before us, and I’m sure our children will do the same.”

“Are you brothers?”

He chuckles but shakes his head. “No, doll. Our parents were very good friends, so it followed that we grew up to be very good friends.”

I pause for a few more seconds. “Well, I’ll let you know if I think of anything else that could help.” I start to leave the room, a blush heating my cheeks.

“Jaelyn,” Steve calls, and I stop, turning to face him again. “Thank you.”

I smile a little, timidly, and nod once. Before he can stop me again, I leave the room and return downstairs.

[fandomwritings-cm13]

Work Drama (A TOS Spock Drabble)

Pairing: TOS Spock x f!reader

Summary: It’s a rough day at work for (Y/n), and Spock finds her working furiously to prepare for the next day.

Warnings: fluff, work drama

A/N: tried to keep descriptions of reader’s appearance neutral, so please let me know what you think!

Word Count: 430

Spock enters (Y/n)’s quarters and finds her hunched over her desk. She has her elbow on her desk and her head resting on her hand. The computer is running a program while she scribbles away on the padd in front of her.

He is silent in his approach, though he remains on the side of the desk opposite from her, and watches her work.

She jumps when she looks up to see him standing there.

“Spock!” she exclaims. “I didn’t even hear you come in!”

“Your shift is over, correct?” he replies.

She nods. 

“Then why are you still working?”

She sits back in her chair, raising a brow at him. “What do you mean?”

“You said you wanted to focus on things unrelated to work when you were on break or no longer on duty. What happened to cause you to work after returning from duty?”

She shakes her head, her gaze dropping from his.

“(Y/n).” She looks up at him, again making eye contact. “Was it Ensign Bradly?”

She hesitates to answer, which gives him the confirmation he needs. Hoping to avert her attention elsewhere, she returns to the work on the padd.

He reaches across the desk and stops her writing with a firm but gentle grasp. She looks up at him immediately, tears in the corners of her eyes.

“I’m here to listen if you need to vent,” he murmurs.

“But, you-” she begins, pausing to let out a sigh with her face in her hands. “Emotions are messy, Spock.”

He remains silent for a brief moment, contemplating. “Tell me what happened.”

“Bradly was constantly looking over my shoulder while I worked. He always had something to say about how this or that was wrong.” She rolls her eyes. “He spent the entire day hounding me about fixing every minute detail. When I finally gave up and started ignoring him, he went to Commander Green to complain.”

Spock again is silent for a moment. “Would you like me to speak to her tomorrow?”

(Y/n) shakes her head. 

“Then, perhaps I could assist you in preparing for tomorrow.”

“Don’t you have things you need to complete for tomorrow?”

“Already completed.”

(Y/n) smiles a little. “Then some help would be nice.”

“While I take a look at what you have, get into something more comfortable.”

She stands and disappears behind the partition wall mostly hiding her bed from view, beginning to change out of her uniform. Spock moves around the desk but remains standing as he looks over her work, checking for accuracy.

[fandomwritings-cm13]

In Search of a Cure for Heartbreak (A Conrad Oxford Drabble)

Pairing: Conrad Oxford x f!reader

Summary: (Y/n) is going to be going to dinner at the Oxford house with both Conrad and his father. She texts Conrad midday to say something has come up and she won’t be able to make it. Conrad is immediately worried and goes to check on her.

Warnings: fluffy, kinda angsty, no great descriptions of why (Y/n) is upset until the end, lots of dialogue

A/N: I saw The King’s Man, and I was immediately obsessed with Conrad. Judge me all you want.

Requests are still open! You can use this link or you can send me a message/ask!

Word Count: 1296 (I got a little carried away)

Conrad looks down at his phone when it chimes a new text notification.

Hey, something came up. I’m not gonna be able to come over for dinner. Sorry.

His heart drops into his gut, and a frown turns the corners of his lips downward. He takes a quick glance around the office before quickly typing and sending his response.

I can always grab something for you on my way home. Just let me know.

He sets his phone aside on his desk, in sight so he can see any other texts from (Y/n), and returns to work. 

The last three or four hours of work drag on. He can hardly focus, glancing at his phone every few minutes. No more texts come from (Y/n), which only causes him more worry. No response to his offer to pick up dinner. No explanation of what’s come up, not that she owes him anything. 

Nothing.

The second it turns 5 p.m., Conrad shuts down his computer and packs his things. He stands and slings his work bag over his shoulder, pushing his chair in before making a beeline for the elevator. It only takes a few seconds for the doors to slide open, and Conrad immediately steps inside and pushes the button for the ground floor. His attention then goes to his phone in his hand. There’s still no message from (Y/n).

When the elevator reaches the ground floor, Conrad rushes out of the elevator, squeezing through the doors as they open, and out to the street. Shola waits at the curb with the car idling, his brow furrowing at Conrad’s approach with his gaze on his phone.

“What happened?” Shola inquires.

Conrad finally looks up and acknowledges Shola. “(Y/n) isn’t coming over tonight.”

“I see.” He pauses, thinking. “What would you like to do?”

“I’m going to go check on her, but I’ll take my car.” Conrad sighs. “I’m sorry, Shola. I should’ve called and saved you a trip.”

Shola shakes his head. “No, you would still need a ride, Conrad. I’m happy to help.”

“Thank you, Shola.”

Conrad gets into the backseat of the car, setting his work bag on the seat beside him before buckling in. Shola enters the vehicle, buckles in, and begins driving off.

“Shall I drop you off at (Y/n)’s apartment?” Shola asks.

Conrad sighs, making eye contact with Shola in the rearview mirror.

“I could have Polly follow me in your car so you have a way to get to work or return home.” He continues when Conrad remains silent. “You look worried.”

“She hasn’t texted since she said something came up.”

“So, I’m taking you to her apartment then?”

Conrad nods. “Please.”

The car is silent as Shola drives through the city to (Y/n)’s apartment. Conrad gets out of the car, taking his work bag with him as he approaches the apartment building. Practically on autopilot, he uses the key she gave him to enter the building and goes straight for the elevator. His foot taps against the tiled floor as the elevator ascends. He leans back against the wall, staring at his phone. He remains there for a second longer after the doors slide open.

Shaking his head to refocus, he steps out of the elevator and goes down the hall. When he reaches her door, he doesn’t even knock. He uses his key to unlock the door then steps inside and locks it behind him.

“(Y/n)?” Conrad calls as he makes his way further into the apartment.

She pokes her head out of her bedroom, her brows furrowed as to why she’s hearing his voice. Deciding to investigate, she quickly wipes away the tears from her eyes and cheeks before heading for the living room. She stops in her tracks when she sees him.

He visibly relaxes, the tension leaving his entire body, when he sees her. She’s already in loose sweatpants and one of his t-shirts. “(Y/n), I’m so glad-” He stops when she backs away from him. “What happened, my love?”

She shakes her head quickly, tears welling in her eyes.

“(Y/n), you’re worrying me.”

“I don’t want to talk about it…”

“Have you eaten yet?”

She shakes her head again.

“How about I run to the store and get some dinner and your favorite flavor of Ben and Jerry’s?”

“You don’t have to, Conrad. You have dinner with your father tonight.”

“No need. Shola will tell him I’m here with you, and we’ll reschedule.”

“Are you sure he won’t mind?”

Conrad nods. “Positive.”

“Alright.”

“Anything you’re in the mood for?”

“No, not really.”

“Well, how about I-...” He sighs, rubbing his face with his hands. “Nevermind.”

“What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head, one hand moving to his hip. “Shola dropped me off. He hasn’t dropped off my car yet.”

“Oh…”

“What would you like to do?”

Her gaze drops to the floor as she shrugs. “I’m not really in the mood for anything.”

“How about we put on Netflix and just relax then? Maybe get your mind off what happened today.”

She nods, approaching the couch without so much as looking at Conrad. He watches her for a second then follows just behind her. He sets his work bag down by the couch, leaning on the arm.

“Do you mind if I get comfortable first?” he asks.

“No, go ahead.”

He leans further toward her and pecks her cheek. “Pull something up and get it started. I’ll be back in a few.”

He heads down the hall without another word and goes into her bedroom. The bottom drawer of her dresser. He opens it and chuckles at how empty it is. Unsurprisingly, it’s clear she’s been wearing a lot of his clothes recently. He pulls out one of the sweatpants, a t-shirt, and one of his hoodies. It’s only a couple minutes before he’s returning to the living room.

Immediately, he takes a seat next to (Y/n) and puts his arm around her along the back of the couch. His focus then goes to the movie playing on the screen. Some animated film he’s never seen before.

There’s no conversation between them, but about halfway through, she leans over on him. Her head nestles into his chest, her hand twirling his hoodie’s string.

When the movie ends, he tightens his arm around her and nuzzles her hair with his nose. He pulls back a little when he feels tears.

“Love, what’s going on?” he asks, moving some hair away from her face.

“I-... I saw Owen at work today,” she answers shakily.

“Owen? The ex?”

“Yeah…”

“Why is he at your work?”

“He’s working there now, so I’ll be seeing him a lot.”

“Love-”

“He’s engaged.”

She falls into full-fledged sobs, clutching onto his hoodie. He pulls her to sit in his lap, adjusting her so her head is against his shoulder instead.

“Don’t worry about him,” Conrad assures her in a tender whisper, squeezing her a little tighter. “He’s not worth it.”

She shakes her head.

“What can I do?”

“Nothing… Nothing…” (Y/n) takes in a deep breath. “You’re already doing what you can.”

Several minutes pass, and Conrad simply holds (Y/n) as she cries. As the minutes continue, her breaths even out. He takes this to mean that she’s falling asleep, so he gently picks her up and carries her back to her bedroom. He lays her down and tucks her in before climbing into bed behind her. She’s half asleep and shifts closer to him, curling up so her head is against his chest. The steady rising and falling with his breaths lulls her further into sleep as he keeps an arm around her while he drifts off.

[fandomwritings-cm13]

The Quiet Mill Inn (A 20′s!AU Steve Rogers fic) -- Chapter 3

Pairing: 20s!AU Steve Rogers x OC (Jaelyn Roberson)

Series summary: Jaelyn is sent back in time to the year 1920 by a devious acquaintance, Max. He sees her as more than a friend or acquaintance, and his goal in sending her back is to convince her that he’s good for her.

Warnings: Max is a dark character (obsessive, possessive, and, frankly, evil) (he’s mentioned and the results of his actions are shown in this chapter), protective Steve, excessive reluctance of OC (Jaelyn) to explain time travel, fluff

A/N: I know this is posting really soon after the previous chapter, but I still hope you enjoy it! Please like/comment/reblog if you enjoyed!

Requests are open! Send an ask or fill out the link

Word Count: 1681

The door swings open, and I look over from where I sit on the left side of the bed, closest to the bathroom. Steve steps in a second later. There’s a tray in his hand with two plates, two tea cups, and a teapot. As Steve enters the room fully, Bucky moves off the bed, taking most of the warmth with him, and exits the room without a word.

I sit up a little straighter as he takes a seat on the edge of the foot of the bed, watching as he pours tea into each cup. He hands me a cup of tea, and I lean forward to take it, looking away from him with a faint blush in my cheeks.

“How’d things go today?” I ask before taking a long sip of the warm liquid.

“It was pretty quiet downstairs, so I focused on getting the books in order,” he answers.

“Sounds like a productive day.”

“Certainly felt like it.” He pauses for a brief moment. “Are you ready for dinner?”

I nod once.

“Give me your cup then.”

I look up at him for a few seconds, his hand remaining extended to me. His features remain soft, not even a brow raised in question. I look down at the cup then hand it to him. A smile turns the corners of his lips up just slightly, but I avert my gaze to his hands as they handle the dishes on the tray. Not that it helps at all. The way his muscles flex and the ease of his movements makes the blush in my cheeks darken.

When he hands the plate to me, I take it and allow my gaze to focus on its contents, as opposed to him. I wait another few seconds before digging into the simple meal of ham and potatoes covered with a thin layer of gravy. A brief moment of silence fills the room.

“What did you and Bucky do up here all day?” Steve inquires.

I shrug, finishing the bite I had taken. 

“Are you starting to feel better?”

I nod quickly.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Steve stirs at the sound of a whimper. He sits up a little and glances around the room.

“No,” Jaelyn whimpers.

Steve looks at her, the grogginess quickly leaving his brain.

She shifts on the bed, curling up tightly. “Max, leave me alone.”

He rises to his feet and approaches the bed. “Jaelyn.”

She doesn’t stir, only whimpering again. In the dim light, he can see the tears on her cheeks. He carefully places her hand on her side and shakes her gently.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I jolt awake, my heart racing wildly and panting for air. Steve is right there, though standing beside the bed, and is looking at me with worry in his eyes. I stare up at him for a couple seconds before a sob breaks free from my throat. He’s quick to pull me into his embrace, and I immediately cling to him, my hands tightly grasping his shirt at his shoulder blades. The tears float freely down my cheeks and into the material of his shirt.

“It’s alright, Jaelyn,” he murmurs in my ear.

The bed dips as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed, keeping me close with his arm wrapped around my waist so I’m seated in his lap. I sob into his shoulder, and he cradles my head in his free hand.

“He’s not going to hurt you,” he assures me in a whisper.

“He already has,” I sob.

His arm tightens around my waist. “What? How has he already hurt you?”

“He-... He sent me here.”

“All alone?”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

He pulls away slightly to look me in the eye, cupping my face in the hand that was cradling my head. “What do you mean?”

I swallow thickly, staring up into his eyes as I try to figure out how to explain what happened without sounding insane. 

“Who is Max?” My eyes widen. “You said his name in your sleep.”

“He’s a friend of a friend who wants to be more than friends with me.”

“Then why would he send you here?”

Max’s voice again echoes through my mind, and the tears flow more rapidly again. I squeeze my eyes shut to try to push it out. 

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks. 

I shake my head. 

“What is it, Jaelyn?”

“Just make it stop.”

“Make what stop?”

“His voice. Please…” My voice cracks. “Just get him out of my head…”

He pulls me back into his embrace so my head is nestled on his chest. He moves the blankets aside, and seemingly without difficulty, he moves further into the bed so his back is against the headboard. It’s then he begins rubbing my back gently. 

“What did he say that troubles you so?” Steve inquires in a whisper. 

“You wouldn’t like it,” I reply. 

“That gives me an idea of what he said.” He pauses, brushing some loose hair from my face. “I’d still like confirmation I’m right.”

“He said…” I suck in a shaky breath, “that if he can’t have me no one can.”

Steve stops moving and remains still for several seconds. “And he’s coming back for you?”

I nod slowly. 

“Well, I doubt he’ll find you.”

I sit back a little to look up at him. “He’s smarter than you’re giving him credit for, Steve.”

“Clearly, he didn’t think through this little plan of his by leaving you out here all alone. Was he expecting you to just stay where he left you?”

“I don’t know what he was expecting other than for me to be far from home.” I look away from him, frowning. “Really far from home. He-… He built a device that enables someone to travel through time. He pushed me through the portal then shut it behind me so I’d be stranded here. Only he can retrieve me and take me home. I doubt I’ll be going anywhere without agreeing to at least a date of some sort with him.”

“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?”

I glare up at him. “And that’s exactly why I didn’t want to explain what happened. I knew you wouldn’t believe me.” I try to pull out of his embrace to put some distance between us and maybe even leave. Steve, however, doesn’t budge. “Let me go.”

“You must admit this all sounds rather unbelievable. I mean, time travel? Where are you from?”

“About 100 years in the future.”

Steve blinks quickly, his mouth slightly ajar. “What’s it like?”

“Very different.”

“For example?”

“For example, I don’t have a fireplace in my room.”

“Then how do you stay warm during the colder months?”

“We have a system that heats and cools our homes throughout the year.”

“Incredible…”

I chuckle but shake my head. “So you believe me?”

“Given the strange clothes you were wearing when you arrived, yes.” He pauses. “Shall I let you get comfortable again so you can go back to sleep?”

I stare up at him for a couple seconds before nodding slowly.

He removes his hands from my waist, which allows me to move off his lap without hindrance. Once I’ve begun to get settled in the bed again, he moves off the bed and returns to a chair between the fireplace and the bathroom door. I curl up and pull the blankets over me, staring at him.

“What’s troubling you?” he asks in a murmur.

“Just thinking about what Bucky is gonna think when you tell him…”

“He’ll understand. I’ll make sure of it.”

I nod slowly, looking down at the bed instead of him.

“There’s something else.”

“N-... No.”

“What else is on your mind?” He continues when I don’t answer. “It’s Max.”

I nod.

“He’s not going to do anything to further hurt you, Jaelyn.” Another pause, albeit brief. “Neither Bucky or I will let him.”

“What if he gets to me before-”

“We won’t stop until we know you’re safe. No man should be so controlling with a woman he claims to love.” He smiles gently at me. “You can rest easy. Trust me.”

I nod slowly, quiet for a brief moment. “Thank you, Steve. I know you were hesitant to let me stay, and I want you to know I’m grateful. I want to pay you back.”

He shakes his head quickly. “Not necessary.”

“But-”

“I insist.”

“I don’t like being useless and taking up space.”

“You still need to recover. Let’s discuss this later.” He pauses for a moment. “Jaelyn, you’re shivering. Should I add more wood to the fire or get another blanket for you?”

“Maybe some more wood.”

Without another word, Steve rises to his feet and takes wood from the rack next to the door. He adds three more of the logs to the fire, returning to his seat only when they’ve begun to burn. I quickly avert my gaze and shift on the bed.

“Is there something else that would help keep you warm?” Steve inquires.

I shake my head quickly, trying to hide my face in my pillow so he doesn’t notice the heat rising in my cheeks.

“Jaelyn, what is it?”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“It can’t be as bad as you’re thinking.”

“Could you… hold me?” When I don’t hear an answer, I look at Steve. “You really don’t have to. I-”

“No, it’s quite alright.” He rises to his feet. “I don’t mind.”

He comes around to the other side of the bed and climbs in beneath the blankets. The blush is flaming hot in my cheeks as I turn to face him, though avoiding his gaze. One arm settles around my waist, which pulls me closer to him. It makes it easy to lay my head against his chest. Easy to hide my blush, at least. 

His chest rises and falls evenly. My eyes grow heavier and heavier with each breath of his. It doesn’t take long at all for me to fall completely asleep in his arms, engulfed by his warmth.