#so I could initiate conversations in French and respond in French and his eyes always lit up and he’d smile so huge

[justtogetthrough]

Honestly I am thrilled I understand a solid 80% of this or more some pages.

There’s a few words I’ve never seen but the kindle dictionary explains the words in both English and French and somewhere I know it’s saving all the words I check definitions for, so when I can find it again I’m going to make a list of the vocabulary to go back and study.

The French I learned in first year university was way lower quality than the French I learned in middle school and I’m positive it’s the middle school French that equipped me so well. I figure if I read enough and start listening to podcasts (I found a great one I fully understand), the vocabulary will return to my concussed brain and I’ll be able to speak again too.

I was definitely one of the better speakers in my class by grade 9 (the last year of 3 I took it in public school) and could carry fluid conversations with my teachers despite the occasional unknown word. I impressed them with my sentence structure and that I was not translating English to French but actually communicating in French unlike my classmates.

But I loved languages and I loved French, I was eager to learn everything especially about phrases that don’t directly translate and must be just said the French way, and before this brain injury I could retain information incredibly well.

I know the knowledge is still in there.

I don’t plan on ever moving anywhere French speaking but there’s just something so fun about advancing in another language and it hits all the nerdiest spots in my brain. Especially because of trying to extract myself away from the internet more. This provides stimulation that video games and reading normally just don’t.

[bees--in-my--bones]

Sunset

Character: Natasha x gn!Reader (please note I did write this with a female reader in mind, so I'm sorry if there are unintentional biases but there were no pronouns or indications of gender at all)

Note: soulmate AU where you can only see color when you look at your soulmate for the first time. i hate to admit it, but i did get this idea from tiktok.

Warnings: canon typical violence, angst, major character death, no happy ending

Word Count: 1,859

A/N: This is my first fic ever! I'm actually really proud of how it turned out and I hope you like it and stick around for more! :)

You had never seen your partner.

It was just protocol. The nature of the missions you two worked, it was safer if you couldn't identify each other.

You had been near her, of course, and heard her voice whispering to you in the train station or over the phone. But you had never once laid eyes on her.

You were an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D, and one of Natasha Romanoff's most important and most trusted contacts.

Over the years of working together, you two had become the closest of friends. Fury had no idea that you two were that close, but what Fury didn't know couldn’t hurt him. If it was any pair of spies operating at your level, a close personal relationship would be a problem, but you two were the best in your field, and more than capable of handling it.

It had taken a while for the two of you to talk, really talk, the extent of your interactions being whispered conversations back to back on a set of park benches, or a flash drive set subtly on a table next to an untouched coffee, but one day, probably the best day of your life, you had asked the question and she had answered.

Every phone call with her, you would ask the same question before hanging up.

"How are you doing, Nat?"

And every time, without fail, you would receive the same, gruff, "Fine."

She clearly wasn't one to talk about the touchy-feely stuff. Which was fine by you, you didn't open up often either, most spies you met didn't, but you still gave her that chance, every time.

Until one day, much to your surprise, she responded, "Not great."

It wasn't much, but it was something different. It was an invitation to keep talking. Containing your excitement at the change in conversation, you kept your voice steady. "What's the matter?"

She sighed, the sound crackling faintly over her phone's mic. "I'm back in a place I haven't been in for a long time."

You had no way of knowing exactly where she was- S.H.I.E.L.D took plenty of precautions to be sure of that- but you could make an educated guess. The information you had passed along to her a few days ago had been about a weapons smuggler currently in Russia.

"You know what?" she said, "I don't really want to talk about it. I'll check in with you when the mission's over."

"Natasha, wait!"

Silence from the other line, but she was still on the call.

"Let's just talk. About something else. I think we could both use some casual conversation."

She let out a small chuckle. "Sure, why not? This is a burner phone and I've got time to kill."

It was a bit awkward at first, but you soon fell into a natural conversation. That night you talked about many things. Small things, like favorite foods, and big things, like plans for the future if you ever left S.H.I.E.L.D.

That's when you learned that she couldn't see color.

You weren’t surprised. You couldn’t see color either. It wasn't uncommon for S.H.I.E.L.D to hire people who hadn't met their soulmate. It was a lonely job, and soulmates were a liability.

It was a small moment in your conversation and you continued talking about all sorts of other things late into the night.

Unfortunately, though, all good things must come to an end.

"I'll have to talk to you later, Nat. I've got a big job tomorrow I need to get ready for."

"Goodnight Y/N, and thank you."

"Let's make a habit out of this, okay?"

"Gotcha, Agent."

You smiled and hung up the phone.

From then on, you always lingered on calls. Never quite as long as that first call, but the two of you were quickly becoming each other's closest confidantes.

Soon you began talking in real life, too. You never turned to face each other, never broke that boundary, but you relished the feeling of her shoulder brushing yours as you watched the pigeons in a park.

You called each other before and after every job to check in on each other. You had drop spots outside of Fury's radar where you left each other small gifts. Your life was lonely and cold, but she gave your days warmth and light.

-----

Around a year and a half after your initial conversation, you met in a smokey French cafe, sitting in nearby booths.

“Nat.”

“Agent.”

“Whaddya got for me?”

“No intel on the current mission, but I’ve got news from HQ. Fury’s pulling us from the field.”

You felt your blood run cold. Spywork was dangerous, but it was what you knew. You were good at it. If you were fired, you would be thrown into suburbia with a fake name and fake past- maybe even fake memories, if Fury deemed you untrustworthy- and you would live the rest of your days out in the rat race.

And worst of all, you would live out the rest of your days without Natasha.

“What did we do?” you asked her, putting a massive amount of concentration into keeping your voice from betraying your panic.

“We did good,” she said, a smile in her voice. “We’ve been selected for an elite team to protect the entire world. You and I, Barton, and if we can convince them, Tony Stark, Steve Rodgers, and Bruce Banner.”

“That gamma radiation guy? Do we even know where he disappeared to?”

“We never lost tabs on him.”

You let out a sigh of relief. “You scared me, Nat. I thought Fury had benched us.”

She laughed. “No, we’re still in the game for now. And when Fury gives the word, we’ll head back to New York and hang out like normal people for a change.”

“That would be nice,” you said, your voice quiet.

You heard her move around a bit, then swear. “I have to run," she said. "If I don’t make this drop Fury'll kill me.”

“I’ll talk to you later Nat,” you said. “Hopefully face to face.”

You waited for a response, but heard only silence. You turned and her booth was empty, like she had never been there.

------

"Hey there, Agent," came her warm voice over the receiver. You couldn't help but smile, remembering how cold her voice had been when you had first been partnered together.

"Hey there, Black Widow," you said, using the alias that some younger agents had been whispering behind her back.

“Very funny,” she laughed, “but I’m no Tony Stark. I don’t need a fancy code name.”

“You never know,” you said, your voice still light and teasing. “We should probably both come up with some cool code names for that team Fury was talking about. I think Black Widow suits you.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?”

“No, it means you’re badass. How did your drop go?”

“Good,” she said. “Pretty standard, didn’t run into any problems. How are things on your end?”

“Not bad. I’ve got one thing to finish up this evening, and then I should be good to go. I’ll meet you at the airport at around 5:45 tonight?”

“I’ll be waiting for you, Agent.”

“I’ll be there, Black Widow.”

-----

You snuck around the corner of the warehouse. It was supposed to be one guy. Take him out, take down the whole operation, but apparently, the whole operation was being run out of here. You glanced at your watch. 5:42. Shit. You were gonna miss your flight. A guard passed by, and you froze in place.

You thought he hadn't seen you, but suddenly the sound of his footsteps stopped, then became louder as he ran back towards you, brandishing a weapon. Ducking under him, you grabbed the gun and twisted it away from you, and knocked him over the head with your own pistol.

Suddenly, a loud sound blared over the intercom. Shit. He had sounded the alarm.

You grabbed his gun and made a break for it.

-----

Natasha glanced anxiously at her watch. 5:50.

She glanced around nervously. You hadn’t answered a single one of her calls. She picked up her phone and dialed Nick Fury’s number.

“Fury? Yeah, I know I’m supposed to be getting on a plane, but Y/N isn’t here. Yes, I tried calling. No, Y/N told me 5:45. A good agent is not late, and Y/N is the best agent I know. Where was the mission at? I’m going in. Fury! Tell me now or so help me God... Thank you, that wasn’t too hard, was it?”

She snapped her phone shut. You weren’t too far from where she was.

------

Natasha pulled up to a worn down warehouse with boarded on one side with a forest. Truck after truck pulled away from the building, and she grimaced as she realized what had happened. This was not a simple job like you had thought. Whatever operation you had infiltrated was now fleeing after being busted, and they were likely on shoot to kill orders.

Suddenly she saw you figure limping towards the woods, and before she even knew she had moved, she was racing towards you.

-----

Pain tore through you.

Your abdomen was on fire. You had been shot before, but this hurt. You struggled to get to the cover of the woods. Suddenly a firm hand was on you back, arms were cradling you, and lowering you down to the ground.

“Shh, don’t move,” came Natasha’s voice. “They aren’t worried about finding us, they’re too busy running.”

You looked into her face, making eye contact with your long-time partner for the first time ever, and the world exploded in color.

The grass and trees became vibrant with life, and you turned to look at the new world around you. When you turned back to look at Natasha, her eyes were filled with wonder.

“You hair…” you said weakly, your voice trailing off.

“They tell me it’s red,” she said, her voice wavering.

“Red,” you said, relishing the word on your lips, the feeling of knowing what it meant. “Red is my favorite.”

She smiled, but tears trailed down her face. “Shh, don’t talk. Save your energy, we’ll get you somewhere where they can fix you.”

Ignoring her, you shook your head. "I'm not gonna make it."

You reached up your hand to touch her face. She grabbed your hand and pressed it against her cheek. “I’m glad it was you Nat. I love you.”

“I love you too, Y/N”

She pressed a gentle kiss against your lips and cradled you against her chest.

“Look at the sky, Nat,” you said. “It’s beautiful.”

The sun was setting, and the myriad of brilliant colors spread over the horizon.

"As far as ways to go out," you said, "it could have been worse."

Nat said nothing, only held you tighter

The two of you sat like that until Natasha saw the sunset fade to black and white and the tears blurred her vision.

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

Thank you so much for reading! I really hope you liked it! @love8loki here's one of the reader death stories I was talking about. thanks for your advice lol

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 150

I think for the time being, I am going to quit calling myself ‘late’ posting as long as I get the chapter up on the right day of the week *facepalm*.  Bc I am barely keeping ahead, much less remembering to queue things up.

I am so, so sorry about that....

Fair warning before anyone @s me: The French is a joke, so if I got it super wrong I am equally sorry to the degree of which it’s wrong.

Unless it’s obscene. Then I want to know so that I can laugh with you, and I am LEAVING IT.

As always, shouts out to @baelpenrose, @the-raven-fae, and @charlylimph-blog!

Heaving an enormous Dutch oven onto a burner, I turned on the heat low and started chopping vegetables. After the first celery stalk, I glanced up at Derek, who sat across from Maverick in our living room.  The quarters were shaped differently, which had distressed Derek initially, but the addition of his favorite blankets to the sofa had helped.  Currently, he was completely distracted from even Mac: staring off into space, his fingers flying and flicking with a feverish, almost convulsive movement.

Maverick glanced up at me with a smile before following my gaze. “Yep, the cyber siege continues.  He’s doing well, from what Zach told me.”

“I thought he was only supposed to attack human-managed systems,” I grumbled, thinking back to the cold shower I had been subjected to that morning. Turning back to the vegetables, I made short work of the celery before taking my frustration out on the carrots. Scooping the diced vegetables into a bowl, I started measuring out paprika, sugar, salt, pepper, basil, and oregano into another bowl.  “Where’s Sam, by the way?”

“On the way,” Maverick promised. “With Terran-style tomatoes, he swears.  And Derek is only attacking systems we manage.  When BioLab 2 was set up, we had to take over water management, to protect the lab from any sort of contamination.”

The knife in my hand, brandished at three cloves of garlic, clattered to the work surface. “Seriously?” I glared at the tap, suddenly suspicious.

“Probably get water from the console,” he winced, nodding briskly at Derek, who nodded in confirmation without stopping his tapping and flicking gestures.

Groaning, I shook my head and crushed the garlic, removed the skin, and started mincing. All that was left was to wait on the tomatoes from Sam.  The garlic was potent enough, and I wanted to avoid cutting any onion until absolutely necessary since Derek was clearly parked for the duration.

I was saved about fifteen minutes later when Conor and Sam stopped at the door.  Sam waved cheerfully and held up the requested vegetables while Conor removed his boots. A quick shuffle later for Sam to remove his own shoes, and both came to the food prep area - too small to be considered a proper kitchen - to greet me. 

First, Conor gave me a big, smelly hug and a kiss on my hair. “Did you already slice the bread?”

“Ew, you gorilla!” I laughed. “And I haven’t sliced any bread yet, I wasn’t sure how long I had and I didn’t want it to get too stale.”

“They’re toasties, love.” He shook his head with a grin before swatting me on the butt. “No one cares if the bread was a bit stale before you started.”

Over his shoulder, Derek’s head bobbed side to side. “I think someone disagrees.” I looked meaningfully past him.  To Conor’s credit, he looked sheepish.

Sam squeezed around and handed me the tomatoes and gave me a hug. “Thank you for making soup.”

“I know it’s our favorite,” I winked before shooing him out of the area. “Not enough room for more than one in the kitchen. Y’all go unwind out there, and make sure you warn Derek that I’m about to start cutting onions.”

As he held up his hands and jokingly scurried away, I turned to the stove and started cursing myself. I’d forgotten to start boiling water. Snagging a small saucepan, I got a carafe of water from the console and started rectifying that, tossing in a generous pinch of salt.  Gently, I cut an X into the bottom of each tomato and set them aside before peeling and dicing the onion.  Immediately, the onion, carrots, and celery went into a food processor.  “Derek, I’m about to be loud,” I called softly before counting to ten to give him time to cover his ears or step into the corridor.  A quick blitz later, the vegetables were perfectly between a mince and a puree.

A quick swizzle of oil went into the already-hot dutch oven before adding the mirepoix and giving it a quick stir. As if on cue, Tyche and Antoine breezed through the door, noses twitching.

“I smell food,” she announced, stalking into the kitchen.  One look at the ingredients was all it took. “Ooooo you’re making the tomato soup.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “I am, and you know I don’t have room in here for spectators, unfortunately.” Arching an eyebrow, I pointed the spoon in my hand at the table.

She wasn’t having it. “One of these days, you’re going to show me how to make that. May as well be today.”

“Nice try, but I need some secrets. Besides, the longer I argue with you, the more likely the vegetables are going to scorch. Scoot!”

She scrunched her face at me but acquiesced. As I scooped the garlic into the pot, I heard her change topics. “How much longer is the stress test? My music keeps getting mixed up with Antoine’s. I don’t mind it, but…”

Antoine smiled softly and shook his head. “But it is quite a shock to expect classical music and instead her rock starts playing.”

Personally, I liked both, but still shuddered at what he was talking about. Carefully lowering three of the tomatoes into the now-boiling water, I glanced at the sauteing vegetables and gave them a quick stir to check. “We have about six more days before the repairs start, maybe four more after that?”

Conor sighed. “I wish we could ask if anything important was being hacked, not just annoying environmental controls.”

“Plants aren’t dead yet,” Sam pointed out, tipping his bottle of water toward Conor in a practiced gesture.  Everyone laughed when, rather than being reassured, Conor leapt to his feet to check on his ‘babies’ in the room.

Cursing, I dipped the tomatoes out of the boiling water and dropped them immediately into an ice bath.  A couple pokes with my trusty spoon showed they weren’t overcooked, thankfully. “None of my information for work has been acting up,” I admitted as I started peeling them. “But Pranav advised that more critical data would either go completely missing or not show any signs of infiltration.  We won’t know until after the test is over.”

“Lovely,” Tyche drawled as she watched Conor fretting over the plants. “So it’s all or nothing.”

I shrugged and dumped the tomato paste - admittedly, from the console - into the pan of other vegetables.  When I stirred, I was satisfied that the carrots, onion, and celery had cooked down to where they were soft. “In a weird way, it makes sense. They’re testing for catastrophic data breaches, which would pull everything down, or for data theft, which you wouldn’t want to leave traces of.”

The corner of Antoine’s mouth quirked up as I dropped three more tomatoes into the pan of boiling water. “No hidden boba tea this time, that is reassuring.”

Hands still moving without hesitation, Derek whipped his head toward Antoine, paused, and turned back to where he had been staring. Derek’s version of a glare.

“That was Charly,” I responded in unexpected unison with Maverick and Conor.  I smirked while dumping the already-peeled tomatoes into the processor with another pinch of salt. “Seriously, Derek had nothing to do with that other than divine retribution.” I paused for a moment. “Although I do have to admit that the cold showers do seem to track with what Charly reported.”

That only got a shrug from Derek, which was as good as an admission.

The conversation shifted again - something Conor and Sam were working on in the aeroponics labs that I had already heard multiple details on, plus repetition.  Tuning it out, I pulled out the last three tomatoes, dropped them in the ice bath, and took a platter with a loaf of bread, sliced cheese, and butter out to the table. “Mav, can you start setting up the sandwiches?”

He went to stand, but Tyche shooed him back down. “I got it. She may not let me help make the soup on this one, but I can prep a grilled cheese with the best.” Staring me in the eye, she started cutting slices from the loaf defiantly.

I just laughed it off. This was the only tomato soup either of us liked, and she had been chasing me for the recipe for ages.  It had become a running joke at this point, so without hesitation, I moved back to the food prep area, peeled the remaining tomatoes, and gave another warning that I was going to be loud.  Some more blitzing later, the now-pureed tomatoes went into the pan of veggies along with the spices I had already measured out, the juice from one lemon, and enough water to fill the pan three-quarters full.  Leaving that to boil, I moved the boiling water off the stove and swapped it for a grill-pan.

“Sophie!” Conor cried from the armchair where he perched. “You’ve seen the plants we’re growing in the lab! Tell them we’ve managed a crop of roots!”

I winced. “Jury’s out… I’m not sure how aeroponic potatoes are going to turn out, but I can confirm they are in the process of finding out?”

Tyche’s knife fell to the table, and she moved her mouth silently in a very accurate imitation of a fish before managing to sputter. “Air-grown… potatoes?”

The confusion on Antoine’s face was painful to look at. He started to speak before stopping himself and instead pulling up his datapad, jotting a message, and flicking it out to the room.

When I read the message, the confusion was so clear that I hurt my sinuses snorting. Des pomme de terre en l’air? Pommes aeriennes? Talk about being lost in translation…. “Conor, Sam… I think Antoine has the perfect name for those if they work out. Just sayin’”

Tyche snorted and shook her head before handing me the platter, with a stack of perfectly buttered bread, two slices of cheese between every other slice of bread.  The soup had just come to a simmer, so I was stirring intently and just nodded for her to start grilling sandwiches.  Several appreciative sniffs and twenty minutes later, six bowls of soup and six matching sandwiches - three cut vertically and three cut diagonally, because it mattered and was not a battle I was willing to fight - hit the table.  Tyche politely placed the salt cellar and a pepper grinder on the table, although the glare she dished out to the collected group promised strong retaliation to anyone who touched them.

I held up half of my grilled cheese in a mock-toast. “To soup night!”

“To air potato soup, soon!” Maverick offered up with a grin, only for everyone to echo his sentiment with the exception of Derek - who just held up half of his sandwich with one hand and tapped away with the other, not even relenting to eat.

Frankly, as long as he spared a hand to eat, I couldn’t bring myself to care.  He took these tests very seriously, and generally only stopped when he was completely asleep.

Everyone dug in, but it was only after my first spoonful that I spoke up. “Considering how long it took to make sure the tomatoes wouldn’t be poisonous, I’m not sure the potatoes will be ready before we get to Von.”

Conor and Sam nodded, as did Tyche and Antoine, but Maverick stopped with his bowl halfway to his mouth.  Setting it down gently, he angled his head. “What do you mean, poisonous?”

“They’re nightshades,” Conor told him, as calmly as if he was telling us that water was wet. “Tomatoes are the only edible berries of that family, and potatoes are the only edible tubers, so we have to be extra careful.”

Maverick’s eyes grew wide and turned toward his soup. Tyche just reached out and patted his hand. “You’ve eaten this soup for years, and you love tomatoes. They’re safe, I swear.  And Sam won’t let Sophia near the new ones until he’s completely sure they’ll be okay to eat.”

Sam nodded, shoving a soup-covered wedge into his mouth. “We’re growing them in simulated Von-light, hoping that keeps the roots from creating chlorophyll.  If we’re wrong, there’s a forty-three-point-six percent chance they won’t grow at all, ten-point-five percent chance they will give you a stomach ache, eighteen-point-four percent they won’t taste good, and twenty-seven-point-five percent they will taste good and be safe to eat at the same time.”

“Meaning they won’t kill you, you might get a tummy ache, but most likely for this generation, they just won’t grow,” Conor translated.

“Hang on,” I held up my spoon. “What kind of stomachache are we talking here?”

The mad botanists looked at each other and made a few thoughtful faces. Finally, Conor nodded and Sam spoke. “Unripe apples,” he stated flatly. “But just unripe apples.”

“Oh, that’s not too bad,” I shrugged and crunched into my sandwich.

Derek finished his half-sandwich and blindly reached for another. He had it halfway to his mouth before he looked at it and dropped it back to the plate in alarm. You would have thought it tried to bite him rather than vice versa.

Antoine shook his head and reached past the vertically cut sandwich Derek had dropped and delicately handed him a diagonally cut one. “Here you go, friend.”

Glaring at the sandwich like it may betray him, he bit it viciously before going back to the screen he could only see in his mind, seemingly satisfied that the sandwich would not change into the offending shape.

I told you, it matters.

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[stressisakiller]

I'm Glad it's You

Steve Rogers x reader soulmate AU

As you wish part 3

Summary: A difficult conversation and a whole lot of fluff

Warnings: none, couple of curse words, mentions brainwashing

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: I finally got to this chapter!! I am so sorry it took so long life has been hectic. Hope yall like it!

<< Previous Next >>

Blinking your eyes open you are surprised to see that you are still in the living room. You can't remember falling asleep last night. Then you feel the arm that's thrown over your stomach and the breath of the super soldier sleeping beside you. Right you think, Captain America is my soulmate and we fell asleep watching the princess bride. That was a sentence you never thought possible.

You carefully shuffle around for a better angle to see the man next to you. His mouth is slightly open and he had moved from mostly sitting up to lying on his side, one arm under your head the other around your waist. His hair is adorably messy, you wouldn't have thought that his hair could be anything but perfect. It is strangely endearing to see him like this, completely relaxed and looking slightly ruffled. 

Your gaze on his face seems to rouse him from his sleep, eyes slowly blinking open and taking in the world around him. He startles awake when he realizes how close you are and the fact that his arms are wrapped around you.

“Oh my goodness, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean..” He starts apologizing while trying to untangle himself from you.

You cut him off by snuggling closer to him, your voice is muffled by his chest as you speak. 

“Don’t you dare apologize, that was the best sleep I’ve had in ages, plus you’re my soulmate, I doubt cuddling on the couch all night will be the worst thing we do.” You look up to see a slight blush painting his cheeks at your words.

“I never said it was," he counters, still a little flustered, "but we only just figured this out last night and I didn’t want to assume anything.” He quickly gains his composure back, allowing himself to enjoy the feeling of you in his arms. That is until Tony walks in.. 

"Please no sex on the couch, it's a bitch to clean." He states loudly causing you to laugh at his antics. You force yourself to leave the warmth that is Steve's arms and walk over to Tony who is grabbing a cup of coffee.

“I’m still mad at you, you know, for not telling me earlier.” You state matter of factly. "All this time I thought I'd end up dying alone because of one of your experiments gone wrong, and it turns out that you knew who my soulmate is for months."

He looks at you for a moment, contemplating how to respond before softening and giving you a kiss on the forehead,

 “I’m sorry little Buttercup, I should have told you earlier and not just assumed that you already knew.” You smile at this softer side of Tony, the side that he usually only allows you to see. 

You pour yourself and Steve a cup of coffee, asking him how he likes it.

"A good amount of cream and a spoonful of sugar." He states looking a little sheepish. You smile at the fact that Captain America likes a little coffee with his creamer. 

You jump slightly when you feel his arms sliding around your waist and his chin on your shoulder. 

"Thank you, doll, that looks perfect." His voice is soft in your ear. You quickly realize Steve is an affectionate man that likes to cuddle and is quickly warming up to the fact that you enjoy it too. 

You lean back into his embrace, reveling the simple fact that you could. You found your soulmate and you were already head over heels for the man. 

Your mom always loved to cook and she taught you when you were young. So you decide to make up some pancakes and french toast for breakfast, after all, it isn't everyday that you find your other half.

Tony and Steve help set the table and everything while you cook. Steve askes if he can help but Tony knows that you enjoyed taking care of the cooking by yourself. That may partially come from the fact that, for the most part, Tony is a terrible cook and you don't want him anywhere near your food.

Once the table is set and you are well on your way to cooking breakfast, Steve and Tony sit down and start to talk. Steve, always the one to go straight to business, begins to ask about the girl he brought in the day before.

“She’s still unconscious, from the look of her she's been in some terrible fights, she has multiple gun wounds and some scars that look to be from some wicked knife wounds.” Tony answers, feeling a little bit of sympathy for the unconscious girl in the medical wing.

“Well all the same, I need to find out who so is and why she shot me.” Steve answers allowing a little bit of the exasperation he is feeling to slip into his words.

“She shot you?” Your voice is laced with worry and you walk up to him, placing the food in your hand on the table, “are you ok?” Your eyes search his body to see if you could find the wound he spoke of.

“Yes doll, she shot me. I had the bullet removed and the skin is almost completely healed." His voice is gentle, reassuring, letting you know that there is nothing for you to worry about. 

"Anyway, it was like she wasn't shooting to kill. It was like she aimed for the spot that would cause the least amount of damage." His entire face is scrunched up in confusion, before he shakes his head and continues. "But I must speak with her when she wakes. That is the only way we can find out for sure.”

“Well until then, let's eat and then maybe you can come up with me to my lab so I can make you that punching bag.” You say setting the last of the food onto the table and grabbing some orange juice.

“You weren’t kidding about that?” Steve's voice is incredulous, he really didn't think that you would actually make a punching bag for him.

“Of course I was serious, I never kid.” You can’t help the smile that slips through the serious look you are putting on.

The next two days pass with you and Seve spending as much time together as possible. You are quickly able to develop a punching bag for him and even develop a couple of smaller items to help make missions easier as well. You are surprised how happy it makes you to have Steve in the lab with you. You share stories of your childhood and are surprised by the similarities, especially when it comes to your health. He tells you about Brooklyn, and his friend Bucky. About trying to get drafted and the events that lead to him becoming Captain American. You enjoy how willing he is to share his life with you and how easy it is for you to return the favor. You are in the middle of telling him the story of how you met Tony when Jarvis comes over the speaker.

“Mr. Rogers, the woman you brought in has awoken.”

 

You look at each other before rushing down the halfway to the medical wing. Steve steps in first and you quietly follow him, not wanting to get in the way. 

“Oh good you’re awake,” Steve’s voice is harder than you had ever heard before, and you watch as the girl tenses up even more. 

“Now I get to ask you all of the questions that I’ve been waiting to ask you for the past 3 days.” You watch him pull a chair up and sit, his pose meant to intimidate. 

“Who are you? Why did you shoot me? What were you doing in that town and where did you get these?” You flinch slightly at the anger in his voice, glad that it isn’t currently directed at you. 

Steve is holding up a pair of dog tags, and you wonder what they have to do with anything. The girl seems to be reeling from the questions trying to decide how to answer. You are curious as to what she will have to say. Her voice is desperate when she finally speaks.

“My name is Alison, my father is Hydra and forced me to become one of their experiments, a soldier for them. I was planning on escaping but I never could, I couldn’t leave him there.” Leave him? Leave who you wonder, her voice grows more desperate when she speaks of him, he must be important to her. You focus back in on what she is saying. 

“I couldn’t leave him, not when I could do something to save him. I couldn’t leave him there all alone.” You can tell that she is close to tears as she speaks and that there is no lie in her words.

Steve balks, “Wait a minute, you’re Hydra.” He spits the words out at her causing you to look at him in confusion. 

“Not by choice.” Her voice is steel. She holds no love for her father or this Hydra organization.

Steve finally asks the question that is bugging you. “Alright then, who is this “he” you keep mentioning?” He leans back crossing his arms, waiting for her answer.

She stares at him for a moment, as if deciding whether she can trust him or not. She seems to come to a conclusion. Taking a deep breath she answers, 

“My soulmate, the soldier, the man on the dog tags, James Buchanan Barnes.” You can't help but gasp, James was Steve’s best friend, he had told you all about him the last couple of days. Your gaze immediately turns to Steve to see his reaction, his whole body has gone stiff, his eyes narrowed, teeth clenched.

“You’re lying. I watched him fall from the train, I watched him die! There is no way in hell he is your soulmate.” His anger is rolling off of him in waves.

 You however remain strangely calm after the initial shock of her words. What she said makes sense, after all a 95 year old super soldier who was assumed dead for 70 years is your soulmate. Who's to say that James didn’t survive the fall?

 You step up to Steve and softly place your hand on his shoulder.

The girl is still frantically trying to convince him, “I’m not lying! I swear! Hydra got to him. They made him into a weapon, they brainwashed him and put him on ice when they didn’t need him so that they could control him better. I swear, I’m not lying!" Her voice is practically hysterical at the end.

 Leaning in to Steve you murmur to him, 

“Steve, you survived an airplane crash and being frozen in a glacier for decades. Maybe she is telling the truth.” Your voice is soft, placating. 

He turns to you, the hardness of his face softening at the sincerity he can see in your eyes. 

“Fine,” he says turning back to the girl, Alison, “I can’t fully trust you and I can’t let you go, so you will have to live here in the tower, under surveillance. If you want us to trust you, you will have to prove yourself trustworthy.” Steve stands after this declaration, unlocking the cuffs on her wrists. You turn to her, 

“I’ll make sure that they have a room ready for you as soon as you are well enough to leave the hospital.” You give her a soft smile, heaven knows she needs it. You pause a second, alone in the room with her, Steve had walked swiftly out the door as soon as he had undone the cuffs. 

“I just have one last question,” she nods at you when you pause, “I know you shot Steve. But you missed anything important on purpose, didn’t you?"

She just gives you a secret smile and lays back against the pillow, but it is all you need to know the type of woman she is. You can tell already that you like this girl, and that it won’t take you long to trust her. Giving her one last look you step out the door, calling for Jarvis to make sure a room is ready for the new guest. You have a Steve to find. 

 

He is exactly where you expect him to be, punching the shit out of the punching bag you made him. 

“Hey Soldier.” You call to him, as you lean against the doorway. You watch as his body slouches at the sound of your voice, today was a lot.

“She said that Bucky is her soulmate,” his eyes are red as they catch yours, “what if he is alive and I could have saved him. All this time I thought that I watched him die and now there is this chance that he is alive. What if I abandoned him?” 

His voice breaks at the question, he looks so vulnerable. You step quickly towards him, keeping your movements light. When you reach him you take the hand that is hanging limply by his side and place it on your cheek.

“Hey, love, look at me.” His eyes slide up from the floor. “There was no way you could have known and nothing you could have done to help. If he is alive, I will be right there with you and we will do whatever it takes to get him back. He is your family, and that makes him mine, and we don’t leave family behind.” His eyes are full of tears as he leans his head against yours. 

The toll of the day, makes itself apparent in the slouch of his shoulders and the weight of his forehead. You slowly pull yourself out of the embrace, grasping his hand and pulling him with you.

“Come on, we both need sleep and there is no way in hell I’m letting you sleep by yourself after the day we just had.” He nods and follows your gentle pull to your room in the tower. 

Since you have lived here the longest you have one of the nicest rooms, save Tony of course. Entering the room you have Steve sit on the edge of the bed while you start up the shower for him. You place out a couple of towels out on the vanity and step back into your room. 

Steve hasn’t moved since you walked into the bathroom. You step up to him and gently place your hand on his cheek.

“Love, I have the shower running for you, everything is set out and I placed a clean pair of sweatpants and a shirt in there for you, they should fit. Go ahead and get cleaned up and then you can come lay down.”

He stares at you listlessly for a moment before nodding and moving to do exactly as you suggested. As he showers you change into your pjs, you would take your shower in the morning. You grab the book on your bedside table and allow yourself to get lost in the words for a moment. The sound of the shower turning off brings you back to reality, as Steve steps out of the bathroom in just the sweatpants. 

Your first thought is holy shit followed quickly by the thought that whoever decided that you would be the perfect soulmate for this specimen might have been mistaken . 

Steve is having a similar train of thought, looking at you in your too large shirt and messy bun, knowing that behind your beauty is a heart of gold. He can't believe his luck.

He walks to the other side of the bed, drying off his hair and throwing the towel in the hamper. Pausing for a moment at the empty side of the bed, searching your face for any trace of doubt. Instead all he sees is you smiling at him and gesturing for him to take his place beside you.

 Settling into the bed he is surprised when you lean over and place your head in his lap.

“I’m glad it’s you.” He smiles at the soft admission, thankful that he finally found you after all these years.

“I’m glad it’s you too, doll. For the longest time I thought I would never find you, I thought you may not even exist. But I did and you are even more amazing than I could have ever hoped for." He pauses for a moment deciding whether to say what's on his mind or not. He is hesitant as he starts to speak. 

"Thank you for today, for calming me when I needed it and for being there for me. Not many people have seen me cry, but I’m glad that you have and that you aren’t disappointed in me for not staying strong.” At his words you immediately sit up and stare him straight in the eyes.

“You listen here, Steve Rogers." You poke him in the chest as you speak. " I never want you to feel like you have to keep up appearances when you are around me. You may need to be strong for others but not for me. I am here for you, no matter what, and that especially includes the moments where you can no longer be strong. You better remember that, I will never judge you for the way you feel.” Taking in your intense stare, Steve feels warmth spreading through his body. Yes , he thinks, he is very glad that it's you. 

Smiling at you and nodding Steve grasps your arms and pulls you into his chest, savoring the feeling of your head resting over his heart. He can’t remember the last time he felt as content as he does in this moment. The world may feel like it's moments away from crashing down around him, but right now all he can think about is you. 

Tagged users: @writerwrites

[peggyrose19]

Day 19: Soulmates

Jeez formatting this was a bitch. Advent for tonight is a little bit different, because the prompt was an accidental double. So, instead of being a sensible human being and just writing a different one-shot off it again, I decided I should get my O’Knutzy soulmate AU done instead, thinking it’d be fairly simple. Oh how wrong I was. Who knew writing an actual plot and developing a relationship was so hard? Me, but I started it anyway so really I did this to myself. So if it’s complete shit, I apologize in advance. Some day I will go back and edit and add to it. Characters by the always amazing @lumosinlove 

Summary: Finn and Logan were soulmates, and had been since the moment they were born. Both had a journal filled with messages to each other, given to everyone once they turned 18. When Leo turned 18, he opened his journal to discover something rather peculiar. What did one do with two soulmates?

Sorry the summary is shit, I suck at them :) Journal entries are in italics and text messages are in bold because tumblr won’t let me underline. Hope you guys enjoy, leave a comment and I’ll love you forever <3

Leo stared down at the paper in front of him. His mind had gone blank when he’d opened the book. His soulmate journal, given to him today, on his 18th birthday. He had imagined this going hundreds of different ways. It had consumed his every waking thought for the past six months at least, what he would say, how his soulmate would respond, the possibility of words waiting for him already. What he hadn’t imagined was the words from two distinct hands written on the pages. 

He thumbed through the book as word after word flashed by. Conversations flowed between these two people, going back nearly three years, according to the dates on each page. The handwritings were different. One was messy, scrawled, and Leo caught a few words of French here and there. The other was neater, script-like, and the ink was dark and consistent.

Unsure what to do, Leo began reading some of the journal. He had never heard of this happening before; he wondered if the other two knew. 

What’re you doing up, it’s nearly 3 am? was the first thing Leo’s eyes fell upon. 

Can’t sleep. What’re you doing up?

Reading. But that’s irrelevant. Go to bed. I’ll be here when you wake up.

Okay fine. Night, Fish.

Night. 

Leo could feel the affection between the two, even just from those simple words. He kept reading, flipping back through conversations that felt too private for him to be reading. His eyes found the words “I love you” written in big stark letters, filling nearly half a page. He slammed the book shut.

What was happening? Why did these two already seem to have a life? Why were they in his soulmate journal?  He pushed back the tears forming in his eyes and slowly opened it again. Words began appearing on the page. 

Finn, you there?

A moment later, answering words appeared, Yeah, what’s up?

Shit day. Then, I miss you.  

Leo wasn’t sure how to feel about all of this. He didn’t know who these people were, why they were in his journal, what to make of the clear connection they had. The best way, he supposed, to resolve this was to see who they were.

Hesitantly, Leo grabbed a pen and set it to a blank page.

Hello? 

Umm… hi? one of them wrote back quickly, the messy one. 

Who are you? the other, Finn, added. 

I’m Leo, he wrote, unsure of what else to say. I just got my soulmate journal, he added. 

There was no answer for a while. Leo had just about given up when words began appearing on the page.

This is our journal. We’ve had it for about four years now. I’m Logan, by the way, he added. 

I’m Finn.

Uh, well it’s nice to meet you both. 

Neither Finn nor Logan were sure what to make of the situation. Finn grabbed his phone, watching Leo’s words spread across the page, telling them about who he was and what he’d discovered when he’d opened his journal for the first time that morning.

Lo, is it even possible he’s also our soulmate? Is that even a thing? He sent the message to Logan, turning back to the journal.

Leo, where are you from? he asked curiously. 

New Orleans, came the response. Born and raised. What about you both?

New York City, Finn responded right before his phone pinged. 

He pulled up Logan’s response. I’m not sure, maybe? I’ve never heard of this happening before but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t. 

Quebec, came Logan’s response in the journal a moment later. Leo answered, but Finn wasn’t paying attention.

He was focused on the message on his screen, mind running through all the soulmate stories and tales he’d heard over the years. He remembered his brother getting his, being ecstatic at the messages he’d received. His friends all getting theirs, writing excitedly to their soulmates from the first moment. Even his parents talked fondly about it, the two of them meeting after a year and already being in love. None of them had two soulmates.

But then, in the back of his mind, a memory surfaced. His grandmother, telling him a story, late one night when he couldn’t sleep, about her best friend from high school. She had had a girlfriend when they went off for college, her soulmate. When they connected some years later there had been a boy too. She had never questioned it. After all, this had been the 60s. People didn’t ask questions like that. 

But maybe it was possible. Maybe this could explain the hole that still seemed to exist between him and Logan, no matter how much they loved each other.

~

As the months passed, Leo slowly made it through the journal. Finn and Logan had both given him permission to read it, although initially he had been surprised. He barely knew these people, why were they trusting him with their deepest secrets? But Finn said that’s what a soulmate journal was for and so Leo spent each night before bed reading a few pages, getting to know his apparent soulmates better and better with each word. 

He learned that Finn was a year older than Logan, 23 now, and his birthday was in August. Logan’s was in December, four days before Christmas. He read page upon page about their siblings, Finn’s older brother and Logan’s three older sisters. He wondered briefly what it was like living with siblings. 

They’d met before, in person, two years ago, Logan flying from Quebec, where he lived, to New York City for New Years. Leo’s heart ached when he read that. He wondered what the city had been like, what it had been like when they met. 

He wished he could meet them. 

He learned the small things about them, too. Logan had a terrible sweet-tooth. He was French-Canadian and could speak it fluently. (Canadian French was very different from New Orleans French). He couldn’t dance to save his life, despite his sisters trying. Finn knew how to figure skate, but had switched to hockey early on. He still kept up with it.The only food he could make without burning was hot chocolate the way his brother showed him. Finn liked to feel useful, to make people feel better. He liked to read. He liked to write letters to Logan while he slept. And Logan would scold him for staying up late, then absolutely melt at the words written on the page.

Leo wanted one of those letters. 

By the time he reached the entry from his birthday, three months had passed. It was quickly becoming summer in New Orleans, despite it being only May. As he got to know his boys better, and they got to know him, Leo wished more and more that he could meet them, see them. He wished he’d known them four years ago when they first met. He wished they’d had that time together. 

He wanted them to fall in love with him.

~

Hey Le! Logan wrote cheerfully late one afternoon. Leo sat outside in the shade of a nearby tree, flipping aimlessly through the journal. He felt conflicted. But the nickname sent flutters through his heart. What’re you up to?

Not much, he replied. Sitting in the garden. What’re you up to?

You have a garden?

Leo chuckled. Yeah. I can see the ocean from here actually.

You can see the ocean?? Jealous. 

Yeah, it’s also 85 degrees.

Nope, I’m out.

That made him laugh again. That’s what I thought.

I just don’t know how you do it! It’s like a million fucking degrees there all the time. I would actually die. 

And it’s always a million fucking degrees below freezing where you live. 

….touché. Leo could sense his reluctance through the paper. He wished desperately to see Logan’s face in that moment, see the pout he undoubtedly was wearing right then. To kiss it away, maybe press him back against his bed…

No. He wouldn’t let himself think of that. Because if he started down that path there was no coming back. And he wasn’t sure he could handle that. 

~

Finn we need to talk 

The text came one day as Finn was getting ready for bed. He paused in brushing his teeth, typing out a response.

FaceTime in 5?

Sounds good

If he was being honest with himself, Finn had expected this a while ago. He had known it was coming, knew it needed to happen. From that first message, Logan laughed at something Leo had written. Finn knew in that moment he was gone. They both were. The only problem now was how to say it.

The ringing of his phone shook him from his thoughts.

“Hey, Lo,” he answered as the call connected. 

“Hey.” 

“What’s up?”

“We need to talk.”

“Yeah, I gathered that from your text.” Logan didn’t laugh, and that’s when Finn knew this was really bothering him.

“Logan, I know what this is about. It’s okay.” Logan’s eyes snapped to his face. 

“What- how?”

“Babe, you’re not exactly subtle. And, well, neither am I. I know it’s about Leo. It’s okay.”

Logan sighed. “I just- I know he’s our soulmate, obviously. But it still feels like I’m betraying you? How can I love both of you? How does that even work?” Finn’s eyes widened at Logan’s words. 

“You love us? Both of us?”

“Harzy, how could I not? You’re my soulmates. But it’s more than that. I love you for you, not just because of some match in the system. And I want us, all of us, to be together.”

Finn was quiet for a long time. Eventually, he said quietly, “That’s why we never made sense. Why there always seemed to be a, a hole. We need Leo to complete us.”

Logan smiled. “Exactly.”

~

Leo, you there? Finn wrote.  

Yeah, came the reply a moment later. 

We have something we want to tell you.

We?

Hi Nut, Logan added hurriedly. Finn smiled at him through the phone screen. He wished he was there in person. He wished both of them were. 

Logan?

Yeah, it’s me. Fish and I talked. About this, us. We want- 

“Don’t take my moment!” Finn scolded playfully. “Besides, no one can read your shitty writing, I would know.” Logan pouted, but let Finn continue. 

Sorry about that. What we were trying to say is that we want you. If you’ll have us. I know all of this is new for you, it is for us too. But we need you. You’re the missing piece of our puzzle, and we don’t work if we don’t have you. 

Leo read the words over and over. Silence buzzed in his ears. It didn’t seem real, that these two boys, who had been each other's for so long, now wanted him. His mind couldn’t make sense of it all, of the love he could feel even through the thin pages of his notebook.

Leo, you there?

I’m here, he managed. I just don’t know what to say. 

Good or bad? Finn asked cautiously. 

Good, he laughed. Of course I want you two, do you know how long I’ve wished for this to happen? 

Oh yeah? Tell us.

“Logan!”

“Sorry.”

Okay, you don’t have to tell us. But please tell me you’ll come see us? I need to see your face. 

Please? Finn added for good measure.

Leo could have jumped up and down in that moment. Of course I will come visit. Of course. Then, a moment later, heart in his throat, he added, I love you guys. 

[serenasoutherlyns]

Not a Summer Crush Part Four

a/n: this is a long one! enjoy. this chapter features coffee, colds, cuteness, serena southerlyn, schemes, saturdays. all feedback makes me LOVE you, so please please reblog, reply, like, anything! you can always find this on ao3 as well. happy evening, and part five coming at you soon!

Part Four

"Haley," Anderson stopped you in the kitchen the next day. He was reaching into the fridge to get one of the terrible salads he always ate and you were rinsing out your French press (you figured, there were plenty of coffee shops nearby but a) you didn't need to be spending your money like that and b) the way the grounds fell as you pushed them slowly to the bottom had more than once brought you moments of enlightenment). You didn't stop to listen initially but he continued. "Haley," he said, "how do you do," he paused, gestured to your whole body, "that."

You looked at him, blinked, expecting him to clarify, but he did not. You laughed at him, gently, appropriately. "I don't know, Anderson, I was born 27 years ago," he winced, "I did some things, I'll do some more things, in fact, I spend most of my time doing," you gestured to yourself, "this."

He opened his mouth a few times, trying to think of what he meant, but said, "I mean, you work sex crimes, and you're so,"

"Exuberant?" You said.

"I was going to say bubbly."

"Hm."

"Forget I said anything."

"No," you said, taking pity on the guy. "It's ok," you patted his shoulder, "You learn to deal with it, right? I mean, I think I am."

“How do you keep it from getting to you?” His question made you laugh, then your face fell, something serious behind your eyes.

“It gets to me. I’m so sad all the time. But if I always acted how I felt, I don’t think I could do it.”

"Right," he said, not quite convinced. "Look I've been with homicide for five months and I still don't think I'm there yet."

"Give up or give it more time then," you said to him with a raise of your newly cleaned French press and a shrug. As you walked back to your office (you had banned him from having meals in there in your first week on the job) he watched the way you occasionally raised yourself up on your toes, in awe at your apparent ability to stay sunny.

Someone else noticed your little rise and lower. Alex Cabot had, today, decided to leave the blinds to her office door open. It was so she could catch moments just like this one, you bopping along in the hallway with your coffee maker, somewhere between walking and dancing.

Fuck, she thought, not even bothering to stop the grin, that's so cute.

Alex had talked to Casey. Well, Casey brought it up, actually, but Alex would have.

---

"So, I talked to Rita," Casey'd said almost before she shut the door behind her.

"Good evening to you, too, baby," Alex said, greeting her in the entranceway, kissing her sweetly. Casey smiled into it. Casey broke the kiss and walked towards their living room, her body aching for a comfortable seat. Alex walked behind her, pinching her (lovely perfect gorgeous) ass, causing her wife to yelp in the silly way she reserved for Alex alone. Casey always flopped onto the couch, which had originally annoyed Alex. She'd once insisted Alex try it, and while she did not move to change her habits, she admitted to seeing the appeal.

Alex, having followed Casey to the couch, bypassed the ample seating and chose the same side as her wife, who was sitting against the arm rather than the back, providing a perfect avenue for Alex to make her way up her body, continuing what she'd started. When Casey moaned, Alex got up and walked to the kitchen, ignoring Casey's whines. Alex picked up the plates where she'd put dinner (ok, it was carryout, but still, plates!) and joined Casey, another habit that was Casey's first, this one she was happy to go along with.

Casey and Alex sat on the floor, playing quiet music and making their usual conversation, routine and comforting.

"So, you talked to Rita?"

"Mm, mmhmm," Casey said, Alex having caught her mid-asparagus-bite. They laughed. "Yeah, I talked to Rita. She almost broke my door down to ask if I was sleeping with Caroline.”

Alex paled, “I was just talking to Serena about the same thing.”A panicked look flashed across Casey’s eyes. “Oh god, no, I don’t think you’re cheating on me. I mean, I went to Serena’s to be all emotional about Caroline.”

“I nearly cried.”

“In front of Rita Calhoun? And she didn’t melt?”

Casey scoffed, “She’s made me cry so many times.”

“I try to forget that fact,” Alex said.

“Fair enough. Anyway, apparently, her prowess in deductive reasoning led her to believe that I was having an affair.”

“A one-sided affair, that’s new.”

“Two-sided, unless both of us are only one side.”

“Two-sided implies there’s something there.”

“Isn’t there?”

“Isn’t that it.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

They both picked at their salads, wondering why Alex had bought salad. Casey looked up at the ceiling, Alex looked down, fiddled with the rug. Alex skipped a couple songs on her phone.

“Casey, what are we going to do about this. I don’t, I mean, I think, um.”

“I don’t know. I guess, our options are, pursue what we want or don’t and get over it.”

“If you put it that way,” Alex said, pausing, “I think we need to know what we want.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you. I want us both to be really happy, and I want her.”

Casey took a sip of her wine, agreeing with her fingertips, taking Alex’s hand. “You said what I was thinking.”

“What do you want, though? Serena said this thing about me being upset over a threesome we haven’t had and I kind of thought like, I don’t think I just want sex, um. I don’t know if that’s how you feel.”

“I do feel that way, actually, Lex.”

Casey held their hands up to her cheek, kissed Alex’s.

“So we’re pursuing that?”

“So we’re pursuing that.”

“What if,” Alex started. Casey responded with a shrug, and Alex thoughtfully nodded.

---

So, they were pursuing it. What that was going to mean was unclear as of the moment Alex saw you being very cute in the hallway, but they’d agreed that they wanted some kind of relationship, romantic, sexual. They wouldn’t want it if you only wanted one of them, they wouldn’t want just sex. It all would work out, Alex hoped. Casey was more confident than she was, but Alex had more of a cautious spirit when it came to relationships. They were well balanced. Alex hoped (and hoped and hoped) that you would want them. She gave herself a few more moments to smile, then turned back to her work.

Despite Anderson’s impressions and what Alex saw, you were not, in fact, feeling good. It was the middle of summer, but you couldn’t get warm. It’s just a cold, you thought, as you held your hands against the warmth of the coffee. Your cases were getting overwhelming, and you couldn’t afford to take any time off right now, not even to be sick in bed. Getting sick in the summer was exactly your luck.

A knock on your door startled you. You quickly collected your composure, turned on your peppy demeanor (you told the truth to Anderson: you learned how to seem OK a long time ago).

“Hey,” Casey said. “Are you in court at all today?”

You shook your head. “No, just paperwork, research. Why?”

Casey shrugged. “Thought you might want to have lunch or something.”

“I ate already,” you lied. You just didn’t want to request a place that served chicken soup. Your appetite had disappeared. “Sorry,” you said with an apologetic smile. “You want some coffee?” you asked, gesturing to the full pot.

“Sure, actually. The setup is a smart idea.”

“Isn’t it?” you said, getting up to pour two cups. “My apologies for the lack of sugar and cream.”

“Ah, it’s ok.” Casey said, accepting the cup and sitting down across from you in the extra chair. “No honey?”

“Alex told you,” You said, smiling, and Casey nodded. “It’s more of a special occasion thing.”

You watched her blow on the drink, her lips pursed over the top of it. They were a lovely shade of pink, you decided. She stuck her tongue out a bit when she took a sip, like a butterfly and its proboscis, you thought. You promptly scolded yourself for thinking that sort of thing at work. You had been considering Ramin’s advice, to “use your feminine wiles” on Casey and Alex, make them want you so bad that they believed it was their idea. It was sneaky and exciting. You’d resolved to start doing tiny, almost unnoticeable things around them (however convincing they could be when congested). Before you sat, you brushed your hand along your hip; as you held your mug, you ran your fingers along the handle.

“How’s your day going?” you asked her, knowing she’d had lots of tough cases recently. SVU had brought you on as a junior ADA because with the rising awareness of sexually-based crimes (a good inconvenience), the caseloads had risen to an all-time height, even after they brought Gillian back in to cover some cases. They were both very relieved that the gamble the office had taken in hiring a young person, whose experience had mostly been in property crimes, had worked out. It stood to reason, Casey had pushed for a younger lawyer, knowing first hand how much of a strength that could be; and when Alex had seen two Stanford degrees on your C.V., she felt sure too. You’d been a good choice. Still, you were all four overextended.

“Eh, it’s been fine, all things considered,” Casey replied. She watched as you fiddled with the tips of your hair. You’d begun wearing it curly more often, which had proven to be somewhat distracting for her. “How good can any day be in this line of work.”

You agreed with a nod. “I was just talking to Anderson about that.”

“What did he have to say?” Casey asked, knowing the attorney’s propensity for putting his foot in his mouth.

“I feel for the guy. I think he’s having trouble in homicide. He called me bubbly.”

“You are bubbly.”

“I’m energetic.”

“He should transfer to white collar. He’s got the attitude for it.”

You squinted your eyes scoldingly. “You would know.”

“I would.” The two of you broke into much-needed laughter. You were about halfway through your cup, but wished you were at the beginning again. “Was it hard?” you asked, “moving from white collar to sex crimes? I mean, just the level of emotional complication required, it must be so different from all that, detail.”

“It’s the hardest thing I think I’ll ever do in my professional life, yes.” Casey always looked you right in the eye, it was intense, the way she never averted her gaze. You tended to shift your gaze around rooms, taking in details, never resting on anything for too long. People sometimes wondered if you were paying attention, and explaining that looking them in the eye made it harder to listen didn’t work. Casey never cared, or at the very least never brought it up, just let you be the way you were. She set her coffee cup down. “I cried in my office my first day, in front of Olivia. I practically begged Arthur Branch to reassign me. I had wanted homicide, major cases. You know, all the glory less of the gore.”

“Have you ever regretted it since?”

“Never long enough to think about leaving. Voluntarily, that is,” she stated with a smile, referencing her suspension. You didn’t know all that much about what had happened, and you let her talk with a warm and open demeanor. “In all honesty, I needed that suspension to rewire my brain, I was drowning. And it didn’t last as long as I thought it would. That’s actually when I got together with Alex,” she said, smiling again, wider this time. “In a stupid hipster bar. She had brown hair at the time, I almost didn’t recognize her.”

“Please tell me you have pictures of brunette Alex Cabot.”

“Oh, I do, but they’re all buried deep in different camera rolls…” she trailed off in memories, “I’ll find them for you when I need to embarrass her. I, for one, liked the brown, but she can be very self-conscious.”

“You wouldn’t guess that when you meet her.”

“No, you really wouldn’t. But, Caroline,” Casey said, and hearing your name out of her mouth never failed to give you butterflies, “truly, I don’t think ‘like’ is an appropriate word for what I, what we do, but I feel called to it.”

“I think I do too.”

“Retention rates in this field are low. You’ve already outlasted them. I think that’s proof enough.”

You finished your coffee and brought your mug to the little table where you kept it. How you had such a messy desk but such a tidy coffee space evaded Casey, and probably told her more about you than you’d like. Alex walked by your office coming back from a meeting, pleased to see you and Casey conversing in the junior office. Casey finished her coffee shortly after you did. She met Alex in the hallway.

---

“Counselor, do you need a tissue?” Judge Catano said to you in an irritated tone in chambers the next day, apparently after one sniffle too many.

“Or a nap,” John Buchanan added under his breath as you pulled a nearly empty packet out of your suit pocket and wiped your nose.

“Thank you for your concern, I assure you both that I am quite alright.”

---

“Go home, get some sleep. Your cases will be there in the morning.” Alex said the evening after that, passing by the open door to your office on her way out.

“I won’t stay long,” you replied, knowing full-well that you would.

---

The day after that, Anderson got in your way at the wrong time and found himself unfortunately sneezed on.

---

You made it to Friday, and despite what you were telling yourself, you kept getting sicker. Every day was like time couldn’t decide between speeding and slowing down. Sometimes, you’d look up from what felt like ten minutes of work and an hour had passed, sometimes a meeting that felt like an hour was only ten minutes. And you still had work to do. Casey tapped on the door, unsurprised, again, to find you were the only one there. Anderson had left about a half hour ago, the other juniors often left right at 5:00.

“Hey,” she called from the doorway.

“Yeah?” You replied, looking at her over the top of your laptop.

“Come work in my office?” She asked. You’d taken to working with her or Alex or both of them in the evenings, with the general idea that many heads make light work. Or something. Really, for you, it was just a good excuse to spend time together.

“Sure,” you replied, “meet you there.” She walked off as you packed up your things. You were a bit woozy as you stood up from your desk. Oh well, that was how it went. You made yourself comfortable in Casey’s office (Alex, she explained, was off picking up some documents at the precinct).

You shivered in your seat on the couch, you blew your nose Casey eyed you, having noticed how you’d been sniffling all week. “Allergies? I have some Zyrtec somewhere in this desk,” she said, opening her drawer up to look.

“Oh, no, I’m not allergic to anything, I just didn’t,” sniff, “sleep well last night.”

This was an attitude Casey knew well.

---

Alex always liked summer evenings in the city. Yes, the smell required some getting used to, it could get noisy and crowded, but something about the way the orange light (that lasted longer than any other time of year) played off the tall buildings, the metal vendors on the sidewalk-- it just got to her, made her enjoy the walks she took from place to place. She checked her notifications on the way back from the precinct.

Casey: Caroline is sitting in my office sniffling and looking pale.

Alex: “Allergies?”

Casey: She denies them.

Alex: So the cold she’s had all week caught up to her?

Casey: Can you pick up some meds and we can make her go home?

Alex: I mean, good luck to us…

Casey: Alex.

Alex sighed and crossed the street, ducking into a Duane Reed for the requisite illness package. convincing you to take advantage of it was going to be a wholly different task.

When she arrived back at the office, she discovered a different scene than she expected. As she reached Casey’s office door with the supplies, her wife caught her eye through the window, motioning at her to be quiet when she came in. Alex was, and saw you, on Casey’s couch, deeply asleep with your fingers still on your laptop keyboard, typing endless spaces in a Word document.

“Well,” Alex whispered, coming to Casey’s side, leaning against her desk. “That’s certainly adorable.”

“I couldn’t bring myself to wake her up,” Casey said, “poor thing.” Alex looked at you, your curls flipped up over your forehead, your pink cheeks, your pile of work beside you. A warm sense of nostalgia lit up inside her.

“Remember, when we first came back to the DA’s office,” Alex said, seeing Casey smile playfully, the same feelings building in her chest.

“And there was a horrible bug going around the office,” Casey continued, telling the story for her wife.

“And I refused to admit I’d gotten it,”

“And I found you asleep, with your head on a legal pad,” Casey squeezed Alex’s hand.

“Because I was late to a meeting,” Alex tucked a strand of hair behind Casey’s ear.

“And when you lifted your head up, your forehead was covered in ink,” Casey finished the story with a grin, teasing her wife. “Yeah, I remember that. And I remember trying and failing to get you home, and I remember you getting me sick.”

“Only because you couldn’t keep yourself from kissing me,” Alex said. Casey just shrugged, acknowledging that her wife was correct. They had no need to say what they both were thinking, and, in fact, no time.

You stirred, stretching out, very sleepily. They snapped out of their reverie. “Hey, you two,” you said, your voice nasal. “You guys are so cute,” you continued, still not quite awake, you said what was on your mind. You felt a bit voyeuristic, but you didn’t mind. “Sorry for eavesdropping,” you said, waking up more fully, “sorry I fell asleep, Casey,” you said. You started to pull the notes you were looking at back up to your lap, but as you picked them up, you noticed someone else was holding the other end. Alex had a grip on them, and you were too weak to resist as she picked up all your papers and put them back in your bag.

“Laptop,” she said, holding out her hand. You gave it to her, looking to the side, embarrassed. She held out a packet containing two pills. “Take these,” she said, giving you a bottle of water as well. You wanted to protest, tell her that you were perfectly capable of getting what you had left done, but as you looked at her, then across the room to Casey, you realized that not only would any attempt be futile, you wanted nothing more than to fall asleep in your bed and stay there until you didn’t feel like this anymore. You nodded.

Casey’s voice came from behind Alex, gentle. Still raspy, but more than quiet, sympathetic, understanding-- gentle, a tone meant to be heard from close by and listened to in earnest. “Please take care of yourself.”

Who could refuse that?

---

Alex accompanied you on the cab ride home. Casey genuinely had work she had to finish, and neither of them was about to let you ride your bike or take the subway in your state. You lived in Brooklyn, but close enough to the courthouse that you didn’t feel too guilty about accepting her help when she offered. You tried to make conversation, but you were simply too tired to talk much, and as the sun finished setting, you arrived at the townhouse. Ashley and Ramin lived in the three bedroom unit on the first floor while you lived in the one bedroom unit on the second. It was really a glorified studio, the bedroom was just big enough for a queen-sized bed, the living room barely fit a couch, and the kitchen was mostly good for making tea; but that was why you had a key to your best friends’ apartment. You hesitated on the steps in the still warm air, considering if it would be a bad idea to ask Alex to come up the rest of the way with you, but she had clearly already made up her mind to do so (she had not bought all those supplies for nothing).

Your apartment was cozy, Alex thought as she placed the medicines and magazines and bottles of Gatorade in convenient spots in your tiny kitchen. You went straight for the bathroom, using what energy you had to change into pajamas, brush your teeth, and wash your face. Not much food in the fridge, lots of coffee and tea. A little table covered in papers and books; some law journals, some fantasy novels, some picture books. There were stuffed animals in a bin beside the couch, a couple clearly old enough to be yours. You had one of the fluffiest rugs she’d ever seen and enough throw pillows to drown in, and candles all over the place. Your walls were covered in art; some clearly original abstract pieces signed R.R, some prints from the MoMA, old post cards and family photos (only a couple of your siblings, but countless of Ashley and his family, dancers too), and kids’ drawings, all displayed together, given equal weight. It made no sense aesthetically, technically, but everything about the place screamed Caroline, so she found herself enamored with it.

You emerged from the bathroom with your hair tied on top of your head, wearing an oversized tee and fuzzy pants. It wasn’t your usual choice, but being sick had you feeling like everything around you needed to be soft and cuddly. Alex showed you where she placed everything she’d bought for you, but as she talked, your (maybe feverish) focus could only follow her beautiful blue eyes as they followed your own. You felt warmth, gratitude; you watched her seem concerned and adoring all at once. This whole scenario; Alex in your apartment while the stars were out, taking care of you, seeing you in your pajamas, sniffling and blushing, it made no sense when you thought about it. Yet, it seemed perfectly natural to you, having her in your place. Part of you wanted to kiss her then and there, pull her into your bed and try to get her to cuddle, but, of course, those were not thoughts you shared out loud. Instead, you expressed your gratitude as emphatically as your could manage.

“Get some sleep, Caroline.”

“I will. Alex, thank you.”

---

Alex made you take the following Monday and Tuesday off. Since she didn’t technically have that ability, you responded to her texts by telling her as much. Then, she got Jack McCoy to email you the same sentiments, and that, you couldn’t fight. You arrived at work on Wednesday refreshed, well-rested, and decidedly not sniffly, and she was only a little bit smug. She all but said “I told you so” when you said hello that morning-- but you very quickly shut her up by giving her a smile and an eye roll, taking pride and pleasure in the tiny bite of her lip you saw flash by as you returned to your desk.

That afternoon, you were happy to run into Serena Southerlyn on the courthouse steps, her leaving as you and Alex were returning (there was a case you were working together, you as second chair). She greeted Alex with a professional hug, you with a warm handshake. She had a glint in her eyes, something mischievous about her when she asked, after the usual workplace pleasantries, “you’ll both be there tomorrow, right? For drinks? Gillian said she had something to celebrate, I bet she got accepted to one of those PhD programs.”

“Casey and I will be,” Alex said, looking to you. You tucked a curl behind your ear, another habit of yours she’d noticed, when you were worried.

“I’ll certainly try,” you said, happy that you were now getting regular invitations to drinks, “I promised I’d help Ophélie’s mock trial team prepare for this weekend, she gets pretty nervous about them.”

“They have mock trial that young?” Serena asked.

“Yeah, it’s pretty cute too. A bunch of 12-year-olds in suits using legal language.” As you spoke, Alex understood a little better, Casey’s perspective on children. She chuckled lightly.

“Is she the prosecution or the defense?” asked Alex. You groaned in response.

“Don’t remind me. She chose defense specifically to spite me, and now I go to her school twice a month to teach her how to do it.”

“I think I like this kid,” Serena said. “But I really hope you can make it tomorrow.”

“I’ll do what I can,” you said, knowing you would likely be able to go, but not wanting to promise anything.

“Good,” Serena said as she started walking down the steps again. She turned around when she was struck with an idea. Alex had told her about her and Casey’s ideas, but, frankly, she felt like they were not moving fast enough, and having known them both for years, knew how they needed a push sometimes to go for what they wanted. You and Alex had only gone a few steps, so you didn’t miss the swoosh of blonde hair coming back towards you.

“I remembered,” Serena said, “ I was going to ask you, Caroline, are you going to any salsa nights again soon?” You looked taken aback as she clarified, “I’ve wanted to pick it back up for a little while. I was going to ask last time but the conversation moved too fast.”

“You dance salsa?” Alex asked, blindsided. Serena nodded, an implied obviously in her expression. “When did you learn?” She asked again, knowing that Serena’s upbringing had been astonishingly similar to hers as far as old money and conservative attitudes went.

“Study abroad.”

You let it be quiet for a short moment, seeing Alex and Serena communicate with looks, something panicked in Alex’s and something scheming in Serena’s. You filed the moment away to think about later.

“Yes, actually, I think I’m going to one on Saturday, in Brooklyn as usual,” you said, testing the waters of their reactions. “Ashley’s still on tour so I was going to see if one of my old teammates would want to go with me,” you said. Alex squinted her eyes slightly, Serena knit her fingers together as you spoke. “But if you would like to, Serena,” you decided to just go for the invite, “we should go together.”

You thought you saw a flicker of jealousy from Alex when Serena enthusiastically accepted your invitation. You couldn’t be quite sure, but it was enough hope to leave another little piece of you burning.

---

@addictedtodinosaurs @nocreditinthestraightworld @sweetprentiss

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[mymelodyheart]

All I Want For Christmas Is You Chapter 2 ~It’s Her Cue~

Previously in Sparks Will Fly ...

A slap on his back tore his gaze away from Claire. "Easy now lad," Willie said in a low, amused voice. "Ye look like ye could use the same drink as her."

Jamie glanced back at the subject of their conversation. "Aye, but make mine a double," he whispered.

"On it," Willie replied, laughing as he walked off.

What the bloody hell?  He should be withdrawing himself away from this attraction because this mad instant bond between them was like an overloaded electrical fuse, capable of incinerating him alive. He'd already learnt his lesson from his last relationship. He'd been there and done that, but yet he didn't have the will to stop himself from finding out how their connection would play out.

Oh, Christ, this is bad. So, so bad, I'm in so much big trouble.  Taking a huge sigh, he found himself a stool nearest to the pool table and watched Claire steal the show from the best snooker player in Broch Mordha.

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"Just polishing my balls for the lovely lass, here." 

The people around her howled with good-natured laughter.

Claire kept her head down as she sat on the edge of the stool, chalking her stick, waiting for Hugh to stop showing off and blathering with his mates, and to finally break. She felt eyes on her, and when she looked up, she met Jamie's gaze where he sat with his brother at the high table. 

Annalise leaned in from behind her and whispered, "Ginger can't stop looking at you."

Claire drew in substantial deep breaths. She'd watched Jamie play shinty earlier, and she thought he looked impressive then. Tall, strong, lithe, covered in mud and the epitome of a Highland warrior. Not that she had any idea what a Highland warrior would have looked like. After all, she only had the movie, Braveheart to go by. But who would have thought he'd show any interest in her. Perhaps, because she'd probably looked like she was about to climb him. Who could blame her, though? The moment he'd looked into her eyes, he stirred something inside her, which no man had ever done before him. And by some feat of willpower, she wondered how she'd succeeded not breaking into song right then and there. Up close earlier and now, sat only a few feet away, Jamie looked even better. Wavy auburn hair touched the collar of his plaid flannel shirt and the way his jeans hung low on hips, it shouldn't be even allowed. 

"He probably thinks I'm easy. You know how some rural folks think city people like us have loose morals."

Annalise gasped. "Why do you think he would think that?"

"I think I came on too strong and flirty," she confided in a low voice. "He's a man, so of course, he'd respond, and it probably works a treat for him too since I'm only here for a holiday. But my God, he's one fine specimen of a man, isn't he? I'm even getting butterflies, and the last time I had them ...goodness, I can't even remember." 

"Don't be daft ...you don't even know what he's thinking. Besides, you're single, and you're allowed to show interest if you fancy someone." The ice in Annalise's vodka and tonic clinked behind her. "This is the twenty-first century, and you're welcome to it. Flirt away and get butterflies. Let yourself go a little. I don't know if it applies here, but I'll say it anyway ...what goes on in the Highlands, stay in the Highlands." 

Aww, bless her.

Claire was grateful for her friend's presence in her life. If Annalise hadn't been there to constantly coax her out of her self-consciousness and to confide in to, she'd probably still be living a secluded life, and London would have eventually eaten her whole. Now here she was, openly flirting with a handsome stranger and she'd agreed to let him take her out.

Claire smiled. "How about you? What's happening with you and Willie?"

Annalise made an exaggerated sighing sound behind her, making her laugh. What a tart! 

"Hey, by the way, Jamie asked me out. So I guess, after this game and a round of drink, we're going to split. He wants to take me on a Christmas night tour. Will you be alright with Willie?" Claire asked. She had to make sure as this was their holiday together and she didn't want Annalise feeling abandoned.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. The boys seem like decent blokes, but as a precaution, I took photos of their driving licences and sent them to Geillis. She'll have them thoroughly checked out. Really handy to know someone whose boyfriend works with the police."

Claire's eyes widened, and she turned around to face her friend. "You didn't! I told Jamie I trust him." Geillis Duncan was their mutual friend they'd met in London at a party. After hitting it off, they'd forged a tight friendship, and the three of them became close until Geillis had to move back to her home city of Glasgow when she met the love of her life. Claire and Annalise were going to visit her before flying back to London.

"Of course, I did, silly. We're both on our own. Just because we're on our holidays and having fun doesn't mean we have to be lax when it comes to precaution. Don't worry, it'll be fine." Annalise reassuringly squeezed her arm. "Speaking of protection ...do you have condoms?"

What!?!  Sex was the furthest thing from her mind. But she didn't have time to reply as she saw at the corner of her eye, Hugh finally, leaned across the pool table and broke. As Claire stood up to take her turn, their audience cheered and whooped. 

Ignoring the hoots and whistles, she watched in concentration as the colourful balls rolled, not one of them dropping into a pocket. She began to walk around the pool table, taking in each position of the balls as she tapped her chin. Alrighty Beauchamp, let's have a look, shall we? This should be easy-peasy, lemon squeezy. We'll go for stripes. 

"Ye ken how to play, hen?" Hugh teased, extracting laughter from his friends. "If not, I promise to go easy with my shaft." Another round of loud laughter ensued.

Claire ignored the innuendo, and the sally going on and focused.

First, I'll down that nine-ball hanging over the pocket and use the rail to tap out the eleven, crammed against the twelve. That'll leave open the six, thirteen, and fifteen. Once I drop the fifteen, using a little side spin, that should bring me to the other end of the table. Then I'll sink the eleven and the fourteen into the same corner pocket, gently hitting the ten off the rail in the process, so I don't get stuck later having to bank shot it. Knock in the eight, then I'm clear to finish it off. Good God, Beauchamp, you're so good.

Satisfied with her strategy, Claire leaned over the green felt and positioned herself. Although Hugh's loud wisecrack didn't rattle her, the intensity of Jamie's stare was another matter. Taking a deep breath, she redirected her concentration on her game plan and took her first shot and then another, working clinically and accurately. Unfortunately, their encounter earlier kept creeping back into her consciousness and playing in loops in her head. It didn't help that his scent stuck on to her when he'd caught her after the fall. He smelled of forest and fresh laundry. None of that heavy musky expensive perfumes London yuppies liked to bathe in. It made her want to lean in, bury her face in the crook of his neck and take a deep breath.

Bent at the waist, Claire stretched over the edge of the table and focused on the fifteen-ball and tried not to wince at the memory of openly flirting with Jamie. In her defence, it wasn't every day she was rescued by a very manly bloke who stared at her like he didn't want to let her out of his sight. She wondered if she'd appeared too eager and was totally misunderstanding the look he was giving her. There had been a hint of wariness lurking behind those beautiful translucent blue eyes when she'd agreed to go out with him. Had she said something to cause him to throw up his guard?  

Having gone to a Catholic, all-girls, boarding school, her experience with the opposite sex was limited to the ones she read in romance novels. Orphaned at a young age, her guardian uncle Lamb didn't believe, dragging her across the globe with him was an ideal way to raise a girl, especially when he worked mostly with men in archaeological sites. So he'd decided the best place for her upbringing was with the nuns, right through college.

So when it finally came for her to start adulting and dating in a big, bad city like London, she'd been like a deer caught in the headlights. But she quickly found her feet with the help of her friend and flatmate, Annalise, a Parisienne by birth and a Londoner at heart. The French girl had been a mentor to her, initiating her to the trappings of singlehood and city life. Though the dating and getting-to-know-a-guy part was also an exciting discovery, she quickly realised every date she'd been to, after having gone through a handful of them, was a recycled version of the last. Same lines, same latest fashion, exaggerated backstories and trying too hard to impress instead of being themselves. So at the ripe age of twenty-five, she still had to experience what it was like to have a boyfriend. Annalise accused her of being too picky, but Claire always reasoned she just hadn't met the right one. She'd envisioned her first boyfriend to be someone endearingly awkward, not too loud and maybe a little shy. But Jamie was the least awkward man she'd ever met. He was easy on the eyes, and he lived inside his skin like a well-worn pair of jeans. He was far from a starter boyfriend she'd envision - definitely, not a boy anything.

"Go, Claire! You can do it!" Annalise shouted at the sidelines.

As she marked her shot on the eight-ball, she glanced up at Jamie and felt her focus wobble a bit. When one of the lads emitted a low whistle as she moved her hips to settle herself at a conducive angle, he didn't have a smidgen of amusement on his face. More than anything, he looked liked he was about to knock the front teeth off of the offender.

She didn't want a pub brawl to start in her honour, even if it sounded romantic in movies or books.

Straightening up from her position, she gave Jamie what she thought was a sexy smile. "Hey, Jamie," she called to him. "You got that single malt ready for me? This shouldn't take long." She tried not to blanch for sounding overconfident and cocky. It seemed cheeky for presuming she'd finished this game in a jiffy, but the pleasure of seeing his piercing blue eyes creased at the corners was definitely worth the minor discomfort her behaviour had caused her. Oh, Lordy! There were hushed oohs, followed by a round of testosterone-laced jests, making Jamie shake his head in amusement. At least, to her relief, he stopped looking like he's about to wallop anyone. Trouble averted in the knick of time!

As Jamie turned to get the attention of the bartender, she quickly lowered herself back over the table in the same position and sunk in the remaining balls. When she finished, her opponent, Hugh looked, well …not the least bit pleased about it. It probably didn't help she'd earlier acted cocksure about winning the game and might have dented his macho ego in front of his mates. 

Claire watched Hugh purposely marched towards her as their audience clapped, cheered and teased him for losing to a lassie.

"Ye got me at a disadvantage. I must admit I went easy on you since ye're new around here," he said loud enough for everyone near the pool table to hear. 

Claire gave him a charming smile, even though she felt like throttling him for not being man enough to congratulate her. "I know. Too bad, you assumed I couldn't play because I have a pair of boobs."

Hugh's eyes dropped down to her breast, and his cheek twitched, as he openly leered at her. "I must admit, ye have a lovely pair, and it might have distracted me from playing a good game, now that I come to think about it. Ye ken what ye need? Ye need a good ..."

"Stiff drink?" Jamie interrupted as he handed Claire a glass of single malt. "That's what ye were about to say, aye?"

Jamie's words were mildly pleasant, but she detected the underlying warning in his tone. Hugh didn't look like one to back-off, but when Jamie took a small step forward, he eyed the height and breadth before him and thought better of it. Splitting a forced smile between her and Jamie, Hugh raised both his hands as a sign of truce and slowly walked back to his mates.

With a sigh, she placed her cue stick on the pool table and faced Jamie. "This is fast becoming a habit of yours, isn't it?"

"What?" he asked, taking a step inside her personal space. It was another one of his moves to add to that growing habit list of his. Her old fashion side, the side influenced by her upbringing in the boarding school, wanted her to take a step back. But the side, that suspiciously sounded like Annalise, was shouting at her to hold her ground.

So she held her ground and arched an eyebrow at him. "You coming to my rescue. Again!"

When his mouth expanded into a smile, she couldn't help noticing his full, beautiful lips. With a cleanly shaven angular jaw, they made him looked like an angel who'd spent time in hell. Her breath caught in her throat, and she quickly looked back up, hoping he hadn't noticed her wandering eyes.

His amused expression told her he had. "Ye could say, rescuing ye is one past time that's beginning to grow on me." 

She laughed out loud. It was something she did whenever she was nervous or when shyness overtook, and the most annoying part of it, it was almost always accompanied by a snort. She quickly sobered up. Acting like a loon was definitely beginning to be her nervous signature move.

As if sensing her unease, Jamie quickly changed the subject. "By the way, that was some show ye put on. Ye'll be the topic of everyone's conversation for the next few days. And Hugh the butt of jokes."

"I didn't realise I was playing with a sore loser," she said, taking a sip of her whisky. When the heat slid down her throat, she tried not to flinch. Acting cool wasn't her forte, but she was determined to work on it. "If I'd known, I would have given up my slot."

"Dinnae fash. Hugh's all mouth and no trousers, but he's harmless. So where did ye learn to play like that?" His eyes scanned her face, and he cocked his head a little like he was committing each of her features to memory.

"My uncle taught me. We'd play for hours whenever we get time to spend together."

"Ye're close to yer uncle. That's nice. I hope I'd be that type of uncle one day."

She beamed. Jamie looked like the type of uncle who would have boundless of energy playing with children. "My uncle's for the most part, both a father and mother to me when I wasn't in the boarding school. My parents died when I was young."

His face turned serious. "Sorry to hear that. My parents have always been part of my life, so I can't begin to imagine what it was like for you growing up without them."

Claire gave him a grateful smile as she pulled a vibrating phone from her pocket. "Oh, bummer," she whispered, glancing down at the screen. "I have about fifteen missed text messages. I didn't feel it going off. I must have been caught up with all the excitement of the game." 

He ran a hand along his jaw. "Some lad missing ye back home?"

She hesitated, glancing up at him. "No." She shook her head, vigorously. "It's my friend, Geillis." She skimmed through the messages wondering why there were so many of them. Annalise had sent the photos of the brothers' driving licences to Geillis, and probably something had come up.

"Is everything alright?" he asked as she continued to read the messages.

"It's fine," she squeaked, looking for any incriminating data Geillis might have found. She found none. Instead, what she was reading was making her face heat up.

"Are ye sure? Ye have a troubling frown forming on yer face. Maybe I can help."

She sighed and rolled her head. "Annalise sent the photos of your driving licences to my friend Geillis. And a selfie she took with you and your brother earlier. You know ...to have you check out and see if you're legit. Geillis' boyfriend works with the police you see."

He arched an eyebrow. "And?"

Is he upset? "Don't look at me like that. I told you I trust you."

He laughed. "Like what? Ye're the one who's giving me an odd look. I told ye I was alright with it. So what did she say? Do I get her seal of approval?"

She winced. "Yeah, Geillis says it's all good."

He picked up his whisky from the nearby table. "Geillis sounds like a verra nice friend. I think I like her already. What else did she say?"

She felt the colour drain from her face. "I swear you wouldn't want to hear the rest of it. Geillis is raving mad."

"Try me."

"I think we should leave it ..."

"Come on, Sassenach. It cannae be that bad."

"I'd rather not."

"Go on, humour me." His blue eyes danced, and she marvelled for the umpteenth time at how handsome he was.

"Well, don't say I didn't warn you." She shut her eyes for a few heartbeats and puffed out a breath. "Well, she said if you're the same bloke who competed against her boyfriend at caber toss last spring and won ..." Oh dear, God. "...I ...um ...I should let you ground my corn."

He practically choked on his whisky.

She grimaced and wondered if she should thump him on the back. "I'm sorry. Geillis has an odd sense of humour. I'm afraid it's just her way of saying that her boyfriend thinks you're ace ...well, that's if you're really the bloke who he thinks you are."

He recovered quickly and grinned. "How about ye? What do ye think of me?"

She ignored the question. "You haven't confirmed anything to me yet," she said, speaking into her whisky glass. "Did you really win the caber toss competition?"

He looked smugly amused, and the smile that spread across his face already answered her question.

"So you're a tree surgeon who plays shinty and tosses poles in your spare time ...whatever next."

He nodded at her phone when it lit up again. "What else is your friend saying?"

She put her drink down and glanced at the screen. "'She said, the men who participated in this year's caber toss, including you, posed with nothing on but their kilt for a charity calendar."

He smiled. "Aye, that's right."

"And she asked me to ask you if you're wearing anything underneath the kilt because I'm getting the calendar as a stocking filler."

His booming laughter made a few heads turn their way.

"See I told you, she's raving mad." She took another sip from her glass and realised it was empty. Ah, fiddlesticks! "I thought her boyfriend would have mellowed her down a bit, but I have a feeling, she's worse than ever."

He eyed her glass and grinned. "I definitely have to meet this friend of yours."

She felt a twinge of ache in her heart, which took her by surprise. "Annalise and I are stopping at her place in Glasgow before we fly back to London on Three Kings. So you won't be seeing her."

He leaned in closer. "I ken we've only just met. Ye think ye're going to miss me when you go back?" His eyes twinkled mischievously.

Even though she was a right bumbling mess around him, she had to admit she was having too much fun in his company. So much so, she didn't really want to think about leaving yet. Her mind was already racing and wondering if Annalise would agree to celebrate Hogmanay here instead of in Edinburgh. "Well, that depends ..."

"Depends on what?"

Her curiosity to explore the dynamic between them made it difficult to keep her guard up. It was useless trying to fight whatever this was when she was so drawn to Jamie. Surely he must be feeling this too. She swallowed hard and decided to be brave. "If I'll have a reason to miss you," she blurted out before she could change her mind. 

A tiny fraction of the playfulness displayed on his face was replaced by uncertainty ...and Claire's stomach coiled at the proof he wasn't prepared to act on the attraction between them. Whatever his reason was, she wasn't sure if she wanted to know as her guard began to scramble back into place. Oh, God, how could I be so dim? Maybe he's got a girlfriend or a wife ...

"Arbroath Smokies."

Stunned, she looked at him. "Wot?"

"Have ye eaten?"

"Uh, um ...not since midday."

"Weel, hard to fall in love with ..." He took a huge deep breath. "...Broch Mordha on an empty stomach."

"Huh?"

That playful smile was back on his face. "Have ye tried Arbroath Smokies?"

"No. I don't even know what that is."

"Ye have to try it. I know just the place." Jamie glanced over his shoulder. "Come on, let's have a quick drink with Willie and Annalise so we can get out of here." 

And then just like that, he wove his fingers through hers and tugged her towards the bar.

[thatesqcrush]

Team Bonding

Bryan Kneef x Reader. NSFW. Warnings: dub-con, because he’s her superior. Oral sex, vaginal fingering, and fisting. Yes. You read that right. Also squirting. You have been warned. Oh, and this covers ice-skating in my naughty & nice bingo. This is most definitely naughty. 

WC: 2.8K

***

“Bryan Kneef doesn’t do ice skating.” A voice boomed from down the hall.

“Stop referring to yourself in third-person you psycho.” You rolled your eyes as you headed towards the voice. You paused in front of a decorative mirror in the empty law firm and rubbed lip balm over your lips.

“I told you, Bryan Kneef doesn’t do ice skating.”

You rubbed your lips together, and then made way to the lobby, finding the acerbic head of litigation at STR Laurie, sitting in a chair, with a scowl on his face. Which, lets face it, was nothing new for Bryan Kneef.

“Look, I know this is the last thing you wanted to be doing. But your bosses up there, wanted to make the transition with Reddick Boseman smooth.” You pointed towards the ceiling and then pointed back down. “It’s not my fault we got paired up together. You said I could choose what we got to do. I chose ice skating.”

You walked past him and hit the button, calling for the elevator. You crossed your arms and began tapping your foot, irritated. “Well?”

Bryan glowered and then stood. “Fine.”

**

When STR Laurie announced that they wanted to do a team building exercise with Reddick Boseman & Lockhart, you were less than thrilled. The last thing you wanted to do was spend more time with work on your weekend. Especially when you were paired with Bryan. You were not blind, the man was fucking gorgeous and he cropped up in many a fantasy with your battery operated boyfriend. However, his attitude left much to be desired. He would work you and the rest of the paralegal department to the bone. You knew from his bio on the firm website, that he started himself as a paralegal upon graduating from Northwestern Law – you figured he’d be cognizant of how to treat junior staff, probably having been through it himself. Instead, he chose to continue the cycle of asshole treatment. Bryan tried to get out of it himself, but his own boss Gavin Firth told him to make nice and take part – especially if he wanted to keep leading the litigation department and not give it to Diane. Backed into a corner, Bryan reluctantly agreed.

Initially, he had hoped he would be paired with a fellow colleague who he would be able to convince to blow off this event and hit high end bar with. And if not that, he had hoped it was the blonde secretary with big tits two floors down that he could wham, bam, thank you ma’am and then move on from. Instead – he got stuck with you – the mousy senior paralegal. He knew who were – he knew who everyone was. You had worked with him on a few cases before. You were very good at your job but otherwise, left little to the imagination with your baggy, shapeless sacks of dresses and frumpy sweaters. There was no desire for him to try to get under your skirt. Not when there was a bevvy of women and men he could have, just a dial away.

As the elevator went down, Bryan chose to study your profile. Though you were bundled up to the hilt in a white puffer coat and burgundy hat, he could still see your long lashes and lush lips that had a sheen from whatever you put on them. His nose caught the barest whiff of perfume and he had to admit that it smelled lovely. The elevator landed and you walked out first. He was surprised to see a shapely ass under the dark denim fitted jeans you wore.

STR was close to Millennium Park. You both made way through to the ice skating rink, barely a word between you. You were meeting a few other STR/Boseman colleagues and friends from your department who were already there. Bryan paid for the skating rental and soon enough you were both on the ice. You skated towards your friends with ease, leaving the attorney behind, gripping the sides. A look of panic was on his face as he tried to maintain balance. You turned around and let out a derisive laugh before skating back towards him, offering your hand.

“Is the big bad lawyer afraid of a little ice?” You mocked.

“Shut up and leave me alone. I am here, aren’t I? Go back to your friends and go take your pictures. Make fun of me all you want. Come Monday, I am going to bury you all with doc production.” Bryan sneered.

You skated closer to him and offered your hand once more. “Come on, it’s not that hard – watch me.” You stood next to him. “Your knees should always stay slightly bent. That position lowers your center of gravity, stabilizing you. It also helps you to skate without falling. Also, you should always have your weight positioned over your skating leg. One time you’re skating on the right leg, and the next moment on the left one. Every time you switch legs, you must shift your weight so that it’s over the skating leg.”

You demonstrated what you had explained and then repeated it. Bryan looked at you like a deer in headlights. Your lips twitched into a small smile. “Give me your hand.”

Bryan sighed, his breath causing a small puff of air. “Fine.” He grunted and took your hand. Your hand and his hand were encased in gloves and you mourned the idea that you weren’t holding hands bare skin to bare skin. You skated easily and Bryan wobbled a bit behind, but managing to keep pace. However, at one point, another skater flew by catching Bryan off guard and he lost his balance, falling, bringing you down with him.

“Mother fucking cock sucker son of a bitch!” You swore loudly, rubbing the side of your left ankle. “Ugh, I think I twisted it, you jerk!” Tears pricked your eyes.

“You? How about me?” Bryan snapped. “I can’t even get stand up without falling down.”

“Boo hoo asshole.” Two of your friends helped you up and you tried to bear weight but found that you could not. You were helped off the ice and Bryan followed, clambering to get off the ice, using the wall of the rink to help him.

You winced as you remove the skate, examining your ankle. It was starting to swell and the area was tender to touch. Bryan sat next to you, removing his own skates as well.

“How bad is it?” You heard him ask. You looked at him. “It’s sprained.”

For a brief moment, he looked remorseful. And just as quickly as you blinked, it was gone. “I’ll get us a car; I’ll take you home.”

You cocked your brow. “Excuse me, I can get home on my own just fine.” And stubborn as you were, you tried to stand but let out a grimace of pain, plopping back onto the hard bench.

“Let me take you home.” Bryan replied.

“Wonderful.” You seethed. Bryan returned your skates, along with his and brought over you shoes. You smashed your foot into your sneaker as best you could. Bryan offered his arm and begrudgingly, you took it, and limped out of the park. The ride home was uneventful, again with barely any conversation. You hobbled up the stairs rather comically and it was Bryan’s turn to roll his eyes at your pathetic attempt. You yelped as he suddenly picked you up, bridal style.

“What’s your apartment?”

“2D.” You replied mournfully, feeling embarrassed and humiliated that you could barely manage to get around and now you were being carried like a baby. There was a small part of you, however, that squealed inwardly. You clutched onto Bryan, his body solid and warm. He smelled wonderful and you allowed yourself to pretend to be swept away by the handsome lawyer.

**

“I got it from here, you can put me down.” You insisted once you were both inside. You both took off your coats. Bryan swallowed hard – for all the mousy outfits you wore at work, today you wore a form fitting sweater, which showed off the dip of your hip and swells of your tits.

Bryan carefully set you down and sharp pain shot up your leg and you swore again. “Maybe you should see someone.”

“I’ll tape it and ice it,” you reassured Bryan. “I’ll be fine.” This earned you an exasperated sigh. “I will take some ibuprofen,” you added for good measure.

Bryan grumbled in French about you being stubborn as he made way through your apartment. “I heard that, and you’re one to talk,” you replied cheekily, surprising him that you knew another language. Bryan was further surprised at your modest, but overall modern apartment. He liked the exposed brick and thought your small Christmas tree with its large, vintage bulbs was tacky, but charming in a way. He went into your kitchen and rummaged through your freezer, before returning with a bag of frozen peas.

“Put this on your ankle.” Bryan ordered. You took the bag. You propped your ankle onto your coffee table and stuck the bag on. You looked up at him. “I’m good. You can go now – and don’t worry, I’ll be in on Monday. Thanks for the lift.”

Bryan nodded and turned away, making his way back down your hallway. As soon as he did, you attempted to stand and swore loudly once more. Bryan turned on the balls on his feet. “Christ, Y/N, at least wait ‘til I am gone.”

“Wha—hey!” You shouted as he picked you up again, this time over his shoulder, so you were face to his ass. He gave your ass a playful spank and made his way down your other hallway, looking for your bedroom. “Put me down!”

He found it fairly quickly and unceremoniously threw you onto your bed.

“Are you always this stubborn?” He asked, his hands on his hips. He eyed your bedroom. It was small, like the rest of your apartment.

“Are you always a pretentious asshole?” You asked. Finally, you couldn’t stand it any longer. “Why are you being nice to me?”

Bryan didn’t respond. Instead, he sat next to you. “I know everyone thinks I am an asshole.” You snorted and Bryan let out a defeated sigh. “Okay, so I am an asshole. But I am still a fucking person.”

“The devil has feelings?” You covered your mouth and then cringed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

Bryan shrugged. “For all the shit I do, yeah, I do.” He turned to you. “Look, I am sorry that I hurt your ankle. And maybe take Monday off – see a doctor. Don’t worry about it. I will make sure it doesn’t count against your PTO.”

You looked at him and you smiled. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

You were suddenly aware that Bryan was in your bedroom, on your bed. He looked debonair in his burgundy sweater and dark jeans. You could see the dark beard with the tiniest flecks of grey. When he began to massage your foot, you felt desire pool in your most intimate of parts.

“Bryan – I…” You swallowed hard. He looked up at you, his green eyes were intense and he gave the slightest nod to you. You leapt into his lap, ignoring the screaming pain of your ankle and kissed him. Bryan kissed you in return and slipped his tongue into your mouth, seeking and exploring. His hands were over your ass, grabbing at your flesh. He gave you a playful squeeze which earned him a moan from you.

A hand moved up and under your sweater, skillfully unhooking your bra and immediately moving to your breasts. He tugged and twisted a nipple, enjoying how you squirmed in his embrace.

“Let me take care of you,” Bryan replied breaking the kiss. You nodded, panting. You removed your sweater and fished off your bra. His eyes darkened at the sight of your shapely breasts. He couldn’t wait to get his mouth on them.

“Oh yes,” you agreed, practically purring. “I ache.”

Bryan hummed in acknowledgement. He pushed you back onto the bed and helped you out of your jeans. Slowly his hand made its way back under your underwear, along your hip. Your breathing hitched as his hand moved closer to the apex of your thighs. You were already sopping in anticipation.

“You’re so wet,” Bryan noted, a single finger stroking you briefly, before slipping inside. You sighed at the feeling of his finger in you. Encouraging, you pushed your panties to the side allowing him greater access.

Bryan slipped another finger inside of you, his tempo quickening. You began moving against his hand, mewling as he continued his ministrations. His fingers pumped in and out of you faster and faster. You cried out in pleasure. Bryan slowed his momentum before removing his fingers completely. You whimpered in protest and Bryan made a big show of sucking on his fingers. “You are delicious.” Bryan commented and you blushed in response.

Leaning over, he grabbed a pillow and encouraged you to lift your hips, placing the pillow under you. You spread your legs wantonly and unabashedly. Nipping your thighs, Bryan nestled in between your legs, his tongue in your folds, licking you and swirling his tongue on your swollen clitoris. You groaned, and your hands lost themselves in his dark hair, trying to keep him in place. The added feel of his beard along your sensitive skin only heightened your pleasure.

Bryan hummed in agreement and the vibrations sent shockwaves up your body. You arched your back as his tongue flicked on your clitoris as he slipped two fingers back in, all the way deep to the knuckle. Ignoring your aching ankle, your hips rose to meet the thrusts of his fingers. A third finger slipped inside, stretching you.

“Oh shit! Bryan!”

“That’s right, take it.” Bryan whispered. His thumb rubbed your clitoris haphazardly. You like getting fucked by my hand?”

“Yes, fuck, give it to me!” Your legs were shaking. “I am going to cum.” You groaned.

“Not yet.” Bryan grunted. He withdrew his hand and you whined at the lost contact. “Do you have any lube?”

You looked up at him, curious. “Uh, top drawer. Condoms in there too.”

Bryan winked at you and moved off your bed. As he rummaged through your drawer, you eyed the tent in his pants hungrily.

Bryan removed his shirt, leaving his jeans on. Seeing his thick body, with his dusty rose nipples and smattering of chest hair – he was even more hot than you could have imagined. He spread your legs again and dipped his head once more tasting you. You watched as he drizzled lube along your folds and then over his hand. He tucked his thumb into his palm, tapering his fingers and then slowly penetrated you until his entire hand was inside of you.

You let out a sound that was akin to animalistic howl. “Holy shit, holy shit, oh my God!” Bryan began rock his hand back and forth, fucking you with his fist. You felt so full and all you could think – or even say was more, more, more!

“Cum for me,” Bryan growled, his fingers finding that sweet spot that no one else ever had. You sobbed in pleasure and he dipped his head back between your legs and flicked his tongue against your clit. You came hard, shouting his name, grabbing the sheets haphazardly. Bryan continued to pump in and out of you, while looking up at you. A smirk graced his face, and he stroked that sweet spot once more. Your lungs burned as you gasped for air, feeling tremendous pressure and then release as you squirted all over Bryan’s face. Bryan lapped at you through your orgasm until it subsided. Slowly he removed his fist. Moving back up to you, he pushed his fingers into your mouth. “Suck” he ordered. You sucked on his fingers, tasting yourself.

You nipped Bryan’s fingers playfully and he chuckled, removing them. He pressed a kiss on your lips. “Feeling better?”

“Mmmm much,” you replied grinning. Pushing Bryan gently back onto the bed, you climbed onto him. “But I do think more TLC is in order,” you replied taking his hands and placing them on your breasts. “Up to the challenge, Mr. Kneef?”

Bryan winked. “I think I like my odds.”

FIN.

--

Tags: @madpanda75 @tropes-and-tales @delia26 @mgarner1227 @beardedmccoy @youreverycolor @neely1177 @the-baby-bookworm @mrsrafaelbarba @skittle479 @ottosuricato @sass-and-suspenders @mommakat32 @dreila03 @beccabarba @garturbo @lovebennycolon @imjustreallynosy @sweetsummertime99 @whyissvuruiningmylovelife @annabelleb49 @scarletsoldierrr @cesarofangirl78 @redlipstickandplaid @redlipstickandblacktea @zoeykaytesmom @differentshadesofgray @misssirenlove @esparza-army @bananas-pajamas @mishaissocoolike @thefanficfaerie @theenchantedgalleryofstories @catnip987 @choppedgalaxynerd @pieceofshittytitty @ktiz90 @evee87 @itsjustmyfantasyroom @detective-giggles @rampantmuses @jazzyjoi @caked-crusader @rachelxwayne @prurientpuddlejumper @lv7867 @permanentlydizzy @bisexual-dreamer02 @madamsnape921 @averyhotchner @teamsladsandgents  

[dem-cp-hoes]

CAN WE GET SOME CPS LEARNING THAT THEIR S/O KNOWS ANOTHER LANGUAGE. LIKE THEIR S/O IS JUST LIKE SIGNING TO THEMSELVES OR MUTTERING SOMETHING IN A DIFFERENT LANGUAGE AND TOTALLY CATCHES THEM OFF GUARD

Sure thing love! Also sorry in advance for any mistakes, I only speak 3 languages and used google translate for everything else like a true dumbass😁😁

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

Jeff:

You were hanging out in his room, cuddling on his bed

Jeff rarely initiates affection so you were soaking it up

But because he's a little shit, he decided to be a dick for no reason smh

He suddenly pinched your side, eliciting a squeak

He laughed at the sound making you huff, irritated

He did it again, this time drawing a yelp out of you

You went to get up, but he just tugged you back down and then pinching again

Honestly what did you do to deserve this😩

You slapped his hands away and got up, beginning to mutter to yourself

You didn't even realize when you slipped into another language

"I swear to god...I just wanted to cuddle...sei uno stronzo (1)..."

Jeff could barely hear what you were saying but he knew that the last bit wasn't english

"What?" he asked, sitting up as well

"What?" you said back, not realizing what he meant

"What did you say?" he asked again, but he was not angry, just amused

???? You didn't have an idea what he was talking about, and seeing your confused face he pressed on

"The last bit of what you said, what language was that?" he continued

Oh, you flushed a little at your slip up

"Ehm...that was....uh...Italian..."you mumbled

"You know Italian?" he asked surprised

"We lived in Italy for a long time, sometimes I mix them up" you said and scratched the back of your head awkwardly

"That's really cool babe" he said and then asked "So what did you say to me?"

Uhhh...

Ben:

Your finals were coming up and you were spending a lot of your time studying

Ben was understanding enough and let you do your thing

But you've been studying for 4 hours now!!

Even for finals it was too much!

Apart from the fact that he needed your attention or he would die...again

^such a drama queen, but we stan✊

He knew that you seriously needed a break

With that in mind, he entered your room, finding you hunched over your textbooks as expected

He sighed when you didn't even acknowledge his presence

"Babe, why don't you come sit with me for a while?" he asked gently and smiled when you turned your head to look at him

You smiled at him, albeit a little apologetically and he knew that he'll have to try harder than that

"C'mon sweetheart, you've been at this for more than 4 hours now! You need a break" he said, whining a little at the end

He couldn't help himself, he wanted affection

"Plus tard, mon cher (2)" you responded without looking up

'Surprised Pikachu' meme😮

He recognized the language immediately

Having access on everything the internet had to offer had its perks

THAT WAS FRENCH!! HE DIDN'T KNOW YOU KNEW FRENCH!!!

"You speak French?" he asked astonished

You turned to look at him, and seemed to backtrack in your mind to what you said

"Yeah, I'm bilingual, my mom is French" you said and Ben's smile got even bigger

"Well, it's really hot" he said in return and winked, making you giggle and shake your head at his antics

"tu es un imbécile (3)" you told him and he frowned playfully

"Hey, I understand what you're saying"

E.J.:

You were helping him out in his lab

Moving things in containers, throwing stuff in the trash, labeling vials etc.

You both worked in silence, the only sounds were those of you moving things and occasionally your voice asking him where to place things and him answering

After about 5 minutes of silence you moved a vial with a clear liquid inside it above your head for him to notice and asked

"Πού πάει αυτό? (4)"

'Confused Math Lady' meme

"Excuse me?" he asked softly

"Είπα, αυτό πού πάει? (5)" you said again

Confusion intensifies ™

"What?" he asked again dumbfounded

You turned around to look at him and shook the vial gently to show him what you meant

"I asked, where does this go?" you said not realizing you slipped in another language

"Not, in this language, you didn't" he said and watched as realization dawned upon your features

"Shit, I asked in Greek, didn't I?" you said, looking annoyed at yourself

"Sorry, it happens sometimes" you continued without waiting for his answer to your question

The only thing Jack said was, "You can speak Greek?"

"Yeah, I pick up languages pretty easily, I already know French and German, so I thought why not?" you said and turned back to your work

Jack smirked to himself, suddenly more proud of you than he already was

Masky:

You were currently cooking for the both of you and he was helping

You knew Masky wasn't big on cooking nor was he the greatest chef, and that he was helping you just to spend some time with you

You appreciated it nonetheless, you knew his free time was limited

Plus you couldn't deny how adorable he looked confused when he didn't understand what ingredient you asked for

"Kannst du mir bitte das Salz übergeben? (6)" you asked softly and extended your hand towards him

Masky stared at the palm of your outstretched hand, then at the side of your face

Palm again, then face

Palm. Face

"Are you having a stroke?" he just uttered after a minute

You just turned and looked at him in bewilderment

"What? No. I just asked for the salt" you answered

"That was you, asking for salt?! I thought you were cursing me or some shit..." he exclaimed exasperated and then sighed before passing you what you asked for

"Oh, sorry I asked in German" you said and turned back to your cooking

"I didn't know you spoke German" he said and hugged you from behind

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me schatz (7)" you said coyly while lowering your voice, causing Masky to chuckle

"You keep secrets from me?" he asked with a teasing tone and tickled your sides a bit making you giggle

"Not anymore" you answered him and turned your head to watch a gentle smile stretch across his face

Hoodie:

(first of all, let me say that I believe as a hc that Hoodie knows sign language, thanks for coming to my Ted talk)

He was sure he's seen you do it before in passing

It was during a conversation you had with Jane

He saw your hands moving when you said certain words, but the action was so miniscule and fast and he didn't quite catch it from where he was standing

He's been watching you closely for a week

Just to see if you would do it again

You both were making light conversation while lounging in the living room with you trying to fix one of your bracelets that recently broke at the clasp

"Help me?" you eventually said and Hoodie clearly saw your one hand making a fist on your other's open palm and then moving upwards (8)

You just signed the word for 'Help', he knew it

"You know sign language?" he asked instead of answering and you turned to look at him, surprised he knew what that was

"uhhm, yeah, I do" you said and turned back to your broken bracelet, a little embarrassed that he caught you slipping

"I do too" he said and this time you turned sharply to look at him buffled before your face broke into a grin

'Spiderman Pointing at Spiderman' meme

"How long have you known?" he asked eagerly

He wanted to know more about your connection to the trait you both seemed to share

"My brother was deaf since birth, so I've learned to sign when I was 6" you replied with the same giddiness as him

"Now are you gonna help me?" you continued and smiled even brighter when you saw him raise his fist, back of the hand facing up, and move it downwards (9)

"Yes"

Toby:

You rushed towards as him as fast as you could when you saw he was about to have a panic attack

He's been stressing about a mission lately and it was finally getting to him

He was on his knees on the floor, struggling to breathe and eyes darting around frantically

You fell on your knees before him, but still far enough so you wouldn't touch him

You knew Toby needed his space when he was in the middle of a panic attack, so you always let him get close when he wanted

Instead you made sure he looked at you in the eyes and focused on your composed movements

"Relajarse (10)" you said as calmly as you could

"Respirar (11)" you continued and inhaled deeply before exhaling, making sure Toby could follow your actions

Soon enough he was breathing normally again and moved to hug you

You reciprocated the hug while carding your fingers through his hair

The time you spend hugging gave Toby enough time to replay your words in his head

"What language was that?" he asked softly after some time

"Spanish" you replied and you could practically see him pouting before he continued with the question you anticipated

"You never told me you could speak Spanish" he said with a slight whine

"You never asked" you said with a chuckle

He moved his head from your shoulder to look at you, pout wiped from his face, an eager smile replacing it

"Can you teach me?" he asked excitedly

You couldn't possibly deny him something when he looked at you like that

"Sí (12)"

(1): Sei uno stronzo= You are an asshole

(2): Plus tard, mon cher= Later, my dear

(3): tu es un imbécile= You are an imbecile/idiot

(4): Πού πάει αυτό?= Where does this go?

(5): Είπα, αυτό πού πάει?= I said, where does this go? (I'm Greek btw lol)

(6): Kannst du mir bitte das Salz übergeben?= Can you pass me the salt please?

(7): schatz= sweetheart/dear

(8): sign for 'Help'

(9): sign for 'Yes'

(10): Relajarse= Relax

(11): Respirar= Breathe

(12): Sí= Yes

[choquejuergas]

sally rooney, conversations with friends

“i had no plans as to my future financial sustainability: i never wanted to earn money for doing anything. i’d had various minimum-wage jobs in previous summers —sending emails, making cold calls, things like that — and i expected to have more of them after i graduated. though i knew that i would eventually have to enter full-time employment, i certainly never fantasised about a radiant future where i was paid to perform an economic role. sometimes this felt like a failure to take an interest in my own life, which depressed me. on the other hand, i felt that my disinterest in wealth was ideologically healthy. i’d checked what the average yearly income would be if the gross wold product were divided evenly among everyone, and according to wikipedia it would be $16,000. i saw no reason, political or financial, ever to male more money than that”

“i could perform each poem for a period of about six months after i’d written it, after which point i couldn’t stand to look at it, never mind read it aloud in public. i didn’t know what caused this process, but i was glad the poems were only ever performed and never published. they floated away ethereally to the sound of applause. real writers, and also painters, had to keep on looking at the ugly things they had done for good. i hated that everything i did was so ugly, but also that i lacked the courage to confront how ugly it was”

“i made myself take an hour before responding. i watched some cartoons on the internet and made a cup of coffee. then i read his email again several times. i was relieved he had put the whole thing in lower case like he always did. it would have been dramatic to introduce capitalisation at such a moment of tension”

“we always took the cheapest flights, early in the morning or late at night, and as a consequence we usually spent the first day of the trip feeling irritable and trying to find free wifi”

“the bus took us through verdant countryside, which a white mist had settled over, shot through with sunlight. on the bus radio, voices chatted lightly in french, laughing sometimes, and then there was music. we passed farmland on either side, vineyards with hand-painted signs and immaculate drive-through bakeries advertised in neat sans-serif lettering. very few cars were on the roads, it was early”

“i was lying on my front, so i couldn’t see the children’s faces, but occasionally in my peripheral vision i caught a blur of primary colour, a spade or bucket, or a flash of ankle”

“a searing anxiety developed inside me at this thought, in the same form it always took no matter what external stimulus triggered it: first the realisation that i would die, then that everyone else would die, and then that the universe itself would eventually experience heat death, a kind of thought sequence that expanded outward endlessly in forms too huge to be contained inside my body. i trembled, my hands were clammy, and i felt sure i would be sick again. i punched my leg meaninglessly as if that would prevent the death of the universe”

“i believed in small jobs, like raising children, picking fruit, cleaning. they were the jobs i considered the most valuable, the jobs that struck me as deserving the most respect of all"

“gradually the waiting began to feel less lie waiting and more like this was simply what life was: the distracting tasks undertaken while the thing you are waiting for continues not to happen. i applied for jobs and turned up for seminars. things went on”

“the church smelled of stale incense and dry air. columns of stained glass rose up behind the altar like long piano-playing fingers and the ceiling was the white and mint-green colour of confectionery”

“instead of thinking gigantic thoughts, i tried to focus on something small, the smallest thing i could think of. someone once made this pew i’m sitting on, i thought. someone sanded the wood and varnished it. someone carried it into the church. someone laid the tiles on the floor, someone fitted the windows. each brick was placed by human hands, each hinge fitted on each door, every road surface outside, every bulb in every streetlight. and even things built by machines were really built by human beings, who built the machines initially. and human beings themselves, made by other humans, struggling to create happy children and families. me, all the clothing i wear, all the language i know. who put me here in this church, thinking these thoughts? other people, some i know very well and others i have never met. am i myself, or am i them? is this me, frances? no, it is not me. it is the others. do i sometimes hurt and harm myself, do i abuse the unearned cultural privilege of whiteness, do i take the labour of others for granted, have i sometimes exploited a reductive iteration of gender theory to avoid serious moral engagement, do i have a troubled relationship with my body, yes. do i want to be free of pain and therefore demand that others also live free of pain, the pain which is mine and therefore also theirs, yes, yes. when i opened my eyes i felt that i had understood something, and the cells of my body seemed to light up like millions of glowing points of contact, and i was aware of something profound. then i stood up from my seat and collapsed”

“i got up from the table, put the kettle on, and emptied two spoonfuls of coffee into the french press. i took some painkillers, i drank the coffee, i watched a murder mystery on netflix. a certain peace had come to me and i wondered if it was god’s doing after all. not that god existed in any material way but as a shared cultural practice so widespread that it came to seem materially real, like language or gender”

“it was dark then, and everything was gathered around points of light: shop windows, faces flushed with cold, a row of taxis idling along the kerb. i heard a shake of reins and the sound of hooves across the street. entering the park through aside gate the noise of traffic seemed to turn itself down, like it caught in the bare branches and dissolved in air. my breath laid a white path in front of me”

[postalninja]

Fic Writer Meme

I saw @cicaklah post this and wanted to try :) 1) How many works do you have on AO3? 

17 currently - 14 fics, 2 pieces of fanart, and 1 how-to guide thingie. I’ve been writing/posting for less than a year and a half, though, so there’s much more to come!

2) What's your total AO3 word count?

196 767.

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

6 for fics, 7 if you count fanart. They are mostly for video games, ‘cuz that’s how I roll:

- Octopath Traveler

- Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim

- Legend of Zelda

- Persona 5

- Chrono Trigger (fanart)

And two non-game fandoms:

- Violet Evergarden

- Drawfee RPF

4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1- Adrift in the Ocean of her Eyes by a large margin. My first and only fic to surpass 100 kudos as of yet! I almost didn’t finish it after I kind of stalled on it and was unsure whether it would be redundant in the fandom, but I’m so glad I did because people seem to love it.

2- A World of Knowledge Awaits, which as a crossover appealing to two fandoms, doesn’t come as too much of a surprise.

3- Sins of the Father, which I put a ton of work into, and I’m so glad it resonated with people.

4- Someone Strong, my very first baby fic! My initial foray into fanfic writing, spurred on entirely by the fact that my OTP was exceedingly underrepresented, if not entirely absent, from the Octopath Traveler fandom. I am a one-person H’annberic cheerleading squad, and I will *never* put these pompoms down! (FYI, I typoed ‘squard’ instead of ‘squad’ at first and almost left it that way. Squaaard!!)

5- A Cleric’s Quandary, based on a completely silly idea, so it was really fun to write!

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I do, indeed! I love getting comments, and I always want to at least acknowledge them even if I don’t have anything profound to say in return. But if someone replies back to my reply, then I may not always add more if the conversation feels complete, ya know?

6) What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Ooooh, definitely What the Heart Wants. (Spoilers ahead) The reader is left unsure about whether or not the protagonist survives.

7) What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

Probably Someone Strong, because it was my chance to write the story of H’aanit and Olberic’s relationship, and I wanted to give them the whole happy ending of a wedding and a baby on the way. Of course, it wasn’t the *ending* of their story, per se, given that I have a whole series of fics about them, and I’m not done yet!

8) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you've written?

Only one so far, so it is by definition the craziest. Persona 5/Octopath Traveler, which isn’t even that crazy considering that it’s canon in Persona 5 that characters can enter an alternate universe using an app on their phone, so....

9) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I am lucky not to have received any hate, which I am very grateful for, but then again, I haven’t been at this for all that long, and I don’t get huge views either. So I am quite happy in my little corner being ignored by the haters.

10) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Why yes, I do! Why else would I write about the characters I love, if not to make them bone? lol.

I’ve only written M/F smut, since that’s what I’m most comfortable writing, and it’s rarely *super duper* explicit - I’ll use a fair few euphemisms a lot of the time. The more smut I write, though, the more I worry that it’s all the same... might need to start taking more risks! 

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge, but that would suck.

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Again, not to my knowledge, but that would be awesome!

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Kiiiiind of? Years ago, my D&D party started an email RPing campaign that was sort of like writing a fic together, but it stalled at some point and is long since lost to time.

My partner and I also wrote the beginnings of an original story together (also started as an attempted RPing campaign) and some day I might want to work on that one some more, because I liked what we came up with.

14) What's your all time favourite ship?

Olberic Eisenberg, the Unbending Blade of Hornburg, and H’aanit, huntress of the Dark Wood. I have never been so enamored of a fictional pairing, and this is literally what has thrust me into getting involved in fandom instead of just quietly enjoying content by myself. LET ME YELL AT YOU ABOUT HOW MUCH I LOVE THEM! If I had to pick a runner-up, I’d say the Evil Queen/Robin Hood from Once Upon a Time. I will read anything @somewhereapart writes about those two for as long as she keeps writing.

Another, more recent favorite, is definitely Agent 47/Diana Burnwood from Hitman! I only discovered the Hitman games this year, but I love that pairing to bits.

15) What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

I do intend to finish all of my current WIPs, of which I have... 4? 5 if you count the one that’s currently being beta-read. I guess the one I’m struggling with the most is an Octopath H’aanberic family-fic with the working title of Journey to Cobbleston. Olberic and H’aanit are taking their daughter B’renit to Cobbleston for the first time, and it doesn’t really have much more plot than that, so I’m finding it challenging. It’s just a cute story partially from the point of view of a four-year-old traveling for the first time, and it feels like not enough “interesting” stuff is going to happen. I struggle with pure fluff, y’all.

16) What are your writing strengths?

Grammar! And writing emotions - I’ve gotten enough comments from people telling me that they could feel my characters’ emotions in my writing for me to gather that I must have a knack for it.

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

Pacing and plot/worldbuilding, ie. bigger picture stuff. And using too many clichés, probably.

18) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?  

I’ve only written in English so far, but it’s not my first language, so I would definitely not shy away from writing dialogue in French if it was called for. Otherwise, since I am a *huge* language nerd, I would likely give other languages a try if the story called for it, and get a native speaker beta to look over it for me before I posted.

19) What was the first fandom you wrote for? 

Octopath Traveler, as previously stated. It’s still my main fandom.

20) What's your favourite fic you've written?

I have a soft spot for The Measure of a Man. I just really liked what I was able to accomplish with it as a character study for Olberic, and I enjoyed incorporating a lot of the other canon characters into his story, too. Feel free to join in with your own answers, friends! :)

[imaginingsoftly]

4 Times He Went to Her + 1 Time She Went to Him - Ryan Murray

Type: friends to lovers, 4 +1, angsty-ish

Requested: No

Warnings: none

A/N: A little 4+1 for Ryan Murray (just in time for his birthday!)

(1) 16 years old

“Ry!” Jamie’s parents laughed as she went flying out of the house, sprinting across the front lawn and into her best friend’s arms. Ryan caught her with a small chuckle, and his arms wrapped around her back securely. 

He had been gone for months, playing in the WHL, and it felt like this day would never come. “Hey, trouble.” His voice had gotten deeper in the months since Jamie had last seen him, and phone calls didn’t do the change justice. He sounded older than his 17 years. 

After a hug that lasted longer than necessary, even for the two of them, Ryan gently untangled her limbs from around his neck and waist. Jamie’s parents had come out of the house at some point, and they took their turns hugging him. Growing up next door to each other they’d naturally become close friends, and Jamie knew at some point her parents had become like another set of parents for him, much like the Murrays were for her. 

It took almost an hour before they could get away from Jamie’s parents, after they’d invited Ryan inside for dinner, but finally they were in the passenger seat of his truck tearing down side roads with the windows rolled down. “I missed you, Jame.” Ryan’s hand reached over the center console to squeeze hers gently. “I wish you could come to Everett. We could take a day trip down to Seattle.” 

Jamie smiled. Seattle was at the top of her bucket list of places to visit, and Ryan knew it. Farmers markets and eclectic coffee shops were two of her favorite things, two things which Seattle had in abundance. 

Their conversation moved on to other things, like what home had been like while he was gone and which one of his teammates had the best chance at the draft that year. Conversation was easy between them, rarely lapsing despite the fact that they’d talked for hours on the phone the night before. He wasn’t going to be home long, just a few weeks and he was off to some camp with a bunch of other top prospects, so she tried to settle in and enjoy the time they did have together. 

“You’ve gotta promise to come to at least one game every year for me, especially when I make it to the NHL.” Ryan glanced over at Jamie as he stopped the truck at a red light, and she nodded in agreeance.

“Obviously. Someone has to make sure your head doesn’t get too big.”

(2) 17 years old

Jamie smiled as she set up the last of the decorations for Ryan’s party. Him and his family were on their way home from PIttsburgh, and she’d been texting his mom all day to make sure that everyone was ready by the time they got back. Ryan would probably kill her for setting up a surprise party for him, but it wasn’t like she wasn’t going to celebrate her best friend getting drafted 2nd overall. 

It was a small party, anyway, Jamie and her parents plus a couple of Ryan’s friends and the rest of his extended family. A text came from Ryan’s mom to let her know they were coming up the street, and she turned off all the lights and shushed everyone. Doors slammed outside, and Jamie stifled a giggle. 

“SURPRISE!!!” Ryan jumped back as everyone jumped up from their hiding places, and Jamie laughed at the look on his face when he registered what was happening. “Just second, buddy?” Ryan rolled his eyes at her joke, hauling her against his chest for a hug. 

“You did this, I’m assuming?” She nodded into his neck, and Ryan kissed the top of her head. “Thanks, trouble.” 

Jamie squeezed a little tighter, trying not to think about how far away he was going to be that fall. “Love you, Ry. I’m so proud of you.” 

“Love you too, Jame.” 

(3) 21 years old

Jamie’s college roommate laughed when she leaped at her phone as a text came through. “You sure you’re not dating this guy, Jamie?” Kelli laughed when she said it, but Jamie still felt a sliver of pain at her words. They weren’t true, but damn if she didn’t wish they were. Kelli must have seen a bit of pain flash across Jamie’s face, because she touched her arm gently. “Hey. Are you okay?” Jamie swallowed, nodding slowly. She would be. It wasn’t like she was the first person to have a massive crush on her best friend.

“I’m good. He just wanted to know if I can still meet him for lunch. They landed in Montreal today, they play the Habs tomorrow.” Kelli nodded, still not entirely convinced she was telling the truth. “Speaking of,” Jamie said as she tried to change the subject, “Ryan invited me to the game tomorrow. You coming with? He said he’d save a ticket for you.” That would do it. Her roommate, a French national who watched her first hockey game ever when Jamie had dragged her to a game their Freshman year, loved hockey. 

An hour later Jamie was walking the streets in old Montreal, heading for an old cafe she began frequenting early in her Freshman year. Ryan and a few of his teammates were waiting for her, and Ryan’s face lit up when one of his teammates pointed in her direction. 

The pair collided with a small “oof”, and Jamie giggled as Ryan pulled her tightly against him. “Hey,” he breathed. His teammates were laughing in the background, chirping Ryan mercilessly, but he ignored them. She grinned into his chest as he squeezed her even tighter. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Ry.” Jamie breathed in the smell of his laundry detergent and cologne, a smell she hadn’t ever really appreciated on any men except for Ryan. It was comforting in a way that nothing else ever had been for her. 

For all their laughter when Jamie first appeared, the guys were happy to see her. Nick and David both hugged her tightly, and the former showed her photos of his daughter. Ryan watched her interact with his teammates with a smile on his face, and his grin widened when Jamie met his eyes. An unspoken staring contest began, and Jamie won like always. 

“So how’s your senior year at McGill treating you, JR?” David’s voice, softly accented, reminded her there were other people at the table. Of all Ryan’s teammates, David and Nick were her two favorites. They were both like older brothers, and questions like that one made them feel like the siblings she didn’t have. 

“It’s going well! There’s a firm back home that’s already interested in hiring me as a financial consultant, so I think I’m pretty set!” Nick patted her on the back, offering up congratulations, while a couple of the younger guys chirped at Ryan for having a friend that was so much smarter than him. 

Jamie smiled as she looked around the table, noting how Ryan interacted with each of them. She had gotten quiet while she did, and Ryan mouthed a silent “you okay?” at her. She nodded, and he grinned at her again. Just seeing him smile had her melting, and Jamie again recognized just how screwed she was. 

(4) 25 years old

Jamie sat silently in the passenger’s side of Ryan’s truck, much like she had for ten years now. The two of them had fought before, sure, but this one felt different. “I really wanted you there, Jamie. You’ve been there for every other part of my life, and I wanted you there to see us win the series.” 

He sounded hurt, and it was almost too much to handle. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be there for him, much like she had been for most of his milestones; he was right about that. It was the fact that he’d been talking about a girl for months now, and she didn’t know if she could handle seeing him with someone else. “I had to work, Ry, I told you that.”

“No you didn’t!” Jamie flinched when he yelled. Ryan never raised his voice at her, unless he was trying to get her attention from across a busy arena. “I talked to your mom. She said you never tried to get the time off, that you kept making excuses!” Damn her. Her mother had gotten pushy about her feelings for Ryan, tired of her daughter dancing around them in favor of security. 

Ryan pulled onto a dirt road, one Jamie knew led to a small beach at the reservoir. “You don’t talk to me anymore.” His words were quiet, but Jamie heard them anyway. They cut deeper than anything else he could have said. He was right. They didn’t talk anymore, not really. Sure, they had phone conversations almost every week and she made the flight out to Columbus to see a game every year with his parents like she’d promised to years before, but they didn’t talk just for the sake of talking anymore. 

Part of it was her fault, Jamie knew that. It was hard to talk to Ryan without shouting out her feelings, so she held back. She didn’t call him as much. Then he started dating that girl, Eliza, and he stopped initiating the conversations. Eventually, that weekly talk turned into a stilted conversation that lasted ten minutes at most. Recently, they’d stopped altogether. 

Jamie turned her head to look out the window when Ryan looked over at her. She felt his hand twitch, like he was about to reach for her, but then he stopped. “I can’t do this right now, Ryan.” Shit. She hadn’t used his full name in years, and that in itself told her enough about how much things had changed. 

“So this is it, then? Twenty years of friendship gone just like that?” Ryan’s words were soft, but they hurt more than shouting ever could. He sounded broken. Jamie didn’t respond, because really there was nothing to say. Ryan had Eliza, and dammit she wasn’t going to be that person. She wouldn’t throw her heart out there when Ryan had finally found someone. “Will you at least look at me?” 

He sighed heavily when she didn’t, throwing the truck into reverse with a little more force than necessary. The drive back to her apartment felt like it took forever, and the silence that settled in the cab of the truck was different from their usual silence. Ryan pulled into the parking lot of her building and slammed into a parking space, putting a hand on Jamie’s arm before she got out. “Look at me and tell me that this is what you want.” 

Silent tears dripped from Jamie’s cheeks when she finally looked over, and Ryan’s face dropped in devastation. “Jame,” he began, reaching for her across the console, but she jerked back. The last thing she needed was for him to touch her. Her resolve had crumbled enough already at the hurt in his voice.

The cab suddenly felt too small, and she fumbled for the door handle. “Jamie!” Ryan swore as she jumped out of the truck, quickly turning it off and jumping out of his seat, but she was gone. He chased Jamie to her door, banging on it for almost ten minutes after she slammed it in his face.

Jamie slid down the inside of the door, sobs wracking her body as Ryan begged her to talk to him. “Jame, please.” Ryan’s voice reached her from the other side of the door, and she did her best not to listen even as her legs wouldn’t let her walk away. “Jamie, I need you to open the door. Talk to me. Tell me what the hell is going on.” He stopped talking, like he was waiting for her to open the door. A thud sounded near her back, like Ryan had kicked the door, and Jamie jumped. “Dammit, Jamie, don’t throw twenty years away and not tell me why!” 

She could feel his presence outside the door even after he stopped knocking, but eventually he walked away. Her heart shattered all over again when she realized that this time his leaving was for good. 

(+1) 25 years old

Ryan’s mother had appeared at her door out of the blue hours before, not even giving Jamie a chance to speak before she turned on her mom voice. “I don’t know what happened between you two, and frankly I don’t care. He’s hurting without you, Jamie Rowland, and you will fix this.” 

Jamie gaped at the woman as she pushed her way past Jamie and into the apartment. “Tell me what happened. Did my son do something wrong? He doesn’t seem to understand why you won’t talk to him anymore.” The older woman softened, laying a hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “Come on, sweetheart. I may be Ryan’s mother, but you might as well be my daughter.” 

She was right. Everything Jamie had been afraid to tell her own mother, big or small, she told Momma Murray. They had a bond outside of her being the mother of Jamie’s best friend, so it was probably time she told her the truth. Jamie gestured for the couch, and they sat down side-by-side. “I’ve been in love with your son for years.” 

Out of all the reactions Jamie could have expected, laughter was not one of them. Ryan’s mother chuckled to herself for almost an entire minute while Jamie sat there in confusion. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said in between chuckles, “I’ve known you two were in love with each other since you were ten.” Jamie jerked back, and the other woman reached out to touch her arm. “You two have been circling around each other for years, Jamie, and I’m honestly shocked it’s taken you two so long to get together.”

Jamie began to shake her head. “No. Ryan doesn’t think of me like that. He has Eliza.” 

“No, honey, he doesn’t.” Jamie looked into Mrs. Murray’s eyes, disbelieving. “He was with Eliza while he waited for you. I yelled at him for it. It’s cruel to string that other girl along when it’s always been you.” Jamie smiled slightly. His mother had always been a bit too much of a meddler for her own good. “You have the weekend off, I checked with your mother. There’s a flight to Columbus that leaves in two hours. I have a ticket in your name waiting at the airport.” She didn’t. Jamie’s stomach dropped. “It’s time for you two to make up, Jamie. I don’t want to watch you two be miserable without each other anymore. Go get him back.”

As much as Jamie wanted to strangle the other woman, she was right. But shit, two hours wasn’t a lot of time to get packed and head to the airport. Jamie jumped to her feet, and Mrs. Murray followed her with a chuckle. “I’ve gotta pack, and find a ride to the airport, and,” the other woman cut in before Jamie could continue panicking. “I’m driving you sweetie, so don’t worry about that.” 

She was thankful to have a maternal presence with her as she packed to leave, and the gentle kiss Mrs. Murray laid on her forehead as she dropped her off helped to calm her nerves significantly. 

The flight to Columbus was a little too spontaneous for Jamie, but she needed to go. She didn’t really have a plan now that she was here. Talk to Ryan, obviously, but that was easier said than done. 

Right now, the plan was either to suck it up and head straight to Ryan’s or find somewhere to collect herself first. The choice was made for her when a familiar voice called out to her from the baggage claim. Nick, and what looked like his entire brood of children. “Hey JR,” the Jackets captain called out as she got closer. “Murr’s mom got a hold of me. She said you might need someone to drag you to Murr’s.” 

Damn the woman, but she was right. The kids swarmed around Jamie, hugging every available limb and screaming “JR!” . Nick laughed at the look on Jamie’s face even as he pulled her away from the kids and in for a tight hug. Nick had become a lot like an older brother for her over the years, and she appreciated that he was there for her today. “I’m assuming she told you why?”

“Nope,” he said simply. “But I figured it out. It isn’t hard to see that the two of you have been dancing around each other for longer than I’ve known you both.” They moved together as a large clump of humanity into the parking lot, and Jamie helped him get the kids settled into their carseats. “He misses you a ton, JR. Trust me, he’ll be happy to see you.” 

The ride to Ryan’s was anything but quiet, though Nick mostly left Jamie to her own thoughts. Nick reached out and patted her arm as Ryan’s apartment building came into view, and Jamie smiled over at him gratefully. “Go get him, kiddo.” The kids yelled good luck from the back seat, though none of them seemed to actually understand why they were wishing her luck. 

Jamie took a deep breath once she reached Ryan’s door, knocking gently before she could lose her nerve. Nick said he was home, but what if he’d gone out? What then? Just as she began to spiral into a panic, Ryan opened the door, and Jamie almost broke down in tears at the sight of his face. He looked confused, but he still stepped aside when she asked to come in. 

She barely had time to put her stuff down inside before Ryan was pulling her in close. He shoved his face into her hair, breathing in deeply. For the first time in almost two months, she felt totally calm despite the conversation they were about to have. Jamie burrowed deeper into Ryan’s chest, and he pulled her in tighter without hesitation. “I’m sorry, Ry.” Her words broke the moment, and Ryan released Jamie just as quickly as he grabbed her. 

“I love you.” Jamie’s eyes widened when she realized what she’d said. “Shit. That came out really wrong. I uh,” 

Ryan’s voice cut her off. “You love me. Sure didn’t seem like it when you ran away a couple of months ago.” Jamie bowed her head. Any doubt she’d had about if he was still angry disappeared at the tone of his voice. He was still very angry. 

“I’ve uh, I’ve loved you for a really long time.” Jamie breathed out a laugh. “Probably close to ten years, actually. I was just so damn scared, Ryan.” He stood frozen, staring at her face like he didn’t believe a word of what she was saying. “It got harder and harder to ignore how I was feeling, and then I finally got to the point that I felt like I could tell you and I found out you were dating Eliza.” 

She started pacing, looking anywhere but at Ryan. “I was so damn hurt, Ry. I knew I had no claim over you, and yet the thought of you with anyone else felt so wrong.” Jamie paused in front of his living room window, staring out at the city. “I know I should have told you. I just didn’t want to put you in an unfair position when you were still dating Eliza.” 

There it was. Everything was out in the open. She suddenly felt far too raw and exposed, a new feeling when it came to Ryan. Jamie opened her mouth to say more, but suddenly hands came around her waist. “You love me?” Ryan rested his head on her shoulder, and Jamie could feel his eyes on her face. She nodded slowly, and he spun her around. “I love you too.” He looked nervous, even after her declaration. 

Jamie put her hands on either side of Ryan’s face. “Kiss me, Ry.” 

[artificialqueens]

The Electra Complex, 1 (Crygi, Jankie, JaidaxNicky) - Scarlet Bloo

A/N: This is my first multi-chapter fic! This first chapter is mostly Gigi-centric, however that will change in future chapters. Big thanks to Hy-Jinkx for beta reading this, it wouldn’t flow as well without you.

Trigger Warning: There are some mentions of underage drinking in this chapter, which I know isn’t always seen to be a big issue, but I just wanted to be on the safe side.

Summary: Gigi Goode has been shipped away to Missouri, where she meets at group full of big personalities and a lot of emotions. This follows 7 girls as they navigate new love, old feelings and past demons.

Wherever Gigi Goode went, a series of admirers would follow; at least, that’s how it always used to be back in LA. You could’ve taken one look at her and come to the conclusion that she was living the dream. She was the cheer captain, her grades were consistently higher than the average student and she had the perfect all-American boyfriend. She was on track to becoming valedictorian and prom queen, had she only stayed on at Arcasio High. Her shoulder length blonde locks were always carefully styled and sculpted, and she wouldn’t be seen without her long, pastel acrylics and coordinating outfits. If you weren’t in Gigi’s small circle of friends, then you idolised them. And if you were? Well, then you’d be vying for Gigi’s position as top dog. Los Angeles Gigi was a trope from a 2000s movie personified, and while she wasn’t particularly happy with her life, the validation from her peers satisfied her. She was worried she wouldn’t be able to say the same about this new Springfield Gigi. She hated change, it just didn’t sit right with her. 

The last drastic change in her life occurred when her dad finally left the picture for good, around 8 months before she was shipped away to live with her cousin, Nicky. Gigi had a rocky relationship with her father from the moment she was old enough to recognise him, and to recognise patterns. He’d be in and out, showering Gigi and her mother with gifts on every return, but with each departure, he would rob Gigi of something possibly more important than Louboutins or countless bottles of Chanel No.5, the scent that had become her signature; he had robbed her of the ability to express her feelings. 

He taught her to keep emotions bottled up and to repress natural feelings, instead nursing wounds with piles of money. Contrary to her relationship with her father, Gigi and her mother were always extremely close, but Gigi knew she’d ruined that. Why else would her mom decide she’d be better suited living with her Aunt and cousin in Springfield of all places?

“Gigi, mon amour!” Nicky exclaimed, running up to her with open arms. The cousins exchanged kisses on either cheek. Nicky pulling Gigi into an embrace. She knew things had been rough, and despite both girls’ tough exterior, they’d always had a special bond. Gigi could remember countless Christmases and Thanksgivings when they were small and spent curled up in a blanket fort watching Barbie movies - Nicky loved The Nutcracker while Gigi first discovered her fixation for tailored jackets while watching Barbie and the Three Musketeers. Nicky’s small house was very sophisticated, decorated and furnished almost entirely in black and white, with interesting marble sculptures bordering the hallway. The two girls walked upstairs to the bedroom they’d be sharing whilst Gigi was in Missouri. 

“So, Gigi,” Nicky started with a sigh. Gigi looked down at her feet, cracking her knuckles to keep her focus off of Nicky and her next words.

“What did you actually… do?” Nicky paused, trying to correctly word what she would say next without sounding overly blunt. She was prone to being slightly too forward, partially due to a slight language barrier (French being her first language), but mostly because it was just the way her mind worked. A simple to-the-point question should logically provide her with a simple to-the-point answer - and Nicky liked it when things went like that. 

“If it’s okay,” the L.A native began in a slightly sour tone, completely ignoring Nicky’s words, “I’d like to have a rest before dinner.”

Nicky was aware of the obvious avoidance, but she decided to let her cousin be for the meantime; her mother hadn’t told her what had happened with Gigi to make her move in with them, but she knew it must’ve been pretty serious. Gigi and her mom, Nicky’s aunt, had a bond she almost envied - she couldn’t think of any reason why she’d willingly send her away. The girl pouted slightly, pondering the severity of the situation for a few moments more, before leaving Gigi to rest and going downstairs to help her mom with food preparation.

Gigi walked into the bar, legs out, flaunting her doll-like figure. She was dressed in a tiny baby pink tennis skirt, and matching crop top. Her mom had shouted at her for “dressing like a pinup,” as she had called it, but Gigi just shrugged it off. She didn’t care what her mom had to say at that moment. She knew she was probably being unfair, that her mom cared about her and only wanted the best, but she needed to blame someone else for everything that went down so she could live with herself. Gigi cocked her head to the side, trying to snatch the attention of the first man to catch her eye. A gruff looking man, probably in his early 50s, his American tan glaringly obvious in the dim lighting, smiled at the 16 year old, biting his bottom lip ever so slightly. She gave him bambi eyes, giggling slightly as she walked towards him. She was nervous, of course she was, but the adrenaline and alcohol pumping through her system aided her greatly in feigning confidence.

“Hey, Candy bear.” he smirked at her, putting his hand on her cheek, “what can I do for you?”

Gigi wanted to shudder, but she managed to maintain her composure, and instead cooed, “I wanna be adored.”

The man slowly nodded, forcefully stealing a kiss from the girl, who submitted, kissing him back. As soon as he pulled away, she ran off, walking as confidently as she could out of the bar. She took a stick of bubblegum out of her bra, hoping it’s minty flavour would remove the lingering smell of liquor from her lips, as she rushed home before her mother awoke.

“Geege?” Nicky stood in front of her cousin, worry evident in her eyes. Gigi had zoned out. She snapped back into real life, “yeah Nics?” She looked towards the vanity where Nicky was seated, adjusting her hair in the large, illuminated mirror. Nicky’s room was barely big enough to fit both girls’ beds, so it was slightly cramped, but it was still very minimalist, very Nicky.

“I was just saying,” Nicky continued, “I should add you to the group chat of my friends and I - it’ll help you meet people before school starts.”

Gigi smiled, she was grateful that Nicky was being so welcoming, despite having to give up her room.

“Go on then, what harm could it do?”

TheNickyDoll added TheGigiGoode

JanJanJan: Ahhh hi !! I’m Jan, nice to meet you!!!!

JaidaEHall: Jan, chile, calm down you’re gonna scare her off

JackieCox: Hi, I’m Jackie.

                    And yeah, Janny, Jaida’s right, calm down baby.

TheGigiGoode: Hey, everyone <3

                           Thanks for letting me join, you guys are the first people I’ve                                      spoken to here other than my family!

HeidiNCloset: Heyy

JanJanJan: I’m sorry y’all I’m just excited !!

Gigi was relieved to find that she hit it off quite well with Nicky’s friends, whose personalities seemed to be so big she could get a good sense of what they were each like through the screen. Jan was very enthusiastic, Gigi noted immediately. She and Heidi both seemed super sweet, but in different ways - Heidi definitely seemed to crack a lot more jokes. Jan bombarded Gigi with questions about L.A, before Jackie pretty much ordered her to get some sleep. Jackie and Jaida were definitely the two most level headed of the group, Jaida seeming to lead group discussions and Jackie undertaking a more protective role. However, when looking through the list of group members, she noticed one more account that hadn’t interacted in the group chat yet. She was about to ask Nicky who Crystal Methyd was, but when she turned to Nicky’s side of the bedroom she found her fast asleep, in a silk set of pyjamas with her hair in rollers. Gigi knew the only way to get answers now was to stalk her instagram. Luckily, she wasn’t private, so Gigi spent the next 30 minutes looking through her feed. Crystal had curly red hair, and dressed very…. eccentrically, Gigi thought. As if by magic, Gigi then got a notification that made her almost jump out of her skin.

CrystalMethyd: Hey everyone! What have I missed? You know how out of the                                 loop I get when I’m painting.

Gigi waited for a couple of seconds before forming a reply, praying one of the other girls would initiate a conversation she could then jump in on. She wanted to talk to this girl, but she didn’t want to do it alone, not when she knew close to nothing about her. Gigi sighed, she’d have to just go for it and respond to the message. That’s how you get anywhere in life, she knew that. 

TheGigiGoode: Hey, idk if Nicky told you, but I’m her cousin. She added me to                               the chat so I could meet you all before school starts up.

CrystalMethyd: She did!

                           I’m Crystal, but you know that from my account of course.

Gigi and Crystal spoke for a while longer, their conversations jumping from favourite food (Gigi liked pasta, Crystal liked pizza, and they were both still obsessed with fruit snacks), to movies Crystal cried over (Marlie and Me. Toy Story, The Notebook, and the list goes on) and ones they both hated. At around 3am, Crystal made the decision to move the conversation to private dms, to avoid spamming her friends as they slept. This new, more intimate setting, and the early hour, seemed to pull feelings on feelings out of the two girls as they began to open up more with each other. If an outsider was to read the messages, they’d never have guessed Gigi hadn’t been aware of Crystal’s existence until just hours earlier. Gigi felt a strange yearning to open up to this girl, who seemed to be so clear about how she felt, but a part of her mind wouldn’t let her even type the words out. Guilt passed through her gut as Crystal explained her worries about her future, how she wanted to be an artist, but her parents weren’t sure whether she’d be able to make a long lasting, stable career out of it. Gigi wished she had half the vulnerability the girl possessed. It sure would make this whole making friends thing a whole lot easier. The light peaking through Nicky’s pitch black blinds startled Gigi, so she said her goodnights to Crystal, who wished her “Sweet dreams, Miss Goode.”

[sierraraeck]

How to Make Friends (Pt.1)

Spencer x OC Aundreya

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Summary: Spencer’s had a problem with Aundreya since the start. How is she going to earn his respect? Story four.

Category: Some angst, some fluff.

Warnings: Cussing. Quick mention of normal CM stuff and the quick retelling of two rough childhoods. Mentions of bullying.

Word Count: 5.3k

So I’d been going about this all wrong. The whole time that I’d observed the FBI from the outside, they all seemed to be strictly business. I knew they cared about each other but I never expected them to be family. I was going to have to start slowly nudging my way in if I ever wanted to earn respect and do what I was hired to do. I had to stop thinking about this like a co-worker situation and had to start thinking about it like a client situation.

I had good social skills, I just hadn’t been using them correctly thus far. Whenever I needed to talk to someone that was vital for my survival, or the survival of my ring or gang, I could always be very charming. Usually, I would take them to a high end restaurant and we would talk things over. That’s what I decided I needed to do with each member of the team. They were my clients, and I was going to sell them Aundreya Chambers.

The first person I decided to take to dinner was Aaron. He was the nicest to me, by force or by choice I didn’t know, but either way, he’d be the most inclined to accept my offer. Plus, if it was okay for the Unit Chief to go to dinner with me, hopefully it would show that it was okay for the rest of the team to go to dinner with me. The night with him went well. We talked about work of course, but I also got to know about his family. He already knew what happened to mine, so he didn’t ask about it. That’s probably another reason I picked him first. I knew I wouldn’t have to answer as many questions.

Next I asked Emily. She was the first to voluntarily share a personal story with me about her tattoo, and I figured she’d be the next I could get to accept. She was also a big personality on the team so getting to know her would only be helpful. Emily was a lot of fun to go out with. She ordered wine for us, something Aaron did not do, and we talked until the restaurant closed at 11. I learned about her childhood, she taught me some French, and I heard all about her new cat, Sergio. She didn’t tell me about her time with Interpol (a fact I’d learned when I was privately investigating each member), which I knew she wouldn’t, but it was still interesting hearing about everything else she’d done. She asked me about my childhood so I told her and got the same sappy reaction I got from everyone. As much as I hated being pitied, I needed the team to soften their view of me. My childhood story was the most efficient way to do that.

After that, I asked Penelope, then David, then Jennifer. That’s when the easy part ended.

By the time I got to Derek, he already knew I was going to ask. Apparently, the rest of the team had already filled him in. I was just curious to see how much they told him. He clearly wasn’t ashamed to let on that he’d heard a lot, because he started asking me deeper questions, skipping over the surface level talk. I didn’t mind. Why repeat the same conversation I’d already had four times? For the first hour, he didn’t have any reaction towards what I told him, but as my backstory kept going, I could tell that he was softening up, just like everyone else. However, I saw something different in his eyes that I hadn’t in the others’. He was relating to me. He finally let me ask him questions, and I learned about his father’s death, how it was living with three girls, and how he worked hard to move up the ranks in Chicago PD to eventually get to the FBI. He didn’t neglect to remind me how much of a pain in his ass I was though, running around as The Figure. I joked that I made him a better investigator and he finally cracked a smile.

So that left one more person to win over. Doctor Spencer Reid. I was leaving the best, and the hardest, for last.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

I was sitting with Derek and Emily while I waited for Spencer to show up.

“So is it finally pretty boy’s turn to have to suffer through dinner with you?” Morgan teased.

“Oh come on. You know you enjoyed my company,” I said to him with a wink. Ever since getting to know one another better, Morgan was more inclined to tease me like he had when we first met.

“Or maybe you just aren’t as good at profiling as you think,” Derek replied.

“Oh, there he is,” Emily said before I could respond. I watched Spencer casually walk into the bullpen, then pick up the pace when he saw me watching. And those goddamn back muscles were twitching again.

Look, I understand that I make people uncomfortable. Some I make really uncomfortable. And I know that Reid is kind of awkward around a lot of people, but come on. After five weeks of me constantly being around, he still could barely stand to be in the same room as me. What was going on?

He rushed right past us to his own desk, not even stopping to say hi to Derek or Emily.

“Woah, woah woah. What’s going on, kid? Where’s the fire?” Morgan said, brow furrowed. I gave Emily a knowing look.

“Nothing. No fire,” Reid said, setting his bag down, then quickly moving toward the pot of coffee across the room from us.

Derek turned to look at me. “You sure you want to take him out?”

“We’ll see. First I gotta keep him in my vicinity long enough so I can actually ask him,” I retorted.

“What? Three seconds isn’t long enough to ask him to dinner?” Morgan said sarcastically. I rolled my eyes at him and sighed.

“What is it?” Prentiss asked.

I laughed. “I’ve been in a gang, an underground ring, drugged, hunted by the police, trapped by the FBI, and sent to prison. But of all things, what’s really going to stop me in my tracks … is an angry genius?”

Morgan laughed with me. “He can be pretty feisty.”

“But hey. You have made it all the way to the FBI, far enough so that you can even consider that a problem of yours,” Prentiss pointed out. I nodded along as she spoke, “And you're still alive.”

“That’s true,” I agreed. “I mean, it only cost me four ER visits, three ribs, two bullets, and a knife. Well, and now an angry genius.” Both of them whipped their heads toward me, shock taking over their face. I wish I could have captured their priceless reactions on tape.

“W-Wh-What?” Derek said through a confused laugh. Emily just stared at me open mouthed.

“But you’re right,” I casually continued, “being alive is important.”

“Guys we have a case,” Hotch strode into the room, holding up a case file. Morgan and Prentiss were still just staring at me. I tilted one side of my mouth up and shrugged at them, leaving our spot to head to the briefing room.

“You can’t just leave us hanging like that?” Derek called after me.

I turned around while walking so I could face them, putting my hands up in surrender. I tried to sound as innocent as possible. “We have a case.”

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

The case was standard, you know, just your usual headless bodies in a lake. The unsub was quickly devolving, so it wouldn’t be long until he made a mistake and we could catch him. I was getting the silent treatment from Reid, as always. On day two, him and Jareau went on air to alert people in the area.

The very next day, we had an odd visitor come into the precinct. And by ‘we’ I mean ‘Reid’. She was about average height, blonde, probably five years Spencer’s senior, and enthusiastic. Too enthusiastic for a person in a precinct.

She walked right up to him and started talking to him. I couldn’t really hear what they were talking about, and I couldn’t see her face because Spencer’s back was shielding it. Across the room, I saw JJ look over at them, but then quickly dismiss it. I was about to do the same when a familiar sight caught my eye. Spencer’s back was twitching.

He had a variety of tells of discomfort, but when he wanted to, he could keep himself completely composed. Except for his back muscles. They had become the number one thing I looked for every time I saw him, because every single time, they told me he was uncomfortable.

The longer he talked to this woman, the worse the twitching became. I was initially going to just leave it alone and let him figure it out, but my curiosity got the best of me. Who was she and why was he so uneasy?

I decided I’d pull one of the oldest tricks in the book, and hoped he’d pick up on it.

I approached the two of them, placing my left hand on Spencer’s right shoulder blade, slowly moving it up his back to rest on his shoulder. I knew he had a germ thing, so I didn’t want to get too cozy. I interlaced my fingers so it looked like I was leaning on him. I could feel the twitching beneath my fingertips, but he didn’t flinch or faulter at my sudden presence. I peered up at him through my eyelashes. “Hey,” I tried to sound as seductive as possible. “Who’s this?”

He cleared his throat. “Oh, uh, this is-”

“I’m Kristy,” Kristy said, holding her hand out to me. I ignored it and instead looked her over.

“I wasn’t asking you, sweetie,” I said. She opened her mouth and let out a noise of offense. She practically had the words ‘shallow bitch’ written on her forehead. I turned my attention back to Spencer.

“She and I went to CalTech together,” his voice was dry and he swallowed, like he was in desperate need of water. I hadn’t gotten the whole story, but I knew that he was relentlessly bullied in high school, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it continued on in college. If I had to guess, this girl fell into that category.

“Oh really?” I asked. I turned toward her again and she nodded at me eagerly. The level of fake radiating off of her definitely equalled ‘mean girl’, which to me meant she deserved to taste some of her own medicine. I aimed to be as demeaning as possible. “So, Kathy-”

“Actually, my name is Kristy.”

“Whatever,” I said, fluttering my eyelashes. I could already tell I was getting under her skin. “What brings you in?”

“Well, I work for a magazine, The Triplehorn Tribune, you’ve probably heard of it-”

“Nope,” I interrupted. It took all of my willpower to not roll my eyes.

“Anyways,” she said slowly, about to continue on.

“Anyway,” I corrected. She looked at me confused. “You meant to say ‘anyway’. ‘Anyways’ isn’t a word and is grammatically incorrect.” Out of my peripheral, I saw Spencer quickly press his lips together, fighting a smile. I’d just pulled his signature move. At this point, JJ had looked back to see what was going on, and had nudged Prentiss to pay attention. It wouldn’t be long before the rest of the team was watching.

Meanwhile, Kristy-bitch was starting to fume. She released an annoyed breath through her teeth. “Anyway, I’m here because we want to do a story on what it’s like to be in the FBI. I saw Spencer on the tv yesterday and figured he’d be the perfect person to interview.”

“Oh, so you only want to talk to him now that he’s been on tv?” I asked.

“What? No! It’s not like that-”

“Then what is it like?” I asked. When she didn’t respond quickly enough for my liking, I decided I’d answer for her. “See, I think that you’re only here for you. I think that you got out of college and got a crappy job working for a crappy magazine. You want to be recognized and appreciated which means you need an interesting article. This serial killer thing would be big, but what would be even bigger would be interviewing one of the top profilers in the top unit of the FBI about the serial killer, who has also been on tv for press conferences. Lucky for you, this top profiler just so happens to be the easily manipulated kid you bullied in college, so you think that you can just show up here out of nowhere and request he give you the big break you supposedly deserve. How’m I doing so far?”

Her mouth dropped in unspoken shock. She was floundering and I was more than happy to let her. Behind her I saw the team and at least half of the precinct watching. I hadn’t noticed that Reid’s back stopped twitching for a while until it started back up again at the increased attention. I gently squeezed his shoulder, trying to help him calm back down. Kristy finally regained her ground.

“What are you, his possessive girlfriend?” she spat, incredulous.

“Something like that,” I said. I could barely get the words out before I was left speechless by the arm that wrapped around my waist. His hand landed just above my hip and subconsciously brought us closer together. I was surprised, even more so at the slight swimming in my head, but I forced myself to keep my wits about me. So he did figure out what I was going for. I smirked at her.

“Well why don’t you let Spencer speak for himself,” Kristy hissed at me.

“Why don’t you show Doctor Reid the respect you neglected to give him years ago,” I returned, just as fiery. I felt Spencer’s shoulders straighten just slightly at my comment. I removed my hands from his shoulder and reluctantly moved my body out of his grasp so that I could step forward and look down at her.

“Look, Cassy-”

“Kristy.”

“Whatever. You clearly are one of the bitches that thought it’d be funny to pick on the young kid in your class. You didn’t accept him for who he was then, so you sure as hell don’t deserve him for who he is now. I think you should go.” I stared her down, and I have to admit, girl’s got balls to continue to stand her ground.

“I’m only asking for a simple favor-” she started.

I took another step forward, cutting her off. “Back off, he doesn’t owe you anything!”

She took a step back, clearly surprised by my sudden change in volume. “You need to control your girlfriend! She’s a psycho!” She gave Reid a quick glance before marching toward the door.

“That’s what makes me good at catching them, Misty!” I called after her.

“My name is Kristy!” she yelled as she stamped out the door like a toddler. It made her look like the pathetic, insecure fool she was.

Once the door shut behind her, I couldn’t help but start laughing. I turned to look at Spencer who was still in shock. I scanned the room and saw that the entire precinct had stopped what they were doing to observe the scene that I helped create. I made eye contact with the rest of the team, all of whom were gaping at me. I stopped laughing.

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly, turning back to Spencer. I was starting to worry that I’d misread the whole situation and just caused something to go horribly wrong. “I hope you don’t mind that I did that. I could just tell that she was making you uncomfortable and I figured that I could-” I was cut off mid-sentence. Spencer had suddenly erupted in laughter, which triggered an entire laughing fit to wash over the whole precinct. Even Aaron was laughing, which never happened. I let the joyful feeling I’d felt moments ago fall back into my grasp.

“I absolutely didn’t mind you stepping in. You have nothing to apologize for,” he said to me with a smile. The first one I’d ever received from him. It was contagious and I couldn’t help but return it.

“Thank god, I was starting to worry. I’m glad you picked up on what I was putting down,” I stated.

“Oh, yeah. The fake girlfriend trick, one of the oldest in the book.”

“It was the best one I could think of on short notice,” I joked.

“How could you tell he was feeling uncomfortable?” Jennifer asked, approaching the two of us. The rest of the precinct had gone back to what they were doing, but the team’s attention was still on us.

“Yeah, I looked over at them and all I saw was the normal level of awkward,” Derek stated. Spencer glared at him.

“That’s because you were looking at him from the front,” I said, raising my eyebrows.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Reid asked, his voice raising an octave.

“It just means that I’ve gotten very accustomed to your tells of discomfort, from all angles.” The mood of the group shifted at my reminder of the reality that Reid still had a very high level of dislike for me.

“Sure, but that still doesn’t make sense. Reid does a great job composing himself, but I think we all know him well enough to detect if he’s uncomfortable,” JJ pressed. I just shrugged my shoulders, not really knowing how to respond.

“Okay, let’s refocus,” Hotch said to us with a serious nod. I could tell when I made eye contact with him that I was in trouble. “Aundreya, that was inappropriate.”

“I know. That was well deserved, though,” I pointed out, unapologetic.

Aaron toyed with a half smile and let out a sigh. “Let’s just get back to work?”

“Fine with me,” I said with a grin. I got a nod from him and Rossi, a smile from the ladies and a clap on the back from Morgan. Reid gave me a small, closed-lipped smile, and directed his attention back to the maps and pictures hanging on the board.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

It took us the next three days to find and catch the killer. Three days full of Reid avoiding me at all costs. Maybe I was crazy, maybe I was hallucinating, but I thought we had a moment. I thought that I’d done something good for once, something to prove to him that I wasn’t a terrible human. But no. Nope. Not a chance, because for the rest of that afternoon and the three days following, the avoidance was actually worse than it was before. I didn’t even think that was possible. It had earned me more respect from the rest of them, but not him himself. Did I embarrass him? Was he weirded out that I touched him? Was his loathing for me just that strong? It didn’t make any sense and by day three, I was at my wits end.

“Emily.” I stated.

“What?” she asked me.

“What did I do wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Our profile is good and we hav-”

“No, not about the profile. About Reid.”

“Oh,” she said, seemingly surprised. “How do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I get it, I’m bad news, but this feels like more. Was it something I said the other day with Kristy..?”

“Ha! So you do know her name,” she said with a grin. I rolled my eyes. She was trying to get me off topic.

“Seriously, though. He’s not this cold to everyone.”

“Well, he can be a hard person to get to know,” she said, avoiding the breadth of my questions.

“But not this hard?” I tried to finish.

“No, not usually,” she replied. She clearly knew something I didn’t, and was very hesitant to give it up.

“If you aren’t going to tell me, at least tell me it wasn’t something I did the other day.”

“No, not really.” She was keeping herself distracted with the pictures in front of us, even though they were useless considering the rest of the team was already headed to a barn where the unsub kept his victims before decapitating them.

I sighed. “Fine.”

She looked over at me. “Sorry.”

It was all she had to say.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

They ended up finding the killer in the barn with his next victim, and were forced to fire because he refused to put the machete down. It was late Thursday night when we were getting on the jet to go home. We were all exhausted.

“Shouldn’t you be doing something?” Derek came to ask me a few minutes into the ride.

“Huh?” I asked, completely confused.

“With pretty boy?” he prompted. I’d lost all hope, at that point, of ever getting to know him. Even after he thanked me for swooping in and saving him from that bitch, he still seemed utterly disinterested.

“Probably not,” I said, tiredness running through my voice. Other thing: since when did Derek Morgan suddenly care and become my friend? The dinners must really work. All the more reason to lift myself out of my chair and go talk to Reid.

Morgan was still staring at me expectantly.

“Ok, alright, I’m going,” I said, getting up. He raised his eyebrows at me and flashed me that pearly smile of his. It made me want to praise him and hit him all at the same time.

I walked over to where Reid was sitting, thankful that no one else decided to sit across from him.

“Friday or Saturday?” I asked.

He looked up at me, puzzled. “What?”

“Friday. Or Saturday?”

“What are you asking me for?”

“Why can’t you just answer the damn question?” I asked a little too harshly, sliding into the seat across from him. He leaned back in his chair, putting as much distance between us as he could without just getting up and leaving. It seemed to me he’d rather just be swallowed up by the wall.

“Look,” I tried starting over with a softer tone. “Clearly you have something against me. Something more than the criminal thing. I’ve been killing myself for the past six weeks trying to figure out what it is but I’m at a loss.”

He scoffed, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

That set me off. I was trying to be nice, make an effort, but he just kept shooting me down. So I decided I was done being nice.

“Okay, Doctor Reid. I’ve been refraining from judgements because, who knows? Maybe I remind you of someone who hurt you. Maybe I remind you of someone you lost. I don’t want to push it if that’s the case. And, hell! If anything, you guys are the ones who are supposed to be judging me, not the other way around. You all have a six to ten year head start on making connections with each other. I’ve been here for six weeks. I’ve been doing this dinner thing with everyone because I’m trying to get to know the members of this team. I mean, you are considered part of the team right?” I looked around the jet to the audience I knew I had. “He is considered a part of this team, right?” It was rhetorical and they all knew it. Even if it wasn’t, I think they were all too flabbergasted that I was going after their baby to actually answer. I turned back to him.

“Like, I understand that you are up here in ‘Genius Stratosphere’,” I said, waving my hand around above my head, “but if I were to make a list of all the team members, you would be on it, right?”

“Yes!” he finally answered, exasperated.

“Great. So go to dinner with me,” I said. It was the most compelling argument I could make in the moment.

“Why?”

I sighed. He was not making this easy for me. Not like I expected him to.

I tried to make my voice sound neutral again. “I’m just trying to get to know you. If you ever decide to stop acting like a little bitch about it, or you finally wanna help me out and tell what your problem is … or just tell me exactly what you need from me, even if that is avoidance, let me know. Because I’m getting pretty sick and tired of … all this,” I said, gesturing to the air. Spencer was looking down again, and I figured he would continue to ignore me.

I got halfway out of the seat and was about to turn away when he said, “Friday.” It was barely more than a whisper and he was still looking down when I turned to face him.

“What?” I demanded.

“Friday,” he said with more confidence this time, meeting my eyes.

“Spectacular choice,” I said, lacking any emotion. I reached for the napkin sitting next to his coffee cup and the pen I had in my jacket pocket. I scratched my number on it. “That’s my personal number. I gave it to everyone in case you can’t reach me on my work one or it is for something non-work related, which this occasion would be. Text me the place. I wouldn’t want you to have to suffer through bad food you didn’t like, as well,” I stated, crossing my arms. I walked back toward my seat, Morgan long since evacuated. I gaged the reactions around me as I walked, and clearly no one had ever talked to Reid like that before. It didn’t surprise me since he seemed like golden boy number one and no one ever had any reason to get short with him. But I didn’t feel bad. He’d treated me like a pile of shit, almost less than human, and I was over it. I was going to earn my respect from him one way or the other, and it was now up to him to decide. We were either going to be working friends, or working enemies.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

Spencer just sat there the rest of the plane ride home, not really being able to focus on the book in front of him. No one had ever snapped at him like that, or at least, not in the last few years, and definitely not from a teammate. But she was not their typical teammate. She was not their typical anything. He may have been in ‘Genius Stratosphere’ but she was in a whole new stratosphere of her own.

He didn’t know why she got to him so much. Well, he did, but he wasn’t willing to admit it. Not even to himself. Plus, he didn’t have to justify why he didn’t like a top-notch criminal. She’d killed people and that in itself was enough reason. But the fact that she seemed bothered by him not liking her, and her genuine confusion and interest as to what was going on struck a chord. Maybe he had been too harsh in his treatment of her.

Spencer was sitting there recounting all of their interactions, or lack thereof, and started to question himself. Especially once he got to their more recent interactions.

Reid was bewildered, which rarely ever happened, and it made him all the more annoyed. Why’d she step in to help me? Did she really mean everything she said? Why was her touch so calming? The last thought took him by surprise, and he tried to shake the feeling.

He could remember the way she just lightly brushed up against him, resting her hand on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. He could also tell that she was being as delicate and considerate of his ‘not-a-fan-of-touching’ thing as she could while also selling the illusion. He remembered how it felt to have his arm around her and that slight squeeze she gave him to let him know she was there to help…

He forced himself to snap out of it. He could hardly stand to be in the same room as her, yet having her right next to him was fine? It didn’t make any sense. But the one thought that was driving him crazier than the rest was why, out of all the people on the team, was she able to detect his discomfort better and faster than anyone else? Yes, like she said, she’d gotten quite used to seeing him uncomfortable, but so had the rest of the team. They’d known him for six years plus and she’d only known him for six weeks. How was it that they couldn’t pick up on it and she could? Had she really been paying that much attention to him?

No, he concluded, definitely not. Someone like Aundreya would not care enough to pay that much attention to me. She was probably just doing her job. She was very skilled, after all.

But he still felt weird.

Once the plane landed, Aundreya bolted like her life depended on it. She’d never been one for sticking around longer than necessary. It made sense, considering she had gotten used to avoiding the police and now she was constantly surrounded by, not just police, but FBI. The rest of the team slowly made their way to their cars, and Spencer decided to stop Derek and ask him about it.

“Hey Morgan,” he said. Derek turned around to face him.

“What’s up, pretty boy?”

“Have I really been that awful to her?” That caught Emily and JJ’s attention, who turned around to walk a few paces back to where Spencer and Derek were standing.

“Are you asking about Aundreya?” Derek asked. Spencer nodded. “I mean, I get where you’re coming from.”

“That wasn’t my question,” Reid pointed out. The three of them stared at him, but he waited for an answer.

“Maybe a little bit,” JJ said.

“Look, Reid, we all had reservations about her going into this. But Hotch was right, she’s had a troubled background but she’s not a horrible person. I think it would benefit both of you, and the team, if you just tried getting to know her,” Emily said. She was always so good at making sense out of every situation without seeming to take sides.

“I know. I just feel … weird about it,” Reid stated. It was hard for him to describe what he was feeling and what the issue was.

“I understand how you feel. I didn’t want to go to dinner either because I just kept telling myself that she’s a criminal and I didn’t want to get involved,” Derek said. Spencer was looking at him intently. “But it was actually kinda good. It helped me understand her, and it’s been a lot better coming to work now that I feel like I can at least somewhat rely on her to help us out.”

“I agree. Talking to each other will only help,” JJ reminded him. They were right. It would help him feel more comfortable at work if he felt more comfortable with her.

“Okay. Thank you,” he said to them. He turned to walk toward his car when Derek’s voice stopped him.

“Oh, and uh, Reid,” he said, “Clearly she’s willing to put in the effort to make it work. She did step in to help you out the other day. I don’t think a cold-hearted criminal would’ve done that.”

Spencer nodded at Derek and he nodded back. Spencer got into his car and started driving back to his apartment, trying to think of the best place he could, to meet Aundreya for dinner.

Part 2

[lutraverselemonde]

having a good nose

Time: November - February Place: Various Death Eaters’ Houses Status: Self-Para, with help from: @sectumsmpra

4th of November 1981 

Lu stood in the back of the room, looking pretty. 

They were good at that, so they didn’t complain. Of course, there were activities more exciting than just standing (no details needed) but the patronage they’d found in England with a certain Mister Avery was too new to decline invitations already. And while those functions were the single most boring events Lu had ever been forced to attend, Mister Avery had his way to make at least the ending a little sweeter.

Mister Avery was -- in his own right -- a good man, albeit perhaps not the wittiest of the bunch. This certainly contributed to the boredom perpetuated by those functions: half a dozen to a dozen old men sitting around in a smoke-filled room, basically jerking each other off verbally for a couple of hours. Discussing their recent achievements in what they called the War; sharing secrets they’d given the Dark Lord; waxing poetry about how their social status was being compromised by the ‘invasion of the mud’; making new plans for the future about how to really show the Phoenix people what pain was. It was all there. It was all ridiculous. And Lu stood in a corner, looking pretty.

As always. Or, well, almost always. Because while this group of men was sometimes larger, sometimes smaller, with various guests attending only occasionally, they were still always the same faces. And it was today, in the middle of one of such talks about the Phoenix people that the door opened and a black little creature strutted in. Pale skin, haughty chin, and a nose akin to Cleopatra’s in those comics. He introduced himself quietly to the people present then stood somewhere quietly as well, listening, his black eyes on whoever was speaking. Lu noted that it was a good nose. 

They’d always preferred bigger noses to the small ones. There was something royal about a nose that new to impose on a face, the way a King would know to impose on a country. In women more so than in men, actually, but it all depended on the haircut worn along with it. And this little creature had no interest in seeing a good hair designer any time soon, did he? It looked like he’d gotten stuck somewhere in the 70’s, among some goths. Or perhaps even earlier. Surely even 60’s John Lennon wouldn’t want that haircut back. Hadn’t he died recently? Ah, at least they knew now who’d stolen his sense of fashion. Hilarious! Lu let out a chuckle.

Goth Boy’s eyes jumped to them immediately. No one else had noticed the laugh but Goth Boy had reacted immediately and Lu’s shoulders straightened with surprise. Their own eyes stayed on him in return, knowing well that flinching and quickly looking away was way more conspicuous than just standing still. Looking pretty. But Goth Boy seemed to have no interest in how pretty they were anyway, and a shadow of a frown later, he’d turned back to listen to the conversation. Lu hummed.

What a good nose.

9th of December

Goth Boy began showing up more often now, but none of the men seemed surprised to see him join. There were never any introductions. He just strutted in, stood or sat, sometimes conversed, and then left again at the end of it all, without proper greetings or goodbyes. No one seemed to pause at that while also shifting in their seats just uncomfortably enough to signal that they were not really a friend of his presence. It was weird. And Lu loved every second of it. 

“Who’s he?” they had asked Mister Avery a couple of weeks in. “No one you need to mind.” “Is he your boss?” Mister Avery laughed. “No, but he’s … close to my … boss.” He never said the Dark Lord’s name but that didn’t make it any less obvious about who he was speaking of. Lu cooed. “Lord Voldemort has a boyfriend?” “Sh!” Mister Avery flinched and covered Lu’s mouth, looking around frantically to see if anyone had heard them. “Don’t … ever.” Interesting. There apparently was more to learn about Goth Boy than initially assumed. Not now, though. Not through Mister Avery. Slowly, Lu removed the hand and redirected his attention to their very capable lips.

If not lovers, perhaps father and son? Lu had still not met the Dark Lord, nor did any of the men at the function ever properly speak of him. For all they knew, he was already an old man with grandkids running around his ankles. Perhaps Goth Boy was one of them? Perhaps that was why he felt so unattainable at those functions? Inherited dignity? But, no. He didn’t look like he benefited from any form of oligarchy. Nor did he look power-hungry like some sons Lu had met here. If he wanted to attend those functions to scare those men into obedience, he’d do it differently. As it were, it looked as if he was merely trying to observe. 

Observe Lu? Goth Boy’s eyes were on them again. Lu smiled. He looked away. 

16th of December

He smelled of the greenhouses at Beauxbaton.

This was the closest Lu had ever gotten to him. And they’d not been the one to ‘get’ anywhere. It was Goth Boy who’d strutted in and found a spot next to Lu. Standing with his hands behind his back, chin high, quiet. Observing. Lu understood now why the men always seemed to stiffen (in the not-fun way) when he was close. He could perfectly ignore you and yet it felt like he was judging you. 

Herbs and chemicals and potions’ steam. 

“The acoustic’s good here.” His voice was barely above a murmur, yet it reached Lu all too easily, as though magically redirected. The words came out smoothly, quickly, but without haste; attached to one another as if they were made of honey, too, in their own way. Lu took a breath, considering the implications of that sentence and all the ways this conversation could go, then settled on a simple laugh full of charm: If only it weren’t so boring.” The black eyes jumped over to them. Piercing, they caught Lu in their spot, and froze the laugh still on their face. “Well, it’s true,” they breathed out, accentuating their French accent, “I wish they’d at least provide champagne and not just whisky.” Goth Boy only raised his eyebrows in disdain and was about to turn when Lu quickly held out a hand: “Lu Travers, Wixtraordinaire and maker of dreams.” Goth Boy hesitated, then took the hand, though without kissing it. “Severus Snape.” Lu turned the hand in theirs, taking in the sight. Stained fingers. Potioneer. Then smiled. “Good nail bed, congratulations.” 

23rd of December

There were some functions that were more akin to parties, and others, when the group was smaller, where it was more like a meeting. Today was one of the former, which allowed Lu to float from group to group and listen in easily. They’d stand there, looking pretty, and take note of all that was being said, and when someone noticed their presence they put up a sweet smile and deflected any questions with jokes. Then they’d move to the next group.

And usually it was fun and easy and Lu spent no second thought on how they appeared or behaved but that night? Two black eyes were on them the entire time. 

No one of noble or pure blood ever noticed the servants. So who was this potioneer who did not care or need to integrate while also being anything but one of them? 

At the end of the party, Lu handed Goth Boy their business card. “If ever you want to see some more of me.” A wink, a turn, a pause, an addition: “Of course, you could also start coming to the Sunday morning meetings. Seeing how they’re more muted, you might enjoy them more. But in case you have something better to do, on Sunday mornings that is, don’t hesitate to write me.” A smile towards the card, then they disappeared.

Goth Boy never wrote, of course, but he did show up at the next Sunday morning meeting. Once. And then never again. 

13th of January, 1982

Things had changed. What had started as a side-game had now become Lu’s mission: the destruction of Lord Voldemort. If he wanted to kill for fun? Fine. If he wanted to kill half-breeds like Lu’s friends? Fine. If he wanted to kill Muggleborns like Lu themself? Fine. But what he’d done on January first, when he’d killed innocent, uninvolved Muggles? That went too far. 

Attending those functions was now a matter of life and death. They’d gather as much information as they could find and bring them to the Order, lay it all out for them, help them infiltrate and win. And what had once been boring speeches of men thinking too highly of themselves now became Lu’s greatest point of interest. No word was lost on them, no thought or reaction. Everything those men did was going to be weaponised against them, it was only a matter of time, Lu swore it to themself. To themself and to Urhie.

“You look less bored tonight.” It was Goth Boy’s voice, Lu didn’t have to look to know. “There’s a pretty big hole in their plan. I’m waiting to see if someone finally notices.” “You mean the fact that if they disable disapparition, their own guests will also be caught inside?” Lu’s lips curled into a smirk. “So you’ve noticed.” Their eyes met, briefly. “Will you tell them?” Goth Boy shrugged. “Let’s see how long it takes them.” Lu’s smirk sharpened and for a moment they took in the sight of his profile again. What a good nose. 

3rd of February 

“So what does a Muggleborn do amongst the ranks of the Dark Lord?” But Lu only received a dismissive scoff at that. “How did you get in here?” “Mister Avery’s study? I work here. Sometimes.” Goth Boy responded with a look of disdain and shoved the drawer close again. “If I answer you, will you not report me?” Lu shrugged. “Deal.” “I’m not a Muggleborn.” “Oh! Boo,” Lu laughed and joined Goth Boy by Mister Avery’s desk, sitting on it with their legs crossed and their feet dangling delicately. “Is the truth worth nothing anymore these days?” Goth Boy paused and just fixated them with his expression haughty disinterest and eyes of all too much interest. Lu grinned. “Don’t try. There’s no use.” He faltered. His eyes widened, his shoulder straightened, then he seemed to catch himself and leaned back in his hips. “What makes you think I’m a Muggleborn?” “You shook my hand like one. You attend Sunday morning mass, a Christian habit. You clearly don’t know how to dress like a Pureblood.” The last one sounded the most judgemental but it wasn’t the one that drew the most reaction from Goth Boy. “You’re … very wrong.” “Am I?” Goth Boy sighed. “I have other appointments on Sunday Morning and I shook your hand because … you extended it.” “But not to be shaken.” Goth Boy frowned. “To be kissed?” Goth Boy was still frowning. Lu let out a loud sigh, both in exasperation and realisation: “You’re just straight! I’m an idiot, I should’ve known. It was the whole Robert Smith about you that distracted me, no, please, don’t mind me, I’m going. Have fun snooping around, I hope you enjoy your very, very grim life.” With that, they disappeared.

10th of February

Four more days. 

Lu had given the house plan of the Rosier’s to the Order. In return, they were assigned a mission: play the grand Lady Bullstrode’s escort with a girl called Dorcas Meadowes and snoop around the manor for Silver Masks and the like. They knew it was an honour to be assigned to a mission -- and the party was surely going to be grandiose! -- but one thing was still making them feel rather uneasy.

“They still haven’t fixed the hole in their plan, have they?” Goth Boy shook his head. “If the Phoenix Order makes it inside somehow and a fight breaks out, they’ll all be caged in there like animals.” Lu brushed their fingers over their lips, thinking, almost nervous. “Are you going?” “Me?” Goth Boy gave it a nod. “I’m not-...” I’m not in the Order. But of course, you didn’t have to be in the Order to attend the party. On the contrary. “I will, yes. On duty.” Goth Boy gave it another nod. Lu didn’t think he’d have more to say, but more came, a long moment later and almost suddenly: “If I were to attend the party, I’d wait for the end of this function to throw a quick glance at their plans usually left on this table. Check the warding system beforehand. See if there’s … holes.” Lu’d said nothing to that.

Perhaps they should’ve thanked him, seeing how on that night of the 14th of February, his suggestion was what saved their life. 

[potatocrab]

Salvation is a Last Minute Business (15/18)

Chapter 15: The Liar’s Kiss That Says I Love You

A return to New England Medical Center finds Madelyn struggling with who she can trust. She and Deacon have a long conversation about the power of truth and lies, and she learns one more of his closely guarded secrets. At a Railroad safehouse, the two reminisce on their first operation and realize they may have fallen into a cliché after all.

“Kiss me, Mike. I want you to kiss me. The liar’s kiss that says I love you and means something else.” - Lily Carver as played by Gaby Rodgers (Kiss Me Deadly, 1955)

x-x

This chapter contains mild/not-so-mild sexual content. Proceed at your own desire! When you see the French language being used, you have reached the point of no return! 

Major thanks to @glowstickia​ for her help on the French resources. :)

[read on Ao3] |  [chapter masterpost]

May 30th, 1958

Madelyn had hoped she wouldn’t have a reason to visit the New England Medical Center so soon, memories of Nick’s hospitalization and near-death experience at the hands of Eddie Winter fresh in her mind. Yet there she was, struggling to ignore the sympathetic glances from the familiar faces of doctors and nurses as they patched up her arm and provided her with a tetanus shot—undoubtedly more painful than her injury, at least without the surge of adrenaline to dull her senses. Who would have guessed that a needle could hurt worse than a bullet?

The same medical staff allowed her to stay with Drummer Boy in his assigned recovery room, despite the fact she was of no relation. It was likely out of pity for all they had seen her experience in recent months. Between everything that had happened to her and Nick when they went after Eddie Winter in April, Jenny’s death when the hospital was ambushed thereafter, and now an attempted assassination at her own apartment—Madelyn was starting to think her luck—if she had any to begin with—was running out.

By the grace of God—or maybe Drummer Boy’s perfect timing—she’d escaped relatively unharmed. He wasn’t so fortunate, but the commotion of the shooting hadn’t gone unnoticed in her Cambridge neighborhood. When the Boston Police arrived, she was initially surprised to see Sergeant Sullivan, but considering he was the last trustworthy cop left in the city, she was grateful for his presence. He ensured that she and Drummer Boy got to the New England Medical Center in a timely manner while his task force secured the area. Madelyn wasn’t completely comfortable with the idea of strange men lurking about her apartment, but she had little choice but to agree.

In the quiet of Drummer Boy’s room, she finally had a chance to process what had occurred and how close she had come to death—again. An unknown assailant dared to attack Madelyn in her own home, where she was most vulnerable. The list of suspects in her mind narrowed down to one as she thought about the agency’s infiltration of Fort Hagen, and the smuggled documents on Kellogg. While there hadn’t been any sightings of him since the late 40s, his vanishing act did little to ease anyone’s mind. The proof was in the casefile—Kellogg had a way of finding the people he deemed unfit for life. It made sense that he’d come for her, especially if he really was an agent of the Institute—they were likely to have their own list of reasons for wanting her dead.

An unsettling notion entered her mind as she thought about the man who had stalked her and Deacon before and again at the Cambridge campus on the day of the demonstration. What if it was him who had attempted to kill her, and not Kellogg as she assumed? What if it was a random android, set up in a building across the street, programmed to shoot into her apartment window at a specific time? Worse yet, what if the would-be assassin was just another one of the Institute’s experiments? Just another name, another face to get lost in the crowd—just as Piper feared. That meant nobody was beyond suspicion, not when it was still unknown just how long the Institute had been performing these so-called brain augmentations—if they were even behind the attack in the first place.

Madelyn clasped Drummer Boy’s hand tight as the paranoia and anxiety settled in. She couldn’t live like that—constantly looking over her shoulder—living in fear. She couldn’t go through life wondering who was or wasn’t worthy of her trust. Not when she’d finally gained back her sense of security—her sense of sanity—her sense of self. After Nate’s death, after Eddie Winter, after everything—the last thing she wanted was to fall back into the endless spiral of despair.

You can’t trust everyone.

The words echoed in her mind like so many times before, her chest tightening under the painful realization of how true they were. Madelyn closed her eyes the moment tears clouded her vision, clenching her jaw so tight she feared her teeth might chip. Anything to prevent herself from crying. It didn’t matter that she was (mostly) alone—she was so exhausted from so many nights of crying. Perhaps it was her concentration that made it difficult to hear the echoing footsteps in the hallway or the soft knock. It wasn’t until the door began to creak open that she reacted, recoiling in a way that she nearly fell out of her chair.

“Charmer?”

“Deacon?”

Madelyn breathed out his name, relieved it was him and not anyone else. While the doctors and nurses provided some comfort, it paled in comparison to the intimacy they shared. Still undefined, still unspoken—but undeniably close.

He hesitated, quietly closing the door behind him as he observed her, eyebrows raised high above the frame of his darkened shades. For as stoic and pensive as she’d seen him be in the past, especially when reacting to various tragedies and disastrous events, he appeared to be faltering now. It was always difficult to fully discern his emotions when half his face was obscured, but he looked curious, if not concerned. His silence indicated he was likely worried too, but Deacon would never say it outright.

Madelyn’s pulse gradually settled, but she had a difficult time fully relaxing under his watchful gaze. In that moment, with her willpower drained, she looked away. She focused on Drummer Boy’s steady breathing, brushing the pad of her thumb across his wrist and hospital band.

“Danny—Sullivan,” Deacon corrected himself, slowly moving to stand near the end of the hospital bed. “He tracked me and Valentine down, took us back to your apartment.”

“I know,” she responded, barely above a whisper. “I had him do so.”

“Ol’ Nick took a lot of convincing to stay behind,” he explained, setting down the canvas bag and glass Tupperware he carried on the small table. “But he didn’t want to leave those cops unsupervised. Even if they’re Sullivan’s men—”

You can’t trust everyone—he didn’t have to say it.

“It figures,” she sighed, closing her eyes again. “Probably looked like somebody died, huh?”

Deacon remained silent, though she could hear him, feel him, approaching. Soon enough, he was standing at her side, causing a tingle to run up her spine—an unexplainable feeling—but her skin suddenly ached for the simplest form of touch. As if he could read her mind (and she wouldn’t be surprised if he could), he rested his hand over hers and Drummer Boy’s. Madelyn immediately snapped open her eyes with a sharp inhale of air, momentarily stunned by the contact.

She needed more.

In an instant she was standing, clinging to him with her arms wrapped tight around his shoulders as she pressed up on her toes, tired feet and aching shoulder be damned. Deacon was quick to return the embrace, holding her close as he kept his arms snug around her torso. Madelyn stayed there, face pressed against the soft wool of his coat—she wanted to tease him for wearing it so near to summer but now she was grateful for the comfort it provided. She didn’t cry, despite the fact that she wanted to, and probably needed to as well. Bristling with quiet desperation, the only thing Madelyn was sure of was that she didn’t want to be alone.  

“I just—” she started after a long stretch of silence. “I’d like to go home.”  

Deacon gradually pulled her away, easing her back so her heeled feet were level with the ground. He swept back a few errant curls behind her ear, fingers lingering along the curve of her cheek. At first, she thought he might kiss her, but he skewed his lips to the side instead. “No can do, Charmer.”

Madelyn sighed—she knew that, but it was worth a try. Her eyes danced over to the belongings on the table. Deacon sensed her curiosity.

“Codsworth insisted I bring you something to eat,” he explained, nodding his chin towards the glass container.

“Better left for Drummer Boy. I’m told hospital food tastes of despair,” she flashed a meek smile. “And the bag?”

“Some clothes for you,” he said. “Any chance to rifle through your naughty drawer.”

If it were anybody else, she wouldn’t have appreciated such an ill-timed joke. Deacon’s smirk relaxed into a gentler expression, his thumb tracing down the angle of her chin towards her mouth. “Let’s get you someplace safe.”

There was a hidden meaning to his words that had Madelyn equal parts excited and trembling with anxiety. He wanted her safe, but also alone—all to himself. They’d kissed, crossed that barrier two weeks prior. But whatever was to come next was to be determined, put on hold, as their focus quickly became centered on finding Kellogg and infiltrating the Institute. Romance could wait—or maybe it couldn’t.

What was she so afraid of?

Finally, she spoke. “Do you trust me?”

“You’ve asked that before,” he responded in a low, contemplative voice.

He was right—Madelyn had poised the question on more than one occasion. And the last time, just as before, he hadn’t given a straight answer. It was always easy enough for her to assume and take his presence for granted. But now more than ever, she needed honesty—if it was even possible. She wanted nothing more than to be engulfed in the flame they’d ignited, but she’d sooner snuff out the fire if he couldn’t give her this one answer.

“I know that lying is your profession. That you’d sooner court death than the truth,” she paused, reluctantly leaning away from his touch, noting the glimmer of disappointment in his features. “Against better judgement, I trust you.”

“But I need to know that you feel the same—that you trust me,” Madelyn expressed, doing her best not to sound like she was pleading. “Not just as your partner in the Railroad, but—”

She broke off, grasping his hand as part of her silent allusion. There was a subtlety to his reaction, but enough of one that told her he understood the inference. Deacon said nothing, eyebrows firmly creased together as he considered her words. The silence dragged on enough that she felt foolish for saying anything in the first place. She tried not to feel overly disappointed or react in a disproportionate way—the last thing Madelyn wanted was an argument.

“There’s an imbalance,” she mumbled, unsure of her train of thought. “You know so much about me, a fault of my own—Nick always said I wore my heart on my sleeve—” She was definitely rambling. Blame it on her grief—she couldn’t stop. “But you are and always have been an enigma, Deacon. Your face, your hair…hell, your real age,” her eyes darted over his face as her heart raced loud enough she could hear it echoing in her skull. “Your name.”

His reaction wasn’t subtle that time. Deacon pulled away, and Madelyn feared she’d crossed a line and offended him. But he didn’t storm out of the room—rather, he dug through his coat and jacket pockets, muttering something incoherent under his breath until he pulled free a leather billfold with a triumphant sort of grin. He placed it in her hands as if she’d asked for it.

“Go on,” he encouraged with a sideways smirk.

Madelyn didn’t move an inch, only taking a quick glance at the wallet before meeting his face again. “What—”

“You could’ve lifted that off of me at any time,” he interrupted, gesturing to the faded black material. “Looked at my ID and taken some money while you’re at it. All in a day’s work for a spy.”

She frowned—it seemed honesty for him was as bad as pulling teeth. Her legal studies were easier than this. Madelyn decided to call his bluff, turning over the billfold in her hand. “A spy like you would obviously carry more than one identification.”

“Obviously,” he agreed with a nod. “But one of them is bound to be legitimate. Even a no-good scoundrel like me needs a clean copy for official reasons—never know when you’re going to end up in a pickle or interrogated by some charming blonde.”

Madelyn, understandably, had doubts as her irritation lingered. Even if she wanted to take a look, could she really open what was akin to opening Pandora’s box? Did she really want to know? What if this was just another elaborate trick? Deacon titled his head just enough that she caught a glimpse of his eyes in the low light of the room. He was serious now, all trace of humor erased from his expression.

“I trust you.”

A shockwave rippled through her body causing a deep warmth to radiate in her chest. He might as well have told her—

Madelyn blinked hard, shaking the idea from her mind. One step at a time. Trust. He slowly circled around her to be closer to Drummer Boy’s bedside, and she turned to watch his movements, still hesitating to flip open the leather billfold. Deacon leaned over the hospital bed, as if to verify the agent wasn’t secretly awake and eavesdropping on their conversation. She sat back down in the nearby chair before giving into her curiosity.

She wasn’t sure what a typical man’s wallet was supposed to contain, but Deacon’s was full of various cards and trinkets—paper receipts and scribbled notes, raffle tickets of undetermined origin. Just as she predicted, and he admitted to, there were multiple state identification cards. Many were for Massachusetts, but there was one for Virginia, and one for Washington D.C.—unsurprisingly with the obviously fake name of George Washington.

Madelyn flicked through the paper cards, finding humor in some of the clever names and disguises—Horatio Williams from Worcester County, Simon Rock from Plymouth, Guy Granger from Richmond, and Harry Morgan from Nantucket. It wasn’t until she settled on a well-faded card that she gave pause. The Deacon in the black-and-white picture was recognizable, but only because she’d seen him without his usual pompadour wig and sunglasses. The full name wasn’t visible, worn from many years of handling but she saw enough of the bold lettering—Johnathan Daniel. She knew immediately it wasn’t a fake.

“Old testament,” she muttered, half-jokingly, under her breath. At least he hadn’t lied about his Catholic upbringing. Madelyn looked up to find him whispering—praying—as he gently held onto Drummer Boy’s arm, his other hand resting against the other man’s shoulder. The sight was unexpected, to say the least, and gave her insight that perhaps their relationship stretched beyond the Railroad too.

“Drummer Boy—Robby,” she corrected herself. “He wasn’t lying when he said John D formed the Railroad.”

Deacon shrugged, glancing at her over his shoulder, as if he expected her to say that. “He wasn’t,” he confirmed, plainly. He didn’t even ask when, or why Drummer Boy told her such information. “John D didn’t do it alone.”

“No,” Madelyn knew the history, thanks to the stories and a little digging of her own. “But Wyatt isn’t around anymore, now is he?”

“He isn’t.”

“And John D?” she asked tentatively.

Deacon grinned, if only for a fleeting moment. “He’s around.”

It was confirmation enough, and Madelyn decided not to pry for a straight answer—she’d gotten plenty from him already when he confirmed his trust. Now was not the time to cross boundaries, even as more unanswered questions rattled through her mind. With a deep and steadying breath, she allowed herself to become content with the knowledge that she was one of the lucky few—if not the only one—who knew this truth.

The silence was interrupted by a soft grumbling as Drummer Boy gradually regained consciousness. Madelyn abruptly stood, dropping Deacon’s wallet into the chair and rushing to the bedside to ensure he was okay. It took several moments for him to blink the exhaustion from his eyes, and he cleared his throat a few times before relaxing against the pillows again. The Railroad agent lazily glanced up at the two, flashing Madelyn a groggy smile. When Drummer Boy looked at Deacon, his face scrunched up, stuck between a frown and a glare.

“You still owe me,” he mumbled, causing Deacon to softly laugh. “Two dollars.”

The moon still hung high in the sky by the time Madelyn and Deacon left the New England Medical Center, though she wasn’t entirely sure of how much time had passed since she first left the agency, visited Nate’s grave, and returned to her apartment, only to be shot at by an unknown assailant—it had been a long day. All she knew was that her body ached, and that she was desperate for sleep.

After a short taxi ride into the Fens district, Deacon navigated the two through a nondescript area. She lacked the energy to comment on allowing handsome men to lead her into strange alleyways, but the amusement still brought a smile to her face. Outside an old, brick apartment building she noticed two Railroad insignias itched into the wall—one for safehouse, and another for ally.

“Mercer?” she assumed.

He nodded, escorting her inside the building. “Home sweet home.”

Unlike her Cambridge apartment, the elevators there were in working order. Madelyn couldn’t help but yawn as she leaned against Deacon’s shoulder, hoping the safehouse had an ample supply of pillows. He slowly guided her drowsy form down the hallway to the correct door, propping her under his arm as he fished through his pockets for his keys.

“Do you want me to carry you over the threshold?” he teased as soon as he pushed the door open.

Madelyn snickered, and snagged the bag of her belongings from his arm. “Haven’t you learned by now I’m a capable woman?”

He laughed, allowing her to enter ahead of him into the apartment. It was just about the same size as hers, with a mirrored layout and less furniture. Seeing as it was meant as a halfway-house for weary and temporary travelers, it made sense that it wouldn’t feel as lived in. There was a couch, a record player, and a small bookshelf with an assortment of books. The kitchen was modest as well—a small island bar with a few leftover coffee cups and newspapers, as well as a cardboard box from the nearby pizzeria.  

Madelyn followed the pathway of the hallway to the bathroom, glancing over her shoulder to find Deacon loitering by the refrigerator. As soon as she was alone in the tiny, tiled room, she took several moments to examine herself in the mirror. It wasn’t nearly as bad as the last time she found herself covered in blood—a macabre thought—the hospital staff had done a decent job at cleaning washing away the evidence from her skin. But there she was with another ruined dress, stained and torn from where the bullet had grazed her shoulder.

She thought to check her wedding ring for streaks of red when she realized she wasn’t even wearing it. A flicker of guilt washed over her as she remembered she’d removed it before the undercover operation at Fort Hagen. Maybe she should be relieved it was still safe and sound at her apartment—not like Deacon would’ve snagged it off her jewelry stand. Madelyn decided to look through the bag to see what he did grab. There were two dresses and stockings that complimented her current pair of heels, and she was grateful that they were appropriate for the May weather. Tucked beneath that was one of her silk nightgowns and matching robes, along with some undergarments. Rather than feel embarrassed, she could only sigh, appreciative that she had something comfortable to change into.

She quickly kicked off her heels, leaving them at the foot of the sink as she removed the rest of her clothes. She draped her discarded dress and stockings over the shower curtain rod before slipping on the pale blue nightgown, securing the robe around her body with a tight knot. She wiggled her toes against the cool floor and sighed. With one last glance in the mirror to ensure she hadn’t missed an errant mark of blood, she flicked off the light and left the bathroom.

In the kitchen, Deacon was preparing two glasses of whiskey as he stood by the island bar, pausing in his actions to watch her slow approach. “Well now I feel overdressed.”

Ironic, considering she’d never seen him so relaxed. He had discarded his wool coat and suit jacket, left hanging over the back of the living couch. Even his shoes were missing, and a cursory scan of the room didn’t give her any indication of where he’d placed them. Madelyn could only mimic his expression.

“You’re the one who packed my bag,” she replied. “I sense sabotage is at play.”

Deacon mocked offense. “I’d never.”

“Before you take the bed and resign me to the couch,” he continued, gaining her attention. He gestured to the freshly poured drinks and the pizza box. “I made a promise to a very pushy Mister Handy unit that you’d be fed, and I’m one to keep promises. Even if they are to robots with British accents.”

Madelyn laughed, imaging Codsworth’s worrying pestering. When her stomach growled, she decided that as tired as she was, sleep could wait. Deacon pulled out the barstool for her so she could sit before occupying the set next to her, sliding her the glass tumbler of whiskey and cardboard box of leftovers. She’d had worse meals but in that moment, cold pizza and alcohol was like heaven. Still, she could sense Deacon watching her carefully from the corner of her eye, and she sighed into her glass.

“I don’t want to talk about what happened,” she explained, nervously meeting his shielded gaze. “Not now, not when I’ll just have to repeat it all over again when we meet with the others in the morning or—” she glanced to the clock hanging on the wall and groaned. “In a few hours.”

Deacon didn’t push. “Whatever you need, Charmer.”

“How does the line go?” he mused. “You know how to whistle…”

“I thought I was Bacall,” Madelyn joked mid-chew. “Mr. Bogart.”

She hadn’t forgotten that conversation from their first meeting, a flirtatious tease of falling in love like two Hollywood starlets in the latest noir film. Madelyn would’ve never guessed that all these months later, it had played out exactly as predicted. She smiled, and so did he.

“Looks like we fell into the cliché after all,” she whispered, eyes darting across his face, lingering on his mouth. “What do you think?”

Deacon finished off his whiskey with a slow sip before answering. “Tu as de beaux yeux tu sais.”

Madelyn was momentarily taken aback, suddenly wishing she’d taken French as a foreign language in school instead of Gaelic—all her Irish relatives were deceased anyways, what was the point? Was Deacon deflecting again? Something about his tone and the way he turned towards her said otherwise. He used his legs to scoot her barstool closer to him, the movement causing her to lean forward and brace her palms flat against his chest so she wouldn’t smash her forehead against his nose. His hands came to rest on her waist as he gradually eased her closer.

“Si je te disais que tu avais un beau corps, tu m’en tiendrais rigueur?”

A question whispered against the shell of her ear that sent her heart racing, mind going blank as she only thought about Deacon’s heated breath along the column of her throat. Madelyn allowed herself to edge nearer to his body still until she was practically straddling his thigh, teetering on the edge of her chair, arms loosely wrapped around his shoulders.

He continued murmuring what she assumed were sweet-nothings against her skin—though they could be nonsense and she’d still be melting in his hands. “On devrait t'arrêter pour excès de beauté sur la voie publique.”

“Est-ce que tu fais partie du menu?”

What about a menu? She pondered if what he was telling her bordered on filth, but the idea only excited her. Madelyn sharply inhaled, angling her neck to give him greater access despite the fact his lips hadn’t made direct contact with her skin. When he finally reached her mouth, he paused, one hand reaching up to hold the side of her face steady.

“Dis moi ce que tu veux,” he said. After a beat, he repeated himself, this time so she could understand. “Tell me what you want.”

Madelyn didn’t hesitate to move her hands to his face, fingers wrapping around the metal frame of his glasses before gently removing them, setting them down on the kitchen counter. She held his face with her palms, taking a long moment to stare deep into his steely blue eyes. It had been more than a month since she’d seen them like this, and yet it felt like she was seeing them for the first time—brilliant, vibrant and beautiful.

“You,” she breathed the answer, the most honest she’d felt in years. “Deacon, I want you.”

There was a glimmer to his eyes she couldn’t place as he briefly smirked before wordlessly closing the distance between them with a slow, but needy kiss. It didn’t take long at all for it to grow heated, the hand on her waist silently encouraging her to scoot closer until she was fully seated across his lap, knees on either side of his thighs. Deacon balanced her against him as they hungrily kissed, a groan echoing in his throat as she frantically pushed the suspenders from his shoulders before moving her fingers to undo the buttons of his shirt. It seemed that now that the damn was broken, Madelyn couldn’t wait for the rush—patience be damned.  

He matched her fervor, one hand darting to the silken knot at her waist and blinding tugging until he broke away from their kiss to glare down at the confusing tangle. With a curse he pulled open her robe and she shrugged it from her body, softly moaning as his lips instantly collided with the outline of her collarbone before the garment reached the floor. As Deacon kissed a trail along her skin, Madelyn threaded her hands through his hair, breathing a laugh when she remembered it was a wig. He didn’t seem to mind as she removed it—too preoccupied with leaving patterns on her neck—exposing the ginger locks she admired. Just as she returned to run her fingers through those soft waves, he leaned back out of reach. She didn’t have time to be confused as he hoisted her into his arms as he stood, holding her as if she weighed nothing.

Madelyn gasped and still clutched his arms in the fear that she’d be dropped. At first, she assumed he would carry her to the couch, or the bedroom, but he simply placed her on the island bar instead. With a sweep of his arm, he pushed away the clutter to make room for her body, thrilling her to the core. She watched as Deacon peeled off his dress shirt, moving her hands to his belt on the assumption—and perhaps eagerly—that they were to make love right there. He covered her hands with his own, stopping her with a soft chuckle, but it wasn’t meant to taunt her.

“Lie back,” he instructed, voice laced with desire.

Madelyn complied, swallowing down the last traces of anxiety as she eased back onto her elbows. She was so entranced by his actions that she almost forgot to breathe, eyes locked onto his face as his gaze raked over her body and the length of her legs. Deacon’s hands were soft as they traced up from her ankles to her calves and eventually to her thighs, gradually spreading apart her knees to make enough space for his body. Those striking eyes of his found hers as his hands trailed further, past the lace trim of her nightgown until heated fingers traced the outline of her underwear. Those same deft fingers pulled away the fabric just enough so he could touch, an agonizing drag along her already dampened folds. It was enough for Madelyn to completely collapse against the cold tile of the counter, tossing her head back as she moaned loudly. Just how touch starved had she been?  

“Don’t close your eyes,” Deacon said, and she desperately fought to snap them open as he continued, and then stopped.

She whimpered, almost against her own volition. He was already gradually sliding her underwear down her legs until they slipped off and to the floor. Instead of his hands, it was his mouth that followed the trail up her legs, and Madelyn was sure her heart was going to burst right out her chest. It didn’t take a detective to know what he was planning, and the pure eroticism of it all—splayed out on a kitchen counter—made her skin prickle with arousal.

Deacon pushed up the silken fabric of her nightgown before hooking one knee around his shoulder, spreading her other thigh out so that his hand could easily trace along her skin. His fingers found her wet heat again, far from teasing as he probed her entrance, eliciting loader groans from her. Just as he found a steady rhythm, he replaced his hand with his mouth, and Madelyn could feel her stomach coiling at the sensation already. She was writhing, uncaring how unhinged she appeared, completely lost to the passion he was inflicting upon her. It was only fitting that the man who was so gifted at intrigue would be this talented with his mouth—Deacon was through, relentless.

Madelyn’s mind was a haze, and she couldn’t hear anything besides her own rapid pulse and intense breathing. No doubt she was chanting his name like a prayer, whispering quiet praises and pleadings that he wouldn’t stop because—oh God—she was so close, and—Jesus—she hadn’t felt so alive in years. There was more blasphemy and curses, and she was sure she was going to hell—maybe it was worth it—if this was what sin felt like.

When she came, it was blinding, and her entire body trembled uncontrollably as Deacon’s hands moved to cradle her, mouth unmoving from her core until she was spent. Madelyn still took several minutes to regain her bearings, staring up at the ceiling in delirious wonder.

“Deacon?” she titled her head to find him resting against the counter, arms draped across her body as his hands rubbed slowly up and down her sides. He glanced up at her with a lazy, self-satisfied sort of smile, and she decided he deserved it.

“I’m here,” he answered.

She softly laughed. “I’d like you to carry me now.”

Deacon was slow to move but eventually leaned back, grasping her hands to help her gradually sit up straight. He hooked one arm under her knees, the other around her torso and gave her a sideways glance so she’d hold onto his shoulder for balance. Madelyn again found herself amused at how easy he made it seem, pausing on his way out of the kitchen to turn off the front room lights. They made their way towards the bedroom in the darkness, though Deacon didn’t appear perturbed, as if he had every inch of the place memorized by touch.

Compared to the rest of the apartment, the bedroom filled more belongings and looked like it had a regular visitor. There were more books scattered there than in the front room, and several bags of clothes that had been diligently organized. Madelyn didn’t have to ask to know the regular tenant was Deacon. The shades of the window were open, allowing the light of the moon to cast a soft light of white into the room and across the unmade bed. He placed her there, and she stared up at him with curious eyes as he seemed to hesitate for the first time that evening as he slowly unbuckled his belt, sliding down his pants when there was enough slack.

“We can stop, if you want,” Deacon suggested. “The bed is yours. Couch is more comfortable than it looks.”

Madelyn was surprised, and while she appreciated the gesture, she’d expressed her desires. “No.”

“Thought you might say that,” he smirked. He removed his undershirt and tossed it to the floor before sitting on the edge of the mattress, reaching down to pluck the socks off his feet.

When he turned to her, Madelyn was struck by the man she saw in the glow of the moonlight, practically a stranger and yet somebody she trusted her entire life with. Against common sense she’d gone and fallen in love with a beautiful mystery of a man, and nothing thrilled her more. She sat up to meet his advances, kissing him desperately as he worked to lift her nightdress up and off her body.

Madelyn removed her own bra, uncaring if he could do it just as quickly. At this rate, she just wanted to be naked and beneath him as soon as possible. Deacon must’ve found the action amusing, softly laughing against her mouth as he broke away from their kiss to lift off from the bed to discard his briefs. She took the opportunity to lean back against the pillows, pushing back the sudden realization that she was about to have sex for the first time in years—the first time since—

No, she reminded herself, closing her eyes tight. There was no time for that kind of guilt, or for those kinds of memories to permeate this space. With a steadying breath, she blinked open her eyes to find Deacon perched over her, the warmth of his body causing her earlier excitement to spike anew. He lowered himself closer, and she let out a shudder at the feel of his hardened arousal at the junction of her thighs.

“Je t’adore,” he whispered against her ear.

Madelyn turned her head so that she could look at him, lock eyes—blue on blue. She wrapped one leg around his, silently encouraging him as she hooked her arms around his shoulders. “Deacon, please.”

That’s all it took for him to slowly sink into her, the air stolen from her lungs as he became fully seated within her. Deacon moved slow in those initial moments, almost agonizingly so, staying close to her body as he steadily rolled his hips against hers. It wasn’t until she let out a strangled moan and grasped the hair along his scalp that he dared to increase his speed, fully retreating with each thrust before pushing back in. There were more hushed, incoherent and foreign words exchanged, more silent prayers and whispered names against mouths between hungry kisses.

Eventually he leaned back onto his haunches and the angle created a delightful increase to her pleasure and judging by the way Deacon panted and struggled to keep his groans contained, he felt the same. Madelyn felt admired under his gaze, her skin aflame as his blown pupils darted across her naked flesh, fingers digging tightly into her hips as he gradually lost control of his thrusts. She’d been so caught up in her own past that she hardly considered—or remembered—that it had possibly been a long time for him as well.

“Come here,” she beckoned him back to her arms and he practically collapsed against her, their limbs tangling together as they lost themselves to each other.

It didn’t take more than one, two—three punctual thrusts for Madelyn to snap, crying out as she came with a trembling force. Deacon followed shortly thereafter, clinging tightly to her as he snapped his hips tightly to her with a guttural groan. The two stayed coiled together for the next several moments until the spasms passed, Deacon pulling away with a deep exhale as he withdrew to collapse at her side.

Neither said a word as they came down from their individual highs of ecstasy, the room slowly growing quiet as their breathing returned to normal. Madelyn was the first to roll onto her side to face him, and for all that they had shared in the past and just now, she felt strangely bashful. Deacon was already gazing at her with an expression she couldn’t place, the moonlight twinkling in his eyes. Still, the two remained quiet, only regarding each other with similar smiles. He silently urged her to snuggle close against his chest, wrapping their still warm bodies in a thin sheet.

Madelyn still wasn’t sure what the nature of their relationship was, but that was a conversation for another day. She wasn’t about to ruin the moment with a potentially tremulous conversation—not everything needed to be talked through, not everything needed an immediate answer. It was well enough to just be happy in the moment. And despite all the other worries in her life—God—was she happy. She could feel sleep finally calling her into the darkness.

Before she succumbed, she smiled, content to be wrapped up in his arms. “Goodnight, Deacon.”

She convinced herself she was dreaming when he responded minutes, or maybe hours later.

“Goodnight, Madelyn.”