#You Catch a SWAT Officer with Muffins…?

[desert-fern]

Pairing: Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace X Fem!Reader

Summary: SWAT Officer Natasha Trace has a problem. Her new neighbour. One could even say she has a crush, but that can’t be true, could it? When you introduce yourself after a hard day AND you bring muffins, how could Natasha not constantly have you on her mind?

Warnings: mention of guns in the beginning, physical fight, bruising, Natasha is very gay (so is the reader tbh), cuddles, kissing

Word Count: 7.6k (because when it comes to Nat, nothing is brief)

A/N: Hello all. It’s only fitting that the first thing I post after a long hiatus is a Phoenix oneshot, since my first work on here was also a oneshot for her. I wrote this with encouragement from @/sylviebell, and it is dedicated to her in part. Enjoy!

===

“Nix, rabbit coming your way!”

Natasha vaulted over the deck railing, landing in crouch as she cut off the path of the suspect racing towards her, Jake hot on his tail, but still a ways behind. The man’s eyes widened as he went to duck by her, his whole body primed to jump out of the way if she made a move to catch him. She knew she didn’t look like a threat to this man, who seemed to be wider than he was tall, 6 feet of pure shit for brains, and more bullets in the gun he held than added up to his IQ.

“What’re the pigs doing sending a sweet little thing like you after me, huh?” His sneer was oily, the very expression would have made her skin crawl if adrenaline hadn’t been pumping through her veins. “C’mon baby, let me by and I don’t have to hurt you.”

The Glock in his hand was hanging loosely by his side, but Natasha didn’t move, standing in front of him, her finger millimeters away from her rifle’s trigger. “Not today, Harrison.”

“What a shame.” Harrison lunged forwards, his weapon raised, but she was faster. One gloved hand dropped her rifle, the other closed around his wrist, slamming it back into a two by four running along the length of the fence beside them. “You fucking whore!”

A fist slammed into her side, forcing a winded grunt to escape her as she slammed his arm back into the fence, the Glock slipping from his grip and landing between them. His eyes darted down, ripping his arm free and swung at her, making for his weapon, but a swift kick to his knee had him sprawling out on the ground.

Natasha pounced on him, a knee dug deep into the small of his back as she wrestled his arm behind him. His other hand stretched out in front of him, scratching at the dirt while trying to snatch the gun off the ground.

She pulled his arm back harder, glancing up to see if any of her team was nearby, but nothing. Harrison took that moment to buck up, his head snapping back and bouncing off her helmet and Nat reeled back, her eyes watering.

Harrison used her loosened grip to pull his arm free and get up, but he was cowed when Nat pulled her side arm, placing the barrel against the back of his neck. “Don’t fucking move.”

Jake chose that moment to show up, his rifle drawn as he saw his teammate perched on the back of their suspect, her pistol to his head. “Damn Nix,” he whistled.

“Shut up and help me?”

“Yes ma’am.”

If she had a hand free, she would have flipped him off, but instead, she watched him press his radio, calling in a Code 4, all suspects in custody. “Hands behind your back, Harrison. Let’s go.”

Jake’s rifle came into view, pointed down at the man underneath Natasha, daring him to try anything. Fortunately, he didn’t and once the zip ties were secured, she hauled him to his feet, frog marching him out of the backyard and down the sidewalk. She passed him off to a uni, keeping a sharp eye on the man while the cuffs replaced her zip ties, and Natasha couldn’t help but grin a little when Harrison glowered at her through the back window of the police cruiser.

“Nix. Nice takedown,” Coyote said, clapping her shoulder. “Glad we got at least one of those bastards, Rooster and I both had to drop ours. Then Seresin booked it after that shithead and you were gone.”

She scoffed, a sharp grin taking over her expression. “You think I’m gonna let him get the collar? In your dream, Yote.”

“Gotta show us all up, huh?”

“As the only woman here, fuck yeah I do.” Natasha Trace. 24-David. Phoenix. No matter what they called her, she remained the only woman on LAPD SWAT, shattering the expectations of the old guard who had condemned the mere idea of her presence in SWAT Academy.

“Be the best,” her former partner had told her. “That way they can’t ignore you. Prove them all wrong.” And prove them wrong, she did. Five years later, she remained on 20 Squad, but she was still the only woman in the black tactical gear. The only one standing shoulder to shoulder with a whole room of men, some of whom had wanted her gone.

The six person team of herself, Seresin, Rooster, Coyote, Micks, and the infamous 20-David himself, an older cop known only as Mav, had been hunting down a gang of white supremacists with the goal of attacking a number of Jewish synagogues in the hopes of burning them to the ground. James Harrison had been the second in command to the shot-caller, Morgan Whitmore.

Whitmore and his crew had trashed two synagogues already, having intentionally killed a number of people who tried to escape, and was now intent on disappearing underground with the rest of his so-called vigilante group, The True Bloods. With Harrison in custody, all they had to do now was lean on him, drop the blame for everything solidly on him and watch him scramble to deny everything.

“Roos! Whitmore!” Natasha yelled, pointing to a tall, scrawny, bald man about a hundred feet off from where they stood in the middle of a swarm of flashing lights.

She took off after him, her boots slapping against the pavement and her rifle bouncing against her thighs with every step she took. “Give it up, man!” Natasha heard Rooster yell. “You’re trapped.”

“That’s what you think, you k-” Whitmore shouted back, getting cut off as Nat barreled into him from the side, having snuck through a gate and tackled him to the ground with a grunt.

“Watch your damn mouth, asshole,” she spat, cuffing him and if she pulled the ties a little tighter than usual, no one would know aside from her.

Her teammate hauled Whitmore to his feet, rolling out his shoulders as he did. The same blue-black uniform she wore clung tight to him, it did to all of them. Builds hidden underneath the bulk of their vests and adorned with keepers full of everything they could possibly need for a job. Thigh holsters held Kimber Custom TLE pistols close to their bodies, ready at a moment if the rifles slung across their chests didn’t do the job.

It was hard not to feel like a badass when kitted out like they were. “Got him,” Bradley chirped, shoving the bald man forwards. He was caught by Mav, who led him over to the remaining squad car, shoving him into the backseat with little ceremony.

“Nice takedown, Nix.”

“Thanks. Asshole never saw me coming, then boom! I rode him to the ground like the world’s shittiest surfboard.”

Mickey laughed, the sound bouncing off the houses lining the street. “I’m sorry I missed it, you shouted and then you were just gone. Half the unis nearly took off after you before Mav told them to stand down.” He’d pulled his helmet off, dark curls sticking up at all angles before he raked a gloved hand through them. “Yote was talking about grabbing drinks after this, you in?”

Natasha shook her head, unbuckling her helmet with one hand. “Nah, I just want to go home and not think about things,” she replied. “Thanks though.”

Honestly, she was done with today. Natasha just wanted to go home and rebinge Brooklyn 99 while shoveling spring rolls into her face while in her sweatpants, and hopefully she came home just in time to catch sight of her new neighbour.

“You talk to her yet?”

“No.”

“C’mon Nix. Hot neighbor isn’t just gonna pop over and say something if you don’t make that jump,” Mickey reasoned, keeping his voice low.

An arm slung itself over her and Mickey’s shoulder, Jake dropping his weight onto them both. “Whatcha whispering about?” He had dropped his own voice to a stage whisper while still speaking loud enough to catch the attention of the rest of the squad. “Hot girls?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Eyes immediately turned to scrutinize her and Natasha’s cheeks flushed. “So there is a hot girl!”

Walking back to the armoured truck, dubbed Black Betty by most of the SWAT teams, Natasha had to endure comment after comment related to her love life, or lack thereof. “What’s she like?” Coyote pressed, sliding into the back of the van.

Natasha stayed silent, hoping Mickey would too, but no such luck befell her. “She hasn’t talked to her yet.”

“What?” Rooster asked from the driver seat. “How haven’t you said anything?”

“Because Chicken, it’s different for me than it is for you. I don’t even know if she likes girls.” Her face was hot and she was staring at her boots with such an intensity it was a miracle they hadn’t burst into flame. “And I can’t just do what you do. If you can even call that flirting.”

Jake bumped her shoulder. “Chin up. If she is into chicks, she’ll go for you.”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha slumped back against the wall of the vehicle, grabbing onto the bar above her head so she didn’t go flying across the back. “You don’t know that.”

“No we don’t,” Mav spoke up, his eyes kind. “But if she’s made you, the most cynical person on this team, crack her shell a little, she has to be special.”

Letting Maverick’s words settle in the air, Natasha thought back to the last time she had seen you. You had come through the door like a hurricane had made a home in your veins, whirling and barely taking a moment to stop and breathe. She’d been on her way out of the building, but paused when she saw the determination in your eyes and the large box in front of you. Natasha had watched you haul the box into the elevator, your arms flexing as you carried it past her.

It had taken everything in her not to run after you and offer help, especially when she had caught sight of the way your legs looked in the black athletic leggings that were marked by what she had assumed was flour.

That was three weeks ago and she hadn’t laid eyes on you since, even if the two of you lived right next door to one another.

Maybe she would be lucky tonight.

===

Little did Natasha know, you were thinking the same thing as you boxed up the last of the treats from your bakery.

You had seen her for the first time while moving in four months ago and it had taken everything in you not to drop the box you were carrying past her. You knew she was staring at you and it filled you with a giddiness that had you squealing to yourself when you finally made it upstairs with the last box of books. The woman next door didn’t seem to do much, shifting from work to home and back again, dressed in a tight black tee and tactical pants that hugged her thighs in a way that had you drooling when she passed you in the hall, offering a tight smile.

Three weeks ago though? She had grabbed the door for you to haul the new nightstand you had just bought through the entryway and into the elevator, you hadn’t even had the time to say hi.

But from the little you saw of her, the only things you knew were that she worked for SWAT, she liked spring rolls and cherry ice cream, she listened to all sorts of music, but had a preference for rock and punk, and she was up at nearly all hours, seeming to have no schedule to what you assumed were her days off. You didn’t even know her name, but you had heard a shorter man with dark curls call her Nix once.

She didn’t need to know that you called her that in your head whenever you did see her, lost in her own world, earbuds blasting something you couldn’t make out.

But you had steeled yourself and spent an hour past closing decorating a box you were going to fill up with some leftover treats that hadn’t sold in time. If she didn’t like them, maybe she could bring them to her team and hopefully you didn’t just shoot yourself in the foot when it came to your very attractive neighbour.

===

Natasha heaved herself out of her car, slinging her backpack over her shoulder and made for the glass doors of her building. Her body may have ached like she had been thrown down a set of stairs, but she still kept her eyes out for your blue car, finding it parked in its usual spot.

You were home, but she had likely missed you on her way to grab the spring roll wrappers.

“Fuck.”

Natasha wasn’t a creep. She wasn’t, but after the day she had, the bruise creeping down her forehead from the headbutt earlier, she could do with the soft smile you always gave her when she saw you.

It made everything better, okay? And so did the way you always smelt like cinnamon, the scent stuck in your hair.

But she would have to wait for another day, Natasha thought, as she dragged herself up the steps to her apartment. You were home and doing your own things, why waste time dwelling on a situation she had no control over? Even if butterflies erupted in her gut at the mere thought of you waving to her, smiling like you did.

Nah.

Dwelling on it wasn’t a good idea, that would only end in disappointment.

Her keys rattled against the wood, the clinking accompanying the crinkling of the plastic bag she held. Finally, her door was open and Natasha slipped inside, leaning back against her closed door as she could finally try and relax from the chaos that had governed her day.

Boots tumbled over one another as she tossed them against the shoe rack and her backpack and sweater were abandoned on the chair by her entryway. She would deal with them later, right now she needed food and Natasha had never been more thankful to her past self who had prepared the spring roll filling how her best friend’s grandmother had taught her and left it to sit while she was at work.

Now all she had to do was assemble and fry them, maybe bake them if she wasn’t feeling up to the task of dealing with hot oil. They wouldn’t be the same if she baked them, but it meant a lot less effort and more time spent sinking into her couch cushions.

So she did just that; each roll getting placed on a tray until it was full. Then into the oven and Natasha dropped her dishes in the sink, grimacing at the clattering sound before traipsing off to change out of her work clothes and into a tank top and the softest pair of sweats she owned.

Natasha had just sat down, pulled her blanket off the floor and onto her lap when a tentative knock sounded from the door. Great. She was really hoping it wasn’t her team, her head hurt and the last thing she needed was to contend with Rooster and his monster appetite.

She refused to share her food with him anymore, given how much he ate. That was a mistake she only made once.

Pulling herself from the couch with a groan, Natasha padded over to the door, stealing a glance through the peephole to find… you. What were you doing at her door?

Her body seemed to lock up, completely paralyzed at the thought as to why you were outside. Why now? And more importantly, what was in the box you were holding? Mickey and the boys would never let her live it down if she didn’t answer the door. Hell, she didn’t think she would forgive herself if she didn’t talk to you face to face.

But she was still frozen behind her door, your shifting posture happening in front of her unblinking eyes. It was when you sighed and brought your hand up to knock again that something knocked loose in her mind and Natasha cracked her door open right before you made contact. “Umm… hi?”

In your mind, you were whooping and hollering, but on the outside, you gave her a small smile. “Hey, I uh… I live next door and I know we haven’t actually met in person yet, but I wanted to bring these over to you.” You held the blue box out in front of you, eyes darting between the white ribbon holding the lid on and her curious expression.

“Oh, thank you,” Natasha said, a smidgen of caution lacing her tone. She opened the door wider, stepping fully into your view, her hands out to take the box from you. “What are they?”

You let out an awkward laugh, passing over the box. “Oh, right. Sorry. I own a bakery and I don’t usually have treats left over at the end of the day, but I had more than I could eat on my own so I figured I would bring them over.” You were rambling, having been struck dumb by her in a tank top, biceps defined in a way that you knew there was strength in her. “A few muffins and some other pastries.”

“Any blueberry ones?” Natasha was grinning at your flushed cheeks, finding your apparent nervousness adorable as you fiddled with the belt loop on your tight jeans.

“Actually yes.”

Giving you a smile of her own, Nat pulled the ribbon free of its bow and the smell of baked goods filled the air between you both, making her inhale deeply and let out a groan. “How you have anything left over at the end of the day when these smell like this, doesn’t make sense,” she mumbled, peering into the now open box.

While she searched through the box for the blueberry muffins, you stood ramrod straight, trying to ignore your reaction to the groan she had let out. The black tank top and gray joggers were bad enough, but add in a sound like the one that had slipped from her mouth? God, this was one of those moments where it was both a blessing and a curse that you found women attractive.

“I’m sorry. I should have introduced myself, Natasha,” she said, swapping the box to her left hand so she could offer her right to shake yours.

Natasha. God, even her name was pretty. Focusing your thoughts, you took her hand and introduced yourself, immediately priding yourself on not freaking out over the calluses on her palms and the small ridges of scars.

You fell into a natural silence, neither one of you sure on what to say next. “So…”

“I uh..”

“Sorry, you go first,” you told Natasha with a nervous laugh.

She was staring intently at the box in her hand, a blush creeping up her neck. The curiosity in your eyes combined with the warmth of your expression, and the tight jeans that cling to your legs had all rational thoughts escaping her mind. Natasha just wanted to drag you inside and never let you leave, but the logical part of her brain reminded her that as an LAPD officer, that was kidnapping and it was illegal. “Just uh… thank you for these. Really needed them today.”

The shy smile turned into a beaming one, the butterflies in your stomach coming back in full force. “You’re so welcome, Natasha. Happy to bring some joy to one of LAPD’s finest.” There was an inflection on your tone that you hadn’t intended but you couldn’t lie and say that watching the blush spread higher up over her cheeks wasn’t satisfying. “I’ll get out of your hair, have a good night.”

You stepped back, scanning over her face one more time, this time your eyes caught on the growing purple bruise halfway down her forehead. “Oh my god! What happened? Are you okay?” You knew concern flooded your once gentle expression, a sudden change from a heart beat earlier.

Natasha chuckled a little. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just a job-related thing. I’m all good,” she replied, waving off your concern. Yet deep down, she was preening under your attention, relishing the fact that she had caught your eye, even if it was mostly from an injury that seemed to throb in time with her rapidly beating heart.

“Can I ask what happened?” Your voice was quiet, very curious but not wanting to overstep. “Completely fine if not, but that looks like it hurts.”

She opened her mouth to reply but was cut off by the oven timer going off. “Ummm…”

“All good. I’ll let you go get that,” you reassured her with a smile. “Hopefully that heals up soon. Have a good night, Natasha.” You turned away, hoping she didn’t catch the dejected look on your face. A part of you wanted to turn back and hope she invited you in, but a larger part of you was wary.

You never wanted to intrude, a leftover piece of your childhood that would never be fully left in the past. Especially now.

But as you disappeared into your apartment, you didn’t catch the pained look on the SWAT officer’s face, who now felt worse than before. She had been this close to inviting you in, a second more and Natasha would have dragged you inside, content to spill her heart at your feet in order to have you stay just a moment longer.

Natasha closed her door, the bit of muffin she’d eaten turning to sand in her mouth. She had your name now and the name of your bakery if the pastry box was any clue, and she vowed on the now aching part of her heart that she would talk to you again.

===

Three days later, Natasha still hadn’t seen you around the building. She hoped you weren’t avoiding her, but at this point, she didn’t care.

Mickey and one of the guys from 50-Squad, Bob, had teased the everloving crap out of her when she finally came clean about talking to you. They were immediately planning a trip to your bakery so they could try and catch a glimpse of you, but were overheard by the rest of her team who then wanted in, and now here she was, standing outside of your storefront with six hungry and nosy SWAT guys.

“It’s cute,” Jake said absentmindedly. “Wonder if it’s as cute as its owner.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes, smacking Jake. Hard. “Fucking enough Seresin.”

“Jeez Nix, okay.” He backed away from her, his hands up in a placating manner. Coyote backed up too, a teasing look in his eyes that were fixed on Natasha. “Was just kidding.”

There was a stormy look on her face, a thunderstorm swirling through her eyes, while normally severe, had become downright terrifying. Deep down though, Natasha’s heart was pounding in her chest like she was chasing down a suspect, her hands were clammy, and while she would never say it out loud, she was tempted to just get back in the car and drive off.

She hadn’t even been to your bakery alone before and now she had somehow dragged six loveable dumbasses along for the ride.

What was she thinking?

“Okay, I’m going in. Alone.” The men around her started to protest, but Natasha cut them off with a glare. “What do you want?”

Her team started talking over one another, all seeming to jostle in place in order to be heard. Bob and Mickey sidled up to Natasha, each making note of someone else’s order, offering to come inside with her in low tones of voice.

From inside the bakery, you had been restocking muffins when three gray cars pulled up, out stepping seven people all dressed in black tactical pants and thick black boots. You peeked over the display case to try and catch a glimpse of who was coming inside, much like you always did. But the hard stare of a shorter person made your heart skip in its usually steady rhythm.

Natasha had come by.

Closing your eyes, you tried to steady yourself. Your hands fisted your apron so tight as you steeled yourself for the door to swing open and reveal the woman you had practically been drooling over days earlier, but it never came.

Instead, you heard voices arguing on the sidewalk in front of the door, quippy, teasing remarks being flung back and forth.

“What the hell is that about?”

“No clue, Anya. I’m about to go tell them off, though.”

Anya, one of the few employees you had, laughed. “I don’t know. I mean, look. Ms. Jane’s baby boy is fascinated by the voices.”

“Maybe so, but Ms. Jane will not be impressed at the swearing.” You were right, the auburn haired woman sitting in the far corner of your bakery was glaring at the door like her expression alone could silence the ‘crass language,’ as she called it.

Clearly, she had never heard you slam your hip into the counter.

“Stay here, the last batch of muffins should be done in less than two minutes. I’m going to go give the loudmouths outside crap.” You rounded the counter, gesturing to the back room as you headed for the door.

You swung it open, nearly clipping the arm of a man nearly a foot taller than you. “Excuse me, if you are going to have an argument, can you please not have it five feet away from my front door? You’re driving off my customers.”

Heads turned to face you, all of them having the decency to look a little chastised. But you weren’t looking at them. Your eyes had fallen on Natasha, who stood nearly hidden behind a blonde, her eyes downcast with a bright blush crawling up to the tips of her ears. “Sorry, we were just trying to figure out which one of us was going to go in. Just so we didn’t take up the whole place,” explained the shortest man with curly black hair. He was the man you had seen your neighbour walking with in the early days of you moving into your new place.

“Completely okay if you all come in,” you reassured him with a smile. “Just keep the swearing to a minimum and your voices lower, officers.” You ducked back inside, practically running back behind the counter, giving Anya a wide eyed look.

“What happened?”

“They’re hot!” You hissed in a whisper. “Like model-on-a-magazine-cover level hot, Anya! And I just invited all of them in!”

Anya gave you a sympathetic look, a laugh escaping her. “God bless and fucking curse your bisexual ass, huh?”

You didn’t respond, choosing to make a series of frantic gestures that definitely made you look crazy, but you couldn’t find it within you to care. The door swung open, the little bell making a tinkling noise that had you abruptly putting your hands down and mumbling something about the muffins being done.

In the back room, you leaned against the wall, cursing your awkwardness. “It’s just some very attractive SWAT officers. They can’t hurt you,” you paused, catching the wording of your quiet rambling. “No, they could definitely hurt you, but they won’t. They have no reason to do so.”

A few moments passed and you could hear Anya chatting with a few of the people who had followed Natasha inside. You hadn’t been avoiding her, okay, maybe a little. But that was only because you had been crazy busy on your feet all day and you just wanted to lie down.

Not because you didn’t want to look like an idiot in front of probably one of the most attractive women you had ever seen.

Not at all.

Who were you kidding? “C’mon, woman up. You have a few more muffins to bring out to the front, have a chat with the customers of your bakery, dumbass. Then you can come back and hide.” Pep talk aside, you knew that you couldn’t stay back here forever.

So you grabbed the tray Anya had pulled out of the oven and carried it up to the front, plastering a smile on your face. “Excuse me, Anya.”

Ducking down, you pulled open the case and started adding your freshly baked muffins to the few that remained. “What are these ones?” A voice asked, startling you. “Sorry.”

A glance up told you that the curly haired man was talking to you. “Oh umm… brown sugar cinnamon. It’s like a cinnamon bun, but in muffin form.”

“Interesting… I’ll grab one of them to try.” His eyes seemed far more knowledgeable about who you were than he was letting on. “I’m Mickey.”

“Nice to meet one of Natasha’s coworkers,” you replied, slipping a muffin into a paper bag.

Mickey gave you a curious look. “Did she talk about us?”

You shook your head as you rang him up. “No, but it isn’t hard to put the pieces together when you all come in here together and you have come by the building every now and then.”

“I guess it isn’t,” he mused, tapping his card. “Nice to meet you too. It’s not everyday that we get to watch Nat fall over her feet because she finds someone attractive.” Mickey stepped away with a wink, his muffin in his hand as he and the other SWAT officers left, Anya having helped those of them who had wanted a treat.

The door shut behind him, Natasha giving you a shy wave as she left, which you returned. But a few minutes after they had pulled away, you were still standing there behind the counter in near shock. “She finds me attractive?”

===

The rest of the day passed in a blur for Natasha. She had seen you a few times while her team was at your bakery, overheard what Mickey had said to you (she had slapped him a few times after they left), and now, at the end of her day, her drive home was full of mental snapshots of you and the words of your coworker “God bless and fucking curse your bisexual ass, huh?”

Huh indeed.

Your car wasn’t in its usual place when she pulled in. Probably working late.

Oh well. After a day like today, all Natasha wanted to do was lie down and maybe, just maybe, she would catch a glimpse of you.

Her steps up to her apartment were labored, her ribs aching with each footfall jostling her, and the bruising under her shirt was enough to make even the most hardened officers SWAT had cringe in sympathy.

As she opened the door to the hallway, the elevator doors slid open to reveal you bundled up in a massive sweater. You spotted her and nearly dropped the bag in your hand in your hurry to grab the door and help Natasha forwards. “Are you okay?”

“I will be,” she ground out through clenched teeth. “Just have to get some pain meds into me and I’ll be fine, Gorgeous.” Natasha didn’t even notice that the pet name slipped out, too busy trying not to overly focus on the feel of your hands against her hip as you helped her down the hall.

Your brain stuttered to a halt, risking a sideways glance at Natasha who didn’t seem to blink at the name she had just called you. She stopped in front of her door, trying to dig her hand into her jacket pocket but grunting from the pain. “Can you…”

Her body had frozen as stiff as could be. You weren’t a medical professional by any means but you knew for a fact that Natasha was hurting badly. “Yeah, here.” You stuck your other hand into her pocket, plucking the keys out as deftly as you could, grinning a little at the little LEGO police officer keychain that swayed from the movement. “There you go,” you mumbled, pushing the door open with your foot, leading Natasha inside.

She kicked her shoes off, slowly making her way to the couch while you stood aimlessly in the front entryway, looking unsure and a little out of place in the sparse but colourful apartment.

The woman in front of you sank into the cushions of the black couch, pulled a blanket so vibrant it nearly glowed off the back of it and tried, yet failed, to throw it over her feet, her muscles seizing and making her stop as suddenly as she had started. “Hey, hey,” you said softly, padding across the floor and rearranging the blanket over her legs. “I’m going to grab you some water and maybe something to eat and then I’ll get out of your hair, okay? Just… don’t hurt yourself.”

Natasha looked hesitantly up at you, eyes moving from the blanket you still held to the concern in your eyes. “Or…”

An eyebrow raised curiously, your expression so puppy-like that Natasha huffed a laugh that quickly turned into a groan. “Or what?”

“Or you could stay here for a bit? Keep me company?”

Her words were so quiet you nearly missed them. Stunned into silence, all you could do was blink at her, the questions hanging in the air tinged golden by the setting sun. It was an offer that glittered like the gossamer threads of a spider web, something so delicate that a simple movement could shatter it beyond repair.

Your gaze flitted over her face, trying to discern if this was a joke. Mickey knew your feelings for her, had parsed them out as easily as you could breathe, as easily as kneading dough. Had he said something?

But maybe, maybe Natasha felt the same electricity under her skin when your eyes met. Felt the pull towards you despite barely knowing who you were. Maybe there was a chance and all you had to do was jump.

“Someone has to make sure you don’t hurt yourself anymore than you already have,” you teased, trying to will away the blush that seemed to explode over your cheeks. “I can’t have the very pretty badass next door falling off the couch trying to reach the remote, now can I?”

Now it was Natasha’s turn to blush, her ears erupted with a bright scarlet so suddenly it felt like they had been set alight with how warm her body seemed to get under your grin. Nearly preening but also suddenly shy, a conflict in emotions that sent nerves to chase away the giddy butterflies that had made their home in her stomach. “Awesome,” she said lamely, cringing at how awkward she sounded, even to her own ears.

Biting back your smile, you chose to spread out the blanket over her lap, brushing a hand over her bare arm before moving towards the kitchen. You busied yourself with finding a cup, filling it with water and quietly humming as you waited for it to fill, losing yourself in your thoughts until the water rushing over your hand pulled you free from the daydream.

The cup clinked against the coaster and you turned to see Natasha watching you over the top of her phone. “Did you want to change into something else before you get too comfortable?”

A barely-there nod came from the SWAT officer who had seemingly lost her voice. “Ye- Yeah. Please.” There were a million thoughts racing through her head, none of them appropriate for this scenario, but they remained there. They were proof that it wasn’t just an emotional attraction, but you, sweet, kind, gentle you, wouldn’t act on anything while she could barely bend over to pick something up on her own.

You bent forwards, letting her rest her arms on you before slowly helping her stand, nearly stopping when she groaned, but the breathless sound of her voice had you continue on, your own face heating as the soft noise registered. “Where’s your room?” You had asked softly, shuffling your socked feet over the hardwood as Natasha moved slowly towards the hall.

In her room, you left her half sitting against her bed while you pulled open the drawer she indicated to find so many pairs of sweatpants they caught on the lip of the drawer above. “Any preference?”

Natasha shook her head, slowly busying herself with taking off her shirt. The compression material clung to her, forcing her to look in your direction with a silent plea.

It took nothing for you to oblige, rising to your feet and standing between her legs, eyes seeking permission to touch her. Another gentle nod and you moved slowly, pulling the shirt away from her good side and Natasha slipped her arm out.

In a few short moves, the black compression shirt was replaced by a soft cream sweatshirt and Natasha hadn’t stopped staring at you, so engrossed in the task that it never seemed sexual. If anything, the gentle motions of your hands, the soft touches felt like you were offering her a comfort she had seemingly gone too long without experiencing them.

Leggings were swiftly changed into sweatpants, your positions switching as she now stood over you while you drew the material up and let Natasha finish the rest, your back turned to her, offering a sense of privacy that was still reassuring.

You deposited her back on the couch, mumbling something about changing out of your work clothes before crossing the room and slipping out the door. Unlocking your door, you all but ran into your room, your cheeks flushing with heat.

Why had you offered to help her change? You hadn’t been able to meet her gaze after the initial check for permission, your eyes darting everywhere aside from her face. They fell on the bruise, the image sticking with you even after you had covered it with her sweater, dunking you under cold water the moment your mind started to wander into less savory territory.

What happened to cause that? To be fair, you didn’t know much about what SWAT did, but a bruise that large, practically turning the smooth expanse of her torso black and blue, wasn't normal.

Unless it was?

Either way, you knew that you had to calm your flustered brain down. Obsessing over the muscle you had felt under your touch, the heat of her skin… Fucking hell.

Yeah, no. Bad brain.

So you flexed your hands, grabbed a pillow and pressed it to your face, screaming into it in a last ditch attempt to clear your mind. Then you changed into the shorts you wore to bed, a pair of grey sweats and a white tank top, before snatching up your slippers and shuffling next door.

A timid knock was met with a voice telling you to come in, and you opened the door to find Natasha halfway off the couch, the remote in her hand. “I can explain,” she rushed out, looking ashamed at having been caught.

You blinked at her, frozen in place, your brain having not yet caught up to what you were seeing. “Why didn’t you just wait for me to come back?”

“Because I feel bad that the first time you’re over here, I’m basically immobile and you have to help me with things,” she explained, picking at her sweater. “And…” Natasha exhaled, shrugging her non-injured shoulder.

Her unfinished sentence hung in the air between you both, a delicate thing nestled in uncertainty and fear.

“And what?”

Natasha gave you a weak smile, finally letting her eyes meet yours. “And, I think you’re pretty cool and I want to get to know you better.”

Oh.

Oh! Eyes wide, you took a hesitant step forward and for the third time today, you had to be brave and take the leap. “Natasha…” you said softly, fearful that the stillness around you would shatter if you dared speak too loud, dared to move too fast.

But that’s what this had been, hadn’t it? Daring? You had dared to bring those treats over a week ago. Dared to give her a wave and smile every time you passed her by, and in a way, you had dared to open your heart up, risking rejection and scorn, from the woman now shuffling awkwardly on the couch before your incredulous look.

“Or, I mean…”

“No,” you cut her off, moving toward the couch and her semi-reclined form. Brown eyes tracked your movements with curiosity, the SWAT officer now alert with the sight of your determination doing its best to protect your vulnerable heart. “Don’t take it back.”

Natasha paused, her next words on the tip of her tongue. You stood in front of her, an unreadable expression on your face, and she felt exposed. Stripped down to the deepest darkest thoughts in her heart and soul, you were winding your way past every haphazard barricade she attempted to throw up to protect herself and that terrified her.

She so desperately wanted to know everything about you, what made you tick, what made you laugh so loudly she could hear you through the shared wall, all of it. She found herself wanting to see the look on her team’s face when she introduced you, wanting to know what made you you.

Natasha Trace, the skeptic, the cynic, the one who never progressed past the second date because ‘what was the point?’ had somehow, inexplicably found someone that made her want to try.

You were closer now, standing between her knees watching her with an intensity that nearly stole her breath. “Be brave,” she thought distractedly.

“Natasha…” you nearly whispered. “I want that too.” You watched her eyes fall shut, relief seeming to wash over her as she drew a shaky breath, her fidgeting hands stilling as pressed a warm palm on your hip.

Her touch seemed to burn through your pants, through skin and muscle, right down to the bone, branding you. “I didn’t…” she trailed off, glancing up at you, her heart in her throat. “I didn’t think that…”

The words left unspoken seemed to echo in the sudden stillness filling her apartment. Neither of you had dared to dream about what might happen if the other expressed interest, instead you had longed in silence, in fear of ruining a slowly growing friendship and if you could be together, at least you had the other, right?

It all happened at once, Natasha’s other hand grasped your hips, drawing you forward until your knees bumped the couch between her spread legs and your breath caught. In a sudden display of strength, despite her injury, Natasha pulled you onto the couch, settling you astride her lap, your hands finding the soft material of the sweater you had helped her with barely 20 minutes earlier.

Now, eye to eye, you saw the flecks of green in her irises, felt the soft shaky exhale she let out as you adjusted your position, careful to not put too much weight on her, not while she was still hurt. You let your eyes flutter shut, too overwhelmed by her attention and the feeling of her thumb grazing the waistband of your sweats, occasionally letting it brush your skin.

Your mind was screaming at you and it sounded a lot like Anya yelling “Girl! I’m not even gay and I would kiss her!” So once again, you pushed past your hesitation and brought a hand up to her cheek, cradling her face, your heart nearly leaping out of your throat when she leant against it, pressing a barely-there kiss to the meat of your palm. The gesture so light you had to see if she had even done it.

That was it.

You had to, you couldn’t forgive yourself if you didn’t kiss her.

So you did. Ducking your head, you drew Natasha towards you, letting your lips graze hers as softly as she kissed your hand. You didn’t even get the chance to pull away before she was kissing you back like you were the only thing holding her on Earth. It was demanding, forceful, just like the woman beneath you and you held on as she stole control from you, content to let her hands roam just as yours did.

Eventually persistence won out and her lips parted yours, her tongue exploring briefly until you pulled back a fraction to catch the breath she had wrung from you. Natasha’s pupils were blown wide, something akin to hunger dancing in them, but as she shifted a little, her ribs pulled and she had to groan.

You moved to climb off of her, concern quickly chasing away the fog her kiss had dragged over your mind, but she held fast, callused hands flat against your bare skin. “No. Stay.”

“But..”

Natasha shook her head. “I’m fine,” and you couldn’t tell if she was lying, but that thought left your mind as soon as her lips touched yours again. A thumb brushed your waist, startling a gasp against her mouth and you could feel Natasha’s smirk as she kissed you deeper.

But you were no longer content to be passive in this kiss, your tongue tangling with hers and wresting control from your SWAT officer. Her gasp made it all worth it, because if her kissing you back wasn’t enough, this was.

Natasha was just as affected as you, so when she pulled back to catch her breath, you had to smile. “What are you grinning at?”

“You.”

She ducked her head, a blush climbing her neck until it reached her ears. “So…” she said after a pause. “What now?”

You shrugged. “You hungry? I could always make something to eat before we watch a movie. Unless you have a better idea?”

Sneaking one last kiss, Natasha grinned. “That sounds perfect.”

===

A/N: Hey guys, Happy Pride, and thanks for reading! This is for both @dakotakazansky and for @/sylviebell, both have had huge parts in fixing my hand to write this, so it is for the both of them!

This was also inspired by this moodboard made for my 700 followers celebration

Taglist: @startrekfangirl2233 @sarahsmi13s @horseshoegirl @teacupsandtopgun @dakotakazansky @floydsglasses @theviexenviper @cherrycola27 @roosterforme

[weaper-reaper]

Eventuality Pt.3+4

1, 2, 5, 6

As always crossposted on Ao3 @WeaperReaper. It gets updated first so check that out.

DAY after DAY, CHAPTER after CHAPTER,

I promised to feed my bbgirls and I’m doing so on a

SILVER PLATTER

Eat up kids.

NSFW UNDER CUT // MINORS DNI

CW: fluff, medical inaccuracies, German translation inaccuracies, military inaccuracies, you get the point, NSFW: smut, handjob, fingering, cunnilingus, rutting, dirty talk, etc, not too bad but you’ll find out. WC~7.7k

Since then the rest of the week went by relatively uneventful. I fell into an easy daily pattern. Wake up, shower, entertain whatever morning challenge Soap set for himself and the troops, then lock myself in the infirmary until the sun set. Sunday rolled around and I found myself carrying a tray of food back into the sterile and cold room. Outside, the days grew hot, but I dressed in thick clothes daily because of how chilled the makeshift office was kept. Thankfully, whatever help they had before me did a decent job of keeping medical records for most of the soldiers. So after a few quick emails between myself and KORTAC command, I was able to round up everyone’s history, some only dating back a few years.

There were a handful of documents that continued to stay missing. Most of Soap and Price’s history had been erased, and there was nothing on Ghost. I hadn’t even gotten a hint as to his real name, same went for Konig.

My stomach did flips as his name crossed my mind.

Konig had made it a habit to visit everyday at the end of my shift- or whenever it was when I finished paperwork for that day. He’d see me at the door and make an excuse to walk me back to the sleeping quarters. It was quite most of the time, that seemed to always be the case with him. He’d ask me how my day went, and then never really elaborated on his.

I didn’t mind though, after the buzzing and beeping that rang through my ears all day I appreciated his gentle calm.

I settled at the desk in the back, tray clacking loudly against the steel top, and chair speaking just as annoyingly underneath me. I was proud of myself for catching up so quickly though, I had practically everyones name, face, and blood type memorized.

I was in the middle of shoving a banana muffin in my face when someone knocked on the open door. It was Soap, in full gear.

“Dressed up for me?” I teased and eyed him up and down.

He was equipped to the T, rifle strapped across his chest with matching mags tied into his vest. The black shirt he wore under it was almost too tight for him, and his biceps bulged under the thin fabric. My face heated.

“Only so you’d notice me.” He sauntered over to where I sat and grazed his fingers over my tray of food, I swatted his hands away. His close presence not doing any favors with my growing blush.

“Get your own food, Mctavish.”

“I did, yours looks better.”

I scoffed and two pairs of boots echoed loudly down the hall, approaching the room. I reeled quickly away when Price and Konig entered, I didn’t miss Konig eyeing our sudden distance, as if it were not far enough. I cleared my throat and addressed the both of them.

“Well aren’t I just popular today,” I stood and inched closer to the men at the door, letting the cots act as a barrier between us all.

“What do I owe the pleasure, Captain?”

They were both dressed similarly to Soap, boots strapped up tight and guns loaded. Price had his flimsy hat on again like he did the first day. His facial hair had grown significantly since then.

“Someone didn’t get the message, eh?” He mumbled, eyeing my form. I glanced down at what I was wearing. It was the usual, black fitted crew neck with matching cargo pants, my only pair of boots and medic jacket hung on the hook by the desk.

“What message?” I asked.

“We’re shipping out, Nurse.”

My eyes widened, a mission?

And they wanted to bring me?

I rushed over to my duffle bag packed with all the necessary medical supplies and onced it over. Thankfully it was still pretty much stocked.

“Have you checked out anything from the armory yet?” Soap approached behind me and handed me my jacket. I threw it on and slung the bag over my shoulder.

“Well it can’t be that dangerous can it? For you to want to bring your only licensed medical help?”

“We’re just gathering intel,” Price began, leading us four from the room. Soap joined his side and I followed behind them in stride as they briefed me. Konig fell into step beside me, quiet as usual, but his eyes never left me.

“Given what happened last time, figured it’d be better to just bring you along.” He continued.

“You thought right, sir. Another ambush isn’t going to do anyone any favors.”

“Right you are Nurse.”

Konig handed me a handgun, it was snapped shut in a black leather holster. They moved quickly. In the next handful of minutes we were loaded up in the back of a Jeep. Price drove and Soap sat passenger, Konig and I behind him. He had a laptop opened on his lap- a map of the dunes and some other information scrambled off to the side. He slid a gloved hand over the keys and shifted the monitor so I could watch.

It was a silent drive, Soap and Price held most of the conversation. I put in a good word or two when addressed but other then that just watched as Konig typed things into the laptop.

He pulled a photo up after a while.

“This man, we are looking for him.” He stated, and I realized only then how much I missed his warm accent. Soap and Price continued their conversation up front, and Konig spoke in a soft way.

“He’s ratted up in a building near us, we don’t normally take jobs like this but..” he trailed off.

Soap finished his sentence , “He might have information on another case we’re working on.”

“So it’s our job to find out what he’s up to, and bring him back to base for questioning.”

“Is that really the best tactic?” I questioned, the sun began to set, and the desert quickly grew cold. I shivered beneath my jacket and I swear Konig schootched just that bit closer, our thighs brushing together ever so slightly.

“I mean if he’s associated with the one’s who set an ambush up a week ago, who’s to say you’re not walking into a trap?”

Price chuckled from his seat and glanced back at me through the rear view mirror, then turned to Soap. “Told ya she’s a clever one.” Soap said lowly. Konig nodded in agreement.

“Ghost went ahead of us,” he continued, Scottish accent thick with witheld emotion. Was he worried for him?

I mumbled a small ‘good’. Having a scout sent out before was what’s clever.

These men, besides their cool exterior, were soldier through and through. The mission and end goal is the first thing on their mind. I blamed the shiver that ran up my spine on the cold. I could never do what they do, this S.A.S. All of my training went to healing, the though of bringing a man back- regardless of what he might be affiliated with- in a plan to torture information out of him..

Konig’s gloved hand pulled me from my head when he put it on my knee. I turned to look at him but he was looking away, out the window to his other side. He was different tonight, This the only crack in the facade he played. With me, he’d only been gentle and kind. But tonight out on a mission for the first time together, would I be afraid of what I’d see?

I placed my cold hand on top of where his lay, a gesture of comfort maybe, or a promise that whatever happened he’d still be there- underneath the fear enticing mask.

I swallowed hard.

Some hours later Price pulled up behind a crumbling building and threw us into park. The sun had far from set, but the moon was bright and full. It illuminated our surrounding area clearly. Something I was glad for, but the others didn’t share.

“We’re too exposed out here.” Soap complained. The place looked dead to me, however.

“Ghost, how copy?” He thumbed at the radio strapped to his vest.

There must have been some reply because he gave a thumbs up to price, and headed off into a seemingly random direction, slouching his way between the clay building and a wall- disappearing behind some shadows.

Price turned to us and Konig pulled a long thin sniper case from the back of the Jeep. I hadn't even noticed it before. There were black sharpie scribbles on one top, phrases in German and little doodles in another corner. My lips twitched up.

“You’ll keep watch with Konig, should anything happen- I’m looking to you Nurse.” Price laid heavily on me. Any smile I might have had faded, a seriousness settling over us.

“The two of you are my eyes, if everything goes according to plan- you’ll never see Soap or Ghost until we regroup. Konig has the safe houses, don’t leave his sight.”

‘Don’t leave his sight.’ He said it like a command, and it probably was. Though I didn’t make any plans to go wandering out on my own anyway. I turned to Konig and he was already staring down at me. The moon was bright behind him, and cast his face into one giant shadow, eyes dark, it was a scary sight to be on the wrong side of.

They shared a nod and Price jumped back into the Jeep, leaving us in his trail of dust after a moment.

“Let’s get set up.” Konig grabbed the handle of the case and turned to climb a flight of stairs. When we got to the top of the building, the other surrounding houses were clearly outlined by the moon. Lights were on in a handful of them just down the way that I hadn’t noticed before. Konig found a comfortable spot on the ledge and pulled out his rifle, snapping some pieces at the end together. He fell into a crouch and I joined him at his side, setting my bag underneath me to act as a seat. The ledge went just up to my shoulders, and Konig easily set up his scope utop it, always the perfect height.

It was dead silent for a few minutes, until he set his radio infront of me. He turned it down so low that only a faint static could be heard if you strained to hear it. His thumb reached over me to press the PTT on the side.

“In position, eyes on you Cap.” He eyed through his optic and shifted the nose of his rifle to follow where the Jeep Price drove could be see. If it weren’t for the dust and sand it kicked up, I wouldn’t have noticed it. Just a tiny black dot far out in the dunes.

“Copy. Stand by.” Price’s voice was muffled a little over the radio. It wasn’t really my place to ask questions about the mission, though that didn’t stop loads from firing out of every crevice of my brain.

Konig sighed to my right and I realized the bouncing of my leg was probably bothering him. I couldn’t help but be nervous, so I mumbled a silent apology.

“It’s okay.” He said quietly, eyes still looking through the scope, “I also have trouble sitting still.” He huffed a little, like there was some private joke for him.

I stilled my legs and instead focused on watching him closely. I hadn’t been this near his face before, since he first came to me at least. The cut on his jaw I cleaned before should be fairly healed by now, if he didn’t mess it it too much. My fingers itched to lift his mask to check it myself.

“Maus..” He drew out faintly after a while. My chest fluttered and he kept his body facing forward. “I can feel you staring.”

My voice caught in my throat and I couldn’t even apologize in response, I shifted to get up when his hand shot out and caught my elbow.

“No, it is alright just-“ he nudged me a little closer to him, “talk to me at least, your voice” he turned his head to look at me and our eyes met. The moon and clear sky reflected out of them, “It calms me.”

I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, nodding. “Okay uhm.” I racked my brain.

“What do you want to talk about?” I asked, switching over to eye the buildings instead. I prayed everything went smoothly.

“Anything. You.”

“Me?”

He nodded.

“I’m not that interesting I’m afraid.”

“You’re wrong.” He countered and turned to glance at me once more. His eyes settled on my breast pocket.

“Who is that photo of?” He asked, turning his attention back through his scope.

I was a little astonished.

“How do you know I have a photo?”

I could hear him laugh under his breath, the fabric covering his face shifted with the movement and I could feel my face heat up all over again.

“So you don’t deny it.”

I scoffed and turned away, looking anywhere but his direction. He was always watching me, so of course he probably noticed it a couple nights. It’s not like I tried to make a secret of it, sometimes if the day was rough I had a habit of pulling it out and thumbing over it a few times until I calmed down again. It wouldn’t surprise me if he already knew what was on it.

“It’s of my dad.”

“I’m sorry.” He said without missing a beat, immediately cursing at himself in German.

How did he-“You knew already.”

It was impossible to read his expression, especially when faced away from me, but I could hear the sheepishness in his voice when he answered me.

“I asked Price.” Was his reply.

I hummed.

“He told me about him.. and you. He was a war hero right?”

I hummed again and absentmindedly graced my fingers over the pocket his photo stayed zipped up tight behind.

“You’re awfully curious about me.” I tried to change the subject.

He shrugged.

“Enough to ask price about it.” I pushed.

“I want to get to know you, Maus.” The nervousness that sat in my chest from before immediately dropped into butterflies in my stomach, and I had to remind myself that we’re out here in this blistering cold on a mission. This wasn’t a tailgate party where I could fraternize with my coworkers.

I cleared my throat and let some moments pass between us silently. He continued to stay focused on his rifle, shifting if only to get more comfortable and not stiff out his hands. The radio buzzed between us, it was Soaps voice.

“Target located, extraction a-go.”

I let myself relax a bit, he seemed to be doing well at least. We hadn’t heard anything from Price yet, but I didn’t doubt he was in good shape too. Ghost I was the least worried about, if there was ever a man who could handle his own- it was him.

Konig sighed and shifted his weight again, leaning over me to palm the radio.

“Copy, all clear.”

Just then the roar of an engine bounced over the walls surrounding us. It wasn’t clear where the sound originated, but the both of us stilled to listen. Konig clicked off the radio and clipped it back onto his belt.

I moved into a crouch and slung my kit over my shoulders, ready to move given the signal.

Voices echoed underneath us, a handful of men talked in a language I couldn’t understand and Konig wasted no time in readjusting his rifle to carry. He grabbed onto my upper arm and led me quickly back down the stairs, I had to do my best not to trip and fall on top of him. His long legs made him able to move quicker than I could. We neared the bottom of the staircase when a light flashed through one of the windows, Konig pushed me against the adjacent wall and we stood as still as statues, I didn’t dare let myself even breath.

After a moment, when the flash moved he motioned to a door slightly off its hinges. I nodded and we moved over to it, swiftly slipping inside. It was cramped and Konig pulled the door shut tight behind him, his towering form covering my back completely. He had one hand on the doorknob, and the other glove palmed the wall in front of me, his arm resting over my shoulder- fingers directly in my line of sight.

We were shoved so closely together that I could feel his heart beat against his chest, or maybe it was mine. I tried to pull away slightly, but my foot caught on the uneven floorboards, Konigs hand cupped over my mouth before I could let out any noise, effectively pulling me back into him so that I rested on his chest. My breathing quickened, and he let his hand stay over my face, but loosened it slightly so that I could breathe.

We could hear the men from outside wander in. Two of them from the sounds of it. They chattered back and forward between each other as they scoped through the worn house.

Were they patrol? Wouldn’t ghost had let us know if he noticed any guards wandering around the buildings were were at?

The adrenaline coursed through me veins and made me more frustrated at him then I probably should’ve been. There was a reason he didn’t know, or didn’t tell us.

Footsteps approached our position and I held my breath, refusing to move even an inch.

Don’t fuck up, don’t fuck up.

If I made a noise then it wasn’t just my life on the line, but Konig’s too. So I held my ground, my hand wrapped around his wrist holding on as tightly as I could.

Just as the footsteps got closer brakes squealed outside. Yelling ensued and the men ran back outside towards all the commotion. I let a breath escape me and loosened my grip on Konigs arm. He remained still, even as we heard the men load back up into their vehicles and leave. A few moments passed and my own anxiety died down, it was quickly growing hot in this cramped space.

I wiggled a bit and shifted my weight from one foot to the other, Konigs breath hitched behind me and i stilled. Did he hear something I didn’t? I waited a moment more. His gear began to dig into my back and the position we were in made me grow uncomfortable.

Practically all my weight was tossed back onto him, crushed between me and the wall I’m sure he wasn’t in the best position either.

I attempted to move again, and his hand fell from my mouth across the front of my shoulders, pulling me tighter into him.

“Konig..” I whispered, afraid maybe there was someone still lurking around outside.

“Little maus..” his voice sounded strained, and I made a weak motion to pry his arm from my chest and turn to face him. The majority of his mass covered the door anyway, so I couldn’t really escape even if I wanted to. His grip tightened again, preventing me from moving, and my kit fell from my arm, landing in the remaining space in front of me with a soft thud.

“Please, don’t move.”

I obeyed and grew still in his arms again, trying to relax my body against his so my muscles didn’t ache from all the tension. I could feel the edge of his holster strap press against my lower rib, and his mask hung over my hair, shifting only when I moved. We stayed as we were and I listened for any movement I might have missed outside, but after a couple minutes like this, there was nothing.

I shifted again, and he groaned behind me.

Then I noticed it.

Something else pressed up into my lower back, I stopped immediately and swallowed thickly.

“Konig.. is that-“

“I’m sorry.” He responded, his grip on me never failing to loosen. As if the moment he moved the string would snap and everything would fall apart.

I was going to ask if it was a knife, or another handgun he had tucked and hidden away, but the conviction in his voice made me blush redder than any burn the sun could give me.

I cleared my throat and put on my doctor voice, “It’s okay.” I began and his tension slipped if not just slightly.

I made my final move to turn to face him, met with some resistance at first but ultimately he allowed me to move.

“No I’m-“ he voiced unevenly, unsure about the entire predicament probably. My heart raced in my chest as I turned us so we were flush against each other. One of his arms remained wrapped around my back gently, the other keeping a death grip on the doorknob. Practically welding us shut in this room.

I tried to glance up to his face, but the small closet left me no room to. I’m sure his eyes were glued shut anyway. I let my hands circle around his middle, and rested my head on his chest- the strap of his gun dug into my cheek but I didn’t really mind. His entire warmth enveloped me.

“What are you doing?” He whispered, I could feel his mask shift above me as he talked.

“Shh.” I said and let my body weight press against him.

“Try to relax, Konig.”

It took another minute or so, but eventually both his arms came to rest over my back, and his chin lowered to sit on my head. We cuddled like this for what felt like hours, my feet grew sore from standing, but thankfully Konig took most of my weight.

After a while my body grew numb, and any intruding poking and prodding died down too. Reluctantly I slowly pulled back, supporting my entire body weight back onto my own two feet. Konig sighed but let me pull away, and I felt incredibly colder outside of his arms.

I wanted to say something, anything that would help ease the tension that stood between us, but words were lost on me. He also said nothing as he reached for the doorknob, there was a moment when his eyes tipped over to me, and I thought he would say something, but he instead shoved the door open. The entire thing practically crumbled under his force. We spilled out into the hallway and I took a second to steady myself. Konig went back up to the roof to retrieve his case, and I made my way outside cautiously.

Tire tracks sat heavy in the sand, and trailed off behind the building towards where the lights I saw earlier were. I heard as he approached my side, silently. He ticked the radio back on and mumbled something I couldn’t hear. Prices voice rumbled back over the static and instructed us to meet him at the nearest regroup location.

Without a glance back at me he started off in one direction, opposite of where Soap and Price had disappeared before. I followed the path he set, and a new feeling of uneasyness found it’s way back to sit heavy in my stomach. Being given the cold shoulder didn’t feel good, suddenly I regretted any of my actions.

I chewed on my lip, should I say something?

I hesitated, “Where-“

“Safehouse.” Konig replied, without missing a beat. As if he already knew the question I was going to ask. I nodded to myself and kept my head down, watching only his boots and my own feet following them. The strap of my bag digging into my shoulder.

About three miles later we arrived at an old warehouse. There was a gap in the chain fencing that we both squeezed through, my smaller frame a lot easier then Konigs. He unlatched the side door and it creaked open in front of us.

The ceilings were high, and a loft sat overlooking the main area. A couple smaller rooms were boxed off to the right, probably offices at some point. The rest of the space was empty, save for a table that sat directly in the middle. A map and some other random papers littered on top of it. The place looked like it hadn’t seen the presence of anything in years. Sand and dust filled in through the cracks in the windows and left piles of the stuff below the frames.

We were the first ones here.

Konig climbed the steps as if he’d been here a hundred times. I followed him up and he settled on a torn red couch, unloading his heavier equipment and tossing his case onto the ground. I dropped onto my duffel bag and watched as he worked.

His fingers were long and easily disassembled his rifle into three large chunks. He placed them back into his case and latched it back up, finally taking a moment to look over at me.

He spoke first.

“Are you alright?”

If I wasn’t exhausted from the hike in the dunes, and muscles tense from our earlier encounter I probably would’ve had half a mind to give him some attitude. But I was tired, and he was my comfort.

“No.” I choked out.

He immediately rose and it took him two strides to reach me, arms returning around my frame and enveloping me completely. I let a huff of frustration escape me.

“Tell me what’s wrong, Maus.” I fisted at his vest, pushing my head into where his neck met his chest. His kneeling position made him the perfect size for me to ball up into.

“I’m tired, Konig. I’m not fit for this.”

His large hand smoothed my hair back and the movement instantly calmed me. I sighed heavily against him and pushed myself off.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, “It’s fine- I’m fine.”

His eyes searched mine, and he kept his arms lazily looped behind my back. I was looking down at him slightly from this angle. Though there wasn’t much light in the space, I could read the contours of his eyes and brows perfectly. He was worried and it tore at my heartstrings.

The last person to look at me like this…

The photo in my breast picked burned hot and I tore my eyes away from him.

He glanced down between my lap and back at the couch, then his palms flushed against my back as he ushered me over to the couch. In all honesty it was torn and battered and didn't really look that comfortable. Konig sat first, and opened his body up to mine so that I fit right in between him and the back of the couch. I was wrong, it was warm here. I could feel my lids pull heavy on my eyes.

Warmth surrounded me and my shoulders burned less when I woke, my body practically jerking me awake. Konig already had his eyes on me, of course. His entire body blocked most of my view to the warehouse but I could tell it was still dark out. I tucked my arm under me and a deep sigh escaped me.

“Sleep more, little Maus, I will wake you when we need to leave.”

I shook my head, his accented voice sending pleasant pulses through my body.

“I just woke up.”

“You were only asleep an hour, maybe.” He hummed. His right arm had fallen over the two of us as I slept, and I noticed he ditched his helmet and armored vest. The mask still hung between us though. Evident of where his trust stood.

I didn’t say anything about it, but I rolled my cheek over his chest. He was so damn warm, it was an embrace I never wanted to leave. It was like the dangers that lurked and loomed outside didn’t seem so intimidating under his presence. I let my eyes fall close again and pressed tighter against him. He stiffened.

“Am I too close, Konig?” I voiced, needing some kind of confirmation that this kind of thing was okay. Obviously it teetered some lines, and I didn’t want to do anything he wasn’t comfortable with. The pit in my stomach hoped he would answered how I wanted him to, though.

His arms tightened around me and he bent his face down into my hair. “You cannot get close enough, Maus.”

The tension that filled the air around us settled into something heavier.Konig felt like a brick wall, and me just a puddle of sap in his arms. I gingerly placed a palm over his abdomen and I could feel the muscles tense and flex underneath. He was so quiet that I thought he might’ve fallen asleep if it hadn’t been for the fingers twitching behind my back. I craned my neck to look up at him. His eyes drooped to mine, expectant.

We stayed like that, staring at the other for an eternity before he moved, shifting me under him as gently as he could. I felt incredibly tiny as he hovered over me like this, forearms either side of my head. His mask hung down and brushed against my neck, the black balaclava he wore under it more apparent through the holes. He caught me staring at it so he raised one hand to pull it off, I shot an arm up to stop him, our fingers intertwining.

“It’s okay- you, you don’t have to.”

His eyes crinkled as he laughed. It was one solid ‘ha’ before he pulled it down and tossed it over the arm of the couch behind me. He still donned the balaclava, but seeing his face outlined as it hugged him tight made my stomach flip. His brows were light and thick, and his nose was large, the crook of it pressing out against the tight mask. His eyes traced my face equally and settled on my lips. There was hesitation in his eyes, and I shared it. Was this really alright?

His eyes searched mine asking that same silent question, and I felt compelled to nod slightly, stretching my neck out to meet his face.

It was chaste, and I felt silly for entertaining the idea of kissing him through his mask, but as the fabric pressed up against my lips, all of that inhibition was lost. I caved and folded my hands up to his cheeks in order to pull him closer. The stitched seam at his nose scratched harshly against my face when he pulled away to bury himself into my neck. Tension faded from his upper body and he pressed most of his weight down onto me comfortably. It would’ve been smothering if it was anyone else.

I could feel the heat from his face radiating through him. A mix of embarrassment and tension.

“Scheiße Liebling,” his voice was muffled and strained as he spoke into my neck. “I can not stay away from you.”

___________

I felt it again, his hardness pressed deep into the crevice of my hip. Heat centered in my core as he spoke, slipping in and out of German.

My face flushed and I turned my head from him as he rose up slightly. He shifted onto one side, pulling up the bottom of his mask to sit snugly over his nose. The cut he got earlier this week was practically nonexistent now. If the skin of his face hadn’t been so pale I probably wouldn’t have noticed the faint red scratch. And his lips..

His tongue flicked out to wet them and I couldn’t help but stare. He must’ve shaved recently, because the bit of stubble I saw from before was gone completely now. Had he planned on this? No, it was probably more comfortable for him to stay clean shaven under the mask. The skin just under his lips were raw, and I wondered if he had a habit of biting them.

When he settled back down over me, he hid his face in my neck, leaving small pecks and nips at the soft skin just under my jaw. I sighed and wrapped one hand around his neck, trying to pull him impossibly closer. The other went flat against his stomach, and I traced the hard muscle down. My fingers itched over the metal clasp of his belt and his hips twitched down into me suddenly, his hardness digging roughly as the end of my shirt slipped up.

“Maus,” he groaned out, snapping a hand over mine just as I palmed him through his pants, squeezing my fingers together tightly. He held our hands there for a moment as he tried to calm down, his breath rapidly growing harsh and uneven. I rolled my palm from the base to its fingers, grabbing as much of his length as I could through his zipper. He whined and detached his hand from over mine, settling it on my hip and letting me move as I wanted. I smiled in small victory and moved to unclasp the belt, twisting my hips up to give us more stimulation.

Konig slowly started to become a mess above me, and I was enjoying every second.

I pulled his zipper open with my fingers and palmed him through his briefs. The two belts he wore left little room for me to pry open his pants any more, so I had to settle on tugging him through his boxers. His hips jutted down into my hands again.

“Liebling..” he gasped out, grinding into me harsher- unaware of how his bigger physique could crush me in a matter of seconds. The weight felt good, however, and it wasn’t much of anything I couldn’t handle. He nipped at my neck again and I moaned with him, fumbling to pull his manhood out of the window of his boxers.

“Maus, please” his pitch rose again when my hand met his skin. He rolled his hips down into mine and pinned my hand there, flat between our bodies.

“Konig I can’t,” I wiggled my fingers against his flesh, it burned hot against my skin.

“Please,” he whined, face buried as deep as it could go in my shoulder. “It’s too much.”

I slowed, coming to a halt. He huffed heavily above me when I did. Was I hurting him? My movements were unpracticed and probably juvenile, I was inexperienced with touching men so intimately but I didn’t mean to be so rough.

“I’m sorry, does it hurt?” I hadn’t expected my voice to be as gravely as it was.

“It aches,” I felt bad for a moment before he began to grind down into me again, “Liebling, I can’t take much more.”

Then I quickly understood what he meant when his thrusts grew sloppy. I wasn’t hurting him, I was in fact making him feel the very opposite. My lips parted and I panted with him, resuming my movements. I tried to wrap my hand around his length, but because of how closely he was pressed against me I couldn’t do any more than follow his jerks with my palm.

His face finally rose from my chin and he left sloppy kisses up my cheek to the corner of my lip. His hooked nose pressed against the contours of my face when he moved down to find my mouth.

They were like velvet, his lips brushed mine lightly, non-committal and hesitant. His breath fanned my face and as I pulled my free hand up to the back of his neck- I could feel heat and sweat rise off him. His moans muffled into me when I pulled him down closer, forcing our lips together in a proper kiss.

We were both inexperienced and sloppy, but my skin pricked with heat nevertheless.

He pulled away suddenly and smacked a shaky hand against mine once more.

“W-wait liebling I-“ but it was too late, his cock pulsed against my hand, spilling hot and thick into my palm.

He whined out again and his body went stiff, save for the forearm that shook and quaked beside my head. His breath fanned my fave with heavy pants, and I was so surrounded by him that I swore I could smell his aftershave.

There was a breath before he spoke again.

“I’m sorry,” he pulled away and reached down for my bag. Pulling out a thin gauze pad he knelt above me and tucked himself back into his boxers before I could even get a glance at it. He wiped at my palm, cleaning the sticky residue from my fingers and at the bottom of my shirt where it came untucked.

“Scheiße,” he cursed again. “It’s on your shirt.”

I swallowed thickly, watching his mouth move as he talked made me want to kiss him again. His lips were bright red and raw. His eyes searched mine when I didn’t reply, finding them already staring at him. With his mask hitched up I could see the blush that ran up his neck, I wished I could see it on his cheekbones too.

He bit at his bottom lip under my stare, a nervous tick. I was right.

“What? You can stare your fill at me but I can’t look at you?”

He tossed the gauze pad aside and returned to his position above me, lips just slightly grazing mine.

“You can look at me if you like, Maus. But I want to be the only one you look at like this.”

My stomach twisted in a knot when his eyes bore into mine, looking for something I didn’t know if I could provide him with yet. I grew uneasy and evaded his gaze. His arms scooped me up easily into his lap, and I hid in his chest as he moved us in the corner of the couch. His hands rubbed at my back soothingly and it gave me a minute to calm down properly. I folded my legs between his, and turned so that my right side was flat against his chest, my head tucked just under his chin.

It was easier to talk to him like this, when he wasn’t looking so deep inside of me I felt like he could see my very soul.

“You said before you couldn’t stay away from me.”

He hummed in recognition, trailing a hand down my side and settling it on my hip.

“What did you mean?”

His fingers slowed and circled my exposed skin gently as he thought through his answer.

“You are in my head, all the time.” He sighed out, “And when I see you, it is like you are the only important thing in the room.”

He spoke and I’d be lying if I said it didn't pull at my heartstrings. I suddenly regretted asking the question. His hand snaked down my stomach and his fingers hovered over the waistband of my cargos. My body quickly grew warm again, and the skin where he touched sent shocks straight through my nerves.

“You surround me completely little Maus,” his hand dropped to my inner thigh and he squeezed the muscle there. My mouth parted and I snapped my knees shut, trapping his hand where it was, preventing it from sliding any higher.

“W-what does that mean? You keep saying it.” I tried to speak, and attempted to distract his wandering hands. He lost his gloves some time ago, and his pale hands were starch against the dark of my jeans.

“It is something my father called my mother.” He mused, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. That was the first time he’s ever mentioned his personal life to me. I mulled the sentence around in my head.

His palm massaged my thigh and the motion relaxed them some, he took it as a sign for him to continue. He swiftly snapped open the button to my trousers and centered his palm over my core, pressing into me gently. My back was to him at this point, and I was at his mercy in his lap.

“Verdam-“ he began, choking back a heavy groan. “You’re so wet.” He said a bit too loudly for my taste. A blush rose to my cheeks and I rapidly grew embarrassed. I tried to wiggle from his grasp, but he bound his other arm around my waist and pulled me back into him.

“I’m sorry,” he half-laughed out. “Let me return the favor.” His fingers probed at my entrance through my underwear.

“Hmm?” He prompted again, waiting for a response from me before rubbing his fingers up and down my slit. He found my clit through my underwear and circled it lightly with two fingers.

I nodded and he quickly flipped us again, so my back was once again on the couch cushions, and he hovered over me for only a moment before he moved down my body. Trailing kisses against my lower stomach and nipping at the corner of my thighs. I couldn’t help the moan that escaped me when he pressed his face up against my core, pulling my pants down completely and tossing them to the side. His fingers pulled at the damp cloth covering and inched it to the side, kissing my puffy lips and my hips involuntarily raised to meet him more.

“Konig.. konig,” I breathed, hand settling over his head and pulling him into me. My skin pricked as I teetered on the edge, one word from him and I knew I would fall apart completely. One of his fingers slipped through me, and rubbed it against my folds gathering up all my slickness before sliding inside of me. His fingers were long and thick and they reached further inside of me than I ever could.

“That’s it maus, just feel good.” He mumbled into my core, the vibrations shooting all around me.

I moaned and threw my head back as his mouth found my clit, sucking and licking at the swollen head I trembled underneath him. He flattened his tongue to lap at me more vigorously. Another finger joined the first and he rubbed the inside of my walls with so much intensity that my thighs began to shake. My core tightened as he coaxed a quick orgasm through me. He curled upwards and the moment the pads of his thick fingers brushed against that sensitive spot inside of me, I came undone.

Tension left my body in rapid waves and I wasn’t even aware he was still talking to me until I started to come down. He continued to attack that little spot inside of me, tongue brushing every sensitive fold until it was too much and my eyes started to water. His tongue dipped in to taste me at my deepest. The muscle was thick and hot and I felt as it move inside of me.

“Okay! Okay,” I slurred and attempted to tap out, but his eyes snapped up to mine, a hungry and desperate look in his eyes. He only pulled away enough to speak clearer to me, fingers replacing his mouth once again.

“One more maus, please,” his finger quickened their pace and the end of his thumb found my clit again, playing with it in circles. “Come one more time for me, Liebling. Bitte, I want to feel you.”

It was the sweetest kind of torture. The Konig I knew from before was totally gone here, lust-drunk and pleading, he worked to pull a second orgasm from my body. I tried to shake my head and my fingers itched over his jaw, pulling his face close to mine in a desperate kiss.

“I can’t- there’s no way.” I whined and rutted my hips up into his, fingers never slowing and his pace completely relentless. He kissed me with more ferocity, and bit at my bottom lip, sucking it in between his teeth. I groaned and squeezed my eyes shut, another wave of pleasure crashing through me as he rubbed his fingers erratically against my inner walls.

“I know you can, come for me liebling.” His pleas sounded as desperate as mine and I couldn’t do anything to stop another orgasm from racking through me. My entire body shook as it tore through the pit in my stomach, gushing over his entire hand. My embarrassment flooding with it. If we hadn’t made a mess before- we definitely did now.

He gently pulled his fingers from me and sucked both clean in his mouth. My face cringed and twisted, and he lowered his lips back down to my neck to leave more sloppy kisses.

“Why do you make that face?” He questioned, continuing to feather me in light kisses.

I shrugged, by body too tired and too worn to trust any coherent response to come from me.

“You are so sweet, my little maus.” He rose slightly and palmed over my core gently, replacing my underwear to sit properly over me again. I twitched under him. “So tasty, Schätzchen.” He muttered mostly to himself.

Reaching over, he grabbed my cargos and helped me put them back on over my boots, buttoning the top for me. I was nearly ready to fall asleep all over again, I wish I knew where he found his energy.

Konig lifted me into his arms again, and seated us onto the less torn side of the couch. One hand in my hair, and the other along the back he spoke words to me in half-English, half-German before my eyes dropped shut once more, all my remaining energy leaving my body.

[talesofstyles]

The Law of Attraction

buckle up my little ballsacks you’re in for a treat. this is pure lawyer harry filth. honestly i’ve got no excuse.

massive massive thank you to @smokeinherperfume​ for letting me ramble about lawyer harry 24/7 and @for-fucks-sake-h​ for allllll the knife emojis FGHSHSGSGH ILY 🥺💛

p.s. all of my fics about lawyer harry are standalones so you don’t have to read them in order. but just fyi technically this one happens after Quid Pro Quo. hope you like it! xx

An orgasm crashes through YN’s body, causing her back to arch in her chair and her fingers to tug hard at the hair of the man who’s working his tongue between her legs. It’s half three on a Wednesday, and instead of skimming through stacks of her clients’ contracts trying to find loopholes or go through the first set of Interrogatories once again before she sends it to the opposing counsel later today; she’s got her former-nemesis-turned-best-friend kneeling before her chair, her skirt hiked up around her waist and her knickers haphazardly pulled to the side. She lets out a groan, which only eggs him on, and he lashes his tongue against her even harder.

“Enough,” she mutters weakly, her voice barely audible and she’s not even sure if he even heard it. She pushes his head away from her, but the stubborn sod only swats her hands away while growling and doubles up on his efforts. She can feel him shaking his head as he licks and sucks away, slipping his finger deep inside her the second she closes her eyes and proceeds to bring her to another shattering orgasm in just under two minutes.

She slaps her hand over her mouth as she reaches her high again, and Harry looks at her with a satisfied smile, before licking his shiny wet lips without breaking eye contact. The sight alone is almost enough to make her want to shove his head back to where it was half a minute ago. “Feel better?”

“Mhm,” she hums happily and Harry’s lips quirk into a gentle smirk. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure,” he replies as he stands up, before leaning over to button their lips together in a quick kiss.

“I think the pleasure’s all mine, but let’s rectify that,” she mutters as she pulls away. “What do you want? You tell me and I’ll give it to you. Do you want me to get you off slowly or do you want to fuck my mouth?”

“Fuck,” he groans in frustration. “You’re gonna kill me here. I’ve got a deposition in- shit, two minutes. I’ve got to go now. Catch ya later doll.”

She shakes her head, chuckling as she watches him rushing out of her office. “Later, shithead.”

Isn’t it just funny how the universe works sometimes? Six months ago they couldn’t even be in the same room without having a scream-whisper match, but here they are half a year later, happily handing each other orgasms like sweets on Halloween. Harry didn’t even know exactly what was bothering her today. He just sensed that she was in a real mood when he swung by her office, so instead of splitting a packet of KitKats right on the dot at three o’clock like usual, he closed the door and switched on the panel by the door so the transparent glass wall turned translucent to give them privacy, and then he went down on her without saying another word.

The perks of being friends instead of foes with Harry is that she gets to find out that Harry’s oral skills are not limited to advocacy and sarcasm. And not to mention that he’s a very generous man. Sure, it’s not a trait particularly needed in a best friend and colleague, but fuck if that’s not something that is much appreciated. At first, obviously it wasn’t easy for YN to hang the white flag above her head. Her ego was badly bruised when the firm made Harry Senior Partner instead of her in the beginning of the year, making her feel that all the long hours and the all-nighters she’d pulled were all for nothing. She felt like she gave up her social life for nothing, basically put her life on hold for nothing and gave her all to her firm for nothing. She felt unappreciated, and the easiest target to channel all her anger and frustration was Harry. Because come on, who else was she supposed to be mad at? Her boss? It’d be like being mad at Gandhi.

It definitely got much easier when she finally let the resentment go, the fact that he was the one being promoted. Especially knowing well the reason was only because he came from a bigger law firm, and that he came bearing gifts—the gifts being five huge clients from his old firm—when he came into her firm earlier this year. She’s accepted the fact that him being promoted instead of her doesn’t mean that she’s not a damn good lawyer. Hell, she’s got a hundred percent win record to prove that. It was easier to hate him when she didn’t know him, but as they began working on cases together and she got the chance to get to know him more, she knew he deserved it. 

If you ask YN, she’d most likely tell you that having a work husband surely beats having an enemy in the office. She loves having Harry as her best friend, her most trusted legal confidant when she needs to strategise on a case and well, as an occasional lover on a bad day. He is her number one ally and advisor, the person she can laugh with and be stressed with, have politically incorrect conversations with, and give her bone-deep honest opinions to. He supports her and helps her with her cases—not that she needs help because again, she’s one hell of a lawyer, but it’s surely nice to have an extra brain in the case sometimes. 

Fuck, she really does owe Harry a good one tonight for giving her a nice distraction.

A ding sound from her phone brings her back to reality. She darts her eyes at her phone for a second, and she lets out a heavy sigh when she reads the name on the screen. It’s a text to confirm the dinner meeting tonight at The Berkeley, definitely one that she can’t avoid since he’s a huge client, but more importantly, one that she dreads to meet.

You see, there’s a large part of life that we call normalcy. Eat, sleep, take a shower. Wearing underwear inside our clothes instead of outside like Batman and Superman. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Most people drink coffee in the morning. Thirty minutes of cardio three times a week. 

As pathetic as this may sound, pining for Luke, that said client who also happens to be her ex-boyfriend has been YN’s normalcy for the past two years. Luckily, his company is her client and not the man himself so she got away with keeping contact to a  bare minimum. Meeting him only about two to three times a year and only when it’s absolutely necessary and cannot be handled by his General Counsel. But apparently, his step-father decided to retire and pass his hotel business to him—honestly, as if he’s not bloody minted already—and he needs her now more than ever because even though he knows his way around the business world, this whole thing is a new territory for him. 

This is the second time in a week that he’s arranged a meeting and only God knows how many more meetings with him she could take. Because, as always, his presence means the absence of her sanity. And she hates it.

Welcome to YN’s fucked up life.

***

“I still don’t know why you want me to go with you,” Harry says, turning to look at her when they stop at a red light. Even though it’s dark outside, the neon-blue lights from the interior electronics cast the angles of his face handsomely.

He’s driving both himself and YN to The Berkeley where they’ll be meeting Luke for a dinner meeting to discuss his new business and his plan to merge with another hotel group. Which is an absolutely terrible idea and YN plans to talk him out of it tonight. It’s probably easier said than done though, because she knows Luke and she’s definitely familiar with how stubborn he can be. 

There are a lot of things about Luke that she still remembers. He pretends to hate those mini chocolate muffins but he actually loves them. He drinks his coffee at six thirty sharp every morning, yes, even on the weekends. He loves jogging and sometimes he wishes he’s an athlete so that he can get paid just to run and play football all day long. Even though he’s rich as sin—and God, fit as fuck too—he’s humble and definitely not flashy, so if you see him without his suits, you’d probably never guess that he doesn’t actually need to work a day in his life because he comes from old money. But Luke is different. He never touched his trust fund and he was determined to create his own business from scratch.

He’d just started his business around the same time YN started working in her firm as an associate, so she saw it right before her eyes how hard he worked during those first few years as he nurtured his business. His company was one of the first clients that she’d been assigned to work on, and when she got promoted to Junior Partner, her mentor gave her The White Company as her first official client. The timing couldn’t be more brilliant since she and Luke just broke up two days prior, but she knew there was no way she could turn down such a big business.

Fuck, she’s thinking about him again. She immediately makes a mental note in her head to ask Harry for an extra orgasm tonight to keep him out of her mind. But now she can’t help snickering at the thought because she makes it sounds as if she’s asking for extra ketchup. 

“Cat got your tongue?” He asks and she turns to look at him. He gives her a tiny smirk before his eyes get back on the road, but he reaches his hand out to her bare knee to give her a squeeze. “Still haven’t answered me, doll.”

“Sorry- what did you ask?”

“Why did you want me to go with you?” He asks again. “He wants to merge, right? That’s totally your thing. You don’t need me.”

“You helped me with his crisis a few months ago,” she reminds him. “Just thought we could do his business together again. He’ll be happy he’s getting two partners, the firm will be happy because they can charge double. It’s a win-win, really.”

“Bollocks that,” Harry laughs. “Worst bullshit I’ve ever heard.”

“That’s all, honest,” she feigns innocence.

“Honey, I didn’t go through law school for nothing, did I?” He replies without moving his head, keeping his eyes on the road. “You’re using me as a human condom, aren’t you?”

“What the hell does that even mean?” She drops her jaw in shock at the fact that he calls her out on the carpet just like that.

“You’re afraid you’ll catch feelings again if you’re left alone with him, so you bring me as a shield. Am I right?” He asks her with an accusatory eyebrow raise. “You know what, no need to answer that. Of course I’m right.”

“I told you, he’s just a client now,” she insists, trying to ignore her heart pounding in her chest as Harry’s hand inches its way up her thigh. It’s incredibly arousing, but she also finds it a little disturbing since they’re having a conversation about a man she’s head over heels for. She almost want him to stop but fuck if she’s going to ask him.

“Look, I don’t know exactly what’s going on here,” he says, and it’s really hard for her to concentrate on what he’s saying since he’s squeezing her thigh. His fingers pressing deep into her muscles and she can only wish they’re a few inches higher. “But if in any way you want to get him back, just say the word and I’ll back away, yeah?”

“There’s nothing going on, Harry,” she reassures him. “You’ve got to trust me on this. He’s just a client now.” 

“You sure?” Harry asks again. Turning to look at her briefly before he pulls into a parking space and puts the car in park, but she can tell by the tone in his voice that he doesn’t buy a single thing she’s said.

“I’m sure,” she nods reassuringly.

Harry grins as he reaches up and tweaks her on the nose. “You’re cute when you lie.”

“Shut up, shithead,” she mutters as she pulls on the door handle. It opens and she steps out, taking a moment to smooth down her dress. Leaning back down, she looks inside the car to look at Harry and give him a wink. “Now let’s go. The sooner we get this done, the sooner I can reciprocate.”

***

“You have it bad for him, don’t you?” Harry cocks an eyebrow at her accusingly, not even bothering to wait until Luke disappears past the lift to take a call.

YN blinks in surprise at his accusation, but instead of denying it for the second time tonight, she finally concedes. “Is it that obvious?”

“Holy shit,” this time, it’s Harry’s turn to look at her in surprise. He definitely wasn’t expecting her to admit it, but fuck if he believed that bullshit she told him in the car. “No, it’s not obvious. But I know you better than anyone in this room.”

She chuckles, before taking a swig of her Chardonnay. “True.”

“I meant what I said earlier in the car,” Harry reminds her. “Just say the word and I’ll back away. He’s probably still into you too.”

She just stares at him for a second. She’s obviously contemplating something, he can tell. He braces, wondering if she’ll finally tell him to back away. He has to remind himself to be cool, to just nod and smile if she actually does say that. They’re not exclusive, and as amazing as this last six months has been, he knows all good things come to an end. He has no absolute reason to be upset, he knows that. And as her best friend he only wants the best for her. If she thinks Luke can make her happy, then so be it.

He’s ready for her to tell him to back away. He does. Not saying that he’ll be happy, but he’ll accept it. So imagine his surprise when she gives him a smirk and says, “let’s go all the way tonight.”

Harry’s head shoots up, and he narrows his eyes at her. “You fucking with me?”

“I was hoping you’d be the one doing all the fucking,” she murmurs, still smiling coyly at him and somehow has the audacity to dip her eyes in a completely fake showing of shyness.

Harry’s eight-inch piece of equipment that had been jumping and twitching like an excited puppy now goes to full mast, pushing hard against his zipper. He drains the rest of his drink in one big gulp, not wanting to waste any time. “Stay here and wait for him to finish that sodding call. Make up an excuse for me and distract him while I go and try to get us a room upstairs.”

“You do realise that my flat is literally ten minutes away from here right? And your place is like, what, twenty minutes tops?”

“Upstairs is closer,” he lowers his voice huskily. “They have beds too.”

Her eyes sparkle with excitement. “Beds, huh?”

“What? Don’t fancy shaggin’ on a bed?” He says with a smirk, sitting straighter as he smooths his tie. “I’ll see if they’ve got anything with a balcony then.”

“You’re a lawyer, aren’t you?” She mocks, rolling her eyes. “Does the word indecent exposure mean anything to you?”

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?”

“I did,” she challenges him with a spark of defiance in her eyes. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

“Do that again and you’ll get the palm of my hand,” he tells her ominously.

“You’re all mouth and no trousers, Styles,” she taunts him. 

“Good luck trying to sit tomorrow.”

***

In less than fifteen minutes, YN is standing in a lift with Harry’s lips roaming her neck and his finger sinking deep inside of her.

She didn’t have to make up an excuse when Luke went back to their table after taking the call. Apparently, there was some emergency and he needed to get back to his office as soon as possible for an emergency meeting with the boards. She assured him it was fine and that they could easily arrange another meeting to further talk about his plan to merge with another hotel group.

Harry doesn’t waste much time as he pushes the button to their floor and the doors close. He stalks towards her, cupping her head to bring her mouth to his, and his other hand going directly between her legs. She slips her tongue into his mouth and touches it against his, the vibe of the kiss turning a bit dirty. It’s a thrilling turn on, causing waves of pleasure to pulse through both of them. His tongue ends up dominating hers in the most searing, sexually explosive kiss she’d ever been given.

His hand softly fondles her for a moment, and then he’s inside of her, curling his finger in a way that has her knees buckling. He immediately saves the day by pushing one of his legs in between hers to hold her steady. He knows he doesn’t have time to get her off before they reach their floor, so he breaks the kiss and roams his lips along her neck lightly, moving his finger in and out of her leisurely but so very deeply. Her hips flex against him, trying to demand more, but she’s just going to have to wait.

When the lift starts to slow near their floor, he calmly removes his hand, smoothes her dress down, and gives her a light kiss on the nose.

He’s smiling at her as he closes the door behind them, in a completely relaxed, but thank fuck we’re finally doing this and I’m here to fuck you senseless kind of way, and it manages to show the two dimples he sports on either side of his full lips.

Their lips meet again as he leans in, softly at first, just a taste to whet the appetite. His arms tighten around her, and he increases the pressure, urging her to open up and let him in. He’s a force to be reckoned with in a courtroom, and fuck if she’s not thanking her lucky stars that he’s just the same in the bedroom. He moves his lips against hers, making delicious little thrusts and flicks with his tongue, teasing and tantalising, all while stroking her back in the most incredibly sensual way that makes her tingling from head to toe. 

He loves how she just melts against him when he rubs her back, and how adorably dazed she looks just from a kiss. Grinning at her, he reaches a finger out to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. The blood in his dick thumps, eagerly demanding to move things along, but he’s determined to take his time with her. 

Her mouth waters as her hands work at his belt buckle. His cock is thick and hard when she pulls him free of his boxer briefs, and she drops to her knees with her hand wrapped around his girth. It’s standing straight up before her after she releases it for a second, and she melts at the sight. There’s one perfectly thick vein running straight up the middle, but then it veers off at an angle. And although this is certainly not the first time she sees it, she can’t help but cock her head to the side just to see where it goes. 

He palms the side of her head with one hand and holds her hair in a ponytail at the back of her head with the other. Looking up at him, she can see his jaw is locked tight and his chest is rising and falling rapidly.

She squeezes him hard, just the way she knows how he likes, and strokes up and down a few times, making him groan. His head falls back, eyes squeezed shut. “Please, sweetheart.”

“Ssh,” she shushes him before she murmurs low in her throat. “I’ve got you.”

She finally opens her mouth, bares her teeth slightly, and then scrapes them lightly over the tip. A long, deep groan rumbles out of him, his eyes remain shut tight. Exhilaration and victory swells within her, knowing that just that one tiny touch reduced him to utter helplessness. 

He opens his eyes, gazing at her. His voice is thickened and gruff when he says, “you’ve got no idea how beautiful you look while on your knees before me.”

She responds to him by leaning in, and without hesitation taking the tip of him into her mouth, making him groan in relief. He grips her lightly, his fingers pressing into her scalp as a means of holding her steady and not to force action. She licks and sucks, squeezing and stroking him with her hand. He’s watching her from above with lust on his face, and she’s savouring every little groan she drags out of this normally stoic man. She flutters her tongue on the sensitive underside just below the head of his cock, her hand gently squeezing his balls as she works his shaft. 

“Been dying to get that cherry lipstick on my cock,” he mutters softly, she can barely hear him. He grits his teeth as he slowly pulls out of her mouth. “Knew that red lipstick would look good on me.”

Her eyes slide to his cock, and she has no clue what her mouth looks like, but she’s absolutely sure most of her lipstick is gone since it’s smeared beautifully along the length of his shaft. She tries to take it back into her mouth, determined to bring him into completion that way, but his hand immediately covers her, holding her still while his eyes pin her in place. “Wanna be inside you.”

He helps her stand on her feet, and the next thing she knows, her dress pools around her ankle. His hands come to the back of her bra, flicking it open and pulling it from her. Then he drops to his knees before her. Fingers going under her knickers, he pulls them down just enough to gain access and runs his tongue up her centre. 

He had fantasised about her naked before him more times than he could probably admit that he has to blink twice to convince himself that this time is real. And fuck if it isn’t much better than his dreams.

“Bed,” he commands, and she crawls on it with the intent to lay in a sexy pose as she turns over to face him, but he’s on the bed with her, quick as lightning, and flips her to her back.

Her eyes go up to find him staring at her tits, and she can’t help but joke. “They don’t bite, you know.”

His gaze comes up to meet hers, and his lips curve slightly. “But I do. It’s probably going to hurt a little.”

A shudder ripples through her, and her nipples harden. His eyes flick back down to her breasts. She swallows hard at the anticipation, the thought of him getting a little rough with them is thrilling, but there’s something else she wants more right now.

“I’m fucking dying to be inside you right now,” he whispers in her ear. His admission elicits a deep moan to escape from her lips. “Last chance to change your mind, doll.”

“Please just fuck me already,” she whimpers, her hands roaming his body. Every glide of her fingers over his skin fills him with a fullness he’s never experienced before. “I’m losing my mind.”

With one hand pressed into the mattress, Harry uses the other to take his cock in hand. He dips his hips, pressing the tip right into her entrance. Blowing out a breath, he brings his eyes to hers and holds her captive, finally thrusts deeply into her. She screams, not in pain but in pure fucking ecstasy, as he fills her up. Harry bottoms out, his pelvis pressed hard into hers. 

Baring his teeth, he mutters, “fuck… that feels good.”

“Would feel better if you move,” she suggests with a smirk.

Harry stays completely still inside of her. He breathes in deeply, closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them up again, he gives her a sheepish grin. “I’m afraid to move. Afraid I might embarrass myself and blow my load in about two nanoseconds.”

She lets out a giggle, pretty sure that’s the one and only time in her life she’s ever done something so girly. Harry laughs huskily and kisses her hard. He doesn’t move an inch from his waist down but just kisses her deeply with thorough possession. When he pulls away, he tentatively circles his hips, grinding into her.

“Fuck,” Harry mutters, and drops his forehead to hers. “Yeah… definitely not gonna last long.”

Her hands go into his hair and she massages his scalp, incredibly touched and turned on over his reaction to her. She tugs on his hair, pulling his face away from hers. “Harry?”

He moves reluctantly and looks down at her with that same abashed look. She tilts her hips, clenches her internal muscles around his cock, and then rubs her thumbs into his scalp.

“Let go,” she commands him softly. “Fuck me hard and come as fast as you want. We’ve got all night.”

***

Harry’s hand reaches out, tapping the screen on his phone to turn the alarm off, laying silently in the predawn gloom pondering about his situation at this very moment.

There’s a naked, beautiful woman on top of him, and fuck if he can remember when was the last time he woke up with someone else in his bed. It’s not that he’s averse to cuddles; if the woman wants a cuddle with him after sex, he’d give it to them. The act of intimacy like that doesn’t scare him whatsoever. But normally he’d be out of their hair long before the sun is up, leaving them to wake up alone and him to start his day as if the night before didn’t happen.

He always tells himself to forget whoever he shags the night before no matter how great of a fuck she was, although he’ll allow himself to bring forth the memories when he jerks off if needed. 

YN fell asleep a few hours prior, spread-eagled over his body right after she collapsed from the most recent fuck-fest. She came, he came, then she fell forwards onto his chest and was out like a light. And he left her right there all night. Letting her lie on top of him, calling it a day well completed and went to sleep himself.

His hand slides down from her stomach right between her legs, his fingers swiping through her folds which become slicker with desire the more he plays. She softly moans in her sleep and her lower body starts to squirm. Her breathing hitches, and the second she cracks her eyes open, she gives him that happy, sleepy, please fuck me again smile. 

He gently eases her down from the top of his chest to lay beside him, rolling her to the side so her back is facing him. Then he pushes her outer leg up, sliding his body down just a little bit, angling his cock to slip into her from behind. 

Harry moves slowly as he’s spooned around her and she moans in pure bliss as he fills her up. The arm that her head is resting on comes up to curve across her chest and hold her tight. His other hand grips the back of her thigh firmly to pin her in place.

“More,” she whispers on a forced exhalation. 

“Fuck me,” he mumbles against her hair. “My girl wants more.”

And he gives her more. Fucking her exquisitely and with no doubt that neither of them has ever had it that good. He takes her higher and higher, the sweet words that he’s whispering in her ear is the complete opposite of the kinky shit they did last night. 

“Balcony?”

YN didn’t hesitate, following right behind him as he pushed the doors open. A light breeze filters in but it’s still muggy outside. They’re on the seventh floor, and they can still hear the rumble of engines and the honking of horns below them. The quiet darkness of Belgravia stretches out beyond.

Harry walked up to the edge of the balcony, which was made of stone and concrete, sitting about three and a half feet high. He pulled her into his arms and gave her a searing kiss. She moaned, slipping her tongue in his mouth and gripped onto his shoulders. The kiss was deep and wet, and honestly, the best kind of kiss.

He pushed her up against the wall, laying a palm over one breast. Squeezing, plumping, testing the weight in his hand. He rubbed a thumbnail over her nipple, eliciting the softest sigh from her. 

He brought his other hand south. Straight shot, right to her centre. Her head dropped to his shoulder as his fingertips continued to circle and rub against her. Within minutes she had his fingers deep inside her and his thumb working her hard. He wanted nothing more than to just line up and push his way in, but he waited. He waited until he saw her trembling became a little fiercer, her body tensed, and when she sucked in a large gulp of air, he knew that was his cue.

He quickly removed his fingers, bracing his hands on her hips and slammed forward. She took him all the way in and he cursed under his breath as he felt her spasm all around him when she came. For a second he thought about hitting it hard, chasing another orgasm, but then he decided against it, wanting to relish the scenery and listen to the sounds of the city.

“Let’s just quit our jobs and fuck all day,” Harry jokes as he drops her leg back down into place.

“Sounds good to me,” she laughs as she reaches around him, grabbing the complimentary bottle of water on the nightstand, taking a sip before she hands it to him and he finishes it in a couple of long swallows. 

“Thirsty?”

“Starving too,” he replies in a way that doesn’t make her think he wants some bacon and eggs. 

Within seconds, he has her on her back again as he slides down her body, roughly pushing her legs apart. Her hands shoot out, grabbing the sides of his head before he gets the chance to descend even lower. “No.”

“What?”

“Let me get cleaned up first,” she says lamely, pretty sure she’s killed the mood. “I mean… I’m filled with-”

Harry ignores her, cutting her off by dropping his mouth right between her legs and begins sucking. She shrieks from the warm contact, surprised by how sensitive she is, and as he lifts his gaze to hers, he murmurs. “That’s you and me together, and we taste fucking delicious.”

Her body trembles from his words, and through a dry and parched throat she croaks, “then by all means.”

“Thank you,” he says with a wink, then proceeds to bring her to another shattering orgasm that totally wrecks her.

[myemergence]

take me back to the start

Title: take me back to the start Author: @myemergence Rating: E (for one smut scene, later in the fic) Artist: @benjaminrussell Artwork: MAGAZINE COVER and MUSIC VIDEO Warnings/Triggers: mentions of alcoholism, mentions of OC character death, car accident Notes: Thanks to @marcia-elena for the beta on this. I so appreciate all the work you put in! Written for @buddiebigbang. And the artwork is amazing! I love them so much, Holly! Summary: Country music star, Eddie Diaz, is on a break before his US tour when he gets unexpected news: he has a son. He needs to come home to his hometown in West River, TX right away. He hasn’t set foot there since he left for Nashville nine years ago, leaving his old life behind. West River is the last place that Eddie wants to be—he needs to focus on his career, and his tour—not looking after a kid that he doesn’t even know yet.

Crossing paths with his high school sweetheart, Evan Buckley, who’s now a Deputy with the sheriff’s office just might change all of that, reminding Eddie of the person that he used to be… and the kind of person that he wants to be.

Read the whole thing here: AO3 LINK

*

The thing about being a musician and wrapping up a big tour is that it makes the time afterward to unwind and let loose even more rewarding. Taking the time to ground himself before hitting the road again has become essential for Eddie, an integral part of his process. 

This time, there’s no unwinding. As soon as the last concert in the tour ended, he boarded a red-eye flight from Los Angeles into Houston. And he’s tired, a feeling that’s not exactly foreign to him, but he feels weary down to his bones. He’s headed back to West River, Texas, about fifteen minutes outside of Austin, where he was born and raised.

A place he hasn’t as much as set foot in for nine years.

Eddie blinks blearily as he pulls his rental car up to the drive-through at Dunkin for a much needed coffee. He’s within an hour of West River, but he’s going to need something to power through the last hour of his drive as the sun is beginning to rise over the expanse of otherwise deserted small-town Texas that surrounds him.

It’s so quiet out here that it’s almost unnerving.

“Good morning, sir. That’ll be $3.27.” The dark-haired girl at the drive-through window can’t be more than eighteen. 

“Morning.” He holds out his phone so that she can scan his payment.

“Aren’t you…” She trails off slowly, eyeing him suspiciously. 

Eddie adjusts the trucker hat that he’s wearing, despite the fact that the sun hasn’t become a hindrance yet. He’d put the hat on before he pulled up to the drive-through only a couple of minutes ago. He knows that he’d be nowhere without the support of his fans, but he’s exhausted. He just wants to get to his abuela’s so that he can fall into bed. He’s tempted to drag a hand over his face and beg for his coffee.

“Eddie Diaz.” He introduces himself with a winning smile. He’ll try to find time to rest later. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Rosie. I-I can’t believe I’m preparing Eddie Diaz’s coffee. Nobody is going to believe me,” Rosie practically squeals, her face flushed as she fumbles with scanning his phone. “Here, um,” she steps away from the drive-through window momentarily and comes back with a pastry bag along with his coffee. Simple like always: black, with 2 sugars. “For the road. Gone Now really helped me through a hard time, when I lost my grandpa—and you wrote it about yours.”

Eddie’s smile becomes more genuine as he takes the coffee and muffin from the girl. He’s sure he looks like a mess, with blood-shot eyes and bags under his eyes. “I think most people have forgotten about that song. That was on my debut album.” He’d written that song what feels like a lifetime ago.

Like he was a different person back then than he is now. He supposes that in some ways, he was.

“I was only thirteen when it came out,” Rosie says. “I hope you make more songs like that. Your new stuff is great, but… that’s definitely my favorite. Anyhow, I won’t keep you, I’m sure you’ve got somewhere to be.”

“I do,” Eddie confirms, reaching over into the top of his duffel bag that’s resting on the passenger seat. “It was really nice to meet you, Rosie.” He hands her one of the signed albums that he carries with him, a simple thank you that he likes to have for those truly special fans. “It’s not my debut album, but I do hope you’ll enjoy it.”

Eddie offers her a parting wave as he pulls away, and tosses the hat that was his poor attempt at disguise onto the passenger seat. He takes several sips from the steaming coffee, then sets it in the cupholder, wincing as the heat nips at his tongue, hoping that the caffeine will help keep him alert for the rest of the drive home.

Before he pulls onto the road, he scrolls through his phone, pulling up his debut album on Spotify and pressing play, a wistful smile crossing his face. He’s trying to put a little space between him and the reason that he’s coming home to West River; Rosie’s words remind him, at least for a moment, why he started making music in the first place. He hears the familiar opening chords and pulls out onto the quiet road.

There was a time when not a single day

Went by without us talking

And now I can barely remember your face

We’d spend hours weaving words

And guitar notes together

Just you and me in the music’s embrace

But you’re gone now, you’re gone

All those moments lie six-feet deep in the ground

You’re gone now, you’re gone

I keep missing you ‘cause you’re not around

He knows he can’t live in this world of make-believe for long. He can’t pretend that what matters is his connection to the music anymore—he stopped writing his own music long ago. But it’s nice to remember, even if those moments are fleeting.

*

Eddie pulls into the same gravel driveway that he used to skid his bike tires on as a kid. His abuela still lives in the same house she did back then, only a few doors down from his childhood home. His parents moved an hour north about five years ago. Eddie’s stomach flops a bit, and he tries not to dwell on how little he talks to them these days, or their lack of support over the years.

 He drags himself out of the rental car and grabs his bag out of the passenger side, leaving the rest of his luggage in the trunk. Before he can even make his way up the short drive, his abuela steps out onto the porch.

Eddie yawns into the crook of his elbow, then makes his way up to her. “Hey, Abuela,” he murmurs, pecking her on the cheek.

“Eddie,” Abuela says. She welcomes him with a crushing embrace, and he smiles as he hugs her back. She pulls back just enough that he can see a fire in her eyes; he already knows what that means, so he remains silent until she spits it out. “You were supposed to call me back so I knew you were doing alright.”

“I told you I have you listed as my emergency contact. If anything happens to me you’ll be the first one they call,” Eddie teases with a laugh.

“Edmundo,” she scolds, swatting his arm, and he watches as her jaw tenses under his name.

“Okay,” Eddie acquiesces. “I’m sorry, alright? I’ll be more cautious next time and call you. But Houston to West River isn’t a long drive.”

“Shannon—”

“Can we talk about this later?” Eddie asks. “I haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours. I just need a couple of hours and then I promise we’ll talk, okay?”

“But, Eddie—” Despite the fact that he’ll probably be reamed for not turning his full attention to her, Eddie pushes the door open and steps inside. He stops in his tracks as his eyes catch sight of the figure who’s settled at the table, and his duffel bag drops to the floor. He feels abuela’s hand on his shoulder. “This is—”

The pretending is over.

“This is Christopher, your son.”

*

Eddie knew coming back home to West River wasn’t going to be a vacation in any sense of the word. He knew what would be waiting for him; baggage so heavy that it had the ability to destroy his entire career. The dream that he’d risked everything for, that he’d given up everything for.

This is Christopher, your son.

Abuela’s words echo in his ears.

Sure, there had been a few phone calls beforehand, warning Eddie of the kid’s existence after Shannon had shown up at Abuela’s with the boy. That hadn’t prepared him for this moment at all.

What the fuck is he going to do?

The temptation to drop by the hole-in-the-wall bar downtown to take the edge off is there. Instead, he tells Abuela he has to take care of some things and he disappears. He just needs to drive around for a little bit to clear his head. He needs to figure out what he’s going to do.

A kid will ruin everything.

How could Shannon keep this kid to herself for years, not mention a word of his existence, and then just drop him off and leave like he’s somehow now Eddie’s responsibility?

Eddie unrolls the window, letting the evening air hit his face as his foot presses down more firmly on the gas pedal.

Take care of it. You only have a few months until the tour.

Fuck all of this.

These backroads are so familiar, and there’s something comforting in driving down them late at night, when the rest of the town is quiet. It reminds him of those late nights when he and Buck would—

Eddie stops his thoughts short, the ache in his chest just as familiar as these roads. Buck.

What are the chances that in a town of a few thousand people he won’t run into Evan Buckley? That’s even if he still lives here. Eddie shakes the notion from his head, refusing to allow himself to get nostalgic about the past. A past that revolved around Buck.

Right now, he needs to focus on how he’s going to fix his life—before it becomes a public relations disaster.

Pressing down on the gas harder, Eddie gets lost in the feeling of the cool night air hitting his face, saving him from his downward spiral and memories of Buck.

Unfortunately, the moment is short lived. Red and blue lights flash in his rearview mirror amidst the otherwise stark darkness of the night. With a sigh, he pulls over to the shoulder of the road.

*

Buck climbs out of the cruiser and closes the door, walking up to the driver’s side of the out-of-state car. “Do you know why I stopped you tonight?” He quickly scans the inside of the vehicle, assessing if there are any passengers that he needs to be aware of before settling his sight on the driver.

Of all the people he could’ve had the unfortunate task of pulling over tonight, somehow it’s Eddie Diaz. He studies Eddie’s face, tipping his head to the side as his identity registers with Eddie. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Buck.”

It’s like he took the words right out of Buck’s mouth, because really, what are the fucking chances? After nine years Eddie somehow still has the ability to make Buck’s heart thunder in his chest merely by saying his name. His jaw tightens as he looks at the country music star in front of him.

“It’s Deputy Buckley,” Buck tells Eddie, his voice tight. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

“This has to be an actual nightmare,” Eddie mutters, though Buck’s sure at this point that he’s talking to himself.

“License and registration.”

“Evan—”

“I said, license and registration. Don’t make me ask again. I’m going to suggest that you actually listen this time if you don’t want to end up in jail for the night.”

Eddie’s mouth snaps shut at Buck’s words. “I’m gonna grab the registration from the glove compartment.” He opens the glove box and hands over the paperwork, along with his license.

“Yeah, didn’t think you’d want that news story,” Buck mutters as he takes the documents and inspects them. He obviously knows that it’s Eddie, and he already ran the plates and knows that it belongs to a rental in Houston. He hands the paperwork back to Eddie. “Watch your speed, because next time I’m not going to be this nice,” Buck warns.

“This is nice?” Eddie actually has the audacity to laugh at him. “Seems more like you’re Deputy Dick to me.”

Buck’s lips press together into a tight line. He’s used to not being well liked while on the job—but it feels harsher coming from Eddie. “You know, I could still take you in tonight, if that’s what you want.”

Eddie shrinks under the words, and what he says next sounds sincere. “You know that’s not what I want.”

The same words that Eddie had said to him all those years ago, at the end. Buck feels his chest fracture down the middle, a reprise of the heartbreak that Eddie left in his wake.

He forces himself to school his expression despite the way he’s feeling. “Have a good night, Eddie.”

He doesn’t wait for Eddie to respond, turning sharply on his heels and walking away from the man that’s had his heart all along.

*

“You know, I don’t really think that this qualifies as guys’ night,” Buck says as he looks across the card table at Chimney, taking a sip of the lemonade in front of him. 

 Chim raises his brow a little, glancing in the direction of the living room. “You’re my brother-in-law,” Chim says, “and I’m not sure how to say this delicately, so I’m just gonna say it. If there’s one Buckley I’m trying to make happy right now, it’s not you, Buck. I’m trying to get in her good graces after the bottle rocket incident.”

Josh snorts from where he’s sitting, bringing the beer up to his lips.

“I’m not going to be the one to tell my wife that she needs to leave so we can have a proper guys’ night,” Chim adds.

“You would never say something to Maddie, and not just about guys’ night,” Josh challenges, his brows shooting up.

“I’m sorry, was that a complaint I just heard? Because I’m pretty sure that the last time you hosted a card night your mom showed up,” Chim points out.

“And Buck’s place—”

“Has constant interruption. I know, I know.” Buck rolls his eyes dramatically. “Are you gonna deal us in, or what?”

“Mads, were you gonna join us?” Chim calls helpfully into the other room, and Buck glares at him.

Maddie lifts herself off of the couch and walks out to the dining room table where they’re all situated, grabbing the bowl of chips from the counter and pulling up an empty seat. “I don’t want to play, but I’d love to talk to you guys.”

They really need to start finding different circles of friends, at least for nights like tonight. It’s not as if Buck’s going to tell his pregnant sister to go away, so instead he smiles. “We’d love it if you talked to us, Mads.”

“Really?” She grins, and Chim looks at Buck gratefully. “So, I heard a rumor that Eddie’s back in town.”

“Pick a different subject.”

“He’s back in town and got pulled over by West River’s youngest and brightest the other night,” Chim says.

Just the mention of Eddie’s name is an unwanted reminder that he’s back in town, at least temporarily. The fact that this wasn’t a figment of Buck’s imagination sends his brain into overdrive. There’s been some speculation over the reason for his return, and Buck has done everything in his power to stay squarely on the outside of those conversations.

He’s made it clear to his family and friends since Eddie left town that there is one topic that he refuses to discuss: Eddie Diaz. A lot of the locals were around Eddie growing up, and having someone that’s famous from their small hometown is something to talk about—especially when there’s a new tour that’s announced, or when Eddie is working on a new album.

But his friends? They know that it’s a hard and fast rule, and bringing it up on guys’ night is a definite foul. 

“Guys,” Buck manages as evenly as he can muster. “Talk about something else.”

A tense silence falls over the room, and for a minute Buck refuses to look up, knowing the pity that crosses their faces any time that someone brings up Eddie. He’s tried to hide his heartbreak behind indifference, but he’s not naive enough to believe that any of them buy it. Most of them had front-row seats as they watched Buck’s hopes and dreams shatter to the ground around him, leaving a hollow shell behind.

Finally he looks up.

“Can we make an exception this one time, Ev?”

“Maddie. I don’t talk about— about this, and you know that.”

Maddie’s hand covers his, her touch light, her tone equally calm and even. “You know, this has a name.”

“Why are you bringing him up now? You know I moved on from him a long time ago.”

It’s as if Chim and Josh aren’t sitting awkwardly at the table, trying to avoid the line of fire. Even if Maddie is officially a Han now, nobody wants to get obliterated during a battle of the wills between the siblings.

“This is guys’ night,” Buck reminds her. “The one night of the week that I can unwind and relax. Instead you’re here and dredging up a past that died years ago.” He lets out an exasperated sigh. “I was a kid. Just a stupid kid. There’s nothing else to say. We were together and then we weren’t. He has his life now, and I have mine.”

“Maybe that’s true, but you never did move on, not really. He’s in town for who knows how long, so maybe it’d be a good chance for the two of you to talk?”

“No, it wouldn’t. And, uh, thanks for ruining tonight,” Buck mutters as he stands up from the table. This is the kind of interference he’d expect from their out-of-town parents, always assuming they know what’s best, but not from Maddie.

“Buck,” Chim warns, and Buck sighs again, shaking his head in frustration. Chim’s always been protective of Maddie, something that Buck’s always appreciated, especially after all that she endured with Doug, but tonight feels like the exception.

“I’m gonna head home.”

“Buck, you really don’t have to go,” Josh says helplessly.

He attempts a smile for what Josh is trying to do—slapping a bandage on the evening, trying to piece everything back together. Buck shakes his head. “I think it’s for the best if I go.”

Buck says his goodbyes and hops into his Jeep, driving home. He knows that Maddie has the best of intentions, and that she cares about him with her whole heart, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

When he arrives home he notices there are only a few lights left on in the house, and that the porch light is on for him. 

“You’re home awful early,” Carla says as soon as he makes his way inside, barely looking up from the little girl that’s propped against her side.

He shrugs a little, not wanting to get into all of the details of how the night quickly spiraled out of control in a way that was just too much for him to handle. “I couldn’t stand the time away from her.”

“Mhm,” Carla says in her knowing way, and Buck’s thankful that she doesn’t say more than that. She knows enough about his past with Eddie, but she’s always stayed out of that part of his life.

Buck toes off his shoes, crossing the room then and scooping Lucy up in his arms. “Hey baby,” he murmurs, placing a kiss on the crown of her head.

“She insisted I read her three stories out here and not in her bed because she was ‘not tired yet, Carla’.”

Buck chuckles at her words, feeling Lucy squirm in his arms before she settles again. She rests her head against his shoulder and he hoists her up higher so that she can curl into him. In a world where everything else is imperfect he’s able to come home and hold a little piece of perfection in his arms. Their lives have been far from easy, and there isn’t a day that Buck doesn’t wish he could be more for her.

He’s doing his best to make up for the huge piece missing from her life—the absence of her mother. Every day she helps him remember that there is more than heartbreak and loss, that sometimes there’s hope, too. He has to hold on to that.

“I’m gonna head out,” Carla says, kissing the back of Lucy’s head and giving Buck a sideways hug before leaving.

Buck walks down the hallway, glancing at Lucy’s bedroom door and then pivoting, walking across the hall to his own room and laying the sleeping girl down on the pillows, covering her with the sheet and comforter. He gets ready for bed and lies on top of the covers beside her. He knows he shouldn’t make a habit out of this and he won’t, but tonight he needs the physical proof.

He hasn’t lost everything, because he still has Lucy.

[tickle-bugs]

I Dot the I in Your Name with My Heart

Summary: Lunch breaks between classes lead Simone and Eleanor into the silliest not-quite-argument they’ve ever had. AU where they’re professors at the same University.

@peachytickles HAPPY BIRTHDAY BELOVED!!!! Ilysm you light up my life and my day. I hope your day is as incredible as you are. Have some Laid Ease as a present and I will continue to be annoying in your dms as a further gift <3

“Babe!” Eleanor threw open Simone’s door, adjusting the comically large satchel on her shoulder. 

“Nope.” Simone didn’t look up from her computer. One day her wife would learn to knock. One day. Eleanor sighed, spun on her heel, and exited the office, grumbling under her breath all the while. 

A cheery knock absolutely dripping with sarcasm sent Simone into a quiet fit of snickers. 

“Dr. Garnett?” Simone could hear Eleanor roll her eyes from the other side of the door. She stifled her smile. The fact that their breaks aligned this semester was a true gift--though Simone did miss lurking in the back of Eleanor’s classroom like a high schooler waiting for her prom date. 

“Come in.” Simone hid her face behind her computer monitor when Eleanor once again flung the door open. 

“I’m gonna grab coffee. Want anything specific?” Eleanor pushed the door shut with her heel, cutting off Simone’s unspoken complaint by sticking out her tongue. 

“I left you a sticky on your desk,” Simone frowned, fingers slowing on the keys.

“I couldn’t read it.”

“Wh--Eleanor.” 

“Don’t Eleanor me. You have a horrible case of doctor handwriting.”  She hung her satchel on one of the chairs in front of Simone’s desk. She rolled up the sleeves of her fraying sweater, continually stopping to untangle her wedding ring from the threads it pulled. Simone’s gaze lingered on her arms--clusters of freckles were starting to dust her pale skin. Cute. 

“No I don’t. It’s perfectly legible.”

“Simone. Babe. Love of my life. Your handwriting is unreadable.” Eleanor pulled her clutch out of her satchel. She thumbed through it, lighting up at something in the overstuffed bag--probably her rewards card. She loved free stuff. 

“Maybe you need to learn how to read.” Simone drew her brows together in a signature grumpy pout.

“What does this say?” Eleanor slid the sticky note across the desk and Simone snatched it. God, she must’ve been in a rush because her handwriting looped way more than usual. Did that say carnival? Caravan? Shit. 

“Obviously...this says…”

“Oh my god. You can’t read it?” Eleanor came around the desk to lean over Simone’s shoulder. Her warm hands slid around Simone’s arms and she leaned subtly back into the embrace. 

“Shut up! I totally can. It says…”

“I’m waiting.” Eleanor laughed softly into her ear and Simone’s cheeks grew embarrassingly warm. 

“Why do you bully me like this?” Simone whined. Eleanor pecked her on the lips with that insufferable grin and a fluttery warmth nestled in her chest. 

“You make it easy. Caramel frappé?” Eleanor brushed her thumb over Simone’s cheekbone. 

“Don’t forget the muffin. Love you.” Simone squeezed her hand. 

“Mhm.” Eleanor squeezed back, letting Simone’s fingers trail over her palm as she pulled away. Simone yanked her back, using the momentum to tug Eleanor down for a kiss. She looked up at her expectantly until Eleanor smiled. 

“Love you too,” She sighed fondly, adorning Simone’s forehead with a light lipstick print that she then carefully thumbed away. She drifted out the door, blowing kisses like a celebrity bidding farewell to her adoring entourage, and Simone returned to her work, a silly smile etched upon her lips. 

The waiting time flew by rather unremarkably--silence triggered a meditative, boundless focus in her that she could nurture into a completed to-do list, if she was precise about it. Her focus tended to veer like a first-time driver, but she’d gotten rather skilled at placing tasks in the way of her swerving brain. Eleanor’s presence usually helped her stay on track, unless she was doing something distracting, like holding a piece of paper three inches from her face. 

“What’s that?” Simone leaned around her monitor to get a better look at her wife. 

“Our grocery list. Tahani showed me this delivery thing for the grocery store near campus. Figured we could try it out.” Eleanor held the slip of paper closer, squinting between it and her equidistant phone screen as if it contained the universe’s untranslated secrets. 

“Why are you looking at it like that?”

“...No reason.” Eleanor put it down on the desk, trying to read normally, but she was never good at hiding her emotions. Or her ‘I can’t understand this’ squint. Simone narrowed her eyes until Eleanor felt compelled to speak. 

“It’s your handwriting. It’s just so…” Eleanor trailed off, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture, but her hand kept looping and twirling until she’d drawn the world’s most complicated pretzel in the air. 

“So what?” Simone knew what she was trying to say, but she wanted to hear it out loud. 

“Listen, the data is against you. So many doctors have bad handwriting.” Eleanor patted her hand across the desk, a cheeky grin dancing on her lips. 

“Say that again.” Simone narrowed her eyes. 

“Doctors have bad handwriting?”

“Eleanor, it’s data, not data.” Simone moved around the desk and sat next to Eleanor. She pulled her chair close, so their knees touched, and eyed Eleanor while she committed a crime against linguistics. 

“That’s what I said.”

“Say it slowly.”

“Dah. Tah.” Eleanor frowned. 

“No.” Simone held her face between her hands and squished her cheeks. 

“What do you mean, no? That’s how you say it. Data.” Eleanor’s voice came out a little muffled but she didn’t seem bothered. 

“Okay, Elle-ee-ay-nor.” Simone rolled her eyes, dragging out every vowel to the point of extinction. Eleanor pulled Simone’s hands away from her face and held them in her own.

“Now the data suggests that you’re being mean.” 

“Am I being mean or are you being American?” Simone booped her nose and Elly wrinkled it, eyes crossing for a moment while she tracked the offending finger.

“It’s not your fault y’know. Your snipsnaps are misfiring, so you don’t have fine muscle control. So, your handwriting is bad and you don’t know how to pronounce data.” Eleanor booped her back, all smug grins, and Simone promptly decided that only she was allowed a monopoly on mischief. 

“Snip--y’know what? That’s it.” Simone pulled Eleanor into her arms, catching her with an oof. Eleanor went to make a flirtatious joke--Simone could see the gears turning in her head--but it died on her tongue when Simone’s nimble fingers pressed into her stomach. 

“You owe me a handful of apologies, Dr. Shellstrop, because your handwriting is no better.” 

“M-my penmanship is--no!”

“I agree, actually. You are not immune to doctor handwriting, ma’am. Your equations are adorably messy.” Simone squeezed up and down her sides, pulling the squeakiest, most endearing giggles from her. God, she was so cute. 

“You’re adorably--”

“Thanks, babe. I know.” Simone grinned, fingers mapping every inch of the slight-plushness around her waist. Eleanor growled through her next bout of laughter.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry!” She yanked on Simone’s immovable hands until they slowed.

“Good.”

“Your handwriting is...unique and I love it.” Eleanor draped her arms over Simone’s shoulders. Simone better secured her arms around Eleanor’s waist, pulling her close. 

“Nice save. But what else are you sorry for?” Simone eyed her expectantly and sighed at the silence. 

“Let’s just say I forgive you for tainting my office with ‘dah-tah’. What is the structure that lets nerve cells pass signals called?” Simone raised her brow. Eleanor knew this. Simone knew that she knew. She’d taught her herself. 

“Snipsnap.” Eleanor nodded sagely.

“Synapse.” 

“That’s what I said.” Eleanor pouted--pouted! 

“Try again.” Simone murmured, peppering fluttery kisses along her throat. Lovely, panicked giggles bubbled out of her, taking their rightful place between every breath. 

“Spintaps?”

“Ooh, almost got it. One more try.” Simone buried a laugh in Eleanor’s neck, her hands sliding upwards to latch onto Eleanor’s ribs. That really kicked things up a notch--Eleanor went from cutesy giggles to borderline screeching, unable to decide whether she was clinging to Simone for dear life or trying to run from her. She kicked her legs, heels drumming against the chair leg, and Simone snuck in a few cheeky squeezes to her exposed knees. 

“Slimcats? Syntax? Synapse!” She squealed, finally deciding on shoving Simone’s face away. She was nearly horizontal now, using the last of her core strength not to fall over the chair’s armrest and have a most unpleasant reunion with the floor.

“I’m so proud of you.” Simone rebalanced her with a strong hand across her shoulder blades, pulling her close with a shit-eating grin. Eleanor huffed, but a few airy chuckles found their way out with it. 

“Shut up. I should tickle you while you try to do calculus. See how you like it.” Eleanor swatted her shoulder.

“I love you so much.” Simone singsonged, looking up at Eleanor through her lashes. 

“Mhm. I love you too. Even when you bully me.”

“Bullying? I prefer ‘showering my wife with love.’” Simone rested her cheek on Eleanor’s bicep, puckering her lips until Eleanor leaned down to meet her. 

“Bullying. I forgive you, though.” Eleanor pinched her nose until Simone made a nasally ‘waah’ sound that left both of them wheezing. Eleanor reluctantly scooped up her satchel at the chime of her phone--time for class, unfortunately. 

“See you later.” Simone smiled. Eleanor slid her a yellow sticky note, folded into quarters, and winked on her way out the door. Simone unfolded it--in tight, coiled letters, Eleanor had left her a note. 

I love you, sunshine. 

Aw. She married a sap--a sap who dotted her ‘i’s with hearts, no less. 

Simone stuck the sticky note to the framed photo of Eleanor that she kept on her desk, smoothing out the adhesive until she was certain it would cling. The picture was starting to get covered now, but the notes adorning the frame were just as important as the contents. She brushed her thumb over the frame and returned to work, Eleanor’s laughter lingering in her ears all the while.

[sun-writer-blog]

PJO Buddy Cop AU

This is a repost from something I wrote a while ago. I deleted that old blog because of some crazy stuff that went down, but (hopefully) i can post some of those fanfics again onto this one. 

Here ya go! All comments and suggestions are greatly appreciated.

“Whatever it is, Chief, it was probably Leo.”

Reyna rolled her eyes at Percy Jackson, who she had just called to her office. To be fair, Percy was usually reprimanded whenever he was summoned to the “Chief’s Lair,” as he and Grover had aptly titled it, so his greeting was not unusual. What was unusual, however, was the blonde-haired young man sitting across from Reyna. The Chief gestured to the open seat beside him. “Sit down, Percy.”

Percy stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. The guy looked seriously muscled, like a blonde Superman. He turned back to Reyna. “Who’s Clark Kent?”

The young man coughed, adjusting his glasses as he glanced up at Reyna, who folded her hands on her lap. “This is Jason Grace, your new partner” She explained. “Take a seat.”

Jason stood up with a warm smile and held out his hand towards Percy. Percy reluctantly shook it before sitting down beside his new partner. Since Grover had left, Percy figured someone would be assigned to him. He just didn’t recognize Jason from anywhere. “Mr. Grace is a transfer” Reyna started, obviously sensing Percy’s hesitation. “He did a couple of years in SWAT, and now he’s working as a detective.”

Percy groaned, leaning forward. “You paired me up with a rookie?”

“Make a good impression, will you?” Reyna smirked, shuffling through some paperwork. Percy began to protest, but she held up a hand to silence him. “Enough. Learn to play with others.” He slumped back in his chair, defeated. “Now, I have a new case for you both. Robbery at the museum. Looks like a few expensive things were taken. Should be open and shut, just ask a couple of questions and write a report.” She closed an orange folder and pushed it towards Percy and Jason, the latter of which began studying the contents. Percy huffed indignantly and stood up to take his leave.

“Anything else, your majesty?”

Reyna narrowed her eyes and leaned back in her leather chair. “I’d say don’t cause any trouble while you’re out there, but that might be too much to ask.”

“Chief, it says here that all the security systems were knocked offline between 6:45 and 6:50 in the morning” Jason started, pursing his lips while he read over the file. “Who should we talk to in this department that’s good with cybersecurity?”

Reyna blinked and smiled. “See, Percy, that’s how you should be acting. Excited to start a case!”

Percy scoffed and glanced at Jason. “Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed? No thanks.” Jason blushed and scratched his head, rising from his chair and tucking the file under his arm. “We’ll go talk to Leo.”

Reyna nodded her approval as Percy tapped on the door frame on his way out. “Don’t cause any trouble!” She repeated as the two of them exited.

When Jason requested a transfer to detective work, he had expected his partner to be some old guy with a fedora and trench coat who would mentor him.

Percy Jackson was certainly not that guy. Instead of a cigar or pipe he pulled out a stick of gum and folded the wrapper into a small airplane as he spoke to Jason.  “Did you get a tour yet?” he asked.

“I just showed up last night, actually. Still have to unpack at my apartment.”

Percy took the opportunity to show Jason around. “Well, we’re going to the break room, which is where you can usually find me and-or Leo. Leo is a cyber-detective, so he usually stays in the building.” Percy chuckled, pushing open the door to the break-room. “And there he is now.”

In the back of the room a short, young man with curly black hair and tan skin was attempting to brew coffee. He muttered a curse before smashing his hand on the Keurig machine, which promptly retaliated by spewing black coffee and hot water all over the table it was on. He yelped in surprise and unplugged the machine, but not before it burst into flames. Percy swiftly grabbed the nearest fire extinguisher and sprayed both the man and the machine.

Jason watched all this from the doorframe. The blob of foam spat and rubbed his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” he insisted. Percy sprayed  him with the fire extinguisher directly in the chest in response. The man groaned and wiped off his hands on his khaki pants and turned towards Jason. “You’re an eyewitness. I totally didn’t start that fire.”

Jason held up his hands. “I didn’t see anything.”

“Exactly. I like him.” He declared decidedly, strolling over the length of the room and drying his hands with a rag before shaking Jason’s. “Detective Leo Valdez, certified tech-guru and eligible bachelor.” Jason blinked and Percy scoffed pointedly.

“Don’t get excited, he says that to everyone.” Percy explained. Leo shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Hey, what can I say, they don’t call me Hot Stuff for nothing.”

Percy crossed his arms. “They do that because you have a tendency to blow things up.”

“I do not!” Leo protested. Percy pointed to the Keurig, which whimpered in the corner of the room as if on cue. “Hey, that thing attacked me. I call profiling.”

“I’ll make sure to report it to the company, Leo. Can you help us with a case?” Percy questioned. Leo raised an eyebrow curiously.

Jason took the lead then, adjusting his navy blue NYPD rain jacket. “Someone was able to turn off power to the security systems of one building. Do you know how that could be done?” Leo thought for a second, scrounging through the various shelves and cupboards in the break room.

“It could be done externally, but that would involve some high level clearance at the Energy Plant. It would be way easier if the guy was on the inside and turned off the security systems himself or deleted the footage.” He paused at the refrigerator and pulled out a greek yogurt with a yellow post-it-note attached. “’Do not eat. Leo, that means you.’ Jeez, am I the only one that eats Piper’s food?”

From the doorway, a voice called “Yes” and slid past Jason. The woman wore suit pants and black flats, with a bright orange dress shirt that Jason couldn’t help but notice complimented her almond-toned skin. She smiled at Percy, who narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. “Leo, are you helping the enemy?”

Leo glanced between Percy and Piper. “Oh mommy, please don’t make me pick between the two of you.”

“Too late, you’re on my team because you’re my partner, Leo. No fraternization during war.” She glanced past Leo and noticed the dying Keurig machine, and groaned before shaking her head. “I don’t even wanna know what happened, do I?”

Percy cracked a smile and put his arm around Jason’s shoulders. “Oh, I’ll tell you anyway. Your brilliant partner lit the coffee machine on fire. Meanwhile I have been assigned the most competent man in the whole department as my new partner, and he’s definitely going to help me win the prank war.”

Piper sized Jason up. “Most competent man in the department?”

Jason whispered to Percy, “Prank war?”

Percy shook Jason playfully. “Yup, on account of the fact that he just got transferred here and hasn’t been corrupted by our stupidity yet. Jason, meet Piper McLean.”

Piper smiled politely and shook Jason’s hand. “It’s a pleasure” she greeted.

Piper was seriously gorgeous. Her hazel eyes shifted from emerald-green to chocolate-brown and every color in-between depending on how the light hit them, and small braids tangled themselves in her shoulder-length hair.

It was probably because of all this that Jason held onto Piper’s hand for far too long and said something completely eloquent like “uh” before refocusing and nodding continuously. “Yup, I’m Jason.”

Jason kept nodding with his hands on his hips until Percy gripped his shoulder forcefully. “Well, this is sufficiently awkward. Anyone want snacks?” Leo stated, clapping his hands and turning back towards the shelves. Percy took the opportunity to explain the prank war to Jason.

“Piper thinks she can outdo me with pranks. First one to reach a hundred before April Fool’s day gets to have all their paperwork done by the loser.”

“If we weren’t on opposite teams I wouldn’t mind getting to know you better, but seeing as this is war I’m afraid it’ll have to wait until later.” Piper winked at Jason before slapping Leo’s hand as he tried to open Piper’s yogurt container without her noticing. “C’mon, Valdez, we have crooks to catch.”

Leo groaned while Piper tugged him out of the break room. “I don’t wanna go to school, Mom! Five more minutes!”

When they were alone in the breakroom Percy punched Jason playfully. “Do I see hearts floating around your head?” Jason made some kind of noise while his brain short-circuited. “Oh yeah, definitely hearts.” Percy shot arrows from an imaginary bow at Jason, who rolled his eyes and swatted them away.How she could see anything in a guy like Jason, he could only wonder.

“She was definitely flirting, right?” He asked himself aloud. Percy laughed.

“Figure that all out by yourself, detective? C’mon, tour’s not over yet.”

Percy led Jason downstairs after he grabbed a bag of Little Bite blue muffins. He popped one into his mouth as he maneuvered towards his own desk, pointing out the Evidence Room, File Room, Lock-Up and Bathrooms to Jason on the way. Leo’s desk was a mess of files and paperwork which piled on top of each other at the edge of the desk while his computer was free of debris. Piper’s was neatly organized but just as full of files, which Percy tried to change by casually sliding files onto the ground as he moved past it. Piper kicked him in the shin.

Percy limped the rest of the way to his desk.  “And this is my home” he stated proudly, gesturing to a mess that rivaled Leo’s. “Yours is right there” he noted, pointing to an empty cubicle beside his. “It was Grover’s, but he left last month to join the DEA.”

Jason ran his hand over the smooth white desk. He noticed Percy looked a little sad that Grover was gone, but he didn’t sense any hostility from Percy, which was a good sign. In fact, Percy refocused and smiled at Jason. “Ready to head to the crime scene?”

Jason nodded and adjusted his jacket. “I’ve got shotgun.”

[eureka-its-zico]

Breathe Part 2 - The Return

Scenario: You’d fallen in love with someone you were supposed to train. You were only a few months older, but years more experienced in the world of dance. His parents paid you to set him on the right path and change his life. Little did you know the only life that would change was yours.

A/N: Okay so honestly I’m pretty stoked about finishing something after months of being on hiatus. I’m not sure if my storytelling or writing is rusty, but honestly, I’m just excited to have something new for you lovelies to read.  Obviously, this is a continuation of Breathe, but you don’t necessarily need to read it to understand what is going on here. I hope you guys enjoy this very much!! Much love, Jenn

Genre: Jimin x Reader; angst/smut

Words: 3986

Credit to @jackseung for making the aesthetic

You were focused on your body’s reflection in the mirror. How your partner’s hands eased onto your waist with arms that raised your body effortlessly until you came crashing down at a delicate point.

The newest student who’d entered your class had asked you to help him practice, “Giselle.” Even after you’d warned him that it was fiercely demanding, the two protagonists in questions showing the love, madness, and revenge of the piece, and needed to flow perfectly together. It didn't matter what you said, however. Nothing deterred him from asking relentlessly for you to help him prepare to show the piece of the prince coming to lay flowers on the dead Giselle’s grave.

Since the last time you’d seen Jimin that morning at the airport, it’d taken you a couple years before you’d been unable to take other partners. You’d done the usual thing that most people do and consoled yourself with work. You threw yourself into it until it felt like your bones would break from the pressure of everyone else's anxieties to make them great. Just like Park Jimin.

The funny part being that his greatness wasn't due to anything you’d done. Jimin just contained that energy that flowed so effortlessly in the representation of dance. What he was unable to say, he wrote it out with the curves of his body. The light expressions on his face and the longing in his eyes for his battered soul to voice what he couldn't say.

It still felt so strange to remember how you’d met. A troubled man whose parents pleaded with you to help. You weren't sure what you expected of him; the son of a well off family who revolted in ways of vandalism to only show his parents he didn't care what they wanted. Jimin just wanted to have a life that he could call his own without his family's influence. Your thoughts drifted to thoughts that maybe dance had been his original form of escape before his parents shoved him into class in hopes you could save him from himself. The only thing that Jimin needed saving from was the doubt he wasn't good enough for better.

There were still moments, when you walked past the bench in the park where you both shared your lives over breakfasts of muffins and coffee, that you felt the loss in your chest cave just enough so you could smile. The first couple weeks with him hasn't been easy, but the day he showed up late, once again, you’d packed up your stuff and began to leave. A small argument coming seconds after as he panicked you would inform his parents.

“Jimin, I'm a teacher not an undercover officer: I'm not going to tell your parents anything. If you don't want my help I have other students who do.”

“So just like that you’re going to let me stop coming?”

“Yup.”

“There’s gotta be a catch.”

Jimin followed close behind you all the way back to the bus stop. His body hovering above you like a dark cloud of nerves while you continued to stare straight ahead.

“There is no catch. You're free to go back and hang out with the same people who are just going to smother your talents just to leave you washed up in jail or worse working mindless retail jobs for the rest of your life.”

Jimin stared wide-eyed down at your seated position. His arm no longer acting as a pillow to lean against the pole that broke up the middle of the seats.

“Geez, Y/N, tell me how you really feel.”

He was trying to make light of your words. You knew it without having to actually know him. It was the defense mechanism of someone who already knew the truth of their future, but was too scared to change it’s course for something far more unknown.

“I’m not kidding, Jimin. I saw you the other night after practice. I seen the way you danced like your body was water and the world your ocean; it was raw and breathtaking.” You were no longer sitting; your legs forcing you to stand close to him. His eyes drawn to you as you continued: “There are hundreds of dancers who would kill to have the ability to dance with such effortless grace, Jimin, and if that is something you can easily throw away than yes, you're free to do as you please.”

The bus pulled up beside the both of you. The squeaking of the doors informing you someone else was now waiting on you. You broke your gaze away from his for just a second so you could grab your bag before you took your first step towards the buses open door.

“But if it's not, then I’ll see you at eight for practice.”

You didn't wait to see if he gave you a reply. You weren't sure what you expected, but he gave you all the answer you needed when you came to class a quarter before eight to see him sitting outside your classroom door.

He showed up like that every night after learning every routine you knew; every single one you were willing to teach him. When you started showing him contemporary dance he became a little hesitant, and even more so as ballet was mentioned. Regardless of his hesitations, he eased into it with a grace that left you envious.

It wasn't until a couple months later that he’d asked for you to go with him to get something to eat after class. Usually you wouldn't mind going out for food or drinks with your students, but Jimin felt like a completely different story.

It wouldn't have taken much for anyone to notice the growing tension that started between the both of you. The way you both gazed at the other far longer than was appropriate when he brought you down from a lift; your back sliding down a strong chest, with arms wrapped gently with yours across your stomach. Your neck pressed against his shoulders, eyes locked to the other, and his breathe dancing dangerously close to your lips.

It seemed so silly to deny a simple bite to eat. You’d shared plenty of late night dinners after class with students before, but deep down you knew the truth: Jimin wasn't just another student. It was obvious in the late night talks as he walked you to the bus stop that he refused to let you do alone. The way you both stared at one another over the gap of the dance floor, breathes heavy, skin glistening, and clothes clinging as you finished another round of dips and turns.

It was more painfully apparent on the nights he rode with you. The both of you pressed thigh-to-thigh in the small seat on the bus with you clutching your shoulder bag like a security blanket. Jimin no doubt sensing your anxiety that left him staring out at the late night Seoul streets. You weren't quite sure if it’d been better or worse if Jimin had actually just stared at you, but the hazy streetlights that cast an angelic glow on his features made his side profile just as deadly.

When he’d finally looked at you his eyes broke out into starlit crescent moons that were only outshined by a smile that seemed powered by the sun. Always enough to cause your mind to wonder how someone could be breathtaking in so many different ways. Your favorite being that megawatt smile that you could've sworn warmed you down to your toes and your breath to catch.

You were always stubborn and, maybe, that's why you agreed to go with him in the end. A small chance you’d end up being able to prove that every little detail you’d picked at was just a wicked game manipulated by your brain. All that actually ended up happening was that you were right about everything.

It was cute how he’d offered to get the both of you Popsicles at the Han River. The sun beginning to set as he chose a good spot for you both to sit against the backdrop of the water. His hands quickly opening yours to hand it over before he’d ever focused on his own.

Your lips wrapped around the top in hopes it would hide your smile at his current struggle he had with his wrapper. A poke of his finger against your side causing you to let out a yelp that had you swatting his shoulder. Jimin wasn't phased in the least and quickly pointed the same finger accusingly in your direction.

“Don’t laugh at a man’s struggles.”

“Men don't struggle with ice cream wrappers: children do,” you pointed out.

Your comment earning you a soft pout that left you struggling to smile past the butterflies it stirred in your gut.

“You know, that really hurts.”

“You’ll live.”

You had to look away from him. If you didn't you couldn't be blamed for what came next. Maybe he could see it too; it would explain why Jimin was bolder than usual.

For a while you both sat in silence and finished the cold snacks. The entire time your eyes unable to move from their spot they’d held onto at the edge of the water. It wasn't enough to keep your body occupied from knowing Jimin was still so close beside you. Not enough to ignore the fact your mind knew he was staring blatantly in your direction as your fingers played helplessly with the leftover stick of your popsicle.

You were ready to bring up anything to keep the silence from swelling with things unsaid. Maybe that's what you would've done, but when you turned to look back at him Jimin was no longer a foot away. A hand already was lacing through your hair to hold the back of your neck as his lips crashed down on yours.

Everything inside you screamed for you to pull away; that it wasn't right. Your body betrayed you when it did exactly the opposite. Instead of your hand shoving his away, your fingers curled around his wrist to anchor you both there. The kiss deepening while your other hand wove its fingers into the hem of his coat. Jimin’s warmth and the taste of his cherry lip balm set an intoxicating mixture on your tongue.

You would've stayed locked against him, lost in the sensation of his grip in your hair and fingers molded to the skin of your waist; his tongue pleading across your lower lip for entrance. If it wasn’t for the whispers of disapproval, and the worry of whose eyes were on you, you would've stayed like that with Jimin. But it was enough to make your heart burst into panic and to part from him. Your legs springing you to your feet while you looked down at him helplessly watching his every move like a love struck teenager.

Jimin rose to his feet and moved to close the space between you once more. Your attempt at retreating halted by his hand gently grabbing at your wrist to pull you back to him.

“Don’t pull away, Y/N. I want to be a man to you.”

Those words brushed along your lips and sparked a hasty need for you to reply with bites on his bottom lip and buried hands in his hair. Above your want, however, your trepidation grew and you bolted from him.

After that night at the Han river everything changed. How could you both act like nothing happened? That you didn't lie awake at night staring up at your bedroom ceiling and trace fingers across the places his lips had touched.  You tried your best to keep practices at their scheduled time and, when they ended, quick to grab your things to leave.

Jimin didn't pressure you to talk. He didn't have to. You could feel his need every time his body danced close to yours. In the placement of his hands at your hips when they were meant to fall at your waist and lips that delved into the sweet spot of your neck that sent jolts of electricity shivering down your spine.

You wanted him.

There was no denying it or his equal emotions. It was enough to leave you back on opposite sides of the room. The space of the dance floor being your salvation and hell as it kept you both apart.

“I think that's enough for today,” you quipped.

Your breathing labored as you moved to grab your water. You weren't sure if you actually needed it, but it was a welcomed distraction from full lips and hungry eyes.

As you took a sip from the bottle you kept your back to him in hopes it was enough to give you strength. It's hard to pretend someone isn't there when the room you're caged in had glass mirrors at every turn. You couldn't stop yourself from looking in them now. The way he stared unapologetic at your reflection: his own showing taut muscles and a tick in his jaw.

That determination was something you’d grown accustomed to. You could read it in him a mile away and knew, without a doubt, it spelt trouble for you.

Jimin didn't give you time to recap the bottle. You watched almost hypnotized as his lean legs covered the remaining floor between you. A hand moving out to grab at your waist and turn you to him until your voyeuristic view was made personal. Those pouty lips found yours once more and your hand dropped the bottle to land on the floor as your hands found the hemline of his shirt.

A moan escaped your throat to land across his lips just before you opened up to a pleading tongue. The kiss only deepening with how far both of your hands would go; your hands feeling warm skin and a hard stomach.

Jimin backed you up against the glass, causing you to let out a gasp of breath that he quickly smothered. You kissed so long your lungs screamed from lack of air, but you couldn't care. Not when he was so close to you like this: not when you could touch him like this.

His hands caressed down your collarbones to trace across the outline of your nipples in your shirt. Another moan vibrating against his lips until he released them to find the contours of your neck. Such a soft sound seeming louder in the echo of the room, only spurring him on to drag teeth against the hollow of your throat.

Your lower body bucked against him and you could feel his smile through the kisses he planted on your collarbone. You wanted to curse at him for being so smug. Instead, he only got a cry of pleasure as his hand delved inside your sweats to tease your clit through lace fabric. Your hips rolling into the palm of his hand if only to gain more friction.

“Let me be with you, Y/N. Please. You're all I ever think about. I can't stop thinking about the way your face lights up when you see me. Or how your cheeks burn red when I tease you.” He dusted kisses along your jaw as he spoke until, with an arm supporting him against the mirror, he pulled back just enough to watch you buck against him and mouth wide open and panting with each stroke of his fingers. “The way you use curbs like balance beams and drag your fingers across flowers in the market. Be with me.”

You couldn't think of anything to say; your brain couldn't think past the need that coursed through your body. The only way you could think to respond was to reach out and grab him by the back of his neck to bring his lips down on yours. The answer he wanted in the form of a kiss: a clash of heat, tongue, and teeth.

When you pulled away you dropped down to your knees in front of him. His hand forcefully removed from your sweats as your hands moved to take down his. His erection apparent in the cotton fabric and, god help you, noticeably large. The idea of placing him inside your mouth left your teeth biting into your lip as you continued to pull them down. Jimin’s hands stopped you just short of reaching for his boxers. A warm blush on his cheeks as you looked up at him with a question forming on your tongue.

“I've...I’ve never done...this before.”

His admission caused your hands to recoil from the band of his briefs. Your body rocking back to sit on your calves as you gazed up at him.

“What do you want to do?”

“I want this. Us. I just...I’m not sure if you do this I'll last, and I want to feel you, Y/N. I want to feel myself slide inside you and watch that pretty mouth of yours moan my name.”

Jimin’s words sent a shiver through your body as motioned for him to join you on the floor. He did so with his knees colliding violently as his mouth delved for yours. Your hands reaching out to steady him and gently push him down to the floor. When you pulled back from the kiss, Jimin sent you a questioning look that you only answered with a smile. Your hands moving back to grab at the waistband of his briefs and sweats until you had to tap him to raise his hips up to help you expose him.

You couldn't keep your eyes from widening at the sight of him. He was long, thick, and made the wetness between your legs feel like it completely soaked into your panties. You stood quickly, your eyes still peeled to him, as you began to remove your shirt and bra. Jimin watched while you let them both fall to the floor. His breathing noticeably stopping as he held his breath when your hands moved to the waistband of your own sweats.

You knew what this would mean if you fully revealed yourself to him. If you chose to get on top of him and take his virginity, but, god help you, you couldn't bring yourself to stop. The invigorating feeling of watching his eyes widen as you stepped out of the last bit of clothing to be fully naked before him was too intoxicating. Even more so when you placed a soft kiss on the tip of his cock just before your lips wrapped around the smooth head; your mouth taking him as far as it could until it reached the back of your throat. His arching back and soft cry of pleasure enough to make you give his shaft a few more strokes with your tongue until you released it with a pop.

You moved to straddle him and placed his tip at your entrance just before you froze. Jimin’s hands were already on your waist and his breathing ragged. You trusted him when he told you he wanted this; you. A small part of you, however, was still hesitant to follow through. Jimin didn't share in the same hesitation as you did; those hands that held your waist holding you still as his tip pushed its way inside you.

A soft shout left you while your hands moved to steady yourself against his chest. Your nails dug into his skin as he moved himself slowly in and out of you; allowing you to stretch to accommodate his size.

When he was finally pushed all the way inside you, you decided to take over. Your hips moving slowly at first as you worked him until you found a good pace that satisfied the both of you. While you rode him, you moved his hands to your breasts and, acting like a puppeteer, showed him how to squeeze them: tracing his thumb across the nub until your breath hitched.

You glanced over into the wall of mirrors and watched the way your body moved against him. The pleasure it brought him with his mouth panting and eyes shut tight. He was close and you wanted to watch him come for you from every angle that you could see.

It didn't take a genius to know after that night nothing between the two of you would ever be the same. You fell in love with him. Jimin fell in love with you, and chose you to share a piece of himself with, and you cherished it more than anything.

Everyday you found yourself loving him for his willingness to help you around the house. The way his timid hand found yours when you were looking at items at the store or how he cuddled against you on the couch during your mutual favorite tv show. No matter how sweet the moment was, it was never enough to make you forget that in a few months he would have to leave. That had always been the deal you’d made with Jimin and his parents. How could you take his future away from him now just because things had changed?

How comical it seemed that the first and last night you’d ever made love was in that studio. In the one you danced in now as you were training new students to send them off to be just as great as Park Jimin.

It would be a lie to say it didn't haunt you every time you opened a dance magazine to read castings for new shows and see his name as the headliner. To see the gorgeous angles of his face, eyes hypnotizing and erotically staring back at you while it forced you to relive memories of waking up to him in your bed. Or seeing him cooking breakfast at the stove because, “You overslept again, jagiya but it's okay. It allowed me to surprise you with breakfast. Sort of.”

All these years that had past and you were still in love with him: would always love him.

You were so lost in thought you were surprised you’d even been able to continue dancing like you did. Your student leading your body as your mind shamelessly transferred to old memories and old loves and perhaps that's why when the song ended you were more affectionate than you usually were. Your mind tricking you into believing, for a moment, that this student was actually Jimin. That he’d never left and you were both dancing to an endless tune of love and lust that drove you to forsake all others.

But as your eyes focused you quickly righted yourself and pulled away from the student. The both of you giving a quick bow as you struggled to catch you breathe.

“That will be all for today. Thank you.”

“Yes teacher.”

You moved to head back to grab a drink of water when a reflection in the mirrors caught your attention, startling you enough to make you stop breathing. Enough to make you believe that maybe ghosts were made possible by feelings you never let go of, because how could he be here, standing in your dance studio?

How could Park Jimin be drenched from the weather outside, looking like you’d hung the moon and crushed it, while he turned his back to leave? You watched, dumbfounded, through the mirror as he reached out to pick up an umbrella before he barreled out the door. The loud crash of the deadbolt slamming home causing you to jump back into reality enough that you spun on your heel to look at the entrance door. The blinds still rocking from the forceful way the door had been closed a few moments ago.

You had to be sure. You rushed over to the door without thinking of grabbing a coat and ran out chasing after ghosts.

[frecklefaceb]

Misunderstanding 2

Genre: Fan Fiction (Divergent Trilogy) Pairing: Eric/OFC-Harlie Jane Stone Warnings: Language, angst, fluff, and smut Rating: Mature Disclaimer: This a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line.

*So I famously said the first one would be my last fore into Eric land, but surprise! He wouldn’t leave me alone. I’m planning one more part to this and then hopefully, Eric will fuck off! :)  I hope you enjoy!*

“Oh, fuck! Eric!” Harlie cries as Eric hums in approval of her current state, Harlie writhing beneath him with her fingers digging into his scalp as he gingerly licks her wet folds. Her back arches off the mattress when his tongue flicks her clit, before covering it with his mouth and sucking. Her knees collapse into his head, soft whimpers growing to chants with her release. Eric greedily continues to lick until Harlie squirms away with a ragged breath. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Eric lazily smiles as he crawls over her, placing kisses along her body.

Her fingers brushing the skin of his back as he clambers over, stopping at her neck and rolling off onto his back.

Harlie sighs, "I don't want to get up, but I should go."

"Why?"

She bites her lip at his relaxed state, one arm tucked underneath his head and the other on his chest, a knee bent and his eyes closed. It was unbelievably satisfying seeing the leader like this, his neck exposed with the tilt of his head on the pillow, and she was tempted to bite his tattoos like she had so many times the night before.

"I'd like to grab some breakfast and get ready for work. I definitely need to shower because I smell like sex," she adds. Eric catches her as she rolls away, his arms dragging her back into his chest. Her giggles cause him to smile against her neck between kisses. Harlie wiggles while trying to lift his arm.

"I also need a coffee drip, because I'm pretty sure we didn't sleep."

Nuzzling her hair he arrogantly jests, "I'm pretty sure you weren't complaining."

Determined to get free, Harlie rakes her nails against his arm; she knows there's no way to physically overpower him, but there are other methods of escape that she can employ. Eric's teeth pull on the outer shell of her ear, and Harlie rolls her hips back. His hand drifts from her belly to her hip, and with the weight gone, she quickly rolls and scrambles off the bed, although she doesn't clear it before Eric lands a swat to her ass.

"Eep!" she yelps, stumbling forward while scanning the room for her shirt, mouthing a silent ‘yes’ when she spots it near the door.

"I never knew you had such a filthy mouth. How am I supposed to look at you in today's meeting?" She questions over her shoulder.

Eric stalks towards her, yanking the shirt up as she is attempting to pull it down. Harlie shoulders slump in defeat as a small smile pulls at her lips.

"Oh, it's about to get dirtier." He claims, and swiftly picks her up and carries her back to the bed.

_____

With her head down, Harlie rushes into the dining hall, seeking any leftover muffins or fruit to grab and take back with her to the office. By the time Eric was done this morning, she barely had time to take a quick shower and change before heading out.

Luck was on her side however, a lonely banana nut muffin was sitting on the counter. She eagerly snatched it and picked up an apple for good measure before swiping her card.

Her head jerks up at the cat call as she passes the tables, her friends Jace, Brett, and Steph smiling at her annoyance.

"Look what the cat dragged in!" Brett announces, and Harlie hangs her head as they swarm.

Jace wraps his arm around her shoulder as they walk. He offers a squeeze, "You're running late."

"Aww, leave the girl alone. She had a late night," Steph says with a wink. Harlie nervously laughs; as far as the guys knew, she'd left with Devin, but Steph was closing down the bar last night and surely saw Eric drag her out.

The group stops once they reach the pit, saying their goodbyes until it's just Harlie and Brett left.

"Sooooo...." he trails off fishing for information.

"I clearly didn't spend the evening alone or make it home," she reluctantly offers, afraid the truth would somehow spill out. It wasn't that she was ashamed of sleeping with Eric, the entire event still felt rather surreal, barring the dull throbbing between her legs.

"Slut," he teases.

Flinging her head back in exasperation she pipes, "Worth it!"

The two laugh as they enter intelligence, Toni already busy at her station, barely glancing up as they reach for their messages neatly placed on the desk.

"Crap! I've got to hurry up and get my shit together before the meeting," Harlie grumbles. Her whole day was off kilter.

"Alrighty! See ya later," Brett salutes as he ventures towards his office and Harlie to hers. ________

10 am had rolled around faster than she'd have liked. Overall, the meeting was uneventful as they went over the mission reports, Harlie never daring to directly look at Eric, who had strategically placed himself across from her at the table. Despite his incessant attempts at gently nudging her foot under the table until she finally scooted from his reach unless he slouched, where it would become painfully obvious. Taking it as a challenge, Eric decided to put her on the spot by personally congratulating her on the successful mission. At first the room was quiet, praise from Eric was rare although typically deserved, but soon a loud applause erupted, causing Harlie's eyes to drift up to his while he pursed his lips to hide a smile at her discomfort.  The remainder of the day was mundane albeit quite busy, for which she was grateful. Eric was out of the compound, and she didn't have time to think of ways to avoid him, or over analyze all the ways their work relationship would change as a result of their previous evening's activities. Instead, she just focused on work until it was time to leave.

Harlie shuffled through the door to find Jace parked on the couch reading.

"Hey!" he calls out at the sound of the door.

Harlie only groans, collapsing on the couch with her head in his lap. Jace closes the book, tossing it to the table and begins to gently stroke her hair.

"Hit that wall?"

"I'm exhausted. How can people party all night?" she grouses.

"Please. You don't get out enough. Want to order a pizza?"

"I'd marry you if I hadn't already," she declares while patting his leg and reaching for the glass of water on the coffee table. Jace chuckles at her halfhearted attempt, fingers wiggling as she stares at the glass. He leans forward, retrieving it for her.

"Have you ever wondered what it would be like if we actually tried?"

"Tried what?" She questions taking a swig from his water.

With a shrug, Jace replies, "Like, actually tried to be a real couple."

Harlie coughs and Jace reaches over to rub her back as she gasps for air.

"Easy there. Don't have to act all disgusted," he teases. Harlie shakes her head as she sits up.

"Jace...." she trails off.

"Harlie Jane," he mocks, earning a shoulder nudge.

"You're my best friend, we only married to get this sweet apartment, and the few times we've fucked have only been out of convenience or drunken debauchery." Harlie barely finishing before a yawn escapes, which she doesn't bother hiding.

"Haven't you thought about the future? Like having kids and what not?" he quizzes, growing impatient with his friend. She was clearly missing the point.

Harlie rubs her eyes, "I haven't even been in a relationship since I can't remember when, while you've been too busy hopping to and from willing genitalia."  

"Now that we've established that I'm easy," Jace defends before squaring his shoulders. "You know I'd never intentionally hurt you, right?"

Harlie pinches the bridge of her nose with her response, "Intentionally? No, I don't think you would, but I'm not sure this hypothetical lifestyle would work."

He laughs, "Don't you see? We're practically living it already. I'm serious, Harlie. Let's be legit."

"I need time to think about it," she softly replies.

"All I ask is for you to consider it." Jace stands, fishing his cell from his pocket and waving it at her. "I'm going to order our pizza."

She nods, slowly reclining and curling up on the couch. ________

Harlie doesn't react to Eric's hand on her lower back, guiding her through the garage as they prepare to scout locations needing camera coverage. There were several known dark spots within the city. Eric and Harlie had a list of the worst spots, ones where numerous factionless attacks had occurred.

"There's something we need to discuss before heading out," Eric states in an official tone. Harlie tilts her head, wondering what they could possibly need to talk about in the garage.

"What?" she questions with wide eyes, surprised by his Cheshire grin as he backs her into a secluded nook, ironically, one without cameras.

"Hi," he whispers, kissing her softly. Harlie gasps when he pulls away, keeping his forehead pressed to hers.

"Hi," she smiles, taking his bottom lip and giggling when he pushes her further into the wall.

Between kisses, Eric growls, "I really wish we didn't have to go out."

"Well, now I don't. Thanks for sharing," she teases as Eric winks, his face otherwise stony, stepping back into the garage. Harlie's stomach knots, Jace sure had terrible timing and Eric wasn’t going to make a decision easy.  

It was previously decided to start at the furthest location and then work their way back towards the city. Harlie always liked the ride to Amity, watching the buildings slowly disappear and giving way to trees. Today, the long ride meant being continually tortured by her overwhelming loyalty to her best friend, and the budding relationship with Eric. Seeking a break, Harlie had attempted pulling up blueprints on her tablet only to end with frustration, shoving it back into her bag and slumping back into her seat.

Eric's eyes are locked on the road when he finally asks, "Why are you so quiet this morning?"

"Trust me. You don't really want to know," she admits, Jace's confession looping through her consciousness after robbing her of sleep.

"Try me," his fingers strum the steering wheel as he waits. Harlie typically did one of two things on their trips; randomly share information, or work. He knew for a fact that she liked nature, and the lack of information being spewed at him was alarming. The abruptness of her tablet being powered off and the rustle of her bag was the next sign.

Harlie sighs before answering, "Jace wants to be a real couple."

"You can't be serious?" His tone even and steady despite feeling otherwise.  

"Dead."

"I thought you said it was a marriage of convenience?" Eric could feel his poise and mask of indifference slipping. Logically, he knew there was no justifiable reason to be upset with Harlie, and yet, he was. His knuckles white as they grip the steering wheel awaiting her response.

"That wasn't a lie," Harlie laments.

"Were you planning on telling me?" He questions, and she flinches at his authoritative bark.

"I didn't really get the chance..."

"Ah, yes, my tongue down your throat must have deterred you," He clips. Harlie can feel her blood boil, her fists balling while refraining from punching him in the side of the head. Besides the fact that they were barreling down one of Amity's rough dirt roads, and hitting Eric might result in an accident, assaulting a leader was also frowned upon. Instead, she opts for a deep breath.

"We are working. I didn't think it was the proper time to have such a conversation." Eric's jaw ticks with the accuracy of her response. Swallowing back whatever venom about to spit out of his mouth, he opts for silence. There was no way he'd admit, at least not in the moment, how right she was. Eric preferred to keep a clear separation between his professional and private life. Prior to Harlie, it was why none of his fucks were ever in his line of supervision. It made life easier for all involved; at least it did until recently.

Conversation was kept to minimum, erring on professional as they cycled through their list. At each location, discussing ideal placement of a camera for maximum coverage and then locating reasonable alternatives. Harlie carefully documenting and taking notes, drawing out the process longer than necessary to avoid additional interaction with Eric, who immediately caught on to her scheme, often trailing ahead while sucking his teeth.

The final stop of the day was Erudite, and unlike the previous locations, Harlie's fingers frantically tapped in the information on her tablet.

"Done," she murmurs with satisfaction, ready to go home and hide in her room with a drink.

Eric remains rooted in place with arms crossed as he leers at her. Harlie rolls her eyes, powering off the tablet and shoving it into her bag, lifting her chin defiantly when he speaks.

"What was your response? To Jace?"

While his face was placid, Harlie could see past the farce. This bothered him. Hours later, and he was still stewing over it, the faint possibility of her actually wanting a relationship with her husband over him.

Shifting on her feet, Harlie squints off into the distance, her voice small as she tries to keep from breaking down, "That I needed time to think."

Eric steps forward, crowding her space and causing her gaze to shift back to him.

"Okay," he flatly replies.

"Okay what?" she inquires, confused.

He shrugs, "I like you, but I'm not going to beg you to choose me. You either want to be involved with me, or you don't. So, I'll make it easy. You're a smart woman, which means there's a logical reason to consider the proposal."

"Eric..."

"Do it. Play house," his brow quirks. Harlie closes her mouth, stunned by Eric's fickleness. The aloof demeanor he now exhibited was drastically different from his previous cantankerous mood.

"So that's settled," Harlie mumbles.

"Yep," he calls over his shoulder. Harlie slumps, simultaneously feeling defeat and relief as she watches him march to the truck.

[elfnerdherder]

The Fault in My Code: Ch. 8

You can read Chapter 8 on Ao3 Here

Chapter 8: Two Baby Blues Pt. 2

           Reba Dolarhyde-McClane had rich, sepia brown skin and a smile like a 100-watt bulb. Her matching brown eyes fixed where she heard the voice come from, and if Will hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn she could see right through him. Perhaps, being blind, she saw better than most.

           Not enough, though. Not enough to see Francis Dolarhyde.

           “He’d always been reclusive at work, but that suited me fine. People sometimes were rude to him, but he was always kind to me, always nice,” she said. She sat in her seat across from Jack and next to Will, hands clasped on her knees. “He never coddled me for being blind the way a lot of people do. He always respected my independence.”

           “How long did he go to Dr. Lecter?” Jack asked. Will wasn’t supposed to ask anything, merely observe.

           “About six months, and he said he’d gotten better. After Dr. Lecter was imprisoned, he took it pretty hard. He tried another therapist, but that fell through, then he said he’d be okay.” Her teeth bit over her bottom lip. “…I thought everything was okay.”

           “What happened the night that he…lost control?”

           Tactful, Jack. Will chewed on a hangnail and slumped lower in his chair, watching her. He felt Lecter’s indignation and mild unease like an ill-fitting suit. Four days strong without him. Will liked to pretend that he was doing just fine, like he didn’t wake sporadically and have to run himself to exhaustion on the treadmill at the hotel at 2 AM just to fucking sleep.

           “He wanted to be intimate.” She said ‘intimate’ like she’d had to practice the sound of it not feeling so intimate to say in front of strangers. “I sat on the bed, but he left the room, and when he came back, it felt wrong.”

           “Wrong?”

           “Serious. Dark. I asked what was wrong, and I smelled the gasoline…he said he had to. He loved me, but he had to. Then…” She nodded to herself, thinking of the timeline, “then the room went up, and a gunshot. I went to him, but he…his face was…”

           She stopped, hands clenched. Will tasted sorrow on the tip of his tongue, followed by a hint of bitterness.

           “I got out. I got to the neighbors, and they helped me call the police for a fire truck. It was all gone, though, all of it…” She sighed, composing herself. Reba had the poise of a Michelangelo painting, the grace of an angel. Will envied Dolarhyde’s time spent with her. “I miss him. He was troubled, but he was…he was so sweet. So gentle.”

           Will and Jack exchanged a glance, and Will nodded. She wasn’t lying.

           “Did he ever mention his eyes changing color, Ms. Dolarhyde-McClane?” Jack asked.

           “…His eyes?”

           “His eyes were different shades of brown.”

           She didn’t know what to say to that, and Will felt the befuddlement, the confusion. That they would bother to tell her, after all this time…

           “What’s that mean for me?” she asked.

           “We ran a test, and the shades of brown in the left eye correspond to a 92.4% match of the color of your intermediate family members whose eyes are on record due to filing their soulmate eye color,” Will said, speaking up. Reba looked to him, and it pierced him in the chest. “We believe he had a partial soulmate bond with you.”

           “Why are you telling me this?”

           Jack waved a hand sharply in his direction, but Will ignored it. He leaned closer to her, studying the way her lips quivered, her hands fluttering to the necklace at her neck before falling back to her lap. She knew. She knew.

           “You knew.”

           “…He’s not dead, is he?” she asked, a mere whisper.

           “He’s not,” Will said, “but he loved you enough to leave you. He loved you enough that when he started talking about red dragons and you got scared, he let you think he was dead rather than drag you into the mire he’d made for himself.”

           “Will,” Jack warned.

           “He said he was going to be okay,” Reba suddenly cried, and she covered her mouth with her hand, like she could hold back the words she’d kept to herself for so long. Like a wave cresting the breakers, tears began to fall, and she buried her face in her hands, sobbing soundlessly.

           Will leaned back into his chair and stared at the desk leg. His stomach settled a little, now that the truth was out in the air, ugly in its reality. In that moment, Jack both loved and hated him.

-

           Molly called him while he was getting lunch, and he sat outside, picking at a questionably soggy sandwich. Soulmates had half-off prices on Saturdays at the sub shop, but that hadn’t been enough for him to pull one of the contacts from his eyes. For what he’d paid for too much mayo, he wondered idly if he should have just bit the bullet.

           “You should have told me, Will,” she said when he picked up. There was as much accusation in her voice as there was worry.

           “Maybe,” he agreed. Then, “No, probably not.”

           “Have you been to a doctor?”

           “Yes,” he lied. Then, “No, no I haven’t.”

           “Will,” she admonished. His ears grew hot at the lie, and he chewed morosely on the bread, gritting his teeth against the texture. If that’s how she sounded when he lied about a doctor, he wondered the tone she’d take when he finally showed her his eyes.

           What did you do to your eyes, Will?

           “I’m fine, Molly.”

           “Is he going to try and kill you once he knows who you are?” she asked.

           “Maybe,” Will admitted. “I’ll have people on me. SWAT.”

           “They’re calling him Red Dragon in the news now, Will. Did he really eat that painting?”

           Will laughed and looked up at the sky. Something inside of him was tearing, and he coughed at the shortness of breath. “Yeah, yeah he did.”

           Silence. Will listened to her breathe as he chewed his dismally awful sandwich, and he wondered just what she’d say if he begged her to come visit. He thought of Red Dragon seeing her with him, though, and the thought was struck from his mind. He thought of Reba telling them everything she knew, how he’d found the painting one day by coincidence and began obsessing over it. How he’d wake her in the night sometimes, growling into a mirror in the upstairs spare bedroom. Guttural. Animalistic. He loved her, therefore he left her.

           “I miss you,” he said, desperate. “You haven’t mentioned the news casters once.”

           “Their eyes haven’t changed,” she assured him. “Not since the new guy.”

           “Good, good.”

           “Do you think about Garrett Jacob Hobbs a lot, now that you’re up there and alone?” she asked.

           “I do.” Molly was the only one to be able to get away with asking that, and she knew it. He wondered if Alana had called her.

           “I want you to come back down here. Forget what I said about helping people, I’m scared for you, Will.”

           “Oh, Molly,” he sighed. “I think it’s too late for that.”

           “Fuck Jack Crawford, just come back home. You want to come home, don’t you? Aren’t you already tired of this? You were tired before it even began.”

           “My darling Molly,” he murmured to her. “I wish that I could. I really, really do. We’d get the boat and go along the coast, getting fat off of beer and mangos.”

           “You hate mangos.”

           “I’d eat a thousand mangos if you asked me to,” he vowed.

           Another prolonged silence. He thought about Reba crying in Jack Crawford’s office, the stench of despair. She’d mourned Francis Dolaryhyde, but now she feared the Red Dragon like everyone else did. Jack promised to relocate her, that way she’d be safe in case she was the final product of his ‘transformation’. He wondered if in Reba’s dreams, she saw Red Dragon devouring her the same way Will did.

           “Please be safe, darling,” she said. She’d never called him that before. Stud, dear, honey-bunches, and sometimes William, but not darling. He didn’t care for it. Too many new names; Red Dragon, darling, dear Will, my Will.

           “I told you,” he said, and somehow she knew.

           “You did,” she agreed. “You said you’d be different, and god dammit if you weren’t right.”

-

           Will avoided the alcohol cabinet out of a stubborn need. He paced his room that evening, thought about Hannibal, cursed himself. When it began to rain, smeared images of a dark city with occasional bursts of light, he slumped into his chair and stared at the image of the Red Dragon next to The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed in Sun, trying to blend the two together. In the picture of Red Dragon, his cleft pallet was less noticeable due to the turn of his head, like he was used to trying to hide it. He didn’t look at the camera. Whoever had taken the photo, they’d done it against his will.

           “I’m trying to see you,” Will said to him glumly. “Beneath the pixels, the blood, the mirrors, the photos, the…textbook analysis. One part of a whole that never finished, and you’re trying to fill in the pieces.

           “How’d you talk to Hannibal Lecter in prison? How'd you get past the screening of letters? What’d you say that made him so delighted to pit you against me? Is that it? Is it a competition?”

           Red Dragon didn’t say anything in return. Will laid his head on the small desk, staring sideways out of the window as the rain fell, mocking him with its steady pace. He wished he could be so steady. With every flash of light that leapt across the sky, he wished he could be so steady, able to catch the guy and keep the girl in the end.

-

           He got a call early in the morning, a few days later, and he supposed he should get used to running on only a few hours of sleep. Seven days without Hannibal. Seven days with sleepless nights. He glared at the shadows under his eyes, and he resented them, resented the bastard that’d given them to him.

           “Dr. Graham, there’s something of urgency that I think you should see here,” Dr. Chilton said. “I’ve already called Jack Crawford, and he’s on his way.”

           Will didn’t realize he was wearing the same clothes as the day before until he walked into the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane –Jack’s facial expression made it painfully apparent. He looked down at his plaid shirt, brushed off a few crumbs from an English muffin, and followed Chilton into his office. Still two brown eyes.

           “We were doing our cell-to-cell inspections, as we normally do, when Barney found this in Hannibal Lecter’s cell, wadded up inside of a roll of toilet paper.”

           On the table, written in a short, neat script, was a letter.

           “Is that toilet paper?” Jack asked, eyebrows lifted.

           “Yes, very biodegradable from the feel of it. Not ours,” Chilton said with a sniff. He looked from the two-ply and fixed Will with a stare that he avoided. “Someone has been writing your ‘witness’ little love notes, Dr. Graham.”

My dear Dr. Lecter,

           I wanted to tell you how happy I am that you’ve taken an interest in me, after all this time. I thought I was nothing more than a blip in your timeline, a mere shadow within the memories you no doubt hold dear from the time when you were free to do as you wished and conquer your small portion of the world.

           When I heard from you, I thought, dare I? Of course I dare. It is of no consequence the body in which I am bound to, now, for this shell is not important –what is important is what I am becoming, and that is of greatness. You of all understand the power of transformation.

           I keep cutouts of you whenever you are in the press. We have a lot in common, you and I, from our ways to the unfair names they sling at us. They call me Soul Stealer, like a thief in the night rather than a creator. I thought of you seeing such crude attempts at naming, but I know it is of little consequence to you. You who was also slurred in the newspapers, first Chesapeake Ripper, then Hannibal the Cannibal…

           Dr. Will Graham interests me. He’s not very handsome, but there is something purposeful about him, even as I held him by the throat. He was not afraid as he looked at me. There was no fear in his eyes as he snarled. Perhaps he is a dragon, too.

           How you managed to warn me of his scent on my artistic depiction gave me the time to do as I will; I hold myself indebted. Perhaps one day we will meet, and I will share with you the ways that I am utterly grateful to you.

           Though the papers of this letter are insufficient, I thought it best under the circumstances, should you need to eat it. Your own note was on far better cardstock, something smacking of connections beyond your cell. I applaud your grace and wit, even as I learn from and ascend beyond it.

           Until then, I remain your,

                                                                                                                       -Avid Fan

           There were places ripped out, small spots where bits had been removed. Will had to resist reaching out to touch it, get a feel for the texture of the paper Red Dragon had so lovingly leaned over. He wondered if the smell of him was still ingrained in the fibers. Probably not.

           He could hear him, though. In person, his speech would be slurred, rough. On paper, no matter the quality, his eloquence was far beyond the physical shell he thought himself doomed to.

           “He bears screams like a sculptor bears dust from the beaten stone,” Will said quietly.

           “What?” Chilton said, a curt burst of noise. Jack waved at him to be quiet, and Will found himself wandering over to the window, rubbing the sleep from his yawning mouth. Hannibal was close. Hannibal was so close, but not close enough. If anything, Red Dragon was closer. He wanted neither one of them close, but he needed both of them to be close.

           “Is that what you get from this, Will?” Jack asked.

           “Avid fan, indeed,” he muttered, staring out at the early morning. It already looked like midday due to the brightness, and he squinted at the wraparound parking lot at the front entrance. “He knew what Lecter was, even as he saw him for treatment. He knows Lecter relates to him.”

           “Lecter reached out to him first,” Jack said.

           “He knows we are not the sum of our parts. We are light, dust, spirit, the many parts of a whole that furthers his growth. His transformation.” Will fiddled with the blinds, knotting and re-knotting the pull-string. Red Dragon thought he was a dragon, too. Will noted the fact that he said a dragon, not a great dragon. One of potential many, but he was The, and Will was a.

           Chilton opened his mouth, and Jack lifted a hand to silence him, staring at Will. “How’s he going to finish his transformation, Will?” he asked gently.

           “Hannibal Lecter would be the final death. Beautiful. Glorious. Like John the Baptist taking a knee when Jesus waded into the water.” Will glanced to an orderly stepping outside to meet someone pulling up. “Did you read it? ‘Even as I learn from and ascend beyond it.’”

           “How did he get the correspondence out?” Jack asked.

           “Ask Chilton’s orderlies, Jack,” Will said with a snort. He abruptly dropped the pull-string and gave him a wan glance. “Enough money or persuasion, and he’d be able to get whatever letter out wherever he needed it to go.”

-

           Matthew Brown was the easiest catch Will ever had while consulting with the FBI. Under the pressure of Jack, Will, and an indignant Chilton, he cracked and admitted to sending out letters unscreened for not only Lecter, but other inmates, too.

           The last one confused him, though, he admitted. Lecter had it sent to the newspaper, Tattler, as a personal ad. It ran just yesterday, he said, an odd request for meeting a single young lady by the name of Molly.

           Will Graham had to be held by back by Jack and Chilton both, fist halfway to Matthew Brown’s face before they hauled him out of the room. It took a while for him to realize, pacing the hall, that the ragged, guttural wheezing was coming from him and not the smoking, fiery maw of a dragon.

-

           “Molly, my Molly, please answer the phone. If you get this, call 907-XXX-XXXX immediately. Find a safe space to hide in until they call back and give you further instructions. You know where I put the gun; find it and put one in the chamber, like we practiced. Please tell me you’ve still been practicing.

           “I’m so sorry…my Molly, I’m so sorry. I love you.”

-

           They were on a plane to Florida when Jack got a call from one of the guys at HQ. It was a skip code, and a rather decently complicated one at that.

           ‘Save yourself, kill Molly –Graham’s love,” Jack said. Will paced the length of the jet, turned around, eyed the liquor cabinet. Told himself no.

           When they got another call that Molly had crashed a car into the hospital parking lot before falling out of the driver’s seat, unresponsive, he broke down and made himself a strong, strong drink. Three years sober, indeed.

-

           He woke to someone finger-combing the back of his head, mindful of the rather large, ugly scab at the crown. Will lifted his head blearily, and at Molly’s pained, drawn face, pale but very much alive, he grabbed her hand and wept.

-

           “Those aren’t your eyes,” were the first words out of her mouth to him.

           “No,” he said hoarsely. She didn’t draw away from him, stuck as she was with a gunshot wound to the shoulder. She let him hold her hand and kiss it, pressing his face to her palm with a need border-lining on desperation.

           “What’s underneath those eyes, Will?” she asked him. “What colors am I going to see?”

           “One blue,” he said, and he dropped his gaze to the fine lines along her palm. He traced her life line, then the heart line. “The other’s maroon.”

           “Do I want to know who it belongs to?”

           “No…no, you really, really don’t.”

-

           In his dreams, he took out both of his eyes and tried to crush them, a raging grief that took the breath from him, left him gasping for air that would not come. Before he could destroy them, someone reached out and took them from him. They held regret and sorrow with equal weight, and their kisses tasted like rotting flesh.

-

           Once she was well enough to be moved, Jack had her taken to a safe house with a round-the-clock guard. Will would have thought about going with her, but the need to see Red Dragon dead burned him with such a fury that he didn’t offer to go. The look she gave him, equal parts betrayal and equal parts unease at his mismatched eyes was enough to send him after Jack’s heel like a well-trained dog to the master’s boot. She didn’t tell Jack about his eyes. He didn’t tell her about Hannibal. Thankfully, with her injuries, she didn’t ask.

           “I’ve got my best guys on her, Will. Molly’s going to be okay,” he assured him. “She outsmarted the bastard. He tried to get her, and she got away.”

           “He outsmarted us,” Will said after a prolonged pause. “Lecter outsmarted us.”

           He felt a disquieted, uncertain sort of thing, and he wasn’t sure if it was Lecter’s pain at the distance, or if there was something more to it than that. He relished in the way that his skin burned, the way that he felt small cracks in the shell around him. Every time the pulsing pain faded, then returned, he reminded himself that if he was hurting, Lecter was, too. In the hotel room before they flew back to Baltimore, he drew idle designs with his finger on the table beside a glass of whiskey and his gun, staring for a long, long time. Only the burning need to see Red Dragon dead keeping him from doing something permanently destructive.

-

           Chilton didn’t want to let Will see Hannibal; he said it wasn’t wise, what with the way he’d been able to put people in legitimate danger, even while incarcerated. It wasn’t until Will leaned over the desk at him, contacts burning holes into him, that his stubbornness was quelled and he relented.

           “He almost killed Molly,” he said, a low growl. “I’m owed some answers.”

           “Perhaps he supposes that one-sided soulmate relations are enough for him to claim you,” Chilton said, leading him towards maximum. He tone was petulant, even as he relented.

           Will didn’t reply.

           He let Barney set up the partitions and the chair alone, his skin on fire. It’d been three weeks, and the time away burned, blistered, and reeked of bruises that sunk too deep. He reveled in the pain. It was his bedmate, his food and his water. He reveled in the destructive thoughts it lent him, in the bleak way that it made him stare at a wall for minutes that stretched to hours until he realized just how much time had passed, uncaring in the zombie-like manner that it lent him. Molly almost died because of him. Molly almost died because of his games. Molly almost died because of Hannibal-Fucking-Lecter.

           “Poor Dr. Graham,” Gideon said. He leaned against the bars of his cell, and if not for the nonchalant swing to his arm that hung, he’d have seemed truly piteous. “Word gets around quick.”

           “Does it?”

           “Matthew Brown; fired for smuggling contraband inside of these walls and willfully endangering the life of a person,” he said, ticking the acts off on his fingers. “Compromising a current investigation, impeding justice, and accessory to attempted murder. Quite the little naughty blend of illegal behaviors for an orderly of such a prestigious place as this, don’t you think?”

           “Do you think so?” Will wondered. “You sound like you’re not surprised.”

           “Oh, I’m really, really not, Dr. Graham,” Gideon said. He huffed a short laugh, lip quirking into a smile. “The orderlies here call this row the deadly crazies, but it’s here that they walk, isn’t it? Wouldn’t one of us, with practice, learn to walk as they do? Talk as they do?”

           “Do you think he’s like you then?”

           “No, he’s far uglier, far less sophisticated.” Abel shook his head, deep in thought. When one came to him, his eyes lightened and he looked back to Will. “I will say, though; he often condescended to have small little chats with Dr. Lecter, much like you do. Whisper on the row is that he’s going to find himself back here, in a uniform like mine rather than a uniform like Barney’s.”

           “Justice at its finest,” Will found himself saying.

           Gideon liked that. A lot. “Irony, too. I do feel bad for your girlfriend, though.”

           “That word got around too?”

           “Oh, yes,” he said with a somber nod. “When I was a surgeon, I was informed that I had hands that were just nimble and quick enough to do what other surgeons couldn’t do. If I was at that hospital, I’d have ensured she was taken care of.”

           “That’s honestly very kind of you, Dr. Gideon,” said Will. If he’d been at that hospital, Will would have shot him dead.

           “I think it’s because you have the ability to be just as rude, just as dismissive to me as the orderlies around here, but you aren’t. You give politeness where politeness is due, Dr. Graham, and I think about things like that.” Gideon smiled, dragged a finger along one of the bars of his cell. “I think about politeness, about who is and isn’t kind, about the people that show kindness even when they don’t have to.”

           “The world is nasty enough, I think; me being rude would just add to a problem.”

           “The world is nasty enough,” Gideon echoed. “Yes, with people like Matthew Brown lurking about, profiting from your woes, the world is nasty enough. I’m glad there are upstanding individuals like you to offset it.”

           “Dr. Graham?”

           Will looked over to see Barney hovering by the partitions, like he’d been there for quite some time. Will cleared his throat, looked to Abel, then back to Barney.

           “You have business to take care of, I think,” Abel said slyly. He moved away from the bars, settled down on his cot. “Thank you for the chat, Dr. Graham. Thank you for always being kind.”

           “Have a good day, Dr. Gideon,” Will found himself saying. He nodded to Barney, resisted the urge to press down on the indignant impatience curdling inside of him.

           “He’s awake,” Barney said as Will went to the partitions. Will nodded, already well aware of that.

           When Barney left, he walked around the partition and stared at Hannibal, his vision going red.

[desert-fern]

You Catch A SWAT Officer with Muffins…?

Now I clearly know who our SWAT officer is, and they definitely need more love, can you tell me more?

Hey Mal!

So “You Catch A SWAT Officer with Muffins…?” is a SWAT!Phoenix oneshot that involves her and the reader falling head over heels for one another! It’s inspired by the moodboard I made for my 700 followers celebration a few months back and partially dedicated to @/sylviebell.

Basically it’s a SWAT!Daggers AU complete with a very gay Natasha falling for her bakery owner neighbour who makes the best blueberry muffins she’s ever had!

[desert-fern]

Key:

💐 - Fluff

🥀 - Angst

🌹 - 18+ (This means MINORS FUCK OFF)

🌿 - Miscellaneous

Natasha “Phoenix” Trace

Oneshots

- I’m Pretty Sure You’re That Love of Mine - Phoenix X Fem!Reader 💐🌿

Summary: Phoenix and you have a conversation about what the future holds for you and your relationship post-uranium mission

Written for roosterforme’s love is in the air tgm Valentine’s Day event (2023)

- Bruised Black and Blue: A Former Gunpowder and Lead Extra - Phoenix X Fem!OC Fern Spades 🌿

This fic is my hard work and effort. I will not be deleting it despite the rewriting being done by the people who originally created the series

Bruiser’s Moodboard (made by me!)

- You Catch More SWAT Officers with Muffins…? - SWAT!Phoenix X Bakery Owner!Fem Reader 💐🌿

Summary: SWAT Officer Natasha Trace has a problem. Her new neighbour. One could even say she has a crush, but that can��t be true, could it? When you introduce yourself after a hard day AND you bring muffins, how could Natasha not constantly have you on her mind?

Jake “Hangman” Seresin

Series

- A Gun Amongst Daggers - Hangman X Fem!Navy Seal Reader (written like an OC, but is not described) 💐🥀🌹

Summary: When Jake meets a woman at the Hard Deck, the last thing he expects her to be is a Navy Seal. Not just any Seal either, the Commander of US Navy Seal Team 3. She’s beautiful, smart, dangerous, and everything about her draws him in closer. So when the Seals need backup, Cyclone sends the Daggers their way and now, Jake has to work with Bear and her team, while they both struggle to stay professional. Can they do it? Or will Jake end up falling for the Navy Commander and his mission Commander?

Oneshots

- You’re the Only One on my Mind - Hangman X Fem!Reader 💐🌿

Summary: Jake loses a bet to you and is forced to lip sync as punishment. Little do you both know, that evening holds far more in store than expected.

Yet another one shot written for the love is in the air tgm 2023 Valentine’s Day event

- The Walls Are Caving In - Hangman X Fem!Reader

Summary: You are sunshine incarnate, the life of the party who is so free with your affection. Jake finds himself struggling to express his desire to be like you while wrestling with his past, what happens when it all comes crashing down around him? AKA Jake is both touch-starved and in love.

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw

Oneshots

- A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day - Rooster X Fem!Reader 💐🌿

Summary: When a bad day hits his girl hard, Bradley isn't one to let her suffer alone. So he does his best to help her out, even if that involves laying on top of her.

- Roll With the Punches - Rooster X Fem!Reader 🌿💐

Summary: You’ve had Rooster’s eye since he first met you, the only problem? You were in a relationship. But when you come to the Hard Deck newly single, looking to have a good time, your ex reappears. Things get heated, what’s a man to do other than shoot his shot (and maybe throw a few punches)?

Written for @roosterforme’s Top Gun Rocktober event - song used: Jump by Van Halen

- Ring Around My Rosie - Rooster X Fem!Reader (WWII AU) 💐💐💐💐💐🌿

Summary: The year is 1944 and the Second World War rages on. You have been a nurse in Belgium for nearly three years, having seen the effects of the worst things human beings can do to one another. One day, like always, an injured man is brought in. An American sailor too far from the ocean he came out of on D-Day and you both are entranced.

- (Holi)Day by Day - Rooster X Fem!Reader (WWII AU) 💐💐🌿

Summary: After everything you and Bradley had gone through during the war, you both had scars (both mental and physical) and nothing seemed to remedy them better than each other. When the Christmas season comes around, the tree needs decorating, and maybe even a new tradition for you both.

Written for @bellaireland1981’s Winter RomCom challenge - Prompt was “Home for the Holidays”

^^^ Part 2 of Ring Around my Rosie!

Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia

Oneshots

- I Just Need a Hug - Fanboy X Fem!Reader 💐🌿

Summary: Your week has been awful; your boss is a dick, you're overworked, and you just want to scream. When your husband beats you home, you can only hope to keep it together long enough for you to handle it on your own. Unfortunately, Mickey has a different idea.

Robert “Bob” Floyd

Oneshots

- This Love is Fireproof - Bob X Fem!Reader 🌿🥀💐

Summary: With an out of control wildfire looming close to your home, you and your fiancé, Bob, do everything you can to keep it together in order to pack up your lives. But it all crashes down around you when you begin to think of what you could lose, but Bob is there, reminding you that your love burns brighter than any fire.

Miscellaneous

A Gun Amongst Daggers Moodboards

A Gun Amongst Daggers Posters made by @lovinglyeternal

Avengers!Daggers Moodboard Collection

Disney!Daggers Moodboard Collection

Fern’s 300 Followers Celebration moodboards!

700 Followers Celebration moodboards!

[desert-fern]

WIP ask game

RULES: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Thank you for tagging me @teacupsandtopgun!

Chemistry Mice

The Chicken Test

Anatomy of an Arsonist

You Catch A SWAT Officer with Muffins…?

Tagging: @sarahsmi13s @horseshoegirl @startrekfangirl2233 @sailor-aviator @dakotakazansky and anyone else!