#told the head attorney this the other day and he did a double take like I'd somehow reached through the computer screen

[notbecauseofvictories]

The company I work for is international and has a lot of different people working in/around/with it---not to mention that every division has slightly different ways of referring to the same groups of people (think "customers" vs. "clients" or "business partners" vs. "vendors"). In response to all this vocabulary shifting, I have adopted the most American approach possible:

Everybody gets referred to as "folks."

.........this does have the added bonus of making the Europeans lose their ever-loving minds, which I think is funny only fair.

[tropes-and-tales-archives]

Silver Linings, Chapter Eighteen

Word Count:  3163

TW:  Angst; smut (oral sex, m!receiving; PiV, unprotected).  18+ only.

AN:  Part of a series.  The series masterlist here.

The trial lasted only four more days, and true to your word, you stayed with Rafael through all of it.  You accompanied him to the courthouse every morning.  You made him eat lunch during recess.  You whisked him home every afternoon, and made him eat dinner.  He ate more vegetables in those four days than he probably had in the past few years.

When he reached for a third or fourth scotch, you eased the tumbler from his hand and traded it for a glass of water.  

When his hands trembled so much that he couldn’t tie his own tie, you did it for him.

When his moods vacillated between stony silence and nervous babbling, you were there for him.  You took his hands in yours, or sometimes you’d run your fingers through his hair until he was soothed.

And when he reached for you at night like a drowning man, you were always there to pull him into your waiting arms.  Usually it was a spectrum of love-making – frenzied to unhurried – but a few times it was just you holding him as he wept.  Rafael was too worn down to feel ashamed of his tears, and you’d never shame a person for crying anyway.  All you did was hold him and murmur the phrase he used to tell you, all those years ago:  everything’s going to be okay.

He doubted it.  Stone, the suddenly-new ADA in Manhattan, was a worthy prosecutor.  Rafael had a lot of enemies from his years of taking risks and putting his own neck out.  You maintained that it was all a show trial, but Rafael knew that there were plenty of high-powered people that would happily cheer to see him in chains at Rikers.

*****

You knew that Rafael would be found not guilty but still – when the jury verdict came back exactly as you had expected, you let out the breath you had been holding.  And you blinked back the tears of relief.

You could tell Rafael was feeling the same thing times a million.  His shoulders sagged almost imperceptibly, and then he turned to shake his lawyer’s hand.  Then he turned to look at you, and for the first time since you returned to New York, he almost looked like the old Rafael.

Almost.

He was very nearly a broken man.  His moods were unpredictable, and he barely slept.  You worried about how much he was drinking, and while you were able to coax him away from the bottle, you worried about when you returned to Florida.

Neither of you said a word about the future, but it didn’t need to be said:  you couldn’t live in a cold climate.  It had only been a week, and you were already double-fisting ibuprofen and shuffling around like an old woman.  Your bones hurt again; your arm ached and your fingers were stiff from the cold.  

Aside from college, Rafael had never lived anywhere other than New York.  He was as engrained in the city as any other New York institution – it’d be easier to move the Statue of Liberty or a pizza-eating subway rat to Miami than it’d be to move Rafael Barba.

So you spent the week precisely in the here and now.  But that was ending, well, now.  His trial was over, your leave of absence was ending.  You had a flight booked for the late morning.

The atmosphere in his apartment that evening was surreal.  Rafael ordered an extravagant spread of takeout to celebrate, but it was subdued as you each picked at your dinners.  He was free, found not guilty, on administrative leave with the district attorney’s office but presumably still employed there.  His face was drawn all the same.

“I told you that it was a show trial,” you teased him, but he only raised his head and shot you wan smile.  He didn’t reply, but he fixed you with his sharp gaze, and the silence between you grew before he finally spoke.

“I wish you could stay,” he said.  His voice was so low that it was practically a whisper.

You shook your head at him sadly.  “Rafi, you know – “

“No, I know,” he cut you off.  “I just wish…” He trailed off, looked away.  When he continued, his voice sounded shaky.  “You’ll never know how much it meant to me that you came.”

You could guess how much it meant, though.  He only had a handful of people on his side throughout the trial, and it spoke volumes about his life in the past few years.  No real friends.  No girlfriend.  Disowned by his mother, apparently.  You got lonely, sure, but you had friends and a dog and a wide circle of neighbors and coworkers.  Rafael didn’t seem to have anyone.  Just you, and you were twelve hours away from leaving him.

Twelve hours.  You were leaving in the morning, but you had this time with him now.  

The old you would have sat there awkwardly, but you weren’t the same person you’d been before.  Now, you stood up and held your hand out to him.  Rafael took it and stood up too with surprise written across his face, and you led him wordlessly to his bedroom.

You felt every minute pouring away from you, but you could try to make time stand still at least a little, while you were still together.

*****

Rafael was still a little taken aback by your seemingly newfound sureness, so he didn’t say a word when you pulled him away from a meal he wasn’t even eating and took him to bed.

Truthfully, he was afraid to speak.  He thought he was cried out from the trial, but the sudden specter of you leaving in the morning brought forth a fresh reserve of grief.

You were here right now, though, and you seemed determine to take your time with him.  It reminded him of before, one night when you’d kissed every inch of him and he had fallen asleep feeling loved in a way he never had before.

Now, you were more assured.  You undressed him slowly, peeling each piece of clothing from him reverently.  Rafael was able to study you as you did:  your hair was down around your shoulders, and your eyes were soft with love as you glanced up at him from time to time.  Every so often, you removed a piece of your own clothing until he was completely naked and you were left in your bra and panties.  You pushed him until he was sitting on the edge of his bed, but when he tried to pull you down with him, you resisted.

“Shh,” you said and pressed your forefinger to his mouth when he tried to protest.  “Let me take care of you.”

He pulled his head away from your hand a fraction.  “You’ve been doing nothing but,” he argued weakly, but you were already kneeling in front of him and gazing up at him through your eyelashes.  “You don’t have to…” he continued uncertainly.  In all your time together, you had never let him go down on you, and you’d never gone down on him.  Not that he cared, but it seemed like a hard limit for you, and now…

“I know I don’t have to,” you murmured, and your voice was husky with desire.  “Rafael, I want to taste every inch of you.”

“But – “

“We have time,” you continued, reading his mind.  “We have plenty of time.”

You lowered your head to him and knocked any further argument out of his mind.  You wrapped one hand around his length and laid your other hand on his thigh, your fingers stroking him as you put your mouth to his weeping erection.

He’d never accuse you of being a tease, but the light huff of laughter you gave when he groaned above you seemed teasing.  You started out just by dealing languid strokes with your hand as your tongue danced over the crown of his cock.  Little by little, just like how he entered you every time you made love, you took him into the warmth of your mouth.  Inch by torturous inch, and what you couldn’t fit, you circled your hand around.  

Then you set a lazy rhythm:  your head bobbing against his cock as you gave little moans around him that he felt in his core.  Every so often, you’d pull away to catch your breath and look up at him.  Then you’d lick a broad stripe along the underside of his cock, then back to enveloping him, hollowing your cheeks and sometimes laying the edge of your teeth against his shaft just to change the sensation.

You were right:  he lost track of time.  Rafael had never been on the receiving end of such a long blowjob – they’d always been brusque affairs in the past.  But you were stretching it out on purpose, because when you felt him start to tense up, you’d pull away and let him recover.  

Like now:  you were gazing up at him with those bright, liquid eyes of yours, and he felt his impending orgasm recede.  Rafael reached down to cup the curve of your face, tried to pull you up to him, begged you to join him, but you shook your head.  You had an almost devilish glint in your eyes.  Who could have thought that the sunbeam had such a mischievous side in bed?

“Please,” he begged you, but even he wasn’t sure what he was pleading for.  Finally, you nodded at him and lowered your head to him again, and now you were all purpose.  You hummed against him as you swirled your tongue against his aching cock, and you slipped a hand down to cup his balls.

He reached out with a shaky hand to tangle it in your hair.  “Cariño, I’m so close.  Please – “

You obliged him this time.  He felt the tension that had been building low in his belly snap, and he groaned as he came in your mouth.  Over and over, his hips thrusting on their own until you gagged against him and had to throw an arm over him to hold him down.  When it was over, you still kept your mouth on him, and you didn’t release him until he started to soften.

“Jesus,” he muttered, and he let you push him onto his back until he way laying on the bed.  “I think my soul left my body.”

You knelt over him now and gazed down at him with a pleased sort of smile on your face.  “If that’s the case, I guess I just swallowed your soul.”  

Rafael gave a surprised bark of laughter at that.  You never talked dirty and rarely even made innuendos.  “Who are you?” he laughed.  “What are they teaching you in Miami?”

You giggled back at him – the sound always made his heart soar – but you didn’t answer him.  Instead, you removed your remaining clothes, and stretched out beside him.  He’d never get tired of you feeling of you naked against him.

“I need a little time to recover,” he said as you covered his face in light, gentle kisses.  You didn’t answer that either – you just mapped out every inch of his face with your lips, and when that was done, you kissed every part of his neck and throat, then journeyed further down.  You covered his chest and belly with your mouth, you nipped at him here and there for variety.  You kissed his shoulders and his forearms, the insides of his wrists and every one of his fingers.  By the time you were reversing course back towards his face, he was completely recovered, and you swung a leg over until you were straddling him.

Rafael bit back a groan at the sudden wet heat of you pressed against his cock, but you didn’t slide onto him – not yet.  Instead, you just sat there and gazed down at him with an expression he couldn’t quite make out.  Love, lust.  Shot through with sadness, maybe.  It was very probable that you were feeling exactly what he was feeling.

“I love you, Rafael,” you said simply.  “You’re the only one I ever have.”

His throat suddenly felt tight.  “I wish…I wish you could have met someone – “

You gave an unhappy little grumble and cut him off.  “I did meet someone.  I met you.”  You shook your head at him.  “You only think that it’s because of the circumstances that we met, but I think I would have loved you no matter what.”  You paused and looked away.  Took a deep breath.  “It never went away, you know.  I never stopped loving you.”

He saw it then, the lone tear that was coursing down the side of your nose that you were trying to hide from him.  He reached up and brushed it away, and he felt his own vision getting hazy.

“I just don’t want to go back to there being….nothing between us,” you said, and Rafael saw that you were crying outright now.  You’d been so strong for him, and now you were crumbling a bit.    “I don’t want to never talk to you again, or…or…”

Rafael pushed himself up until he was sitting up – you straddling his lap, his chest against yours as he pulled you into a hug.  He wrapped his arms around you and let you cry, and he finalized realized that there had been consequences to pushing you away years ago.  You had suffered, after all.  You had thrived and flourished and succeeded, sure, but you had missed him and never stopped loving him too.

He only let you cry, and he had words lined up for when your tears abated, but you reached down between your bodies and grasped his cock, and you lined it up with your entrance.  Before he could get a single word of comfort out, you were sliding yourself onto him and he was speechless at the sensation of being joined to you again.

You moved against him desperately, still crying, so he held you tight and tried to school your movements.  “Slow down,” he panted against your flushed face.  “Just slow down a minute.”

You did, and he pushed his head back so that he could look at you.  Your face was damp from tears, and your lips were swollen and red.  You could barely look him in the eyes, so he murmured for you to look at him.  Finally, you did.

“We won’t go back to nothing,” he promised.  “How could we?”  He surged up and kissed you, and he hoped you felt everything he was feeling:  hunger for you, love for you.  

You reached up and laid your hands on either side of his face, and you held his head as you kissed him fiercely and resumed your movements against him.  Your sheath gripped him, surrounded him in its velvety heat, and Rafael never wanted it to end.  But it would – you’d get on that plane in the morning, and the sheer logistics of your separate lives would never be starker.

He pushed that fact away, and he groaned against your mouth and thrust up into you.  You shifted one hand to his shoulder, and he felt the sting of your fingernails as you gripped him.  He could feel you getting close – you were making the same little whimpers you always did – and he broke the kiss so that he could look at you when you came.

You did a moment later (you said “oh” in the same tone of surprise that you always did, like you weren’t expecting to come), and then you were sighing his name over and over as your cunt rippled against his length and tore his own orgasm from him.  Oh, Rafael, you sighed, and he hoped those were the last words he remembered before he died.  

-----

You both fell asleep shamefully fast – you should have relished every last minute together, but you were both spent.  You fell off first, and you nestled against him like a burrowing puppy and heaved your usual sigh of contentment that broke his heart every time you did it.  And then he followed you, though his dreams were troubling and his sleep was thin.

When you woke in the morning, you made love one last time:  Rafael spooning you, molding your body to his as he eased his cock into you.  His arms encircled you as he thrust slow and deep, and he cupped your breasts and buried his face in your hair.  He muttered over and over, “I love you,” until it sounded like a chant.

Afterwards, you showered and got dressed.  You each drank coffee and picked at some day-old bagels, but neither of you were quite sure what to say.  Your luggage sat in his entryway like an indictment.

“I meant what I said last night,” he finally said, breaking the silence.  “I don’t want to go back to nothing.”  A pause.  “But I don’t want to hold you back.”

That old chestnut.  You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes.  Then you turned serious, and you fixed your eyes to the floor.

“You could always visit Miami,” you said, haltingly.  “I know you’d never leave New York permanently, but maybe…we could visit?  Or at least stay in contact?”

“Absolutely.”  He sat his coffee mug down and took yours from you too, and then he hugged you.  “We’ll figure it out.”

When he pushed you away, there were tears in his eyes.  “I think you saved my life this week,” he finally said, and his voice was hoarse with feeling.  “I can’t ever tell you how much – “

You hushed him, placed your palm over his mouth.  “None of that,” you admonished him.  “This isn’t goodbye, so none of that.”  You pulled your hand away and rocked onto your toes to kiss him, long and lingering.  

You broke the kiss and added, “I’m just going to step out for a minute, okay?”  Your own tears were threatening, but you pushed through it.  “This isn’t goodbye.”  

He got your meaning and gave you a single nod, so you walked to the entryway and put on your coat.  You gathered up your luggage, and you glanced over shoulder to drink in the sight of him one last time.  You had a feeling, deep in your core, that he might just ghost you again out of some misguided, noble attempt to see you paired off with someone else.  He’d probably never come to Miami, never invite you back to New York.  Never call or email.

You could worry about that later.  Right now, the love of your life was standing in his sweatpants and t-shirt, his hair wild from bed, his face drawn and ancient as he watched you.  You gave him your bravest smile and a half wave.  “I’ll be right back,” you told him, and you turned and left.

[wiypt-writes]

Guilty As Charged

Guilty As Charged: Bucky Barnes One Shot

Summary: Defence Attorney James ‘Bucky’ Barnes is the absolute bane of your life…

Pairing: Lawyer AU Bucky Barnes x Reader (Frenemies!)

Warnings: Bad language words.

Word Count- Under 2k

A/N:  This was originally posted on my old blog ages ago, but I’ve just given it a little polish and thought, seeing as I’m on the Bucky Train at the moment, I’d bring it back. Also, my knowledge on US Criminal Law is sketchy at best, so humour me…

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Bucky Barnes Masterlist // Main Masterlist

*******

In God We Trust, the words set about the Judge’s podium were fixed in your vision, motes of dust moving freely in the rays of sunlight which were streaming through the large, ornate windows of the court room and you took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, concentrating on expelling the nerves you were feeling with the air that left your mouth and lungs.

No matter how many times you were in this position, the reading of the verdict still got to you. Your gaze turned to the jury, as the judge did the same, that all important question ringing across the room, the air stiflingly tense.

“On the charge of murder in the first degree, do you find the defendant or not guilty"

“Not guilty.”

Fuck.

Cheers from the defendants family drowned out your loud groan as you rubbed at your temple. Looking over at your colleague, Sam, you shook your head in utter disbelief.

The judge continued through the remaining charges, second-degree murder and voluntary manslaughter, and your despair grew as the same verdict was returned for each.

You’d lost. And it stung, not merely because of your near perfect conviction rate, but for the family of the victim you were one-hundred percent convinced the accused.

"Y/N this wasn't your fault.” Sam stated in a low voice but you simply sighed again and shrugged.

"I was sure they'd see through his lies,” you glanced over to your right where the defence team, headed up by James Buchanan Barnes of Barnes and Rogers Law firm were shaking hand with each other and their defendant. Barnes' face was arranged in the usual smug look that you always had the urge to slap right off it. His partner, Steve, glanced over at you and gave you a genuine, sympathetic smile.

He’s always the most courteous out of the two, the one you actually didn’t mind dealing with when it came to cases.

"He fucking did it Y/N," Sam's voice was almost a growl, "I know he did."

"Well in the eyes of the law he didn’t." You stated, standing up.

The commotion continued behind you, as the defendant was told he was free to go. Making sure to keep your head down, you hastily shuffled your papers back into their respective files and packed your briefcase up. Picking up your jacket, you shrugged it on, smoothing down pencil skirt before you head to leave the courtroom before Barnes can pipe up with his usual smart ass quips. But you're not quite fast enough. "Commiserations Miss Y/LN, can't win em all." The familiar Brooklyn drawl hit your ears.

"Buck," Steve sighed "c'mon pal..."

You grit your teeth. You know you shouldn't rise to it, but you just can’t help it. The man is an utter jack ass in the courtroom. Spinning to face him, you shot him your best contemptuous glare, the one you always reserve for those people you really cannot stand, and looked at him like he was something you'd just trodden in.

"You know Barnes, there is such a thing as being gracious in victory as well as defeat." "Defeat?” He asked, looking at Steve with a puzzled expression on his face, “no, not sure what that is." "Eat shit.” You mumbled before turning to Sam who was stood behind you, watching the exchange. You nod to him and the two of you continued up the aisle towards the exit. The victim's family were congregated outside and all at once the start barraging you with questions.

"How did that happen?"

"You said it was a cert he would go down!”

"What about a private prosecution?”

You sighed and turn to look at them, you were exhausted. "I'm sorry.” You shook your head. “That new evidence that his attorney submitted, it was just threw too much of a doubt into the juries mind..." you held your hand up to gently silence them. “If you're serious about a private prosecution then I can meet you next week to discuss and put you in touch with a few people but I’m sorry, as far as the State’s involvement goes…I can’t do anymore."

Escaping as quickly as you could, you and Sam headed back to your office. After a short meeting with your boss, the District Attorney, who was as pissed as you were that the prosecution had failed, you emerged feeling twice as tired and battered as you had when you’d left the courtroom.

As Sam stated, there was only one thing left you could do. Drink alcohol. A lot of alcohol.

It was a short walk to your preferred bar, having decided to abandon your car and collect it in the morning. You were going to get drunk. Really drunk. "Hey Y/N, hey Sam." Clint, the bar tender greeted you. “I hear it wasn't a great day.” You looked up and saw he was pointing to the TV behind the bar. It was on a news channel, focussing on a report from earlier that afternoon which wasn’t surprising. The case had thrown up huge public interest ever since the body of the teenage girl has been found in the alleyway in Queens. The defendant confessed but somehow, the new evidence submitted was an alleged recording that the defence had gotten their hands on as proof the confession was taken under duress. If you were being totally honest, you had to admit that it didn't sound great, the officer did seem to be leaning heavily on the defendant, but the other evidence was, no, IS overwhelming.

But all it needed was that little seed of doubt, which the defence sowed expertly, and the jury couldn't convict. And now, thanks to Barnes and Rogers, specifically Barnes, in your mind a dangerous killer was walking free. As you stared at the television, you saw Barnes on the screen with the defendant, all smiles and Steve at his side. Barnes greeted the press with a raised hand. "Clint turn it over man." Sam almost pleaded and Clint shot you both a sympathetic look, before he pointed the remote at and flicked the report over to a mundane, late afternoon game show. You ordered 2 beers, and then settled at the bar on one of the tall chairs, crossing your bare, heeled legs as you and Sam began to dissect the case. You couldn’t help it, you always did this, analyse where you went wrong or right.

The pair of you got that enthralled in your discussions, that before you know it, it was an hour lager and you're now four beers deep... and Sam was fielding an angry phone call from his wife, Natasha. "I gotta go, boss." He sighed, apologetically, “it’s my little girl’s dance recital at six and if I miss this one, Nat’s gonna hang me out to dry!” You waved his explanation off. “Its fine, Sam. Oh, and take the morning tomorrow. That case has had us working all hours and I don’t intend on being there till lunch. Clint, gimme a bourbon please?" "Don't let Barnes get to you.” Sam sighed. “You know what he is like" "Smug, arrogant and annoyingly self-righteous.” You nodded. “Yup, I got it.” Sam smiled and dropped a friendly kiss to your cheek. "See you later." Clint slid the glass of bourbon over to you and you smiled before pulling out your phone to check a few emails and your social media. You were just reading through an article about a Billionaire in Manhattan who had designed some kind of metal suit that allowed him to fly (because that's gonna end well), when a familiar voice broke your concentration. "Can I buy you a drink?" You rolled your eyes and looked up at Bucky Barnes as he leaned on the bar, still in his suit, although he had dispensed of his black and white tie, and opened his top button. This was another thing you hated about him. He is utterly gorgeous. Like GQ cover gorgeous, especially in his sharp suits and silk ties.

And he fucking knows it, too. "Depends." You shrugged, throwing back the remainder of your bourbon. "Does it come with a side helping of irritating smugness?" He chuckled. "I'm off duty, Doll so no."

"In that case I'll have another Monkey Shoulder." You slid the empty glass back to Clint. "Take it you're not driving home?" Barnes asked, his azure eyes running over your bare legs. "Well if I do and I get caught, I'm sure you can get me off any charges.” You replied sharply, shooting him a look that made it clear you caught him eyeing you up. And it isn't the first time either. That's another reason you clash so much in the courtroom. Sexual tension. Fucking jerk. He barked out a laugh "You're really not happy with me are you?" "Not particularly." You shook your head, thanking Clint as he pushed the now full glass back to you, with a small wink. It's a double, you noticed. That should set Barnes back a bit. Bucky reached for his beer and after a pull he looked directly at you. "Come work for me." He said and you groaned.

Not this again. "I'm a prosecutor." You rolled your eyes. "Not a defence attorney. I told you that last time you asked. And the time before, and the time before that." "I'm nothing if not persistent." He winked, turning in his stool so he was facing you. "Besides, I can teach you the ways of the dark side." "You’d love that wouldn't you?" You snort. "Oh, Sweetheart you have no idea." He leaned forward slightly, his elbow on the bar and this time he is blatantly staring at the flash of skin that was showing above the buttons on your blouse. "My face is up here, ass hole." With a smirk he raised his deep, blue eyes and they locked onto yours. Despite yourself, you feel your breath hitch slightly. Dammed him and his sex appeal. "Why are you always this insufferable?" You eventually tore your gaze away from his and picked up your drink, glancing up at the TV as an excuse not to look at him. "Ah come on Y/N, don’t be like that." He reached out to squeeze your hand which was resting on the back of the tall chair you were sat in. "We could make a great team..." You raised an eyebrow and looked at him. "Professionally.” He added, his eyes not leaving yours as he took another large drink of his beer, and you pulled your hand away from under his. "I'd kill you within five minutes of us being in the same office." You glared at him as you took another sip from your drink. He chuckled and eyed you again, “to be fair I'm not sure Stevie would be able to function with a beautiful dame such as yourself in close proximity. He still flusters around any woman that isn’t his Peggy.” "That's because Steve is a happily married man." "So am I." He shot back. Ah yes, Mrs Barnes… "Your wife deserves a medal. She must have the patience of a fucking saint to put up with you." You said into your glass. "I have other hidden qualities which mean she's prepared to overlook my slightly less favourable personality traits." He quipped, and you looked back to see that lopsided grin on his face that flips your stomach. Behave Y/N. "They must be very hidden." You mused, and he let out another loud laugh.   "You're killing me, Doll.” "Good." You drained your glass. The liquid burnt your throat and you could feel the effects of the alcohol from the last few hours as your brain started to hum. You looked at Barnes who was watching you, his eyes shining with all the cheekiness of a teenage boy and you know you need to leave before you do something stupid.

Like snogging his dumb, handsome face off. "I think it's time I got going." You said simply, standing up. Barnes gave a nod, draining his bottle. “Yeah I should be making tracks too. Wife to see to, you know how it is.” You stood and he did the same, and you realised he was holding up your jacket, ready for you to slide your arms into. Narrowing your eyes slightly at his sudden chivalry, you couldn’t help the small smile that flickered across your face as you turned and allowed him to help you into it. His hands dropped to your shoulders and he span you round gently and smiled with those perfect teeth, a smile that lit up his beautiful face, his eyes crinkling in the corners. "Lead the way Mrs Barnes.” He instructed softly, dropping a tender kiss to your lips. "You know it's a good job I love you,” you smiled, sliding your arms up round his neck. "Yeah, I know." "Although right now I'm struggling to remember why." "Well, when we get home I'll just have to show you some of those hidden qualities I was talking about, see if they help jog your memory.” You bit your lip slightly at the dark flash of desire that flit across his eyes, and you leant up to brush your lips across his stubbled jawline. "Unanimous verdict,” your voice drops slightly as you pull back and he smirked again, “guilty as charged.” You tossed Clint a good bye, linked your hand into your husband’s and he walked you outside into the brisk wind, his arm pulling you close, his lips pressed a soft kiss to your temple. Yeah, James Buchanan Barnes might be an insufferable, arrogant ass hole in the courtroom, but outside it he's simply your Bucky.

[basicjetsetter]

The Rise of Deus

♡ Pairing: Mob!Peter Parker x BlackFemale!Reader

♧ Setting: The Terrace Room in The Plaza Hotel, New York

♤ Warnings: Language, Adult Themes, Violence, +18 Smut (If you are under age, please do not read this).

♢ Word Count: 7.2k

☆ A/N: Okay, so I got a little carried away. This is such an indulgent mess, I love it to pieces. If you haven’t read The Fall yet, I suggest you read it before you get to this part. It takes a while to setup, but I promise it’ll be worth it.  Please hit like if you enjoy it, leave me a lil’ comment and a reblog if you love it. Happy reading! (P.S. I like these two characters so much, I might just write some more moments for them).

The game is in your hands. Exactly as planned.

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

You’re not a great poker player.

In fact, compared to Peter and even Rumlow, your skills are subpar at best. The idea of betting everything on chance rankled the very fibers of your being, and you never could quite remember which hands beat which. But you were excellent at reading people.

It’s how you became New York’s best attorney. That, and because you were sharper than most people assumed you were.

Exhibit A: Rumlow.

You have to give it to him, though. He was initially difficult to read.

Earlier in the game, you tried to gauge his tells as he demolished Peter. Everyone reacts when they have a good or bad hand, whether they’re aware of it or not. As an attorney, you study your clients, plaintiffs, and sometimes the theoretically impartial jury for their tells—how they react to damning information, or rather, how they choose not to react.

The truth is in their eyes. The way they hunch their shoulders. Touch their face. Purse their lips. Breathe. Everything is a tell.

Rumlow’s whole personality screams dominant knowing, and he strategizes that way. Like he’s seen your hand before you even pick up the cards.

He plays too smart. And when he’s drunk, it becomes all the more apparent.

The way he rubbed his bottom lip before bargaining the final bet, slow and methodical, sealed the game against him. It’s not much to go off of for some, but for you, it’s more than enough. It’s a nervous habit—the movement confirming that his hand isn’t crap, but it isn’t the best, either.

You glimpsed down at your hand, then back up to Rumlow with a pleasant expression.

No, you aren’t a good poker player. But Peter is.

“Save your time, sweetheart. Let’s just get this over with,” said Rumlow, leaning back in his chair. It creaked under his muscular weight. “Fold.”

You arched an eyebrow, then crossed one leg over the other, causing the hem of your dress to ride up and show a decent amount of skin. “Don’t I get to place a bet of my own? You know, just in case my hand is better.”

Rumlow’s eyes predictably feasted on your exposed skin before he dragged them back up to your face. “What makes you think your hand is gonna be better than mine?”

“Indulge me, Brock,” you nearly purred, internally gagging as Rumlow’s breathing became labored. “If you know your hand is better, then you have absolutely nothing to worry about. I just want to have a little fun.” 

Part of you is grateful that Peter is handcuffed in the back of a police car, not here to witness your attempt at seduction. You needed to do it while Rumlow is still drunk enough to fall for it.

Rumlow contemplated your words for a split second, eyes dipping down once more to relish the sight of your skin while his thumb repeatedly ran over the top of his cards. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

He finally said, “Alright, I’ll bite. What’d you have in mind?”

Saccharine venom oozed into your words as you held a charming smile. “When I win, you’re going to give me $20 million, all of your inventory and routes to Peter, and I want your promise that the Scorpions will no longer operate in New York. You can go be someone else’s problem.”

The smug light fizzled out of Rumlow’s eyes, and his mouth hardened into a flat line. “Not going to happen.”

“And why not?” you asked innocently. You’re having way too much fun with messing with Rumlow’s head. “What’s so different about my demand from yours?”

“You don’t think you’re asking for too much?”

You leaned forward, letting your eyes slowly roam over his face before settling on his dark eyes, loving the way it made him uneasy, then said matter-of-factly, “Not at all. If you want everything from Peter, then I want everything from you. Only seems fair. That is, of course, if you want to renegotiate your previous proposal…?”

Rumlow sat up in his chair, staring too hard into your face. Searching for a crack in your armor. He wasn’t going to find anything that wasn’t already there. You’re sincere and know next to nothing about manipulating a game of luck, and it showed all over your face, clear as day. He’s got nothing on you.

“What is this?” He looked around the room as if there were hidden cameras on the walls, looked at the clueless faces of people spectating the game.

Tony muttered, “Well, this was supposed to be a party, but I’d say we’re miles away from that—ouch!” He groaned as Pepper elbowed him in the ribs.

“What do you think this is?” you questioned him back using the same inflection.

Rumlow’s head snapped back to face you, his eyes practically pitch-black. “A fucking setup.”

“It’s just a game, Brock. That’s all it is.” You’re surprised at how serene you sound because your heart is leaping around in your chest, about ready to burst free and fly away from the excitement of it all, but you’re conscious enough to keep the surprise off your poker face. “Do we have a deal or not?”

He filled his lungs with a ragged breath, expelling it out of flared nostrils. Pinched the bridge of his nose. Strategized. “$25 million. Everything else stays the same. His routes. His connections. You.”

You nod once. “And you accept my wager?”

Rumlow begrudgingly nodded. His knuckles turned white from clenching his cards.

“On three, we show our hands,” you said and waited, giving him one last chance to object. He doesn’t; he just keeps his hawk-like stare trained on you.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

You both turn your cards over at the same time.

Rumlow’s hand shows a Three, Four, Five, Six, and Seven, all clubs. Straight Flush.

Peter’s hand shows a King, Queen, Jack, Ten, and an Ace, all hearts. Royal Flush.

“Bullshit!”

Rumlow shot up from his chair, threw his cards to the floor, and snatched the gun from one of his men, aiming it at you.

Gasps filled the room, and you’re certain you heard Tony shout your name in alarm. Just as they’d done with Peter, the venue's guards raised their weapons at Rumlow and his men. 

You broke out into a fit of giggles. There were uncontrollable, bubbling from your lips and almost doubling you over. Maybe it was your nerves finally getting the best of you, or perhaps it was the dumbfounded shock on Rumlow’s face as he pulled a gun on you. Either way, you didn’t have a hope of taming them.

Rage intensified the crimson flush on Rumlow’s face. He barked out, “Why the fuck are you laughing?”

You struggled to pull it together. “Di-Did you honestly think you could beat Peter at poker, of all things? Seriously? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I knew you were dense, but geez.”

“He cheated. Ain’t no way he got that hand. Ain’t no fucking way.”

“Oh, come on,” you said, trying hard to stifle the giggles. “You said it yourself. Peter's a lucky son of a bitch.”

Rumlow took a minute to process the loss, eyes spacing out while the gun remained pointed at you. Your giggles died down as you sat patiently, drumming your fingers against your thigh and staring right back at the gun, uninterested. He wouldn’t shoot you. Not if he valued his life.

If Peter were here, you knew he’d be proud. Furious, yet proud.

At last, the arrogance returned to Rumlow’s smile, and he scoffed, “Congratulations, I guess. But um, I don’t really have to give you anything, you know. All bets have been word of mouth, nothing written down.”

Your smile never faltered. “Don’t do that, Brock. That isn’t how this works, and you know it. You were fully expecting Peter to hand me over to you with a nice, shiny gift bow taped to my ass and $25 million. Right? Or are you pointing a gun at me just because you feel like it?”

Rumlow shrugged with one shoulder. A hint of his anger traced his features before it faded back into an impassive mask.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not giving you shit.”

You sighed dramatically. “Okay, fine. Be that way. But this is how it’s going to play out, regardless. You have three choices.” You ticked them off on your fingers. “One: You give me what I won and leave New York. Two: I sue your ass until you have nothing. Three: You get to deal with Peter. That last one won’t bode out too well for you.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, snickering. “And what you gonna sue me for, sweetheart? Gambling?”

Your eyes firmed into a severe gaze as you spoke. “I had a nice little chat with Miss Shuri Udaku earlier.”

The dark look passed over his eyes again. A thick mask of indifference tried to hide his culpability before you could spot it, but you didn’t even need to see it in his face. The guilt in his tightened shoulder blared like a blinking neon sign.

Bullseye.

You forged on. “Now, if what Shuri told me is true, which, guessing by the look on your face, it must be, you’re in deep shit. And I’ll take an educated guess and presume she isn’t the only one you’ve…spoken with.”

You paused for him to defy your assumption. He remained silent, his jaw grinding.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” you inquired with a faux mask of concern. “Did I hit a nerve?”

Rumlow’s eye twitched as he lowered the gun. Defeat heavy in his furrowed brows. “I’m gonna make you pay for this. You and him.”

“Just be sure to run me my money, first,” you said. A sly smirk curled up the corner of your mouth. “I want the whole amount by tomorrow, and I want you out of this state by the end of the week, got it?”

A snarl rumbled in his chest. “Got it.”

“Good,” you smiled brilliantly. “Now get your ass out of here. And take the Dynamic Duo with you.”

Everyone lowered their weapons as Rumlow and his two shadows stomped out of the Terrace Room. You watched their backs until they were no longer in your eyesight. It’s over. You won. A rise of applause swelled after the threat ultimately left the room, catching you off guard as you moved to retrieve Peter’s cards from the ground. You curtsied for them and offered a humbled grin.

A rush of adrenaline is humming through your veins, and it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. You’re positive you could scale the Empire State Building without so much as a harness, just running on pure pent up energy. Maybe you should do this kind of stuff more often.

Steve was the first to come up to you, confusion laced in his blue eyes. “We’re letting him go? Just like that?”

“Yes.”

“He pointed a gun at you!”

You brusquely scanned your unscathed body. “No harm, no foul, Lieutenant Rogers.”

“Jesus, you and that kid are a match made in Heaven,” Steve mumbled, shaking his head in shock.

“Wouldn’t be marrying him if we weren’t. And thank you for reminding me…” You trailed off, heading in the direction of Tony and Pepper.

You had to tell Tony the truth about you and Peter before your nerve wore off, or else you’d never find the courage to ever say it straight to his face. Even as you trudged over to him, a leaden ball of anxiety smothered your chest.

Shuri sprang at you without warning, tightly hugging you and jumping up and down as she squealed, “That was so awesome! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“It was nothing,” you said mirthfully.

“It was everything! That man’s been breathing down my neck for months about those weapons. I couldn’t turn a corner without seeing him. I can’t thank you enough.” As you broke apart, she handed you an embossed card. “If Peter is interested, I would love to have a meeting with him. Maybe we could all catch lunch.”

“He is definitely interested. I’ll be sure he calls you,” you assured, beaming her a friendly smile.

She nodded in agreement then waved her goodbyes, walking away to find her companions.

Everything always falls right into place for Peter.

You shook your head in awe as you made your way over to Tony and Pepper again, this time scanning your surroundings to ensure no one else ambushed you. Once you were close enough, they both threw their arms around your shoulders and pulled you into a protective embrace. 

“We’re so glad you’re okay, sweetie,” said Pepper as she rubbed a comforting hand up and down your back.

“Don’t you ever pull something like that again, you hear me?” Tony chastised, his tangible relief choking up your throat. He pulled away to look into your eyes thoroughly. “I almost had a heart attack watching that. How could you just stare at the guy as he held a gun to you? You didn’t flinch or anything. I swear you’re turning into a different person right before my—”

You blurted out, “I’m marrying Peter.”

Tony blinked and opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, the floodgates bursting open as you spilled everything.

“He proposed three months ago, and I said yes because I am in love with him, Tony. I am in love with Peter Parker, and I know you hate his guts because of what he does, but I don’t care. And…” you stopped, sucking in a deep breath to steady your trembling words. “And I don’t care if me loving him means you hating me. You’re like a father to me, and I respect you, but I won’t continue to let you badger me about being with Peter.”

Tony interjected, “Woah, woah, woah, pump the brakes. Where did you get the idea that I’d ever hate you for being with Parker?”

Both you and Pepper raised an eyebrow at Tony, a universal look that easily translated to Your words said it all.

“Alright, sure, I never really liked the kid. He’s this devious little mastermind who circumvents the law to get what he wants and somehow even got you. But I can hate him and still love you, hon.”

You coughed up a laugh partly because of your relief and partly because of how ridiculous Tony was. “I want you to tolerate him at least. That means no more bringing up the fact that I am his Personal Attorney, no more threats of arrest, and no more nicknames.”

Tony sighed and said, “Okay to the first two, but I can’t make any promises for the nicknames. Baby-faced Criminal has a nice ring to it.”

Your smile brightened. “Deal.” You stepped back into his hug, pressing your face against his shoulder and exhaling. Finally, having the truth out in the open felt like releasing a breath you held in for three long months.

You heard Tony add, “ ‘Sides, I already knew you were engaged.”

“What?” you screeched, stepping back. “What do you mean you already knew?!”

“First of all, ouch,” Tony groused as he rubbed at the ear you accidentally screamed in. “Second of all, Pepper is not really that great at hiding wedding preparations as she thinks she is. And Parker came to me about four months ago.”

You’re so shocked you forgot to breathe, involuntarily pulling in a long drag of air as it dawned on you that your tormented lungs screamed for oxygen. “What—what do you mean Peter came to you?”

“Your young man thought it proper to ask me for my blessing before popping the big question, and I may have expressly told him to go swim in the Bermuda Triangle.” At your expression, he quickly added. “Well, he didn’t!”

“It’s just—He never told me that he asked.” You omitted the part where Peter held your refusal to tell Tony about the engagement against you. Tony wouldn’t understand Peter’s motives any more than you could. But you were going to make him explain himself. 

A brief impression of chagrin flashed in Tony’s eyes. “I admit I wasn’t that forthcoming about it. He probably thought it’d be better to keep it to himself than tell you I said no.”

That’s not what it was, but you hummed in agreement anyway.

“Welp, my party mood’s long gone,” Tony stated, unbuttoning his jacket and loosening his tie. “Anybody else up for some Shawarma?”

| Next Morning  |

Today wasn’t unlike any other day. Phillips told you your client's location, even though you both knew the area by heart. Third floor. Cell Block E. Number 7. Always Number 7. Lucky Number 7.

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

One of the guards, a new hire with a tag reading Lang, shadowed you as you walked out of the detention center’s lobby and into the bustling dayroom, then up to Peter’s cell. An untrained eye wouldn’t notice the guard’s careful proximity, and an untrained ear wouldn’t hear his trepid footsteps. You knew better. 

Your fiancé is many things, and cautious just happens to be a large part of his make-up. None of the inmates lounging around the dayroom dared to glance your way, not because of the authoritative figure trailing behind you, but because of Peter and his imposing rap-sheet. 

While Lang’s presence was somewhat reassuring on your way around the crowded cells, you didn’t need the security detail. You weren’t afraid of anyone in this facility. The moment you propositioned to be his attorney, he should’ve known you weren’t one to be easily rattled.

When you stood in front of Peter’s cell door, Officer Lang moved up close enough to smack the door twice, then placed the key in the lock. As the heavy metal door swung open, you weren’t sure what you might see. 

He’s been away from the action, holed up in here all night. A tiny part of you expected Peter to be pacing the floor, running his hands through his hair and wringing them together in distress, beads of sweat trickling down his neck as he counted the seconds to your arrival. You wondered what it would be like to witness God panicking.

What you saw made you smile. Peter, sitting on his squalid mattress with his body propped up against the wall, his eyes closed and mouth slightly ajar, is sound asleep. Some of his brown curls are slightly lying over his forehead, giving him the perfect air of innocence.

Lang took a half step through the door, poked his head in the room, and loudly sang, “Wakey, wakey, Parker! You’re sprung.”

Peter jolted up from his position, looking around as if he forgot his bearings. The moment his eyes landed on yours, a sly smirk slid onto his lips, and the air of innocence vanished.

“Took you long enough.”

He got up from his bed with a low groan, stretching out the kinks in his neck. His dress shirt from last night is has a few more buttons open, exposing his black undershirt, and his shoes are in the corner of the room. The guards didn’t bother giving him a change of clothes because they knew he’d be out in less than 24 hours.

“I could always leave you in here, Mr. Parker,” you said, a small, teasing smile playing at your lips.

Peter grinned back at you, then retrieved his shoes. Lang stood against the wall like a statue, head forward and hands crossed in front of him. 

When he was out of the cell, and Lang locked the door behind him, Peter addressed Lang. “She can take it from here, Scott.”

And just like that, Lang’s stoic face melted into a rueful grin as he mockingly saluted Peter and walked off, leaving the two of you alone. 

Your mouth gaped for approximately two seconds before you caught on. “You hired him to play pretend-cop?”

“Oh no, Scott works here.” Peter slipped his shoes on and unbuttoned the rest of his dress shirt’s buttons. “He just also happens to work for me while working here.”

You wanted to ask how many Scotts he had in this facility but thought against it, deciding to quietly lead him out of the dayroom and into the lobby. No one acknowledged your departure. Every single one kept their heads down and tended to business as usual. 

Peter’s driver, Flash, leaned against the car, smoking a cigarette. Once he saw you both approach, he stamped it out and immediately opened the back seat door for you and Peter.

“Good morning, sir,” he said, always overly cheerful.

Peter clapped Flash on the shoulder and said, “Hey, man. How you doing?”

“Good, sir. Thank you for asking.”

“Dude, we talked about this. Stop calling me ‘sir’ so much. It’s getting weird.”

Flash automatically nodded, saying, “Right, sorry about that,” before closing the door behind Peter. He’d call Peter ‘sir’ again by tomorrow.

Peter groaned in instant satisfaction as he sank into the leather seat. It’s a low and throaty sound, and you felt its vibrations all the way to your core, leaving a flustered mess for longer than you’re proud to say. Two years you’ve been with this man, and the lust hasn’t dimmed.

Peter got right to the point. “So, how’d it go?”

You smirked contentedly, flattening your hands across the lap of your pencil skirt. “You are $20 million richer. And you have the Scorpions’ trading routes and connections, along with a guarantee eviction by the end of the week.”

“20 million… Damn, baby, I knew you were a hustler, but that’s in-fucking-sane!” Peter whooped, turning in his seat to face you fully. His face radiated with excitement. “I bet Rumlow’s pissed.”

“Oh, yeah. He was pissed, alright. He tried renegotiating, then tried to worm out of it. It was fun to watch him squirm.” You’d never mention the part where Rumlow pulled a gun on you to Peter. Not because you cared for Rumlow’s safety in any way, but because you’ve seen how Peter reacts when someone threatens his loved ones, and you never want him to go down that dark tunnel again.

Peter leaned his head against the headrest and wistfully said, “Wish I could’ve been there. Stark didn’t give you a hard time for gambling, did he?”

The topic shift smacked you with the remembrance of what happened last night, what Tony had said. It shouldn’t have kept you up all night, but you tossed and turned with the nagging fact that Peter both hid his confrontation with Tony and had the nerve to pester you about not telling Tony something that he already knew.

For a while, you stayed up wondering why Peter even brought it up at dinner. What was his purpose? Why act cold towards you if there wasn’t a reason? Or was it even an act? Did he genuinely resent you that much for being anxious about telling Tony? Would you ever see that side of Peter again? So indifferent, so cruel. So quick to discard you.

The rest of the night, you replayed over and over how he ignored you, how he minimized you. That wasn’t part of the plan. Most of what happened before the cards got into your hands played out unexpectedly, and you understood why that had to be at some degree, but the ambiguity of it all ticked you off. Did he not trust you?

When he dismissed you, you actually thought about leaving him there alone. Was that not real?

That ache in your chest was real.

“Babe?” Peter waved his hand in front of your face. “Babygirl? What’s wrong? What’d I say?”

You couldn’t bring your eyes up to meet his. They strayed to your lap, refusing to move even as Peter hesitantly took hold of your chin with his thumb and index finger. He emphatically called your name a few times, worry intensifying more and more as an unspecified amount of time passed. Peter never dropped his hand. His thumb caressed your chin while he waited for you to speak, knowing you would.

The desire to verbalize took longer than you expected. There just didn’t seem to be a right way to say what was weighing on your mind. Outright confronting him with only inference to go off of felt childish, but so did beating around the bush. You ultimately chose to address the subject of your silence.

In a tense voice, you said, “Tony told me that you asked for his permission to marry me.”

About thirty seconds ticked away. Peter sighed, “Are you upset that I didn’t tell you?”

You nibbled on your lower lip, then brought your eyes up to meet his. Mild concern drowns his warm brown eyes, somehow increasing their depth, and frown lines creased his forehead. If this were one of your typical squabbles and he stared at you with those damn eyes, you’d have been a goner.

“No.” You shook your head to clear the effect of his gaze. “I’m upset that you asked Tony and then proceeded to act like I had an obligation to tell him something you already told him. And then you got so mad about it last night…” you trailed off in a whisper, recalling his restrained animosity, something you never thought you’d experience with him.

“I wasn’t actually mad,” he rushed.

“So you were pretending?” You asked lamely, feeling the ghost of last night’s ache lash around in your chest. “All that wasn’t real? Ignoring me? Snatching your arm away from me? Dismissing me?”

He insistently shook his head, brown curls swaying across his forehead. “None of it.” 

To you, the truth is almost as bad as the lie.

“It felt real to me.” Your voice sounds so small, it’s humiliating. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, severing the eye contact again. “The fact that you couldn’t just tell me that that’s what you were doing beforehand makes me feel like… like you don’t trust me. Like you’re willing to sacrifice my feelings for some stupid game. Like I’m a pawn.”

“Fuck,” Peter cursed, running a swift hand through tousled his hair. “No, baby, that’s not it. Come ‘ere.” 

Peter reached over the divider and pulled you into his lap despite your attempt to scoot away. You didn’t want him holding you, consoling you because even if you tried your hardest to resist him, an irrational part of your brain would immediately relent to his closeness.

You stiffened at the touch of his hand rubbing small circles on your lower back, then loudly to clear your throat. “What is it, then?” You spoke to him as if he were one of your clients. Professional. Distanced. But you couldn’t look into those eyes.

“I was giving you an alibi,” he confessed, not fazed by your tone. “In case anything went wrong. We needed to look distant so Rumlow wouldn’t catch on to how coordinated everything was.”

Okay, that’s nowhere near the answer you were expecting. Because, of course Peter would come up with a convoluted explanation that only made sense to him. Irritation rose in you like a brewing storm as you peered straight into his eyes, ignoring the visceral pull as they locked on you.

“Did it ever occur to you that I’m a grown-ass woman who can handle shit by herself? I didn’t need a fucking alibi, Peter,” you said, indignation souring your tone. “What, did you think I was going to fuck up that bad?”

“No,” said Peter firmly. When you scoff, he persists. “I mean it. I was just—I was just trying to look out for you.” He held your chin again, applying a slight amount of pressure to keep your eyes on him. “I’m sorry. You’re right, you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself, and I love that about you. Sometimes, though, I want to be there for you as much as you’re there for me, if not more.”

You stubbornly held your tongue. You’re not going to cave with a simple apology… no matter how sincere it sounded.

Peter leaned in closer, poorly hiding his smirk as he heard your breath hitch while his lips skimmed up your neck. “I’m sorry, baby,” he murmured against your skin. “I apologize for not considering your feelings.” He placed a tiny kiss on the crook of your neck, trailing the tip of his nose against your jawline. “I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark.”

An undeniable heat flickered to life within you, building as Peter’s actions grew enticingly bold. The pads of his fingers glide up and down your stocking-clad thighs, and each motion brought his hands down further and further until his whole, warm palms flattened down to massage your calves and thighs. Unknowingly, you inclined your neck to allow him to access a larger expanse of your skin.

Any resolve you cemented against Peter crumbled as a pair of lips outlined the shell of your ear. His voice comes out hoarse when he speaks, hoarse and deliberate. “I trust you with everything I have. You know that, don’t you?” His lips hover dangerously near yours.

You exhaled out a breathy, “Yes.” You do know that. He wouldn’t trust anyone else to hold those cards but you, wouldn’t trust anyone else bargaining with his assets but you.

Peter held your lowered gaze steady as he hooked his hands under your thighs and hoisted you up so you fully straddled him, your pencil skirt elastic enough to permit marginal movement. A low whine emitted from your throat as he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, then pulled away to stare at you, using the full force of his immorally brown eyes.

“Can you forgive me?”

It’d be as simple as sin to whimper out a pathetic affirmative and let him off scot-free. Excruciatingly simple. You knew he meant every word, and you were glad he let you express your anger before apologizing. You wanted to forgive him. But your mind currently wasn’t on the same circuit as your mouth, refusing to utter a single word, wondering where that would get you.

“Hmm,” Peter hummed pensively, contemplating while a predatory grin crept onto his lips. “Guess I gotta work for it, then.”

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

Your back arched up off the bed, and you toss your head back as you gutturally cried out Peter’s name for the fourth time.

The moment you two entered the house, Peter was on you, guiding you to the bedroom with his lips attached to yours and his hands groping your backside. His hands never left your body, and once they did, it was only to tear off his clothes. You weren’t sure what you signed up for, but something glinting in Peter’s eyes, an erotic passion you’ve encountered several times in your relationship, bespoke of an intense afternoon headed your way.

Before you could even guess what that might entail, you were lying on your back in the middle of the bed, and Peter was parting your legs open.

Currently, his grip on your bucking hips remains vice-like as he keeps his face planted between your quaking thighs, still lapping up the rest of your orgasm and staring you dead in the eyes with wicked lust.

Each time he made you cum, he’d huskily ask, “You forgive me?” The first time, you were cheeky, shaking your head with a tiny pout on your lips and eagerly wiggling your hips and tugging on the silky strands of his hair for more. The second time, your body ached wonderfully, and you lazily nodded your acceptance of his apology, but he didn’t stop, tightening his hold on the swells of your hips and delving his tongue through your silken folds. By the third time, you were religiously chanting, “I forgive you,” grasping the sheets for dear life as Peter solely sucked on your clit and salaciously groaned into your core.

On the fourth orgasm, your whole body is aflame, your fingers are desperately clutching Peter’s wrists, and you’re a blissed-out, gibbering mess with tears of ecstasy streaming out the corners of your eyes.

“You forgive me?” Peter rasped, his breath fanning against your sensitive skin. He alternately kissed your inner thighs, sometimes gently sucking the skin until he left stinging love bites.

Knowing words were well beyond your reach, your jerkily bobbed your head up and down, gulping in air to calm your heaving chest.

A whine of relief breaks free when Peter finally lets go of your hips and leads a sloppy trail of kisses up your abdomen, between the valley of your breasts, along your neck, your jawline, until he claims your lips in a sensually slow kiss, one that stole away your regained breath. You mewled into it, wrapping your arms around his neck and threading your fingers through his hair. He lowered his body on top of yours, deliciously suffocating you with his body heat and his scent—an intoxicating aroma of smoky spice you only associate with Peter.

Your brain treads on a fine line near oblivion. All your mind can comprehend is Peter. His soft little grunts in your mouth, his toned chest brushing against yours, his hardened cock against your stomach as he ruts into you.

“I want you,” you panted, wanton need thick in your voice. You’re entirely spent, but you couldn’t help but crave more of Peter, couldn’t help but want him to thoroughly build you up only to tear you down all over again. 

Peter teasingly nipped at your lips, mumbling, “Where do you want me?”

You let out an impatient, low-pitched groan. “Inside me, baby. Please, Peter.” Your hips angled up on their own accord, grinding your dripping core against his cock. “Please, fuck me.”

His eyes rolled back, mouth slightly agape, and his face pinched in pleasure—what a pretty sight. Your eyes drank him all in. You loved the way he squinches up his eyes, almost as if all the sensations are too much to process. You loved how the flush creeping up his neck turned his skin a lovely scarlet. You loved watching him try to be attentive to you while being so engrossed in his own bliss.

Unhurried, Peter took himself in his hand, then slid his length through your folds before guiding his tip to your entrance. He always liked to draw this moment so he could hear the desperate noises you’d make for him. Your whole body sang out for him, from the broken moans spilling from your lips to the constant, stuttering pitch in your hips. 

At an agonizingly slow pace, Peter slid inside of you, hissing out a drawn-out Fuck. You jumped and gasped at the slight sting as he stretched you out, gripping onto his biceps and clenching around him as the sting built up to a toe-curling burn of ecstasy. 

He stroked into you with painstaking emphasis, hitting a deep spot within you that brought stars to your vision while capturing your lips in a blistering kiss. Your hands held his face as the kiss deepened, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths in carnal abandon. Yeah, it definitely tops the sex you had on the night he proposed.

Peter broke the kiss to dip his head down and favor the skin on your neck. His voice is a low murmur when he speaks, barely louder than your gasping breaths. “You forgive me?”

You practically sob out, “Yes! Yes, baby, I forgive you.” The flames are multiplying, licking up from your lower region and engulfing you as his strokes rock steadily. 

“You know you’re my everything,” he grunted, sucking down hard on your skin and laving it with his tongue after you yelp his name.

Your heart flutters as you moan, “Yes.”

“Say it, baby,” Peter mumbled, an undercurrent of firmness in his voice. “I wanna hear you say it.”

“I’m your everything.” The things this man does to you…

“Good girl.” Peter’s hand wedged between your entwined bodies, reaching down to rub your overstimulated clit, watching the tremors shaking through your body as your mouth hung open in a silent moan. “I want you to remember that,” he ordered. “You’re my everything, and I’m sorry I”—grunt—“Fuck, I’m sorry I hurt you.”

He carefully collects you in his arms before rolling over and putting you on top, wrapping his arms around your back so your bodies remain pressed together. Some of your twists cascade on either side of Peter’s face, but he doesn’t mind, keeping his head buried in the crook of your shoulder as he pumped up his hips, deeply thrusting into you. 

“You feel so good, babygirl,” Peter said roughly, his hips picking up into a bruising speed. “So wet for me.” His hands slide down your back and squeeze your ass. “Always take me so well.”

All you could manage were needy, shameless whimpers in response as his dirty words, his scorching touch, his soft lips, his slick body against yours all sent you reeling towards a rapturous release. Every stroke brings you closer to the edge, and you know Peter isn’t far behind.

With some effort, you drag yourself up to sit on Peter’s cock and brace your hands on his chest, lolling your head back as the new angle allowed him to hit a deeper spot within you.

Peter admired you through half-lidded eyes. “So fucking beautiful.”

You mustered up a beaming smile for Peter, then set your focus on riding him with the little energy you had left, slowly bouncing up and down on his thick length and loving the quick hitch in Peter’s breath as you took control. You wanted to see him writhe underneath you as he came inside you, wanted to see his pretty lips part as he called out your name. You’re so close, it’s maddening, but you’re waiting for Peter to fall off the edge with you. 

As soon as Peter’s hips began to chase yours in a broken pattern and a repeated mixture of your name and fucks streamed out of his mouth, your climax slammed into you, slightly choking you up as you came with a high-pitched, quivering gasp and cried out, “Peter!”

Peter’s crashed down on him with the same force. His hips stalled for an instant before jerking up into you one last time, your name tumbling from his lips in a hoarse groan as he filled you with his hot, sticky cum. It feels as if you’re riding the wave of your orgasm for hours, and you blissfully drown in it. Savor it. Bask in the absolute pride of knowing that this man is yours and yours alone even though you have yet to seal it with the promise of ‘for as long as you both shall live.’

The comedown is a sluggish process, like trying to swim the length of a 10-foot pool of honey. Your heart rate is the first to slow down into a stable rhythm, then the raucous hum singing in your body simmers down to a delicious buzz whose sole purpose is to remind you of the five breathtaking orgasms Peter drew out of you. Every part of your body aches when you merely think about moving, so you cave and slump onto Peter’s torso, eliciting an amused oomph from Peter as he wraps an arm around your waist. When he pulls out of you, his cum smears a sticky trail in between your thighs.

Peter brushes away some of your twists from your face to press a gentle kiss to your perspired forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you echo back, leaning up a little to peck his jawline. You snuggle up closer so your head rested on his shoulder. “And I really do forgive you. Your intentions were pure, and I know you were just trying to protect me.” You reach up and grab his chin, making him look into your eyes. “But I want your complete trust, Peter. Trust that I can handle things on my own.”

“From this point on, you have my whole trust,” Peter promised. He took hold of your hand, entwined your fingers together, and then put your hands over his heart. Its slow thud matched yours. “You have my word. No more alibis.”

You laughed tiredly. “Thank you.”

For a while, you two just stayed in each other’s embrace, your eyes falling as Peter’s finger lazily traced an infinity sign around your knuckles. You’re still buzzing, and you know you should roll out of bed to wash up, but you try to save these soft moments in your memory, to help remind you of the kind man who can be, at times, too cruel for words. That’s when he’s Deus. Right now, he’s your Peter.

Seconds away from succumbing to sleep, a thought occurs to you, and you quietly ask, “Hey, babe?”

Peter sounds wide awake. “Yeah?”

“Did Tony literally tell you to go swim in the Bermuda Triangle when you asked him for his approval?”

He snickered. “I believe his exact words were, ‘Go to hell, Parker. Better yet, why don’t you do us all a favor and take a swim in the Bermuda Triangle, and become a cold case?’”

Geez, Tony. You bit your lip. “And you still asked me to marry you anyway, even though he didn’t approve?”

“I was going to, regardless,” Peter murmured, and you could hear a smile in his words. “I just wanted to try and, you know, see if I could make you a little happier. Me and Stark bump heads a lot, and I saw how it upset you, so I thought asking him for his permission would get us on the right track to some sort of civility. Wanted it to be a surprise if he did say yes.”

Unexpected tears gathered in your eyes, and your chin wobbled. He tried for you. Had been trying for you. He even noticed how his and Tony’s bouts caused you to be anxious about your future together and tried to mend the stupid rift between them, for your sake. You aren’t going to lie and say that you’re glad Tony refused. You wished with your whole heart that he could clearly see how much you loved Peter. But, from now on, you’re no longer going to be scared of what Tony thinks of Peter. You love him, and he most certainly loves you, and that’s all that matters.

You scooch up a little more and capture his lips in a deep, passionate kiss. He’s only caught off guard for a second before kissing back, wrapping both of his arms around your waist. When Peter felt the wet tear tracks on your cheeks, he brought up his hands and wordlessly wiped them away.

As you pulled apart, you rested your forehead against his and said, “I can’t wait to marry you, Mr. Parker.”

Peter lightly rubbed the tip of your nose with his, replying, “I’m already yours, Mrs. Parker.”

[thatesqcrush]

Retrouvaille

Rafael Barba x Reader. For @barbasimp - winner of Holiday Bingo. Prompt: Maybe a fic where Rafael and the reader were a thing before he left new york after the incident, but when he comes back he sees how close Carisi and the reader are and gets HELLA JEALOUS.

AN: This takes immediately during 22x04, “Sightless in a Savage Land.”  Script found here.  Coffee reference (above and in the fic - from 19x9, Gone Baby Gone.

AN2: Using “Sway” by The Kooks for VDay bingo. Lyrics denoted in bold.

AN3: Retrouvaille is a French word meaning rediscovery - the happiness of meeting or finding someone after a long separation. 

Warnings: language & smut (p in v sex, implied cunnilingus).  WC: 3.3K

****

To say you were anxious was an understatement; your leg bounced restlessly as you and your Captain sat in the diner. It had been unbearably cold and despite still wearing your parka and the hot cup of coffee in front of you, you could not warm up.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Olivia replied as she poured some milk into her coffee. She stirred the coffee with one hand and reached out to grab your hand from across with the other. “You don’t have to be here.”

“Nope, I am good.” You replied coolly, your lips emphasizing the ‘p’ sound. You looked out the window, watching the people mill about on the street. A blast of cold breezed through the diner. You looked past Olivia and you felt your stomach flop at the sight of the man approaching the booth. You stood and switched sides of your seat, choosing to sit next to Olivia.

The last time you saw Rafael Barba, he was worn and depressed, with tears lining his eyes as he stood in front of the courthouse. It was there he poured his love for you making your heart swell before he shattered it into a million pieces as he broke things off with you. You were a wreck after, to the point you needed to take time off to get your affairs back in order. The apartment you shared with him was no longer your safe space  and no longer inhabitable. Rafael told you to keep the engagement ring. You took it off that night and left it in a lock box at your bank. Photos of you and him during happier times were taken down from your locker and tossed in the trash. Plans for the future - for a shared life together were gone, like a sandcastle being washed away by the sea.

Now Rafael appeared just as handsome as he did all those years ago. His hair was a more pronounced shade of salt and pepper and instead of being clean shaven, a beard graced his face. The infamous camel pea coat was swapped out for a grey one. Instead of a three piece bespoke suit under it, he wore dark jeans and a blue and pink checkered shirt. He turned to the counter and requested a coffee before he sat down in front of you. 

“Barba.” You greeted, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Olivia!” Rafael replied brightly. He shrugged his coat off and looked at you. “Y/N, it’s good to see you again.”

You didn’t reply, instead choosing to sip your coffee once more. Rafael shifted in his seat and looked at Olivia. “So--”

“Liv’s said you’ve been busy.” You spoke, cutting him off. “What have you been up to?” 

You knew Rafael had kept in touch with Olivia. She had mentioned Rafael here and there in conversation with you and the squad.

You knew Mickey Davis deserved a good defense. You were, however, caught off guard when Olivia suggested that perhaps Rafael could help secure a deal. You didn’t even know he was back in New York.

“Consulting with the Innocence Project, defending voting rights on the ground. I've barely slept since the election ended.”

“Liv said once everything cleared up, you might consider doing defense work.” You continued. 

“Her case or Fin’s?” Barba asked. 

“The city settled one of Fin’s. Liv's still waiting on her day in the barrel, but that's not why we're here. 

“It should be -- sorry.” Rafael shrugged, looking at Olivia. 

Olivia gave Rafael a small smile. “Hypothetically, if we... arrested a defendant who was not innocent…”

“Decorated vet. Six tours in Afghanistan. Comes home to find his daughter raped by her foster father--” You interjected. 

“And he shoots the guy point-blank range three times?” Rafael questioned. Both you and Olivia give him a pointed look. “Hypothetically.”

“So you're all caught up.” Olivia replied, now picking up her own cup.

“All right, hold on.” Rafael shook his head. “Did Carisi ask you to intervene on Davis' behalf?”

“Well, actually, Carisi doesn't know that we're here.” You murmured.

Rafael laughed. “Of course not. Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“We wanted to see if you would feel him out. And see if he would cut Mickey a deal.” Olivia continued.

“With Carisi's stomach? He won't have the stomach to take this to trial.” Rafael rolled his eyes. “This case is a dog.”

“Really? Some mentor you are. Not even believing in your protege.” You sneered.

Rafael cocked a brow at you while Liv put a hand on your shoulder, in an attempt to comfort you. You jerked your shoulder away from her, and stood. You tossed some bills onto the table. 

“Sorry, Liv. I thought I could handle this. But I can’t. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You heard Liv call out your name as you stormed out of the diner, but not once did you look back.

Rafael looked at Liv, a frown on his face. “Honestly, I am surprised she didn’t leave sooner.” 

***

You and Phoebe were watching through the double-mirror in the squadroom as Kat and Rollins interrogated a suspect. Phoebe watched as Carisi approached you and she tapped your shoulder, nodding towards him. 

You looked over at Carisi and smiled. “How did voire dire go?”

Carisi sighed, crossing his arms. “It was the Rafael Barba show, charming and cherry-picking jurors for twelve straight hours.”

“He was always a dog with a bone.” You replied. “Walk with me to my desk. I am gonna order some Chinese.”

“I gotta know, Y/N. I saw Barba’s witness list, and he tracked down Ajay's other foster kids, ACS employees, VA shrinks. How big of a staff does he have?”

“I can’t say but know that I am not helping him out.” You hissed in a whisper.

Carisi huffed. “It's fine. Barba was here before me. He was your--”

You held up a hand. “No! That doesn't mean I'm more loyal to him than I am to you. You forget - he broke up with me. He wanted nothing to do with me. Why should I help him?”

Carisi’s ears turned pink and when saw the broken look on your face, he felt shitty. “Y/N, I am so sorry.”

You shook your head. “Dinners on you Mr. ADA and all will be forgiven.”

***

When Rafael entered the squadroom, it was late - he did not expect to see you. But there you were, Carisi perched on the corner of your desk, laughing. Seeing you and Carisi together like that - his jealousy flared and he wondered if there was something more than friendship going on. You plucked food out of the takeout container and offered Carisi a bite. You grabbed a napkin and reached up to Carisi’s face and you were about to say something when you spotted Rafael. Your laughter subsided and you smacked Carisi on the knee and pointed to Rafael. As he made way to your desk, you murmured something to Carisi and made a beeline to the locker room, dropping your food on your desk, causing it to spill a bit. The chopsticks fell to the ground with a clatter.

Rafael paused mid-stride and turned to follow, when Carisi approached him and blocked his path. “Barba, I don’t know why you’re here, but leave Y/N alone.”

“Is there a problem Carisi?”

Carisi jutted his jaw, clearly displeased. “Just leave Y/N alone - you hurt her. I know you never meant to. Don’t make it worse.”

“I came here to talk to her. That’s all.” Rafael huffed, before pushing past the young attorney to follow you, much to Carisi’s protests. 

**

You sat on the bench in front of your locker, crying. You dropped your head in your hands, your body shaking. You heard the sound of footsteps and you stood up, wiping your eyes. 

“Y/N.” Rafael’s voice was dark and deep, and hearing your name escape his lips sent shivers down your spine.

“Rafael! What are you doing here? Y’know you’re really not supposed to be back here!” You hissed, dabbing your eyes once more with your sleeves. 

“I wanted to check in with you.”

“Why? You’re not my boyfriend anymore.” You replied, as you grabbed your belongings. You slammed your locker shut, the metal clanging sound echoed. 

There was another sound of footsteps. Now it was Carisi who arrived. “Y/N, you okay?”

You looked at Carisi. ‘I’m fine. I’ll be out in just a bit.” Carisi nodded and made his way back out. 

You adjusted the strap of your bag. “Move.”

“No, I’m not your boyfriend anymore.” Rafael agreed, but not moving. You stepped to the side and Rafael followed your movement, blocking your way.

“Move.” You commanded. “Now.”

When he did not budge, you let out an exasperated sigh. “Say whatever you have to say. Get it out.”

“I just wanted to say I am sorry for everything. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” Rafael replied.

“Suddenly you care? Please, I have plenty of people in my life who have taken an active role in that. I have gotten by just fine since you left.”

“Who? Carisi? Trading in one lawyer for another? You got a kink or something?" Rafael replied haughtily. 

You snorted in derision. “You know what, you can go fuck right off.” You pushed past him and Rafael grabbed your wrist and pulled you flush to him. Rafael met your eyes, they were puffy and red from you crying. 

“What are you--” You began, but Rafael crushed his lips against yours. You were initially stiff, but you relaxed into his embrace, allowing for the kiss to happen. You let out a soft moan and Rafael used the opportunity to deepen the kiss, by sliding his tongue into yours. Rafael wrapped his arms around your waist and you wrapped yours around his neck, dropping your purse to the ground.

“I love ya.” Rafael rumbled into your ear before dipping his head to your neckline, sucking a mark that you knew you would not be able to hide.

At his words, you pushed Rafael away. “What the fuck? You can’t just barge back into New York, into my life, say that you still love me and expect me to forgive you on the spot!” You were angry, there was a fire in your eyes that Rafael had been at the end of before, and he dropped his head, shamed. He took a seat on the bench and you followed suit, sitting next to him. “Me, the squad… that was always your M.O. - take whatever you want to take - to hurt the ones you love. You never thought about the consequences of your actions on others - nevermind baby Drew.”

“I know. I am an asshole.  I know this is the wrong time and the wrong place but I had to tell you. I love you. And I regret the way I left things with you. And if you tell me you don’t love me - that you still don’t feel the same way - I’ll leave. After the case - you’ll never hear from me or see me again.”

Deep down you knew you still loved Rafael. You had always loved him. You didn’t initially understand why he did what he did with baby Drew or why he left, but with therapy, time, and deep talks with Liv, you understood. It didn’t mean you weren’t angry - you were - but you could see why Rafael felt he had no choice but to leave.

“I need your heart. I need your soul. And getting over you was the hardest thing that I’ve ever had to do.” You replied, not answering his question. Your breath was still uneven from the tears you shed. You were worn and all you wanted to do was go home. You stood and slung your purse over your shoulder. “I am going home. Figure your shit out but don’t expect me to wait around.”

Carisi watched as you stormed away, with Rafael trailing behind you. He was going to say something but he noticed how Rafael allowed for the space between you and him to grow. 

***

The following morning you were getting ready for the day as usual. Coffee was brewing, music was blasting, you were digging around for some clean clothes. There was a staccato knock on the door. You ignored it and found a shirt from the pile of clothes and sniffed it.

There was a second knock, this time louder than first. “I am coming!” You shouted as you tugged your shirt on. You huffed as you marched to the door before tripping over a stack of books that you were planning on donating to your neighborhood library.

You swore loudly and hobbled over to the door. Swinging it open, you all but shouted, “What do you wa--”

On the other side was Rafael. Holding a tray of coffee and a paper bag, that you presumed were some kind of sweets. “I know I am the last person you want to see. I don’t know what to do. Um… do you want some coffee?”

You wrinkled your nose, but you took a step forward and plucked the pastry bag from his grasp. You opened it and inhaled the fresh pastries; your stomach rumbled in response. You reached in and grabbed a honeybun. 

“Come in.” You waved him in before taking a bite of the sticky pastry. Sorry it’s not more neat.”

Rafael made his way in. You entered your apartment, turning the lights on as you made your way in. 

“It’s fine.” Rafael replied as he took in your new-to-him space. There were elements that reminded him of your time together, but it was more uniquely you than anything else.

“You said something yesterday that has stayed in my mind all night long.” Rafael sat down on your couch. 

“Yeah? And what’s that?” You asked, taking a seat across from him. You reached over and plucked the two coffees from 

“I need your heart. I need your soul. All this time away from you has made me realize that. I am sorry for hurting you - for even breaking things off the way I did.” He confessed. “But then I realized, I couldn’t do it. All this time… I still love you.”

You didn’t respond and Rafael felt his heart sink. His stomach knotted and he thought he would throw up. 

You were quiet when you finally did speak. “I still love you too.”

Rafael looked at you, a huge grin on his face. He was overjoyed to hear your proclamation. “So now what?”

You furrowed your brows and an idea came to you, your face brightening. “I suppose we’re due for some makeup sex.”

Rafael blinked. “What?”

You stood up and tugged off your top. “Look, I don’t know about you - but it’s been awhile and I have needs. Are you complaining?”

Rafael stood, shrugging off his coat and also making quick removal of his clothes. “No, not at all. Just not what I expected to happen.”

You were down to your panties. “Just gotta make one call.” Rafael nodded, continuing to undress. You grabbed your phone and called Liv. “Hey, Liv - personal emergency, I won’t be able to make it - no everything will be fine - no you don’t need to come by. I’ll make it up. Thanks.”

You tossed your phone onto the couch and stretched out your hand. “Come on.”

**

Rafael groaned as he pounded into you with punctuated thrusts. You grabbed the sheets desperately as pleasure coursed your body. Being reunited with Rafael was almost too much - no one ever fucked you as well as he did - and no one ever made you feel complete as he did. Rafael pushed your knee higher, changing the angle. His cock hit you at a new angle and you cried out.

“Oh fuck, fuck, yes, just like that!” Your back arched slightly. He dropped his mouth to yours, swallowing your moans as he slid his tongue into yours. Rafael quickened his pace and you snaked your hand between your bodies to rub your clit. 

“Gonna… fuck… gonna come…” Rafael groaned. 

“Come for me, give it to me.” You panted. “Need it. Need you.”

Rafael stiffened, groaning your name as he came, filling the condom you insisted he wear for the time being. You continued to rub with one hand as your orgasm approached, you used your other hand to grip his arm tightly. You threw your head back as you cried out Rafael’s name as your orgasm peaked and washed over you. 

Rafael pressed a kiss to the top of your forehead as your body grew slack. He removed himself and rolled his body off yours. He removed the condom, tying it in a knot before disposing it into the trash bin at the foot of your bed. Rafael rejoined you in the bed and you curled into his embrace.

You stroked his chest softly, running the tips of your fingers through his chest hair. “We have a lot to work on.”

Rafael grabbed your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “I know, hermosa.”

You looked up at him. “For us to work - it’s going to take time. We have a lot to work on - a lot to unpack.”

“As long as it takes. I don’t want to lose you again.”

You propped yourself up and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Well, since we have so much time ahead of us now… why don’t we make up for lost time?” 

Rafael arched his brow and you squealed as he pulled you up on top of him.He kissed you deeply and rolled you onto your back once more. He began to press kisses along your body, shimmying down. 

He got to the apex of your thighs and spread your legs. You met his eyes and he winked before dropping his mouth to you again.

FIN.

***

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[donablue]

the ringing stops and they're greeted with an apprehensive "hi there."

"hello."

there's a sharp intake intake of breath but nothing else follows.

grognak waits a couple of beats but the only things they hear are the waves close by, constant and soothing, and the seagulls overhead, also constant, much less soothing. "hello? if you're there, i would like to hang up and try again but i don't have any more change. oh, i know. pretend i called back." she clears her throat, readjusts her grip on the handset. "hello, this is g-r-o-g-n-a-k a-t-t-o-r-n-e-y a-t l-a-w, grognak the destroyer, attorney at law. is this p-o-s-e-y posey?"

"no, but this is p-o-s-y posy," comes the trembling reply.

"oh." dismayed, grognak double-checks her phone's screen. "posy, your name is wrong in my contacts."

"if you are having your phone, why are you being calling from a payphone, grognak?" posy asks, and there's something to her voice that grognak can't place.

"i think, young lady, the better question is why are you answering calls from unknown numbers? stranger danger is very real, you know," they admonish instead.

posy's ensuing laugh is borderline hysterical.

"anyway," grognak continues, tucking their own phone away, "my phone turns on but it won't do anything. technology these days, posy, doesn't last."

"we can be getting you a new one. where are you?"

"i am at the pier. very quiet, much more interesting at night."

"can you be meeting me at the digital den?" posy asks, and grognak overhears some rustling and the sudden slam of what's probably a car door.

"i don't have a car, posy."

"what–? but– sad and sassy...?"

pleased, grognak nods to herself. "yes, i am, thank you!"

"no! your van! how did you get to the piers?"

pulling back to frown at the receiver, grognak huffs, "i walked, how else?"

there's another shorter bout of silence before posy tells them, "okay, i will be getting you. stay on the pier!"

"okay!" grognak agrees cheerfully before hanging up and setting out towards the pier's entrance.

right as grognak finally reaches the main street's sidewalk, a purple car comes to a screeching halt just in front of them. the driver's window rolls down and they're met with a bright smile and an enthusiastic "grognak!"

"posy! it's so good to see you," she returns warmly, wasting no time in rounding the small car to pile into the passenger seat. her knees press uncomfortably into the glovebox compartment.

"strap on!" posy reminds her, and grognak nods, fastening her seatbelt as posy pulls away from the curb.

"this is a very nice car," grognak notes before their sister can start talking. they try and fail to rearrange their legs into a more comfortable position. "a little small. cute, though."

"thank you! this is maxwell!"

leaning forward, grognak pats the dashboard fondly. "hello, maxwell. i hope you've been taking care of posy."

"he can be seating five people and go up mount chiliad backwards," posy lists proudly. "maxwell is a tank! he also does not like having doors."

nodding understandingly, grognak eyes the car door to their right skeptically. "i agree. they are restrictive, and they don't let you feel the wind in your hair."

posy glances at her quickly before swerving them into another lane. "you can be rolling the window down, you know."

"no, thank you. the wind makes my head chilly."

"okay," posy agrees easily, and they lapse into silence.

"i have a lot to be telling you," posy says after several minutes of grognak fiddling with the radio, stopping to listen to some songs, belting along to others, and skipping others altogether. grognak glances at her and her knuckles have gone white around the steering wheel. the only way they can think to describe her expression is unhappy. at least it's not directed at grognak.

and there it is. the guilt, the discomfort, the twisting uneasiness in the pit of their stomach that grognak has been trying to outpace. "phone first," they stipulate, and posy, charitable and kind as she is, acquiesces.

they wind up somewhere in the mountains. grognak's new phone proclaims it to be mount gordo.

once they've parked on a cliff ("i am wanting to be able to see all angles."), posy perches on maxwell's hood and watches as grognak finds a place to stand, finally deciding on a spot to posy's left.

devoid of distractions, she finally gets a good look at posy.

"you look tired, posy," grognak observes, eyes roaming over her sister's painted face.

"i am being very tired," posy admits.

her voice wavers.

posy's shoulders slump inward and she looks so small.

"a lot has happened since you left, grognak. mostly it is being bad things. serial killers, cults, people dying, people leaving, people getting hurt. steven got hurt! shirley got hurt! they are hunting me and rory! i know too much, grognak, i am being too curious! chroy has been out of the city a lot, and i am missing him but at least he is not being in dangers. pillbot was broken and now he is unbroken but people do not treat him like a person! and anto thinks that you might be being the leader of one of the cults!" she lists off, voice growing in shrillness until she punctuates her frustration with a smack to a spot on the hood next to her.

struggling to process the sudden slew of information and unfamiliar names, grognak blinks rapidly, at a loss. "i think i would remember being a cult leader. very busy job, i'd imagine," they finally offer. "too much responsibility, though. not very grognak."

posy rewards them with a weak smile. "i told him it couldn't be you," she mumbles. the smile falls and a shadow crosses her face.

"i did alcohols."

"that's not so bad–"

"and drugs. the serious ones."

"oh."

"i had not been doing either before! and now–" she slides off her car and hits the ground hard. grognak stands motionless as posy slips her hands under her glasses and presses her palms to her eyes. "and i have been missing you, on top of all that," posy changes tacks.

grognak steps closer and stares down at the top of posy's ducked head, taking in the near foot and half of difference between them for a second. it feels a little robotic, a little unnatural, but it's the only thing that comes to mind, so grognak closes the distance and wraps her arms around posy's shoulders in a stiff hug. there's a quiet sniffle, then posy winds her own arms around grognak's middle and leans her weight against her, head coming to rest on grognak's chest.

it feels nice, simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar. something in their chest suddenly starts to ache. their chest also starts to grow damp.

slouching as far as she can, grognak drops her chin onto the crown of posy's head and readjusts her hold on her into something less awkward, tightening the embrace.

"i missed you too," grognak quietly tells her wig, and posy hiccups, burrowing her face further into grognak's chest.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Actus Reus

Warnings: nonconsensual sexual acts (oral, spanking, intercourse)

This is dark!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You find yourself at odds with Andy Barber both in and out of court.

Note: I just decided to write this one shot because I could and because @lokislastlove​ is harassing me all the time!

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You stood as the judge went through the motions, the verdict closer and closer. Judge Hannon's voice carried through the courtroom and you longed for those words; 'Not guilty'. 

As your victory was confirmed, you glanced across the room at the Assistant District Attorney. You smiled as his eyes met yours and his jaw ticked. More and more often you found yourself on the docket with Andy Barber and to your delight, the last three times had been successful. At least, on your end.

You shook the defendant’s hand and congratulated him on his avoided jail time. Your own celebration would have to wait.

You packed up and neared the aisle. Andy sat behind the desk, his briefcase open and his papers still stacked before him. You rested your bag on the corner and stopped.

"Head up. There's always next time." You chimed.

He looked over. His lips remained a straight line and his eyes burned fiercely at you. Usually he took it on the chin with grace and you were startled at the sheer anger in his expression. He sighed and turned to shuffle his papers into a single pile.

"Yeah," He stood, "Next time."

You smiled and nodded. You left him to stew in his ire and shrugged as you neared the door. You'd seen it before. Egos always seemed to find their way into the courtroom. Well, his wasn't your concern, you had your own to deal with. This high wouldn't last forever, but while it did, you were sure as hell going to enjoy it.

💼

Aaron finished his drink and checked his watch. The wife was waiting, so he claimed. That was always his excuse to cut out early and the rest were quick to follow suit; early morning, kids, cat needed to be fed. You bid Carlos goodbye next and then Geena. Your posse was rather lame outside the courtroom, not that they were much fun there either.

You shrugged and made your way to the bar for a second round. You stood at the corner trying to catch the attention of the bartender. The subtle movement of another at the opposite end caught your eye. You recognized the beard made darker by the shadows and you recognized your adversary despite his attempt to hide behind his hand.

You smiled and played his game. You pretended not to notice him as the bartender finally came your way. A double with lime. You waited and watched until the stout tumbler was placed before you. You paid and left the change as a tip. You walked a few stools down, closer to Andy as he stared into his rye. You climbed up and set your glass down loudly.

You stared at the Coors sign and crossed one leg over the other as you sipped. You smiled above the lip of the glass and sighed. His stool creaked and he cleared his throat.

"Come to gloat?" He asked.

"Nah, just wanted to see if you'd find your spine." You taunted. "I take it that's not a happy drink."

He glared at you and drained the last gulp. He motioned to the bartender and ordered a refill.

"And once she's done, give her another on me." His voice was low, monotone. He barely looked at you.

"You don't have to--"

"You won. You earned it," He huffed. "And I was always told it wasn't good to drink alone."

"You talking about you or me?" You countered. 

He shrugged and accepted his second drink.

"Whatever makes you feel better," He grumbled.

"Look, Mr. Assistant District Attorney, I don't think you need to be so worked up over me." You snickered. "A public defender is hardly an enviable position."

"You do well enough, don't you?" He took a swig and licked the excess from his lips.

"Look, I think I'm good on the refill. A kind gesture but..." You stood and took your drink. "I don't think alcohol is a great mixer for us."

"What's wrong? Not so mouthy without an audience."

"Right, Andy," You backed up slowly. "I'll see you at the courthouse. Hopefully not soon."

You left him to mope and returned to your table, alone but not disheartened. The gin was just starting to kick in and lent a soft glow to the dark barroom.

💼

Another drink and you were ready to go. Admittedly it was one too many but tomorrow was your day off and despite his resent, Andy had insisted on sending it over. He left just as it was delivered to your table. You raised it in thanks as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

You left the empty glass on the table and slung your jacket over your arm as you hugged your bag to your side. It was barely midnight, the bar would be open for a few hours more. You stumbled out into the dim street and the door clattered behind you noisily. 

You swayed as you stopped on the curb and looked up and down the road. A cab would be your best bet.

You chuckled dopily as you squinted at a set of headlights down the street. The alcohol was starting to really nip at you. You raised your hand to flag down the taxi but were suddenly pulled off balance. Your scream was capped by a hand over your mouth as you kicked out and dropped your blazer and bag onto the sidewalk. You flailed as you were dragged back into the mouth of the alley just beside the bar.

"Shhhh," The hot breath smelled like whiskey as you were shoved against the wall. 

You looked up at the looming shadow, the silhouette of broad shoulders and a face shrouded in darkness. Your vision was hazy and your felt a draining warm flow through you as the gin sank deeper into your stomach.

"You make a noise," The coarse growl chilled you, "I'll make sure you never say another word again."

You gulped and slapped the stranger's chest. He was strong, big, immovable. You whimpered into his palm and he pressed it harder to your lips.

"Do you understand?" He snarled.

You nodded and your hand slipped from his chest. 

You leaned against the wall, trying to flatten yourself as his hand slid from over your mouth. 

"Please..." You wisped.

"Don't, " He warned as he grabbed the front of your blouse, his leg against yours as he pinned you there.

He tore your shirt open and pushed it aside. He squeezed your tits gruffly, your bra thin beneath his touch. He was quick to snake his hands down around your ass and knead with a beastly growl.

His hands descended further and he yanked on your skirt until it was above your thighs. He ripped your panties down just as quickly and your legs wobbled beneath you. You threatened to crumple entirely and he pushed your shoulders back against the wall.

He was terse, silently demanding as he led your body to his whims. He pulled your leg up and hooked it around his hip. You heard a buckle and a zipper, the noise cut through your panic and you were washed over with numb acceptance.

You blinked a long blink and when you opened your eyes, he was inside you. He jerked your body violently as he impaled you. His hand kept a hold of your knee as he writhed against you with muted grunts. His other hand moved in the shadows along the edge of your vision. You closed your eyes again and scratched your fingernails along the wall as your ankles buckled underneath your weight, the thin heels of your shoes threatening to snap.

You felt a painful fullness, an incessant pounding in your core, as this stranger ravished you. Your eyelids bloomed yellow for an instant and you opened them to another blinding flash, and another, several until the light turned constant. Until you were nothing but a rag doll crushed between the grimy brick and inhuman warmth.

The bar door opened with a shrill grind and closed again. Several times as you were trapped only feet away. Drunken footfalls echoed away and you just let them.

You gave a whine and the hand flew from your leg to your mouth. Another hush as your leg dangled around the stranger and he kept on rutting into you. Every thrust was harder, meaner, his sinister growls barely restrained as the light kept your clueless.

Then it all stopped. His hips slowed and he pulled out of you. Heat spurted down your thigh and the light moved lower before it died entirely. Your skirt was tugged down over the mess and you were left to collapse into a heap. 

The buckle again, and the zipper. The soft soles on the ground and the drop of your bag beside you and the flutter of your jacket over your chest. You stayed there, weak, frightened, and the shadow walked away into the darkness.

You buttoned up your shirt, crooked and untucked as you pushed yourself to your feet. You pulled on your blazer and gripped your bag tightly, unsteadily finding your way back to the street. There was a drunk pissing on the other side of the road and you limped down towards the corner. Another taxi appeared and you raised your hand, almost tripping over your own feet.

All you had to do was get home. Get home, get safe, and you could figure it out tomorrow.

💼

The next day, you woke with barely any recollection of how you got home. You remembered your last drink and the door closing behind you but everything else was a garbled, retina burning blur.

You didn't do much more than hold together your splitting head. It really hadn't been that great a victory and you accepted this as the humbling you deserved. That and the ache throughout your body, the filth you felt upon waking on your couch. The feeling as if you had forgotten something very important. But all that remained was that blur. That painful blur that made you want to wretch.

It faded with each day that followed. As you got back to your usual toil, your little excess dissolved into the void of routine. You worked long hours, interview witnesses, consulted defendants, and pored over case files. 

That night almost entirely slipped your mind but for the odd dreams that waited for you in the night. The bright light, the rutting breaths, the warmth in your core, broken by the sobering mornings and washed away with the hours between.

What was it? Two, three weeks. Maybe a whole month. You didn't dwell on that night until your old foe sat just across the aisle.

You stood patiently, quietly, as the judge read over your new evidence. It would be the crux of your next case but you couldn't betray that to Andy as his hand stretched across the plaintiff's table and he watched Judge Hannon closely.

"Your honour, we were not given sufficient notice--" Barber began.

"This trial has yet to commence. The defendant is giving notice now and as I see..." Hannon paused and flipped to the first page, "You signed off on the review."

"That is not what we saw," Andy lied.

"If there has been any tampering, it was not on our accord." You argued. "As is customary, once the plaintiff has reviewed the evidence it is then sent directly to the court to be held for official consideration."

"Mr. Barber, if you can give a valid legal argument why this evidence should not be permitted, I'm waiting." Hannon closed the folder and stared at the prosecutor.

Andy's nostrils flared and he lowered his head in deference. He had no argument. As you watched him, heard his gristly breath as he sighed, you felt an odd coil in your stomach.

"Very well. I haven't the time to argue this further. You have your approval," Hannon tapped the folder. "Dismissed."

You smiled, just a little. The tugging at the back of your mind kept you from your usual delight. You packed up your briefcase and headed for the aisle. Andy met you there and watched you with a stern scowl. He nodded you ahead of him and you skirted past without a second thought.

He followed you down the aisle as the next parties on the docket shuffled into place. You swept through the door and it was swiftly caught behind you. The hall was quite and sterile, especially compared to the courtroom.

"You won't win. Not this time." Andy sneered and you stopped to look back at him. "You can't base your whole case on a parking slip."

"We'll see." You said and turned back.

You took two steps before his hand was on your arm. He spun you back to him and you gaped at him in shock. You wrenched free of his grasp and stumbled back.

"What do you think you're doing?" You hissed. "Andy, it's just a case. You win some, you lose some."

"Yeah, well, I'm real tired of losing..." He reached in his pocket and slid his phone out. "Especially to you."

"I'm just doing my job and your numbers aren't my problem," You scoffed. "Get your shit together."

"I should say the same," His lips curved just a little and he turned his phone to you. "How many people want this decrying their morality to the world?"

You stared at the image and grimaced. It was you, your blouse was undone, one side of your bra had slipped down below your chest and your eyes were bleary and senseless. Your skirt was bunched at your waist and below... That night. What had happened that night?

"What the fuck!?" You snarled. "Andy, how did--" 

"Shhh," He hushed you and pinpricks spread over your skin. Your blood curdled as you felt like throwing up. "You don't wanna do this here."

You glanced over at the scales of justice on the short plinth then back to him.

"You think I'll throw the case because you got a few photos of me?"

"I think you’ll do... whatever I want you to." He smirked. "You'll start by having a little chat with me. In my office."

"I have to get back--"

"You will lie and say there was a delay in court," He said staunchly. "Or... I can CC you on the email I send to Hannon."

You swallowed and lowered your eyes. You shook your head and took a breath. You threw your hand up weakly.

"Okay," You said quietly.

He neared you and you winced. He sidestepped you and his shoes clicked down the polished floor. They stopped at the very end.

"Well..." He said.

You turned stiffly and marched towards him, your fingers tight around the handle of your briefcase. He carried on and you followed just a step behind. He led you past the desks of his fellow attorneys and to the corner office where his name was etched on a brass plaque.

He closed the door behind you with a quite clasp. You stood just inside and he brushed past you and crossed to his desk. He dropped his briefcase and leaned against the corner as he flicked his thumb across his phone. He watched the screen intently and tapped it twice. 

You saw the moving shapes, indecipherable from your vantage and you set down your briefcase by the door. You neared and looked down at the video of yourself. You had no doubt it was him doing those things to you but nothing in the video could confirm that. If it wasn't him holding the phone, you'd have no idea at all.

"Andy!" You reached out and grabbed at the phone. "What is wrong with you?"

"You seemed to enjoy yourself." He stood straight and held the phone above him, beyond your reach. "Didn't you?"

"I-I--" You spluttered. "I don't remember. Andy, don't you realise that what you did--" 

"You think you'd win that case, hmm?" He chuckled. "Really? You were drunk, you can't remember what happened let alone who it was."

"Give me the phone, Andy," You growled and were almost flush to him as you tried to reach it. "How dare--"

"You really think anyone will believe it's me?" He caught your wrist and held it above you. "Maybe, but they know for sure that it's you being a little slut in this."

"What did you--"

He wrenched your arm down and twisted. You cried out as he spun you around and turned you toward the desk. He easily slipped his phone away and grabbed the back of your neck. You dug your heel in and he squeezed.

"Shhh," He hissed in your ear. "We don't want anyone to hear. To know what a slut you are."

"Stop, get off--"

He let go of your wrist and clapped his hand over your mouth. He pushed on your neck and forced you forward until you were against the desk. He bent with you below him until your cheek was on the wood. He wiggled his hips and you felt his arousal against your ass.

"If you want to keep your reputation, likely your job, you will be good for me," He stood slowly, his hand still on your neck as he held you down. "You get your wins and I get mine."

"You can't do this," You pleaded.

"I already have," He gloated, his other hand crept down your back.

His reached over your ass and bunched your skirt in his fingers. You squirmed and his grip sent a pang down your spine. You groaned and he forced your skirt up over your ass. He tutted and played with the lacy edge of your panties.

"Is this what you wear to court?" He asked. "Naughty girl."

"Andy..." You uttered.

"You be quiet," He ordered as he grasped the top of your panties. "Or these go in your mouth."

He tore them down past your ass and you gasp. He leaned his weight on your neck and rubbed your ass. You closed your mouth and shakily curled your fingers over the edge of the desk.

"Good," He tickled along your skin and pulled his hand away.

There was a lull, a tense pause as you waited for whatever he had planned. The sharp slap that followed stung your ass and shattered the silence. You choked on your cry and he did it again. His large hand sent ripples through you as he spanked you, each time a low purr rumbled from him. Your toes slipped along the floor as your legs turned to jelly.

He only stopped as a soft chiming sounded. He released your neck and slowly dragged his hand down your back as his other rubbed a circle over your ass.

"Stay," He said.

You covered your face with your hand but didn't move from the desk. 

"Barber," He said and indiscernible chatter rose from the speaker of his phone. "Oh, yeah, yeah. No, I'm not busy. No problem."

There was a moment before he let out a long breath. He pinched your ass and stepped away from you.

"Canavan's on her way." He grabbed your bag and returned to you. He pulled you up by your arm. "Better hide."

"I should go--"

"No time," He said as he urged you around the desk. "Go on."

He threw your bag under the desk and pointed beside as he shoved you down. 

"She said she was already on her way."

"Andy," You fixed your panties and skirt. "I'll just go--"

"How's this?" He tilted his phone toward you. "Another to add to the collection."

A photo of your ass above your lacy panties greeted you. You blinked and recoiled.

"Why are you doing this?"

"We'll have lots of time later to discuss," He pushed on your shoulder and put his phone in his jacket pocket. "Now, go on."

You dropped to your knees reluctantly. He sat and waved you under the desk. You back underneath it, careful not to knock your head. He wheeled his chair close and blocked you in. His knees were on either side of your head as he rubbed his thighs.

"You'll have to keep quiet," His fingers fluttered up to his fly and he shifted as he undid it. "Keep yourself busy."

"Are you ser--"

"Shhh," He caught your chin as his other hand pulled his cock free of his pants. "Remember, quiet."

He got as close as he could and drew you to him. He stroked himself and pressed his tip to your lips. A knock sounded at the door and you froze.

"Open your fucking mouth," It felt as if he would crush your jaw and you obeyed with a whine. He shushed you as he slid into your mouth. "Don't you fucking stop." He growled under his breath before raising his voice to an eerily chipper tone. "Come in."

His cock was at the back of your throat as you stilled. You heard the door open but not close. The heels crossed and the other chair creaked as someone sat.

"I heard about the new evidence," The district attorney said. "Bit of a rough patch, eh?"

"Can't all be home runs," He said and tapped your leg with his toe. "It's nothing. I'll find a way around it."

"Look, Barber," Canavan said. "I know you will. You're a good attorney but we all need breaks. I can see it, you're stressed. It's okay to take a vacation."

"You know, it has been..." You  began to move your head as he poked you again with his shoe. "Tough but I think whatever it was, I'm past it. It was just... you know Laurie and Jacob. She was doing a lot of overtime and the kid likes to run off at all hours but I think we finally figured it out."

His legs held you snugly as he tensed at the feel of your mouth gliding up and down his length. You thought of the images on his phone, of the chaos they could inspire, of how hard you'd worked to get where you were. This man wanted to exchange all that for his own ego. You pressed your tongue to his shaft and he cleared his throat gruffly.

"A couple days, if you need them, more if you wanna take the family away," Canavan offered. "Look, a little while without you is better than you being here but not really being here. You get it?"

"Oh, I... do," He shuddered as you kept your pace steady. 

You did your best not to make a noise as your spit dripped down his length. You could tell he was struggling just as much not to give you away.

"How about I think about it and get back to you tomorrow? I'll have to talk to Laurie." He said evenly.

"I can wait until tomorrow," The chair groaned and her heels clicked on the wooden floor. "Maybe dust off that Jack you hide in your second drawer. I'll keep pretending I don't know about it."

"I might just," Andy chuckled. "Thanks, Lynn."

"I mean it," Her footsteps neared the threshold, "Think about it."

The door closed and Andy let out a long breath. His hand went to the back of your head and he pushed himself down your throat with a moan. 

"Fuck," He swore as he gripped your head between his hands. "You little fucking bitch. I thought you didn't want anyone to know you were so..." He hissed as he bobbed your head. "Bad. Fuck!"

You grabbed his thighs as he guided you up and down. You tried not to choke on him as he hammered the back of your throat. His right hand slipped around the back of your head and his other latched onto your shoulder. 

He swore again as he leaned back in his chair and lifted his pelvis. He long legs stretched out around you as he spasmed. He held your head down as he grunted and emptied himself into your mouth. 

His hips bucked only a few more times before he stilled. His hand fell from you and he hung his arms over the sides of his chair. He sighed and you nearly gagged as you pulled him out of your mouth.

You were trapped halfway under the desk and you felt around behind you with one arm as you cupped your other hand before your mouth. You had a pack of kleenex in your bag, somewhere.

"Ah," Andy clutched your hand and pulled you with him as he rolled back. His cock softened slowly over his pants. "Swallow or you can keep going until you get it right."

You frowned and your lips trembled in disgust. His cum had already thickened on your tongue and your eyes rolled back as you made yourself swallow. He let you go and you wiped your lips with the back of your hand.

"You know how it is," He winked as he leaned back and bent his arms behind his head casually. "You win some, you lose some."

[bethchapelsbonnet]

I Dont remember if it Was on you're Ways to Tell ILY Prompt list but might I suggest a "I Choose you" Hournite One shot?

I didn't see you interact with the original submission I answered, so I included it here

I Choose You

All of the fuss that Beth went through to try to compile each and every piece of evidence that someone may need in order to get Rick the heck out of that place was simply... Well - it was actually exhausting, but she never realized until she was at the end of her days.

The database was always excellent and as the official Dr. Mid-Nite, she had access to even more information.

Not what she truly needed - to be able to actually speak to Rick. To assess how he was doing. To at least hold his hand, which.. she was conflicted about that one in particular. She didn't understand why that idea kept coming to her when she and Rick never actually really touched each other that way.

Casually - pats on the back or holding each other back in a fight, but nothing so intimate as hand holding. Maybe it was her renewed self confidence. She had chosen herself. And now, she was choosing Rick. 

They didn't allow any of them to see him. He was currently being held at a juvenile center, assigned a caseworker and a child advocate attorney, with an ongoing investigation about his uncle and his home life. But, Beth found out the names of everyone involved in his case and she was sending them documents, school reports, and everything that she could scrape up to prove that Rick was in a dangerous household and had been abused and mistreated. 

It was her hope that they would all see it was self defense and go easy on him. Courtney and Pat had tried to explain to her that Eclipso was controlling him. It wasn't self defense. It was just a terrible mind game.

Not too long ago, they were pressing her to accept murdering a bad guy… but suddenly, when it's THIS bad guy… who didn't even DIE, they were willing to accept Rick turning himself in and being put away? "It's what Rick wanted, to be held accountable.."

"He didn't DO it! It was Eclipso!" Beth had snapped at Courtney. Courtney's eyes went wide and she got quiet. Of course she knew that and she didn't deserve Beth being rude with her, either, but Beth was too frustrated to tell herself that at the moment and Rick wasn't around…

She called him anyway, as she stormed out. 

"Rick!" She took a deep breath, "You don't deserve to be held responsible for something that you didn't do wrong!" She noticed Courtney in the corner of her eye and whispered, "There's nothing you need to be held accountable for and I'm working on helping you get out. Just… I hope you aren't too hard on yourself." She hung up and looked at Courtney.

"I watched him run around, hallucinating, breaking down as he was attacked by something that we couldn't see… it was like with Yolanda, only someone did get hurt. I didn't want to have to see that again and it wasn't easy to let Rick confess, but what else could we do? What would you have done differently?"

Beth wanted to say that she wouldn't have let him out of her sight, that she would have talked to him until he was back down to Earth..  but as a firm believer in herself, some part of her knew that Courtney didn't have that type of power. Beth was the one who could stop Rick in his tracks and make him think for a moment. 

"What about when you see a dead 10 year old girl? Would you have been able to use your head in that moment and stop him from reacting?"

Beth sniffled and wiped her face, "If I was here, I know that I could have fixed this. I know that I could have talked him down. He listens to me. It's different with us. And with Eclipso… it's personal now."

.

Rick heard about an "adorable but incredibly annoying" girl who spoonfed a lot of information to his case worker and his advocate. They didn't have to describe her. He did initially automatically think Courtney, since that was who saw him last on the outside and that's who annoyed him more than any girl he knew…

But when they spoke about legal documents, school incidents and cases and studies of similar cases..  He knew that they meant Beth. A lot of her findings needed to be double checked by the proper authorities and his advocate would need to speak with a judge, but it was looking like Rick may be entitled to psychological treatment from years of abuse that resulted in him finally lashing back.

He wanted to argue with that, but in a way.. that felt like some type of hope and he couldn't say there wasn't truth in it. Whatever Beth had done, he finally felt some peace of mind, since coming here…

.

The court order to grant him a placement took shorter than he thought, even though it still felt super long. The Chapels weren't foster parents, but thanks to some… creative documentation on Beth's part, they were able to be listed as family friends to whom custody could be signed over.

He would be trying for emancipation, but in the meantime, he had a place to sleep and eat and stuff… and Beth was there.

"How did you manage to pull this off?" Rick wondered, more confused than grateful, but she didn't take it to heart. She smiled and tapped her goggles. "Of course…" he stared at his bags on the floor. "Did you get the full story?"

"I got Courtney and Pat's side of it. You don't have to tell me, but in your own time, if you want to, you can." She handed him some mail, "I filled out your paperwork and sent it in. You've gotten at least one response."

"My paperwork?"

She winced, "I totally trespassed into your car and home, scanning everything and looking for something to help me. I traced punched in walls, I took an inventory of the alcohol in there, you name it. I also found the forms that you had for college and financial aid. I took them with me, but also wondered what they were doing there. So I checked on cell phone records and saw that Miss Woods-" she rolled her eyes when she said her name. (She wasn't fond of how cruelly that woman had treated Rick, and she didn't mind saying so), "Had been there. I figured she was the one who gave those to you, went to pay her a visit and questioned her until she told me about what happened earlier. She had seen your uncle and he was belligerent and drinking. I told her that I would speak to your advocate in order to see if that was usable information. It was. She made for a very dependable character reference."

Rick looked stunned. He didn't know what to say, but eventually landed on, "Why am I at your house and not at Pat's? I don't even know your parents and they probably aren't pleased about what happened." 

"Well, I believe that I've managed to do quite the PR campaign for you when I was making my rounds to see if anybody had recollection of witnessing your uncle be unkind to you. A lot of people have been quiet about things that they should have spoken up about… myself included.." she lowered her head, "I noticed bruises on you sometimes at lunch when we weren't friends and I guessed that they weren't from some school fight, otherwise, the school would know." She looked up at him and her eyes were brimming with tears, "All of us made choices to mind our business and just leave you to fend for yourself. Everybody's been feeling pretty guilty that it came to… that.."

She cleared her throat, "There's enough going on at Courtney's house, and Yolanda's isn't an option. I couldn't let you wind up at the group home. Artemis is there. The last time you two saw each other, you almost killed one another. I thought my home was the best choice. It's safe, there's just me here. My parents believed me when I vouched for you, so they would be acting like wardens or anything, and I just… I feel better knowing that if something happens, I'll be there."

He sat down on the guest bed and twiddled his thumbs, "That's just it. If something happens, I… I no longer have the hourglass. I won't be able to protect you fully."

"I can protect myself," she said, sitting next to him. "Just wait until you hear my Eclipso story."

"Your what?"

"He attacked me the same time that he attacked you…" Rick looked terrified as he checked her over for damages. "It's a long story, but I'm fine. It went very differently for me than it did for you." She looked sad for a moment. I think he must've known."

He was confused. Beth looked him in the eyes through her goggles, "That we protect each other. That you fight for me and I fight for you. I felt so victorious when I was able to take my goggles back from me and solidify my place on the team… the. I found out he had gotten to my Rick…" 

His heart jumped in his chest and he stared at her. He reached for her goggles but she shook her head and he withdrew his hands. "It wasn't anything to do with you."

"No, but had I been there…"

"Then you could have gotten hurt or had to see me become the very kind of monster that I hate!" 

She furrowed her eyebrows and she grabbed his hand, harder than she meant to, but that demanded his attention and he stared at her face, "If I had been there, you would've had the extra strength you needed to see through him. I wouldn't have let you fight. Please believe me when I say that I'm sure I could have talked some sense into you. I could have saved you from thinking that you're a monster. Because you aren't a monster, Rick. You're a kid who was in a situation that most of us can't fathom, and when you needed me, I wasn't there." He started crying and shook his head. "I'll understand if you want to stay with Mr. Dugan instead…"

"No. No.."He had told Grundy that day that he just needed someone to care about him, to be kind to him, and he could be alright. Rick was so caught up in the stress of his uncle, he hadn't thought about how he did have someone like that. He had his friends, the Dugans, and he had Beth. She had done all of this, because she felt like she'd failed him. Like she was supposed to protect him. She wasn't obligated to do that, but the fact that she wanted to, that she tried to. 

Hell, she was even correct about being able to talk him down. He didn't know if she could have that night, but as much as she meant to him… he couldn't rule out that what if. He collected her hand to his heart and said extremely softly, "I choose you." 

@futurewriterwannebe

[whump-town]

A Cumbersome and Heavy Body

Chapter Seven: Safe To Shore 

You're gone, gone, gone away; I watched you disappear All that's left is a ghost of you Now we're torn, torn, torn apart; there's nothing we can do Just let me go, we'll meet again soon

Summary: Stubborn until the very end, Aaron Hotchner isn’t going to go down without a fight. It’s just getting hard to tell the difference between fighting them and fighting the cancer.

Word Count:  6680

Author’s Note: I am... so sorry

Derek Morgan walks into the hospital with no rushed agency. A simple leisure stroll guiding him through the hospital and the winding halls. He keeps his eyes cast to the book he’s reading as he works his way to the elevator. No need to watch too carefully when he knows where he’s going. These halls are kept clear of spectators and everyone’s got an agenda so there’s rarely the chance to run into someone’s conversation. His right thumb sits wedged into the spine, holding it open as he eats an apple with the left. He’s not sure he could tear himself away from the pages if he wanted to-- this shit is enrapturing. 

His feet carry him on autopilot, making turns he’s memorized without so much as parting his eyes from the words on the page. “How are you holding up, old man?” he doesn’t knock as he steps into Hotch’s room. Not much of a point in it anyways aside from letting Hotch know someone’s coming. The only thing he does worth hiding these days is moving places he shouldn’t be without help. Which, when the fancy strikes, he’s a real fiend for. But he’s in bed, propped up by pillows and half watching Judge Judy and trying to succumb to the drugs pulling him back down for another nap.

Hotch turns his head in the direction of the noise, already knowing from the loud entrance that it’s Morgan. Which eliminates any performative pieces he’d need to throw on to look healthier or to prepare for another round of being poked at and moved about. He lets his eyes slide shut, too tired to engage in conversation and past the point of caring if that looks disrespectful or cold. A shiver escapes him, his skin is broken out in painful goosebumps with his arms bare in the room. Any attempt to curl into himself, turning his shoulder into the bed, is met with sharp pain from the chest-tube. 

A nurse had come in not that long ago and moved him around enough to disturb his blankets, even pulling that dreadful mask back up over his face. She’d tucked the blankets around his hips and upped his medicine enough to subdue him. Leaving him too tired, too fogged to piece together the words and tell anyone that he’s cold and wants another blanket. He’s not really there when they give him all the drugs and he hates his inability to communicate. Even opening his jaw requires so much careful thought that he knows any speech he can produce will be slurred to the point of incomprehension. 

He looks over to Derek, pleading that in some way the other man has acquired the ability to read his mind. It’s overwhelming but all he can manage is a scratchy hum in reply and a sloppy, “ ‘m fine.” It leaves his mouth poorly, tongue hardly able to move to enunciate what he wants to say. But there are some benefits to having known someone as long as Derek has known Hotch. 

Derek noticed the shiver and the pained wince, immediately. Seen the wheels turning over in Hotch’s head and the way he’d sunk deep within himself, disappointed when he was unable to produce it on his own. Derek can’t imagine what it must be like to forfeit so much independence and he knows he’d hate it every bit as much as Hotch must. Only a year ago, Hotch had stood looming over them all giving out orders and the first person they all run to when shit gets bad. JJ’s right hand no matter if she needed him to be her “bad” guy and yell at misogynists or to just be her similar ear when fleshing out theories. Now she’s his defender.

Placing his book and apple down on the visitor’s chair, he moves first to the tangled mess of blankets around Hotch’s legs. Pulling the blankets back and moving them so they sit laid across his body, actually providing him with the comfort and the warmth he wants. Tugging them up until Hotch’s arms are covered with the thick blankets and only his head peaks out. “Better now?” Derek asks, softly. He stays standing, taking Hotch’s hand and watching for Aaron to peel his eyes back open and nod his head. “Good.”

Derek sits back down and, though Hotch has closed his eyes and is just hardly awake, cracks his book open. “You must be on some next level drugs to recommend me this fucking book,” he says. Glancing just in time to see Hotch hide a smirk. “Nah, don’t play with me right now. I’m in an emotionally vulnerable place. You told me it was good and it’s not, it's sad. I’m sad all the time. I’m only sad. Why would you tell me to read this book?”

Hotch smirks, “didn’t think you’d listen… never did before.”

Derek rolls his eyes, “what does that even mean? Of course, I listen to you sometimes.” He just wishes he’d thought a little more about taking on this book. The stupid thing is breaking his heart. He’s getting comfortable again when his phone goes off, ringing and not just another text from Garcia. The one at the door had requested he tell Hotch that she loves him and he would if it was pressing but she’s about ten minutes away and can tell him herself when she gets here. But it’s not Garcia. “Hello?” he stands again, glancing at Hotch and not bothering to excuse himself when he sees Hotch doesn’t even open his eyes to see what it is.

“Is this Derek Morgan?”

Morgan glances back around as he steps out into the hall, feeling off about leaving Hotch alone in that big room. “Yeah,” Derek mumbles. “I mean, yeah, I’m Derek Morgan.”

The person on the other line hums, “I’m calling about Dr. Spencer Reid. I have his medical files here and you’re listed as his power of attorney?”

Derek freezes, “yeah. Yeah, I’m his-- I”m his power of attorney.” It had bounced around between them over the years. Jason and Hotch and now Morgan. Though the point of keeping that amidst the team was so when they went into the hospital it would be easy to get information from the hospital. You can never control what happens in the field.

“I regret to inform you that today Dr. Reid was in an automobile--”

They’re all learning the hard way the field isn’t the only place where they relinquish control.

Derek laughs. Tears sting his eyes and he laughs. For the last month-- no God since fucking January, it’s supposed to be Hotch. He had a suit tailored to fit him because of all the weight he’s lost. Clothes picked out and a tie he and Emily and Garcia fight over at least once a week. Hotch refuses the one Emily likes and Garcia hates it when Emily argues that Hotch will be dead so what does he even care. There’s a Will they’ve been over at least a dozen times and contingency plans for Jack. Derek hasn’t planned and overthought every word he’s said to Hotch in the last year afraid something stupid will be the last for it to be…

“Yeah-- yeah I hear you.”

“Again, I’m very sorry.”

“Yeah,” Derek breathes. “Okay.” He stands there with the phone pressed to his ear long after the line dies. He just stares. Unable to comprehend what just happened. What is happening? It’s just really not their year. Emily never shuts up about how close they are, just over the hill or some bullshit equivalent metaphor. But she’s not the one forcing herself back together knowing that if Hotch suspects Derek’s hiding anything it’ll kill him. He’ll stress himself out trying to figure out what it is and if he does figure it out or even if he doesn’t… it will kill him. He steps back into the room, double-checking that Hotch won’t see that he’s just cried. “Hey--” he stops right there at the door. 

Hotch is sitting up with his eyes vacantly cast to the blank wall in front of him. His shoulders pull up to expand his lungs but he can’t get enough air. “Hotch?” Derek looks around the room, to the monitors picking up speed as his heart rate rockets and his blood pressure drops. “Hotch, you okay?”

Hotch looks over to Morgan and then back at the wall. “I can’t breathe,” he pulls at the gown loosely holding onto his shoulders. “Something--” his face pinches, a hushed cry of pain leaving his lips as he folds into himself. “It won’t-- Somethings-- Somethings wrong.”

Derek moves to step in but he freezes as the room is filled with the sound of very, very angry sounding machines. He stumbles back, watching Hotch fall back onto the bed. Kicking and writhing as he tries to breathe. He’s not even sure what to do. His mind is fogged with the news about-- God, how’s he supposed to tell Hotch? Garcia’s coming, he’ll have to tell her. And Dave and Emily and JJ. They can’t handle this. They won’t make it. 

“Excuse me,” a nurse steps past Derek and he stumbles back. He hits the wall behind him, jumping hard at the sudden jarring hit. Derek looks back at Hotch one more time, watching his legs slide back down to the bed. His frantic wheezing gets softer. And Derek walks away. He runs away. He can’t be there.

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

 Mid-February

Emily looks down at the comforter, playing with the soft material rather than looking at him. He is laying down, stretched out beside her. It’s the first time she’s seen him vulnerable-- the first time she sees the way that he has no control over what his body decides to do anymore. Ice pack over his head, trying to soothe his headache, and a bloodied tissue in the other as he awaits the next nose bleed. They’re close enough to touch despite having a whole bed to layout on. His leg against her side, her arm near his hip. 

“I’m sorry,” he offers nasally. Turning his head to look over at her, she winces at the sight of his bloodied face. “I know it’s a lot to ask.”

She looks down at her lap, scratching at her pants so that she doesn’t have to look at him. It is a lot to ask. It’s a job she’s had before and for a long time. After Foyet he asked her to be his power of attorney because Haley wouldn’t be able to while in protective custody and as they stood she was the only person who could stand to be around him. She’d agreed, so long as he’d be hers that way she could get her mother off the list. They’d done the paperwork together. 

“I don’t want Dave--” he chokes himself up. Holding his hand over his mouth as he averts his eyes away, trying to hide just how upset the idea makes him. “He, ugh, I don’t want to… He had a son, you know? A-- A baby and I don’t mean to say I’m, you know, but I don’t want something to happen and force him to…” 

Dave cares very deeply for all of them but it’s no secret that he has a special little attachment to Aaron and Emily. A bond that is a little more pronounced, he just knows how to deal with them. Something about that reckless nature of theirs that he knows all too well. Emily knows what Hotch means even if he can’t bring himself to say it. Before making Dave his power of attorney was a matter of convenience. Now he has to think, far more than before, about who he knows will make the right decisions. 

“Aaron,” she squeezes his hand. “I’ll do it.” Her heart hurts just to think about the worst-case scenarios. Imagines doctors asking way too many questions and his lifeless body spread out on a stretcher waiting for her to tell them they can pull life-support. Will she find herself in charge of a zombie, hovering between life and death, and all he has is her by his side and her voice to go by. To tell the doctors they can try shocking his stilled heart one more time or if they can stop dumping chemo into his unresponsive veins. What is she getting herself into?

“One condition.” she barters. “You be mine again. Old times sake.”

He’d caved because he knew it was the only way to win. 

In another hospital on a metal tray in the E.R. soaked in blood and screen cracked, Emily Prentiss’ phone sits idle. The decision to make him her medical proxy was a whim but there was an air of urgency in making her his. To him, they were playing with time and he hates waiting for the inevitable. She’d just wanted things to go back to the way that they were before. Coming home because she misses them and maybe working in the BAU or at least within the FBI again. She gets to be his right-hand man again and she and Dave and Hotch get to spend afternoons drinking in Hotch’s office. 

It wasn’t supposed to mean this. 

This was never supposed to happen.

David Rossi picks up the unknown call, agitated to be bothered while he’s driving. “This is he.” He gets onto the high-way and grimaces at the carnage of mangled and warped metal sitting on the side. Waving the man in the fireman’s suit who directs him into an adjacent lane but he’s not spared the sight of the crimson pools of blood baking under the sun. He shakes his head, sighing sadly. 

He nearly causes another wreck. 

“Are-- Are you sure you have the right… I mean, I just it’s hard to believe because--”

“Yes, sir. Ms. Prentiss’ I.D. was found on her person at the scene. We’ll have to have someone come to identify the body but yes--”

The body. 

He just opened the text she sent. Urging him to go to the hospital sooner because she was leaving to go get Reid and didn’t want Hotch sitting there alone any longer than he had to. She’s always thinking about that, covering them in ways they hadn’t thought of. Sending them articles about cancer and never seeming to have to ask Hotch anything just knowing. There were two texts, one that was distinctly her and the other Reid. Too much grammatical rule-following to be Emily who texts by shortening every word she can and miss-spelling the other half. 

If Emily’s dead… where’s Reid?

He has no choice but to keep driving to execute this one thing that’s been asked of him. He’s going to go sit with Aaron until someone else comes and he’ll keep this all under wraps. Just a few years ago Aaron pulled off the opposite, convincing them Emily was dead. Let them bury her and work through their grief assessments all while knowing she was alive. Dave can manage this. 

But Aaron hadn’t fooled Dave. 

And Dave doesn’t fool Aaron for a second.

“Where is she, David?”

David. No one else is there when he arrives and no amount of water he splashes across his face can wash away the deep red agony of the mourning he feels in his bones. To lose a child… He can’t protect any of them. Another painful reminder to hit him like a kick as he steps into Aaron’s hospital room. Watching as the staff around Aaron plunge drugs into his forever thinning body. Even though he knows there’s nothing to be done now, it’s a futile fight.

The weight of his body in that visitor’s chair is unwelcomed, wrong. 

Aaron’s body might fail him every chance it gets but he’s been a profiler his whole life. It’s the only way to survive and now is no exception. No amount of Dave’s soft diversion will distract him from the red swelling around Dave’s eyes. From the wet rings around his sleeves where he didn’t push his sleeves up high enough before splashing water onto his face. And he pieces his own truth together through what Dave won’t tell him. 

Until he knows.

“Don’t lie to me,” he asks softly. They’d tried to intubate him just after Derek left but he’d refused it. Fought between heaving breaths until they left him alone. Gave him the steroids and left him to his own devices. He didn’t care right in that moment or even now as his chest burns from the exertion. No more, he’s decided. He’s tired and in pain. No more cuts and tubes and hospitals. The sort of thing that he’s expecting to scream and fight with Emily about. Only the papers are on their way, waiting to be signed by his trembling hand, and she’s not here. “Please, Dave. Don’t lie to me.” 

David Rossi is a bad man. Not so much a coward as just his morals askew, the things he’s willing to do and the things that he does do… Though for all the bad things he’s done, he knows that Emily and Aaron keep turning back around expecting Dave to be there. Needing him to come into their chaotic as all hell lives as if he has a place at that table. But his place is there, the plate set. Aaron is looking back at him, asking just a simple thing of Dave. It’s right there and the truth will kill him but a lie will shatter all that they have. 

“She’s dead, Aaron.” 

Dave continues on as Aaron chokes, turning his face away from Dave.

“Derek thinks it was the snow. She and Reid… there was just so much snow and when she--”

“No!” he doesn’t want to hear it. “No, please leave me alone.” The panic builds up like the fluid in his lungs. Until he’s choking on both and can hardly breathe. He doesn't want to hear anything. Doesn’t want to know that it happened.

“Aaron?” Dave stands from his chair, trying to reach out to him but Aaron pulls his hand away. 

“Please,” he wheezes, fingers wound into his gown. “Please, Dave, please go.”

A nurse steps into the room and Dave looks back at and then to Aaron and he listens. For once in his life he listens to Aaron’s pained cries and he relents. He steps out of the room, pushing hot tears off his cheeks with his fists. He’s losing them. Lost them. It’s far too late now. What was Aaron holding on to before? The idea of living was only entertaining with the prospect of getting to work with Emily again-- being on the team. Aaron’s been convinced for far too long now that Jack would be better off with Jessica and the past few months, in his mind, have only proven that. The team functions without him, they’ve been sent off on cases without him. Morgan taking charge. It’s not the first time Morgan's taken charge. 

So, what does that leave? 

His mess has been cleaned up. He doesn’t have to pretend to be strong for Reid. Doesn't have to stay for Emily. Derek will take care of the team. Jessica will raise Jack. It’s better this way. Garcia and JJ don’t need him, they never have. Dave’s always saying how he needs friends his own age. This puts them on a new path. A new leg. They’ll be okay.

It’s better this way. It really is.

“Sir?” 

Hotch signs the papers-- all of them. A DNR that Emily had once rolled her eyes at him for even considering. She wouldn’t let it get that bad, she’d promised with a chuckle. He’s not dying on her. Funny how just a little snow changes everything. He signs himself out of the hospital and realizes that he doesn’t have anyone to come get him. A nurse tries to talk to him, to comfort or console but he’s consumed by his grief. Shaking as his silent sobs shake his thin body. She’s nearly afraid he’ll kill himself like this, crying so hard that he can’t breathe.

He takes a taxi home. Forehead leaning against the cool glass and thankful that the man driving doesn’t even bother to pretend to be interested in him. No one’s at the house but she’s everywhere. Her coat on the floor where it had fallen off the rack. A pair of her shoes right in front of the door, he nearly trips over them. A mug she left out on the counter. A book left she’ll never finish on the couch. A sweatshirt thrown over a chair. 

His feet carry him on autopilot, body too tired to fight but he can’t make it back to his room. If she were here-- he’d still be in the hospital-- she’d bully him back onto his feet. Rolling her eyes and keeping him in motion. She always seems to know when to push and when to cave and he doesn’t. He can’t tell the difference between pain that he can push through and pain that’s going to kill him. 

Well… maybe it’s pain that is killing him now. 

The couch is cold but the blankets are kept in a chest too far away. Across the living room just far enough away that he knows he might be able to get to it but he won’t be able to get back to the couch. All he can do is look over at it.  

He already misses her. The way she buzzes about everywhere or how she’d probably force him to sit up and watch some shitty sitcom with her. He’s gotten used to her invading his personal space and demanding his attention. Talking all the time even if he doesn’t respond. 

He’s alone again. 

How did he ever set out thinking he could do this in the first place without her? 

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

He gets worse, quick. 

The pneumonia is what’s hurting him the worst, the cancer spreads slowly but the pneumonia settles deep in his lungs. Breathing is taxing, consumes far too much of his energy. Once, maybe a few weeks ago, he would have assured them that he would be fine. There’s no need to worry. It’s hard to lie about something like that when he needs Derek’s help to stand, when he can’t sit up on his own without being propped up by pillows. 

They argue where he can’t hear them, not that it matters anymore. 

He wants to go to the funerals but it’s still cold out. How are they supposed to make that happen? Derke hates the idea, tells JJ to just abdon whatever plan she’s come up with because he’s not going. He’s still convinced they can force life back into him, go back and fix everything. He’s living in some world where there is no cancer or car accident and Emily’s in London and Reid’s in Las Vegas visiting his mother. 

JJ goes on. She picks out a suit and finds his best jacket. Hunts down a nice blanket and takes the wheelchair the hospital offered them. She smiles and tells Garcia that she’s an angel when she knits him a black hat to pull down over his head, beaming when she produces a matching scarf. “It’s got a little blue in it,” Garcia says, showing her the dark blue accenting the ends. “That’s his favorite color.”

JJ squats down beside the bed, pulling her dress up so her knees can bend, and she can move how she’d like. Gently, afraid touch alone will unravel him, she places her hand on his shoulder. She doesn’t shake him, she just rubs her hand over his arm until his eyes crack open. “You’re still sure you want to do this?” she asks as he slowly places himself. A weary, bone-tired weight settling over his face as he looks back at her processing what she’s asked. 

He glances at his nightstand to the alarm clock sitting to his right. They’ve given him an hour, which is more time than he’d normally need, but they’re not moving at his normal pace. They’re moving at their own pace, how quickly they can work him into clothes. With a nod, he sets them into motion. There used to be a time when he could be picky about these sorts of things-- who saw him naked and who he allowed to help him. Now he can’t go to the bathroom unless someone helps him drag his stiff bones there. Can’t stand unless he’s leaning into someone else’s strength. 

He’s folded into JJ, going where she pulls him into her chest, so that Derek can slide in behind him and help her work his unwilling arms and legs into pants and a shirt. The day isn’t altogether that weary just a little cold. Considering the weight he’s lost, it makes things easier for them to layer his clothes. He lets JJ pull a long-sleeved t-shirt over his head, slowly working his arms into the sleeves while she finds his white button-up and the black sweater Morgan laid out to go underneath it. It takes her no time to attack the buttons on his shirt. He gets no real warning from Derek as the black sweater is tugged down and he hears a soft, pleased huff of a half-laugh that Derek gets out of his surprised grunt. 

JJ frowns at Derek, unamused with him. She squats down by Aaron’s legs, JJ cups his cheek, tilting his head up so she can look into his eyes. Stroking her thumb across his cheek, “you don’t have to come, Hotch. No one will--”

“I do,” he whispers. “I can’t-- I won’t forgive myself if…”

So he goes and she’s glad he’s there because she doesn’t want to be alone. There’s something still grounding about him being there, sitting there beside them. Squeezing their hands to comfort them, offering Garcia a handkerchief to wipe her eyes. It’s like… It’s nearly like he’s himself for a day. Holding JJ to his chest and rubbing her back until she can stand and give the eulogy she’d written. He’s talking softly to Morgan, the two of them taking charge of the day and Derek is just relieved to be told what to do again. To have a plan of action that he doesn’t have to come up with. 

Jack stays glued to him, sitting in his lap or holding tight to Hotch’s sleeve. 

Hotch is Hotch. He stifles his coughs and sits up straight. Pretending is exhausting and by the end of the day, the other’s flooding his dining room with the thick scent of food and soft sniffles as they cry and laugh, he settles into the couch. Listening to Derek tell the story about the time he took Spencer hiking and the kid twisted his ankle half-way to the top, didn’t tell Derek, and he had to carry him all the way back down. It was like listening to a podcast, Spencer telling them all kinds of things about every little thing they passed. At the time he was annoyed but now...

Jack stops at the end of the couch, sniffling as he uses his sweatshirt’s sleeve to wipe his nose. It’s obvious he’s been crying no matter how hard he’s tried to cover it up. His eyes get red and the skin around his eyebrows very pale, he gets that from Haley. Neither of them has ever been able to hide their tears. They’re cryers, Hotch knows, Jessica is too. He finds it terribly endearing and he’s always adored their ability to be so sensitive. He’s glad Jack never lost it… he hopes he never loses it. 

“Don’t wipe your nose on your sleeve,” Hotch says as well as he can. It’s hard to breathe around the fluid in his lungs but he can manage anything for Jack. He’ll do anything for him. “That’s gross.”

Jack giggles because he’s young and boogers on his sleeve are something to laugh about. Hiding his face by looking down at the floor he stumbles over to the couch. Sinking down onto his knees with a little thunk and folding over the cushions until he can press his face into the stack of blankets over his father’s body. He turns his head, looking up at his father, and smiles again. Closing his eyes when Hotch puts his hand over Jack’s cheek, stroking back the overgrown hairs. “Daddy?” Jack doesn’t know the word for the way that he feels but it’s anxiety. He’s terrified and he’s anxious because losing Haley had been quick and he hadn’t even known it was happening. 

Losing his father is… everywhere he looks. 

“What is it, buddy?” Hotch strokes the soft blonde strands back behind Jack’s ear. Lost to the simple soothing motion. 

Jack turns his face into the blankets, relieved to smell something homely. From what feels like so long ago. It doesn’t smell like Jessica’s house or like the hospital. It just smells like his dad and home and like everything that has been happening is one great big old lie. He doesn’t want to cry but no matter how hard he wipes at his tears they keep coming.

“Okay, okay.” Hotch can’t lift Jack but he still manages to catch one of Jack’s furiously rubbing hands. His grip isn’t strong and Jack could pull free but he doesn’t. “Buddy--”

“You’re gonna die, aren’t you?”

He put off this conversation far too long but it still hits like a MACK truck. “Bud--” he swallows thickly, wincing at the stab of pain across his chest. Right, he’s reminded, have to stay still. And Jack sees it. No matter how hard they’ve all tried to protect him he sees Hotch freeze as the pain overwhelms him. Unable to speak, just has to keep forcing air in and out of his failing lungs. It is only a minute but Jack watches frozen in horror as Hotch slowly comes back. “Sorry,” he whispers, unable to make his voice any louder. 

Jack is holding his hand, hiccuping softly. “Mommy probably misses you,” he whispers, tentatively. 

Hotch smiles but doubts that. Tears swell and he can’t even wipe them away. “I’m so sorry Jack.” He’s making an orphan out of his son. He’s just a baby. Someone else will teach him how to shave and someone else will sit with him when he opens his acceptance letters to all kinds of great colleges. Hotch will never get to see him graduate-- not even from elementary school. He’ll never struggle to piece together what to say when Jack gets his first heart-break or to find out if he’s into men or women or likes to wear nail polish or if he’s a coffee fiend like him or hates it like Haley. 

He won’t be there.

“I’ll still talk to you,” Jack offers. “I promise. I’ll tell you anything and everything--” there are tears pouring down his little face. Frantic now and Hotch isn’t sure which of them he’s trying to console. “And-- and--” Jack’s lower lip curls under the other and lets out a choked sob. He tries to hide it but it comes out he sits up, pushing himself as close as he can get to Hotch. “I don’t want you to die. I don’t want you to be with Mommy. I want you. Why can’t you stay with me?”

It’s not the first time Jack felt anger towards his mother but it’s the first of many times he hates both his parents. His mother for not being here and father for being weak because that’s all Jack can understand. That cancer is a battle and his father, the man he thought invincible, is losing. So he must not be fighting hard enough. Why can’t he just fight harder? Why isn’t Jack enough?

Why aren’t any of them?

Garcia knits him thick winter hats but he’ll never make it long enough to see the next snowfall and need them. He takes the hats she brings him and lets her start new ones even though he knows he’ll never see their completion. Jack draws pictures, endless in supply, and they go up all around Hotch. JJ takes the time to pin each one someplace he can see it. 

His awareness goes first. The confusion that sets in… it’s hard to know what to say. They never know what to do.

He asks about work. JJ takes his hand and talks him through old cases. Tries to settle on the good ones and he lets her. Smiling comes easy when there’s winning and she reminds him of the children they did save. Of the goods things.

He tells them that he’s not in any pain but he’ll get confused a few moments later and with tears streaming down the sides of his face ask them why it hurts. Trembling and looking so desperate, choking in pain and shuddering as he fights it. “Why?” he asks. He doesn’t honestly know why it hurts or why they won’t help. “Everything-- Everything hurts--” And sometimes he can’t even speak. Just has this hazy glow to his eyes as he shakes and coughs. And there’s nothing they can do for him.

The worst is that he won’t stop asking for Emily. They come up with so many lies and sometimes they can get little smiles out of him by telling him something clever if it feels right and like something silly she would do. It’s hard to be so positive in the face of that very fresh wound but it’s so much worse when he does remember. When he asks and then hardens and whispers, “no… no, it’s okay. I remember.” He looks so much happier when he doesn’t.

He stops eating two days before he gives up drinking. 

“Just a sip,” Garcia begs, crying and knowing what this means. 

Hotch just looks back at her but he’s not there.

“Leave him alone, baby girl.” And Derek pulls her out of the room as she cries, sobbing and screaming because she can’t stand to lose anymore. Emily and Reid and now he’s going too. It’s too late she knows to tell him the things that she needs to. What if he doesn’t know that she loves him? He might stay if he knew that, right? He wouldn’t leave her. She’d ask Derek to promise he won’t leave but Hotch did that too once. Crotched down in front of her office chair and took her hand and promised that all she needed him he’d be here. 

Well, she still needs him, okay? So… 

Now it’s borrowed time. 

“Let’s go outside, old man.” Derek has to stop, turning his head to the side when Hotch smirks at the way he says ‘old man’. A tear falls down the side of his face and rubs it away, harder than necessary. It’s a practiced maneuver, he lifts Hotch and puts him in the wheelchair. He’s careful, wrapping Hotch in as many blankets as he finds within arm’s reach, propping his sides up with pillows. Suddenly, overcome by just the way Hotch’s bed looks. Two years ago it was empty, only ever occupied by him. Now they sleep here with him every night, trying to make sure that if he goes in his sleep he’s not alone. So that they can have the comfort of knowing they were here and they did do everything they could.

“Jack,” Hotch rasps as they approach the door. 

“Can you hear him?” Derek asks, opening the back door and closing his eyes against the sun he feels on his skin. “Look at him,” Derek says, “ out here running around like a heathen.” Jack doesn’t notice them and neither does Henry. The two loudly going on about their game dodgeball or maybe keep-away it’s hard to tell. There’s just a lot of thrilled shouting. It makes Derek smile, seeing them just be kids. 

He puts Hotch in the shade and waves to Garcia and JJ already standing out there, the two of them dragging out chairs to stand in the sun. The two of them move to soak in a strangely warm day. After all the snow, all of which still hasn’t melted, a random nearly sixty degree day with a bright hot sun feels like spring. “You okay here?” Derek asks, setting the brakes.

Hotch nods, smiling softly as he watches Derek join Dave and the boys in the yard. He watches them play, hears Jack scream with pure joy when Derek throws him up into the air and when JJ fusses with all four of them for even thinking about taking off their jackets. They go on and on and he gets tired just watching them. Resting his head against the wheelchair he does his best to keep his coughs soft, undetectable to the others. He’s cold but he doesn’t want to go inside just yet and though it’s hard to breathe he doesn’t want anything. He just wants to watch a little longer.

Just a little longer. 

Derek isn’t sure what it is, something churning in his stomach, but he looks up. Eyes moving across the lawn-- Garcia knitting under the safety of her large brimmed hat and JJ stretched out on a chair trying to read. Jack has Henry pinned, the two of them going on wrestling with or without Derek now that he’s distracted. 

“Hotch?” Derek steps closer. Derek feels it crawl up his throat, a rabid animal clawing and ripping him to shreds. He wants to rush over, fights the urge to run over and shake him but he already knows. He glances over to Dave, listens to the older man chuckle and shove at Henry who tries to overpower him. Sees JJ smile at something on her page and Garcia frown and undo a piece she’s messed up.

For a moment, he’s the only one that knows and he isn’t sure what to do. How to shield Jack from this or who he’s supposed to call. 

“Uncle Derek!” Henry screams, begging to be released from where Dave has him pinned to the ground mercilessly tickling his sides. 

Derek looks back at Hotch one more time, forcing himself not to cry. This is what he wanted, right? Not in a hospital or hooked up to machines. He was sitting in his yard and listening to what’s left of his family enjoy a warm sunny day. 

“I’m coming buddy,” he finally manages, smiling at Jack when he comes running up. Hoping that for just a few more minutes Derek can preserve something of his youth. Remind him how much fun he had today. That these parts be what he remembers. 

“Uncle Derek?” Jack asks, once Derek pulls him up into his arms. “I think we should go get ice cream. Don’t you? I’ll get strawberry and I’ll even share with daddy. Henry will be good too! Please?” 

Derek nods and smiles, “why don’t you get Uncle Dave to take you, huh?” He nods to Dave, “take these heathens to get some ice cream.” 

And Derek Morgan stands all by himself as he ushers them away, tells them to go on that he and Hotch will be fine. Go, go, and don’t come back without a cone for him. Waits until he can’t see the car anymore and he allows himself to cry. Sucking in choked breathes as he walks back to the yard. Pulling up the breaks. “Come on,” he whispers to Hotch. “One last time, old man.” He’s almost expecting that lazy smile. To hear Hotch grumble his name in that exasperated tone Derek loves so much. Only to be met with silence. 

Nothing. 

They didn’t say goodbye.

@laiba-the-person, @emily-hottie-prentiss, @unionjackpillow, @clockedstar, @baumarvel, @blakeprentiss, @qvid-pro-qvo, @aaron-hotchner187, @ssalavellan, @lazyhater

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

September 24, 2021

Heather Cox Richardson

On Monday, we learned that after last year’s election, John Eastman, a well-connected lawyer advising former president Donald Trump, outlined a six-point plan to overturn the outcome of the election and install Trump as America’s leader. They planned to cut the voters’ actual choice, Democrat Joe Biden, out of power: as Trump advisor Steve Bannon put it, they planned to “kill the Biden presidency in the crib.” This appears to have been the plan that Trump and his loyalists tried to execute on January 6.

That is, we now have written proof of an attempt to destroy our democracy and replace it with an autocracy.

This was not some crazy plot of some obscure dude in a shack in the mountains; this was a plan of the president of the United States of America, and it came perilously close to succeeding. The president of the United States tried to overturn the results of an election—the centerpiece of our democracy—and install himself into power illegitimately.

If this is not a hair-on-fire, screaming emergency, what is?

And yet, Republican lawmakers, with the notable exceptions of Representatives Liz Cheney (R-WY) and Adam Kinzinger (R-IL), have largely remained silent about the fact that the head of their party tried to destroy our democracy.

The best spin on their silence is that in refusing to defend the former president while also keeping quiet enough that they do not antagonize the voters in his base, they are choosing their own power over the protection of our country.

The other option is that the leaders of the Republican Party have embraced authoritarianism, and their once-grand party—the party of Abraham Lincoln, the party that saved the United States in the 1860s, the party that removed racial enslavement from our fundamental law—has become an existential threat to our nation.

Democracy requires at least two healthy parties capable of running a government in order to provide oversight for those currently in control of the government and to channel opposition into peaceful attempts to change the country’s path rather than into revolution. But Republicans appear to believe that any Democratic government is illegitimate, insisting that Democrats’ calls for business regulation, a basic social safety net, and infrastructure investment are “socialism” that will destroy the country.

With Democrats in charge of the federal government, Republicans are cementing their power in the states to support a future coup like the one Eastman described. Using “audits” of the 2020 elections, notably in Arizona but now also in Pennsylvania and Texas, Trump loyalists have convinced their supporters to distrust elections, softening the ground to overturn them in the future. According to a new poll by NORC at the University of Chicago, 26% of Americans now believe that “[t]he 2020 election was stolen from Donald Trump and Joe Biden is an illegitimate president,” and 8% believe that "[u]se of force is justified to restore Donald Trump to the presidency."

Arguing that they have to stop the voter fraud they have falsely claimed threw the election to Biden, Republican lawmakers in 18 states have passed more than 30 laws to cut down Democratic voting and cement their own rule. Trump supporters have threatened election workers, prompting them to quit, and have harassed school board members and local officials, driving them from office.

Although attorneys general are charged with nonpartisan enforcement of the law, we learned earlier this month that in September 2020, 32 staff members of Republican attorneys general met in Atlanta, where they participated in “war games” to figure out what to do should Trump not be reelected. The summit was organized by the Rule of Law Defense Fund, the fundraising arm of the Republican Attorneys General Association (RAGA), which sent out robocalls on January 5 urging recipients to march to the Capitol the following day “to stop the steal.” In May, RAGA elevated the man responsible for those robocalls to the position of executive director, prompting others to leave.

In states where Republicans have rigged election mechanics, party members need to worry about primary challengers from the right, rather than Democratic opponents. So they are purging from the party all but Trump loyalists, especially as the former president is backing challengers against those who voted in favor of his impeachment in the House in January 2021. Last week, one of those people, Representative Anthony Gonzalez (R-OH), announced he was retiring, in part because of right-wing threats against his family.

Trump loyalists are openly embracing the language of authoritarianism. In Texas, Abbott is now facing a primary challenger who today tweeted: “Texans deserve a strong and robust leader committed to fighting with them against the radical Left. They deserve a leader like Brazil has in Jair Bolsonaro…..” Bolsonaro, a right-wing leader whose approval rating in late August was 23%, is threatening to stay in power in Brazil against the wishes of its people. He claims that the country’s elections are fraudulent and that “[e]ither we’ll have clean elections, or we won’t have elections.”

Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene (R-GA) today used language fascists have used in the past to stoke hatred of their political opponents, tweeting that “ALL House Democrats are evil and will kill unborn babies all the way up to birth and then celebrate.” Yesterday, the leader of Turning Points U.S.A., Charlie Kirk, brought the movement’s white nationalism into the open when he told a YouTube audience that Democrats were backing “an invasion of the country” to bring in “voters that they want and that they like” and to work toward “diminishing and decreasing white demographics in America.” He called for listeners to “[d]eputize a citizen force, put them on the border, give them handcuffs, get it done.”

Today, we learned that the 2022 Conservative Political Action Conference (CPAC) will be held in Budapest, Hungary, where leader Viktor Orbán, whom Fox News Channel personality Tucker Carlson has openly admired, is dismantling democracy and eroding civil rights. When former vice president Mike Pence spoke in Budapest earlier this week at a forum denouncing immigration and urging traditional social values, he told the audience he hoped that the U.S. Supreme Court would soon outlaw abortion thanks to the three justices Trump put on the court.

Establishment Republicans who are now out of power are not on board the Trump train. They are quietly backing anti-Trumpers like Representative Cheney. Former House speakers John Boehner and Paul Ryan, former Florida governor Jeb Bush—who was widely expected to win the Republican nomination in 2016, only to be shut out of it by Trump—and former president George W. Bush's former adviser Karl Rove have all donated money to Cheney to help her stave off a challenge from a Trump loyalist in the 2022 election. Next month, former president Bush himself will hold a fundraiser for Cheney in Texas.

Other establishment Republicans currently in power might be staying quiet about the party’s slide toward authoritarianism because they are simply hoping that the Trump fire will burn itself out. The former president is no longer commanding the crowds he once did, and his increasing legal woes as well as the investigation into the insurrection will almost certainly take up his time and energy. The mounting coronavirus deaths among his unvaccinated supporters also stand to weaken support for his faction.

But the fact that Republican lawmakers have ignored the Eastman memo, which outlines the destruction of our democracy, suggests that the party, which organized in the 1850s to protect the nation against those who would destroy it, has come full circle.

—

Notes:

https://bbj.hu/politics/foreign-affairs/world/budapest-to-host-cpac-in-2022

https://www.kptv.com/former-president-george-w-bush-to-hold-fundraiser-next-month-for-liz-cheney/article_8ba92a10-7103-5ee0-94ef-4bd813437e28.html

https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2021/09/24/arizona-audit-just-destroyed-big-gop-lie-more-ways-than-one/

https://www.exposedbycmd.org/2021/05/04/more-staff-flee-gop-attorneys-general-group-after-it-doubles-down-on-insurrection/

https://bbj.hu/politics/foreign-affairs/world/budapest-to-host-cpac-in-2022

https://abcnews.go.com/Lifestyle/wireStory/pence-hopeful-supreme-court-restrict-abortion-us-80185222

https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/republican-ags-group-sent-robocalls-urging-march-capitol-n1253581

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/09/16/us/politics/anthony-gonzalez-ohio-trump.html

https://kansasreflector.com/2021/09/08/kansas-ag-aides-attended-war-games-summit-where-group-planned-to-combat-biden-win/

https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2021-08-17/more-than-half-of-brazilians-disapprove-of-bolsonaro-poll-shows

https://www.mediamatters.org/charlie-kirk/charlie-kirk-deputize-citizen-force-put-them-border-order-protect-white-demographics

https://www.washingtonpost.com/world/2021/07/23/brazil-bolsonaro/

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[from comments]

Mobiguy

It is time to call this out as what it is - a well-documented attempt to overthrow the government, led by people too unconcerned or too stupid to worry about leaving a paper trail.

The January 6th sheep currently in court are not the problem. It's time to round up the ringleaders of this attempted coup and prosecute them on an open and shut case of treason.

Reasonable people insist on framing this coup as a robust political debate, but reasonable people are wrong. It is a naked power grab, an assault on the popular will, and blatantly illegal. Three evidence is there, in the seditionists' own hands.

A crime has been committed, even if it was unsuccessful. Failed bank robbers don't get to walk because they got no money. Failed murderers are still prosecuted. The evidence is there for all to see, and the alleged criminals aren't denying it. They're doubling down, and we're letting them. Either prosecute them, or remove the treason laws from the books since they're clearly meaningless and unenforceable.

In short: lock them up.

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

WKM - Trying to Set Things Right

Inspired by a dream. What might it be like if a redeemed Actor worked to try and help those he hurt? Wilford has disappeared, and he wants to rescue the eccentric man. You and Dark are there to help. Hopefully.

Word Count: 1,408

-

You weren't entirely sure how you got roped into this. You had spent years trapped in that accursed mirror before it shattered enough for you to escape and regain a form. Then, you found yourself trapped again, only this time as the sidekick to the Actor's 'adventures'. The stories seemed cyclical, but you couldn’t keep a full recollection of what happened each time beyond a mild case of deja vu. He was enjoying himself, getting to cast himself as that hero he had always dreamed of while making sure you kept your distance from the heartless entity named Dark. Even if you knew Dark would never hurt you - how could you forget the look of horror the first time he properly saw you during one of those adventures? - you had to stay with the Actor to play the ever-faithful sidekick.

Then… Something happened. You weren’t sure what, exactly, but the Actor’s personality changed almost overnight. He began showing a kinder side, one that you had only heard of in passing years ago, when you were a successful lawyer. You never questioned it. Actor - who once scolded you for addressing him by his job description (“Honestly, do you think I would go around calling you ‘District Attorney’? That’s just ridiculous.”) and insist you call him ‘Mark’ - appeared oblivious to the changes. It was only when Dark appeared outside your place of work for the first time that you were told something both vital and utterly vague:

"Mark broke out of character."

Whatever that meant, it ensured that careless adventures came to a screeching halt. Dark began cautiously visiting the home you shared with Mark. Mark, to his credit, welcomed him with open arms, calling him ‘Damien’ and acting like they had not been in a petty feud for what felt like years. Dark was uncomfortable at first, but gradually accepted that this was a better fate than a never-ending game of ‘cat and mouse’. At least you were able to spend time with him without getting in trouble. 

In his spare time, Mark undertook research. One of the empty rooms had been taken over, and Mark would spend hours in there when not busy with other work. There were flipcharts, pages spread over a table, notes pinned on the wall. He never let you in, only telling you that it was a matter that he needed to be sure was true before sharing his findings.

Then, one fateful day, you returned back to have Mark hook his arm around your elbow and drag you into the 'office'. Dark was there, taking in the information around him and trying to predict what might be wrong.

"Now that we are all here, I can now officially open the case. Wilford has vanished.”

-

It was only as Mark began going through his own records of conversations and papers did you realise you couldn’t recall the last time you saw Wilford. Two weeks ago? Maybe three? It wasn’t something that had worried you, since you knew Wilford fell out of time. This time, unfortunately, it was a serious problem. According to Mark, another story created a loop in a small area in the next town. They were the only ones who could break it and get Wilford (and everyone else in the area) out of it.

"I'm still getting my head around all of this," Mark admitted as he rummaged through the papers, "I know I had a hand in creating this mess, but I'm still trying to come to terms with the work that lies before me to help. I suppose I'll never understand William and what he has become." He turned to continue the search on a bookshelf behind him and you swore you could hear Dark hiss "Wilford" under his breath. You only had a moment to throw a concerned look to Dark before Mark let out a sound of triumph.

“Here!” He slammed the reclaimed map on the table, pointing to an area circled in red. “From my own investigations of the town, this area is the main one that is trapped in the ‘bubble’, much like the ones I used to keep our encounters safe. In the same way, anyone who passes through is unaffected, but they will become trapped if they stay too long - I’d say three hours. Since we have familiarity with it, we can stay there longer and not become ‘cast members’, which is why I need your help. Both of you. Once we get on the road -” Mark continued on, explaining the plan in good detail. While you might have once cursed Actor’s habits of overthinking in story weaving, it proved to be a rather useful skill when he was on your side. Mark had completed his own research to find potential flaws and obstacles that might arise, as though he had been inspired by the detective he had once hired. He assigned everyone their respective roles, and Dark swiftly departed to fetch his jacket and his cane without a word. As the door slammed, Mark slumped as he rested both hands on the table. He let out a long, slow sigh before straightening his posture.

“I know he’ll never forgive me, but it doesn’t make this any easier to swallow.” His eyes were on the door as he folded his arms. “We had been friends for so long and I threw it all away… For what? Some attempt of ‘revenge’ that was never going to work? That’s why I’m doing this. Not to be some ‘noble hero’, but to try and set things right. First, Damien and William. Then, Abe and Celine. They’re the ones still caught under the waves of this stormy disaster. Even if it tears me to shreds, I want to help them. All of them. There has to be a way to undo this, or at least ease the consequences. I don’t want them to suffer any more because of the pain I felt.” You could see the guilt weighing him down. These were words that he sincerely meant. For the first time since you escaped the mirror, he wanted to do the right thing for others and not himself. “Can I ask you something? What are Damien and William like these days? Both are strangers to me now. They look different, insist they go by names that don’t belong to them... I barely recognise the men I knew for most of my life.” He paused, the reality sinking in as he spoke his thoughts aloud for the first time. He looked at you, and you thought you could see fear in his eyes. “This isn’t a pipe-dream, is it? I’m not wishing on an ending that can never be... Am I?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t know how. Either option - ‘this is a waste of time’ or ‘you can do it’ - both seemed false. The future, at last, was out of your hands. Instead, you responded that it was the right thing to do, no matter what the outcome would be. It was a good answer. Mark thanked you with a weak smile as Dark returned. The entity seemed calmer than before as he led the way to the front yard. It was an awkward silence, and you were not sure if the tension in the air could be lifted.

Suddenly, Mark skidded in front, racing toward the garage door as it sputtered to life and moved.

“Whoa whoa, before we go ANYWHERE, I want to remind you both that this is my newest purchase and is a high quality vintage car! I won’t have you two messing or dirtying my baby, are we clear?” You nodded in amusement, while Dark rolled his eyes. Mark pulled the protective tarp off the car and opened the doors, rambling all the while about the age, the model and the ‘great persuasion’ he had to do. Instead of listening, Dark gestured for you to follow with a nod of his head. He crouched down at the back of the car and gently rocked the licence plate with his hand. To your amazement, it swung effortlessly, revealing a plate that aged it to be…. Far younger than a ‘true classic vintage’.

“Typical Mark. So caught up in the elegance of something he neglected to check if it was genuine.” You had to do a double-take. Dark smiled. It wasn’t much, but it was optimistic that things might gradually be okay in time.

--

As a bonus, I’m also including a screenshot of the dream that I sent to my friend this morning (I’m in GMT timezone). When I remember dreams, I get STORIES and I love it.

(In case it’s too blurry:

I HAD A MUSE DREAM. 

 For whatever reason, I was stuck travelling with Dark and reformed!Actor Mark. We were trying to set something right and it was the first time that Mark had been involved in all of this without being the Actor. At one point he sighed and was like "I suppose I'll never really understand William and what he has become" and I could see Dark roll his eyes as he corrected him and said "Wilford". A little later, Dark was checking something and briefly left myself and Mark standing aside. He had his arms folded as he thought and said something like "I hate to admit it, but I need your advice. What are William and Damien like these days? Is there a way to, you know, undo this?". But I couldn't answer, for I didn't know. 

 Then, just before my work alarm went off that I set by mistake last night Mark was showing us his vintage car that he wanted to use for this journey and how it was so precious to him. While he rattled on about it, myself and Dark examined the outside of it and discovered the licence plates were fake and that the real ones underneath had the car as a much newer replica. Dark smiled and muttered something like "typical Mark".)

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Tuesday 3 October 1837

7 40

11 50

fine morning F59 ½° at 8 35 and went downstairs to a Mr. Greenwood from H-x who brought a plan for the water wheel – breakfast with A- (and Mr. Gray came at 9) at 8 50 in about ¾ hour – then looking to see what sum of Lords rent A- owns to Lady William Gordon (vid. 30 August) and calculating for her she leaving the money £4.16.11 for SW. this morning to pay Mr. Lister the auctioneer who collects these rents -  off in the yellow carriage to Thorpe at 10 – took A- to Nicholsons’ shop, and staid with her there from 10 ¼ to 10 50, and then set her down (to walk to Cliff Hill) at the far end of  the northbridge at 10 55 and drove off to the White Lion for a ticket for the King x bar – off from the White lion at 11 and met Mr. J. Priestley on the road (he going into Norland) at 11 ½ and took him back in the carriage to his own house and alighted there about 11 ¾ and came way at 1 35 – both the brothers J and Walker P- the former brought his plan of his estimate and the greater intelligence of the latter much aided our conversation – said I had come over to tell JP.  he could do me a service and himself too – Explained – he seemed to know very little about coal – JP. said he must take advice and consider about it – yes! certainly – a matter of consideration to all parties but I should be glad of a determination as soon as possible as I should set about goit or steam engine as soon as I could – I was not fast – there were 2 sides of the brook, either would suit me – but I had preferred applying to P- first – I thought the drain or goit would be a benefit to him and on the other were the Mcaulays with whom I knew Mr. Stocks would have influence – P- wished to consult a disinterested person – I said no coal-person would be so – I mentioned Kitchingman Childe – and Matthew Naylor as valuing tenants damages for me, I thought £6 per DW. – and Mr. Cooke of Elland called in to value coal damages for me, and Illingworth Miss Walkers’ coal tenant, Mr. Rawsons’ great man and very clever, but he certainly would not be disinterested – I said they would tell him (JP.) that the privilege was worth thousands to me – of that I left him to judge for himself merely observing that if he thought so, I should give the thing up – I did not even offer him more than damages, because I thought the benefit, to him and the expense to me sufficiently great – it could not be done for less than 10/. per running yard – might be – probably would be a 2 thousand pounds job – might be (but SW.’s survey would shew) from 2 to 3 thousand yards long – WP. measured the plan from which, direct across from about the low end of waste-wood to the head of Walterclough mill new goit, seemed = 1100 yards explain the benefit of the goit to JP. his upper bed 60 or 70 yards deep at Dumb mill bridge and 51 yards at Walkerclough mill (vid. near the bottom of last page) – my goit would begin at about 40 or 42 yards below the surface; and if ever his coal was wanted would save him 30 or 40 yards of pumping he wished I would loose his coal – I said it was not in my power to do what except perhaps about the upper 1/3 of it – never thought of working my own coal but gently explained how forced into it – the communication between R. and me underground pretty near – mentioned the assa-faetida for the 10 acres sold I had only a price between the 2 prices sold at by my uncle and it was odd that

SH:7/ML/E/20/0138

that such objection was made to my sending anyone into R-‘s pits – it was suspicious – I should have no objection to anyone going into my pits – if anything was wrong, I should be glad to be informed of it; if not, what need of mystery – the law of no use – must give a fortnights’ notice of a chancery injunction, and that time enough for stopping all up so that nothing could be found out – But now I was pretty much at ease – it was now discovered that R- could  not get the bit of coal I had wished to buy – for which R- bade 1 hundred and got me up to 5 hundred when I said he might have it – but they could not make a title to it – I believed also that he could not get Walker P-‘s coal – H- had offered a good price and was not likely to offer as much again    WP. knew of the throw that had been found but said H- had been at great expense and must have some coal to pay for it – I quietly said yes!  but he had a large quantity already and now that nobody could get WP.’s but H-, it made a great difference – if  I did not let my colliery and perhaps I should not H- was naturally my agent for it; and the colliery would in case be almost as good as his won, so that he would be in no want of coal – said I should be glad to see but the Messrs. P- at Shibden hall – nothing wanted but a table large enough; and they would learn from my plans in 2 minutes more than their own plans or mere talk could shew them in 2 hours – said I should be glad to avoid the smoke of an engine, but if obliged to have it, I should easily get over it – the chimney would be carried up into the hill and Mr. Harper thought the nuisance would be very small – I could a 14 horse English for £420 (vid. line 12 of yesterday) and the whole outlay engine house road and everything would not exceed £1000 nor would the daily expense exceed 10/. (including coal fireman and wear and tear) – at all rates the annual expense would not exceed £200; and then I should do my coal work and benefit nobody – Mr. JP. might think of this when they told him the privilege was worth thousands to me  and then judge for himself be it remembered I am not fast – if I was I must come into P-‘s terms yes! said P- ‘and you we all make what we can’ (How nicely characteristic!) he thought we should want some written document – yes! certainly said I – for my sake quite as much as yours – but that will be left to our attorneys – or I will shew you a rough draft of agreement for your perusal - I will shew you the old grant from Mrs. Firth to my grandfather – But we are both of us people who will come to the business without any wish to take any advantage one either side – oh! yes! to be sure, said JP- that their confidence in me may [?] with the length of the proposed goit je n’en sais rien – I doubt it – but SW. is to take the levels and I am to let JP. know the result and he will consider about and take advice and come over – In fear and trembling lest my goit and I should be too deep for him? I had told him his coal was not worth more than £10 an acre now – it could not got in one time – say 56 years how often would ten pounds double itself in that time? – Holt said I had coal enough of my own to last twenty colliers getting 150 years – Walker P- said my coal might not be so valuable for coal had been discovered in Soyland – a seam 9in. thick – in 1834 – some Lancashire colliers had come over but the property here was so divided nothing could be done – they thought it might be the Dule (Lancashire Dule or some such name) bed – WP. gave me a copy of the strata bored thro’ at Soyland mill (near Thorpe) in 1834 as follows  

                                    yards        ft.        in.

1 Shale                             6

2 Black ditto                    9

3 Gritty ditto                  16

4 Shale                             18

5 Iron stone                     1            .           6

6 Shale                             3            .           10

7 Iron stone                                   2          8

8 Shale                             20           1          6

9 Iron stone                                   1          6

10 Shale                            3

11 Iron stone                   1

12 Black shale                  4

13 Intermixed with          8

shale

14 Iron stone                    1        .           6

15 Left off in black            4       .           8

shale very soapy

                                         96      2         2

Had just written all the above of today in an hour at 4 ¼ - Miss Priestley with us the whole time – changed my dress before sitting down to my journal how will the matter end? shall I get the privilege or not? – then wrote as follows to ‘Mr. Samuel Washington, Crownest’ – ‘Shibden hall. Tuesday 3 October 1837 – Sir – I shall be obliged to you to let me know the earliest day you can take the levels of the brook, from the gapstead in the bit of wall between the Bunker hill and Parkfield in Lower Place land, going along Mr. John Priestley’s land down to the lowest extremity of my Southolm land – I am sir, etc. etc. etc. A. Lister’ – JP. particularly inquired what n° of vent pits I should require I said I could not exactly tell – something would depend upon himself air might be carried in pipes 200 or 300 yards and the drain would be so deep I should make as few vent pits as possible unless he gave me to leave to make as many as I liked and I found them cheaper than pipes – at any rate I should want the privilege of a place to bury the scale in – thought about 1 ½ yard cube per running yard would come out – but all should be buried so as to leave no nuisance – not a bit of scale to be seen – I should do it as I had done that in my own land – JP. had best come and see – But I thought I could manage very well with 6 vent pits in JP-‘s land supposing the length 1100 yards went downstairs at 4 ¾ - George gone for A- ¼ hour ago – out, about a little while then at 5 5 off to Mitham to send my note by little John – he went to Mr. George Robinson’s on Monday (yesterday) to work in the land and eat at home – walked forwards meaning to go to Crownest – met A- not far from on this side of Hipperholme lane ends – sent George back with the note and returned with A- and back at 6 – then out with Robert Mann seeing about road for the platform carts till 6 40 then ¼ hour with A- dressed – dinner at 7 10 – asleep – coffee –read the newspaper – came upstairs 5 minutes after A- at 10 pm at which hour F61° - fine till about noon – then a couple of hours rain or more afterwards tolerably fair – but damp warm disagreeable afternoon and evening – raining fast about 10 1/2 pm

[adarafaelbarba]

Full

Pairing: Nick Amaro x Reader x Bryan Kneef

Fandom: Law and Order SVU and The Good Fight

Requested: No

Warning: Smut (Duh)! Do NOT read if you’re under the age of 18!! DP. Butt stuff (always prep!) P in V. Oral (Female and male receiving)

A/N: This covers the Double Penetration square of the Kink Bingo @thatesqcrush​ created! I’ve been so nervous about this and the Threesome square cause I’ve never written for three people getting it on before. But here we are, learning something new every day and I also get to challenge myself and think outside the box that is my comfort zone, so let’s go! ❤️

A/N2: It will MOST likely NOT be mentioned that Bryan and Rafael are identical. But if it comes up, so be it 😂 Also I’m just gonna assume Bryan went to Harvard, cause I don’t think it has been mentioned on the show … oops😂 -Karen

(gif credits to me!)

One thing that had drawn Nick to you was how confident you were. You were confident in court, no doubt about that. The other lawyers knew not to push too many button on you for fear you would rip them apart. You were also confident in your relationship. If Nick didn’t call, you knew it was because of work, or that he had Zara, and that was okay with you. You didn’t need him to always be there for you to know that he only wanted you.

Everyone who knew you both said that what you had was one of the best relationships out there. And those who had also know Nick and Maria, tended to say he seemed to be happier with you, something you had both agreed should never be mentioned to his ex wife.

Another thing you had a great amount of confidence in was in the bedroom, or wherever you and Nick found yourself having sex. You could tell him if there was ever anything you wanted to try out when getting down and dirty. And he knew he would never be judged if he wanted to try something either.

…

You knew something about today would be different when you walked into the courthouse to see a group of people flocking around someone. «What is going on here?!» You asked, your voice booming over the commotion. «Ms. (Y/L/N), how nice to see you again.» You could recognize that voice from anywhere. And as the crowd opened up, there he stood, as smug as he was back in Law School. «Mr. Kneef. What brings you to the big apple?» He chuckled at that. «It’s been far too long (Y/N). I figured I needed to come see you. Your assistant, Julianna is it? Told me you were going to be in court all day so of course I needed to come see you in action.» If there was one man too smug for his own good, it was Bryan Kneef.

The two of you had been close back in Law School. Always helping each other out, whether it was with school work or being each others dates when no one else was interested, or peaked your interests. Then he moved to Chicago, and you moved to New York, and well, as life happens, you moved on, and didn’t keep in touch much. «Well, well, well. Does that mean you want to see how a real lawyer works?» You teased. While you were here working for the District Attorney, he was off in Chicago working for a private company. «That’s very cute counselor, but no, not quite.» He had reached you now, and gave your cheeks a kiss. «You look incredible though», he murmured, and you felt chills going down your spine. Damn this man and his ability to make you blush!

…

Nick could tell something was off when you walked into the precinct after court, bickering with someone he didn’t quite recognize. «Counselor. What brings you here?» Liv asked, approaching the two new arrivals. «The case. Well, the witness you guys handed me. Completely incompetent. Did he even see anything that night? I told you to have him come over to get prepped. Didn’t show, no texts. Made me look like an idiot. And I don’t like being made a fool.» Nick felt himself getting hard at how she talked. «I’m sorry, counselor. No idea why he was a no show, but he sounded good when we talked to him.» Liv sounded irritated at being talked to like that, but it wasn’t like she didn’t need to hear it.

«Maybe if your detectives could pick him up and drop him off at my office, I’ll let it slide», you suggested, crossing your arms over your chest, «Call me if you have some more for me.» Walking past Nick you leant over and gave him a small kiss, «Be safe okay. I love you», you murmured, leaving with Bryan.

…

«Who would have known you would settle down for a cop?» Bryan asked over lunch. «Give it a rest Bry. He’s better than you are.» You had finally calmed down after the initial outburst earlier, and were now enjoying a meal and a catch up with your old friend, like you had never spent a day apart. «Oh please! Not that you would know that, but I’m incredible, in every way.» For anyone who didn’t know Bryan, they would think he was always this happy, and you had a small feeling that he might be like this because he was with you and he was out of Chicago. «Who says I want to know?» You asked, teasingly arching an eyebrow. «Don’t lie to me sweetheart.» That made you shiver. Bryan hadn’t called you sweetheart since your first year.

«Mind if I join you?» Looking up, you were met with your boyfriend’s chocolate brown eyes. «Not at all Guapo, do sit down.» Now was your time to talk to him, to both of them, about what you had wanted to talk about for the entire day. Leaning over as your boyfriend sat, you gave him a soft kiss, resting a hand on this thigh.

You and Nick had talked about wanting to have a threesome. And that had been when you had told him your desire of being filled up. You had never tried it before, but fuck if it didn’t turn you on to think about having two guys in you.

«She’s plotting something, I can tell. Got the same look she had when she had a plan on how to break the opposing council at Harvard», Bryan explained as you you just flashed a wicked smile. «What are you plotting?» He asked. «How much fun we could have.» The way Nick looked at you told you he understood where you were getting at. «And what kind of fun would that be?» Bryan asked, but you were fairly sure he understood too.

…

Getting back to your shared apartment, you all but crashed through the front door. «Such a naughty little girl», Bryan murmured, his hands on your ass, trailing kisses up and down your neck while Nick’s lips were locked with your. «I bet she’s soaked just thinking about it», your boyfriend murmured.

He wasn’t wrong either, you could feel yourself getting damp at the idea of getting filled to the brim. «She’s been dreaming about this for a long time», Bryan mused, squeezing your ass as he did. «This is your dream isn’t it Bry? Fucking your Law School best friend.» You teased him, biting your lip. «Does she run her mouth like this often?» He barely looked at you.

«All the time. Gets her into a lot of trouble», Nick commented, slipping his hand into the front of your slacks. A small whimper left your lips as his finger tips ghosted over your clit. «Naughty little girl», he said, his fingers rubbing over your sensitive nub.

Your legs felt numb and it was like you were about to melt. «Why don’t we get her undressed, and you can see for yourself how wet she is. I’m sure she’d love to feel your beard on her, (Y/N) seems to love when I grow one at least.» You gasped at his revelation.

Bryan’s eyes where blown dark with lust when you looked at him. «Does that make you wet sweetheart? Thinking about me going down on you?» Bryan asked, his fingers slowly opening the button and zipper of your slacks. You let out a string of small whimpers, nodding your head.

…

You felt so naked standing in front of them in only lingerie. But fuck, if it didn’t make you hot. The three of you had moved into the bedroom now, and the two men looked ready to pounce you at any given moment. You wondered who would go first when Nick spoke up, «Lay down hermosa, let out friend taste you.» Nodding your head, you did like you were told and laid down. «Good girl», Nick murmured watching as Bryan went over to crouch in front of your core.

«Mmm. You taste really good sweetheart», Bryan murmured, licking stripes up your slick folds. You were a whimpering mess, his beard scratching deliciously. In all the years you had known Bryan, you never once went for it, you never once tried to have sex with him, not that you would have been thinking about it since getting with Nick. But feeling how good he was with his mouth, you regretted the fact that you never once fucked him.

It didn’t take long before you felt your orgasm approaching. Pulling at his hair you looked over at your boyfriend who was looking back at you in amazement. «Nick», you whined, making grabby hands towards him with your free hand, «Want you in my mouth guapo», you added. «Dirty little minx!» Nick growled, quickly freeing himself from his slacks.

You let out a moan as your lips wrapped around his member. «Oh, hmm, fuck, you’re so good at that aren’t you?» Nick growled, looking at you as your head bobbed back and forth, taking more of him each time. Hollowing your cheeks, you locked your eyes with his as your release finally hit. The moans you let out sending vibrations through Nick and he quickly followed suit, spilling his seeds in your warm mouth. «You should see what her mouth does Bryan!» Nick gasped, pulling out of you as your friend stood up.

«I might do that while you warm her ass up», Bryan said in response, smirking at you as you let out a gasp. The two men shared a look before swapping places, Nick immediately going to grab the lube from the nightstand drawer and a condom.

Keeping your eyes on your boyfriend as he slipped the condom on you had to remind yourself to breath. «You ready cariño?» Nick asked, circling a lube covered finger around your puckered ass. «Fuck my ass baby», you purred, pumping Bryan’s cock.

A loud moan ripped from you as Nick eased his cock into your ass. «Oh Fuck!» You cried out, back arched up. «F—fuck—feels good doesn’t it?» Nick asked, slowly moving in and out of you. Not trusting your voice you could only nod, moving slightly to get a better angle on Bryan’s hard member.

Another orgasm came fast approaching, and you were sure they could both tell as Nick’s hips slowed, and Bryan’s quickened, fucking your face. Letting out one whine after another you clamped down as best you could on Nick. «Nope, you’re gonna hold it until we’re both filling you up hermosa.» That made you moan loudly.

Bryan was quick to pull out of you after emptying his salty liquid in the warm confines of your willing mouth. «Ready for us baby girl? Who do you want where, hmmm?» He asked, caressing your cheek. «Want you in my ass Bryan», you mewled, feeling soaked.

The two men laughed darkly at your submissive streak. «Guess you should lay down of this then Nick», Bryan suggested, looking at his new found detective friend. Grabbing two condoms, Nick handed one to Bryan while pulling out of you, causing you to let out a low moan. He quickly tossed the used condom in the bin before putting the new one on.

You were quick to straddle your boyfriend’s lap as soon as he laid down, earning a chuckle from him. «So eager querida», he mused, entering your cunt. «Hmmm always eager for you Nicky», you mewled in response.

Bryan pushed at your back to make you lay down, and without much warning he slowly entered you. The feeling of being stretched out like that was thrilling to you. The border of pain and pleasure mixing together made your vision go blurry. «Move. Faster. Please!» you moaned, clamping down on them.

Getting the hint, the two men started moving, making you scream out in pleasure, a mix of their names and incoherent babbling filling the room with slapping skin and grunts taking up the air too. You knew you wouldn’t be able to last much longer. The last orgasm being denied would make sure that you would be cuming sooner rather than later.

«Doing so fucking good for us aren’t you sweetheart?» Bryan asked, pressing kissed down your back. «Fuck, you clamping down hard, I think she’s about to cum», he added. Nick looked at you with a smirk before nodding at Bryan, «Oh she’s definitely close! She always does this when she’s about to cum», Nick confessed, making you blush. «Let go for us sweetheart», Bryan murmured, spanking your ass over and over, which was what tipped you over the edge.

Your vision went blurry as your orgasm crashed down on you. The moans and screams coming from you were mere muffled sounds as your ears rung. You had never felt so deliciously full before, and if you were being honest, you wanted it to happen again.

It was hardly there at first. But then Nick’s fingers graced your goosebump filled skin again. «You okay hermosa?» he asked, looking at you with worried eyes. «I’m more than okay baby», you whispered, smiling at him.

Whimpering at the loss of contact as they both pulled out of you, you lazily rolled over onto your back, looking at them. «That was amazing!» you whispered, biting your lip. «It was! A good way to spend my day in New York», Bryan mused, caressing your leg.

«You did so good for us cariño.» Nick caressed your cheek as he laid there next to you. Silence fell over the room, but it was good and you felt yourself getting tired. «I think I should head out, gotta fly back home soon», Bryan murmured, more to Nick than to you. «I’ll call you tomorrow (Y/N)», he added, leaning over to press a kiss to your cheek.

«Be safe Bry.» And with that you fell into a deep sleep, a lazy smile etched on your lips.

Taglist: @sweetcannolicarisi@rafaheadcanons@rafivadafreddy@detective-giggles@mrsrafaelbarba @storiesofsvu@stardust-fray@beccabarba@teamsladsandgents @tropes-and-tales@kriegsverlobte@prurientpuddlejumper @meri-dawn @caked-crusader@itsjustmyfantasyroom​ @dianilaws @delia26​ @permanentlydizzy

[browniefox]

The Spectral Turnabout 1/?

I did it. I’m writing a lil fic for an ace attorney and paranatural crossover

oOo

Okay, Phoenix thought, I’m having a mental breakdown. That’s fine, this is fine.

To be fair, it’d been a stressful few hours. It wasn’t everyday you walked into the office and found your boss dead with her sister sitting next to her body, and then stayed there as the body became cold, the scent of blood so strong and present that at some point you stopped noticing it. To be so close to death, and of someone you knew...

Then there was the questioning after the police arrived, going over the same facts again and again and again. It dragged on for hours, caught in that system, cold and judging people staring at him. He’d been on the scene, it was natural he might've looked a bit suspicious. It was morning by the time he was let out, a weariness weighing him down from not having gotten any sleep that night. The original shock had worn off at some point, but there was still this numb disbelief. Mia… Mia was dead.

There were also the hallucinations, and what made him conclude he'd lost some marbles sometime over the night.

For the few days, Phoenix had sworn he’d been seeing things. It had started small, just flashes of pale-purple at the edges of his vision. They’d started to appear with increasing frequency, and no rest seemed to solve it. Phoenix had figured it was just stress from work.

Well, Mia’s death had officially pushed him over the edge.

Ever since the police had taken Phoenix in for questioning, the purple figures had resolved into full-blown monsters. They ran around, seeming to only occasionally care about things like doors and walls when it suited their need. Some just stayed up at the ceiling, looking down with mild interest, while others were more active. And absolutely nobody else seemed to notice them.

“What the hell?” Phoenix hissed under his breath as an odd gecko-looking thing skittered across the room, going right over his foot. He swore he’d felt the weight of it as it’d done so, and the creature had paused for half a second and looked back at him before continuing on its way. He shook his head. Just his imagination. After he talked to Maya, he’d go home and get some sleep, and if the problem persisted then he’d probably see a doctor about it…? No, he couldn’t do that, not when he was probably out of a job now! Okay, he’d just ignore the problem then. Maybe it’d go away eventually.

Maya entered the visiting room looking just as glum and sad as when Phoenix had last seen her, but that wasn’t much of a surprise.

“Oh, it’s you. The lawyer.” She said, clearly surprised at seeing him there. Phoenix nodded. She sat down in the chair on the other side of the glass. He’d followed Mia to meetings with defendants before, he was vaguely aware of how this went.

“G-good morning!” He rubbed his eyes, trying to stay awake, and also trying in vain to make the hallucinations go away. There was a particularly strong one hanging around Maya, a dark-purple mist seemingly coming off of her and falling to the floor like dry ice. All of his hallucinations seemed to carry with them some form of that mist, although the color changed from figure to figure, and there was something about Maya’s that was just… sad.

Then, suddenly, she perked up a bit, looking him over. Phoenix flinched back a bit at the sudden interest in her eyes.

“Mia didn’t tell me you were a spectral.” Maya said.

“I-, uh, I’m an a-attorney?” Phoenix corrected.

“I did know that, but you’re a spectral.” Maya insisted, brow furrowing a bit, and gestured to Phoenix. He looked around himself, trying to pinpoint what made her think the word ‘spectral’, whatever the hell that was. He was in his suit still, he’d stopped by the bathroom to make sure his hair was still in decent enough condition. His hallucination did seem to extend to himself, indigo-vapor that wasn’t really there floating off of him in spikey and nervous waves. He looked back at Maya, still very much confused.

“I- you’re, uh, I’m an attorney, and I think you might need one…?” Phoenix fumbled awkwardly. She was still looking at him oddly and it made him shift uncomfortably in his seat. The mist coming off of her started to morph and shift, and right before Phoenix’s eyes it formed the words ‘Can you read this?’

This was starting to get a bit too weird for him, but Phoenix was tired, and probably still in the denial part of the mourning process which wasn’t doing him much help, and before he knew what he was doing he’d opened his mouth and said,

“Y-yeah, how’d you do that?”

“How long have you been seeing things?!” Maya demanded, sitting forward now and close to the glass, and Phoenix flinched back.

“For a couple days, but it’s gotten really clear since sometime last night.” He admitted.  Maya gasped.

“Oh my gosh, you don’t know.” She said.

“Know what?” Phoenix was sitting forward now, because he wasn’t going crazy, except he still sort of felt like he was, and his boss was dead, and he was talking to his boss’ sister who was being accused of murdering her, and he was hallucinating but hallucinations couldn’t really be shared and Maya clearly understood what he was going through, and it had been a very long night.

“You’re a spectral.” She repeated.

And then she explained.

oOo

The details were a bit hard to take in, but Phoenix managed to grasp the gist of it - Maya had been a little quick during her explanation, but that wasn’t too surprising considering the whole ‘murder trial’ they were both preparing for.

So, he was now something called a ‘spectral’, which meant he could see spirits. Yes, ghosts did exist. No, spirits weren’t really ghosts per se. Maya and Mia were from a long line of spectrals who doubled as spirit channelers, capable of pulling ghosts from wherever ghosts went when they died and allowing them to speak through them. It was probable that he’d become a spectral due to being around Mia, but there were several factors that went into it. Colors of spectral energy - the mist he’d been seeing - didn’t mean anything he needed to worry about, and she’d promised to show him some tricks to it when the trial was over.

Actually, Maya had offered to show him some tricks before the trial, but Phoenix had insisted that they wait until she was declared ‘not guilty.’ She’d looked away from him at that moment, but Phoenix had insisted again he’d get her free.

He couldn’t let Mia down like that.

Seeing Miles in court was a shock, but in another way, Phoenix had to admit he'd badly wanted to. If only it wasn't such a high-stakes case like this. The bigger surprise was the spirit that stuck around Miles.

It looked a bit like a borzoi, but much longer to accommodate an extra pair of legs and an insanely long and fluffy tail. The back two pairs of legs were more like a bird’s instead of a dog’s, and its ears were replaced with wings. It had wrapped itself around Miles, head near one of his shoulders and then spiralling around him. A muted purple spectral energy poured from the spirit in calm and steady waves, and it kept its eyes on him.

Miles didn’t react at all to the spirit, although it seemed to be fairly in sync with him, responding to Miles’ moods and such. Phoenix wasn’t sure how normal that was. There were spirits everywhere. Not enough that any place felt crowded, but more like mice or spiders, always there somewhere. So far, though, none of them seemed overly concerned about people other than watching the trial like the rest of the spectators.

Well, again, none other than the dog-like spirit who seemed intent on hanging around Miles.

During the recess, Phoenix asked Maya about it.

“Well, sometimes a spirit will hang around somebody they find interesting, especially if that person is a spectral.” Maya told him.

“I don’t think that’s it,” Phoenix sighed, shaking his head, “Edgeworth didn’t seem like he even realized it was there. And he doesn’t have spectral energy.” The spirit had floated off of Miles when he’d left for the recess, landing on the floor and following at his feet. On his shoulders, it’d given Miles the illusion of maybe being a spectral, but separated it became clear the essence was coming only from the spirit. “Could it be the ghost of one of someone he knew?”

“No, ghosts always look like they did in life. Occasionally, they’ll have minor changes in their appearances depending on how they perceive themselves, especially if it’s been a while since they died, but I’ve never heard of one changing shape that much.” Maya shot down.

“Well, no reason to dwell on it,” Phoenix shook his head, “We need to stay focused on proving your innocence.”

oOo

Being a spectral was, surprisingly, not all that different from not being a spectral. Having magic ghost energy didn’t mean he didn’t have to pay rent, and he still needed to eat, and he couldn’t fly or anything.

Maya kept her word, and they spent most of the days in the office teaching him the ins and outs of the world he was now a part of. She was a pro, easily able to create ‘compressed spectral energy burst shots’ - or ‘spec-shots’ - while Phoenix fumbled his way through the motions. It was a bit odd at first, being taught by somebody younger than him, but Maya was a surprisingly decent teacher. She was clearly experienced in the craft, having been raised a spectral.

He found himself thinking a lot about how Mia had been one too. Some late nights, when they were eating in the office, waiting for a client, Phoenix sore from the training, they’d talk about her. Apparently, Mia had noticed that something was up with Phoenix and had suspected he might be becoming a spectral. She’d planned to talk to him about it the night of her death.

Well, the best laid plans and all that.

“So, can things really be haunted?” Phoenix asked her one day while trying to focus his energy into a specific shape. He was trying to make it look like a dog, and it more closely resembled how he used to draw them back in kindergarten.

“Oh yeah, that happens all the time. Here, I actually have a tool on me.” Maya pulled a jade green gem from somewhere in the folds of her robes. She handed it over to Phoenix, and he turned it over in his hands. It was smooth to the touch, and shaped like a teardrop or a comma with a perfect hole in it, big enough for Phoenix to fit his pinky through. “This is my magatama, and you could say that it’s ‘haunted’, although the technical word is that it’s now a tool. A spirit was injured long ago, and now they live here! They’ve been passed from Fey to Fey for years.”

“Huh.” Phoenix said. It didn’t look particularly special. He handed it back to Maya.

“You probably won’t have to worry about that, though. Tools are usually used by people who are fighting spirits and stuff!” Maya smiled.

“Yeah, I think I’ll stick to being a lawyer.” Phoenix gave a small laugh.

oOo

So, maybe Phoenix had come to the conclusion about Miles not being a spectral a bit too quickly.

[metaphorical-love-for-a-car]

Dealing with Devils-- Damien/Darkiplier x Reader

Prompt: I was inspired to write this when I saw this comic panel on Pinterest!

Warnings: light language

Word Count; 2k

Notes; I wrote this on impulse after rewatching Who Killed Markiplier? and Damien lol (gif creds)

    You grimaced at the sunlight shining through the window. The cottage's lack of curtains only bothered you in the morning. Sure, sunrises were beautiful, but they were a pain in the ass when you desperately wanted to sleep in. A shiver ran through your body as your feet hit the cold floor. Spring was on its way. The snow was beginning to yield to grass and budding flowers, but the cold was still strong enough to seep into your bones. Wrapping a blanket around your shoulders, you shuffled over to the fireplace. You wrinkled your nose at the lack of kindling. There goes any hope of a fire this morning. Not wanting to spend another moment in the cold home, you begrudgingly pulled multiple layers of clothing out of the closet to prepare yourself for the day. You turned to the large mirror hanging on the wall, carefully observing your reflection. It was hard to see small details because of the cracks that webbed from its center. When you first moved into the cottage, Damien told you to get rid of it, but you couldn't bring yourself to do so.

    A grin found its way across your face as the memories of your move resurfaced. Damien had insisted on helping, even though you hardly had any belongings to bring into your new home. Just some clothes, toiletry items, and... the mirror. Your brows furrowed. Where did it come from, anyway? You couldn't quite remember buying the mirror, but you felt such an attachment to it. Maybe it was an heirloom? If it was, why would Damien tell you to throw it away? A strange sensation began to form in the back of your mind. It felt as if static electricity was crawling across your brain. You leaned closer to the mirror. Your reflection seemed to shift out of focus the longer you stared at it. Was it your eyes playing tricks on you? You lifted a hand, carefully reaching towards the mirror, only to freeze before you had a chance to touch it. A sharp ring ripped through your eardrums, causing you to take a step back. You looked forward and realized that your entire reflection had changed. Your skin was a muddled gray color, and your eyes were filled with a lifeless black void. Horror filled every nerve in your body. Something was terribly wrong with this place.

    A sudden commotion outside drew your attention away from your reflection. Desperate for an excuse to leave, you lunged at the door. A magpie sat on your porch, squawking up a storm. You frowned at the creature. I probably forgot to fill the bird-feeder again, you thought. Your shoulders dipped as you began to relax. Glancing over your shoulder, you surveyed the interior of your home. What were you getting so worked up about, again? Your eyes landed on the dark fireplace. Right, no kindling. You pulled the door, making sure it was secure before stepping off the porch. On your way to the shed, you checked the bird-feeder. You raised a brow. It was still full. Maybe the bird was freaking out about something else. You just hoped it would be quiet, wherever the thing went.

    You made your way to the shed. There was an overhang that allowed you to store firewood outside without you having to worry about it getting wet. You stopped a few feet away from the shed and tilted your head to the side. You could've sworn there was a big lock on the door. No, you were //sure// there used to be a lock on it. Damien locked it when he was helping you move. You were never curious about going inside. He told you there was only old, rusty tools. You had no need for them, so you never bothered to try to get in. But now? The lock just disappeared. You hesitated to step forward, realizing that Damien disappeared too. He told you... no, he promised you that he would visit sometime. He said he would come back for you when he sorted out some business. What did he mean by that? You slowly pulled the door open. Creeping inside, you realized that Damien was right. For the most part, the shed was empty, other than the dust that occupied the shelves and some old gardening equipment piled in a wheelbarrow. Something towards the back of the shed caught your eye. A large sheet, stained from who knows how many years of exposure to the elements, covered something large. Sunlight poured in from the cobweb-covered window above it. It was almost as if it had a spotlight. You reached for the sheet, only to be distracted by squawking once more. You huffed and looked out of the dirty window, surprised to see that even more magpies had gathered in your yard. Your eyes darted back and forth between each one. Seven? Shaking your head, you returned your attention to the matters at hand. You pulled back the sheet to find an ornate desk. You ran a hand across the smooth surface. Unlike anything else in the shed, it withstood the passing of time. There wasn't a speck of dust. Your brows jumped when you noticed a folded piece of paper tucked away beneath an empty inkwell. You wasted no time in unfolding it, anxious to know its contents. A poem jotted down... in your handwriting. "One for sorrow," you muttered. It was a curious little thing. You had always appreciated poetry, but why did you decide to document an unsettling nursery rhyme?

    Taking a breath, you continued to sift through the desk. The first two drawers you searched were filled with legal documents. You could recall all of them. They were milestones from your career. From your first case as a fledgling lawyer, to the most recent one from your current position as District Attorney. Your heart fluttered for a moment. Why was it, again, that you stopped working? You pursed your lips and pressed on. Your ears started ringing when you grabbed the handle of the bottom drawer. You blinked a few times in an attempt to keep focused. There weren't many papers in this drawer. You picked up the small bundle and placed them on the desk, spreading them out. A fond smile graced your features as you picked up an old photograph. It was of you and Damien, attending a ball together. You couldn't help but laugh at the memory. It was the first time he had asked you out, and to say that he was a nervous wreck is an understatement. The man was flustered beyond belief, hardly able to get a word out! He ended up shoving a bouquet of flowers in your arms and holding the ball invitation for you to read. The next photograph displayed not only you and Damien but also Mark and Celine. Double date night, something that happened often back when you and Damien were a new couple. A droplet fell onto the photograph. You gently touched your cheek. You didn't even know you had started crying. Moving on to the next item, your heart sank into the pit of your stomach. It was an invitation to a party hosted at Markiplier Mansion. Memories came flooding back. Too much champagne, a night of gambling, and enough terror to last you three lifetimes. Your wild eyes desperately searched your surroundings. Where were you? The last thing you remember before moving here was... You glanced down at the drawer once more. This time, there was a revolver sitting at the bottom. Your ears rang violently as a searing pain exploded across your abdomen. You instinctively pressed a hand to your stomach, only to snatch it away when you felt something warm and sticky. Your hand came away red. The ground swayed beneath your feet, and the atmosphere around you darkened. It was getting hard to breathe. You tried to take a step back, but your knees buckled.

    Falling. That's the last thing you remember. The sensation of your insides going somersaults as you descended. You tried to scream, but no sound came out of your mouth. At least, not that you could hear. The only thing that filled your ears was that insufferable ringing. After what seemed like an eternity, you hit the ground with a violent crack. You kept your eyes closed, certain that you just broke every bone in your body. The ringing finally subsided, and you gathered up the courage to open your eyes. At first, you saw nothing but darkness. Then they appeared out of nowhere-- the magpies. Their white coloring contrasting the void like stars in the night sky. It gave you momentary comfort.

    "Why?" You sat up with a grimace, trying your best to fight back the pain. The cracked mirror stood tall before you. This time, it didn't show your reflection. You finally made it to your feet, despite feeling as if you had been put through a meat grinder, and approached the mirror. Your eyes stung with tears. It looked like Damien, but this... this person was different. His whole being was monochrome, and the eyes you used to get lost in no longer held any warmth. They were cold and calculating your every move. "Why did you wake up?" he clarified.

    "I don't... I don't understand." The man laughed. A sinister smile remaining on his face.

    "Don't you?" The ringing rose once more. You covered your ears, clenching your eyes shut. You cried out in pain and tried to will yourself to remain standing. The memories that had been locked away came barreling into your mind. Tears were flowing freely when you looked back up at the man. Horror filled your expression, causing him to look amused.

    "Where's Damien?" you whispered. His grin left as quick as it came. His face darkened. The air around him shifted as his muddled aura lashed out violently.

    "You were a lamb to the slaughter. Don't you get it? Celine would have left your soul to rot, but he gave you mercy. He gave you a chance at peace. He saved you from damnation!" You flenched as his voice rose, and you could've sworn that you saw new cracks forming in the mirror. "But he's not here to protect you anymore. I'm in control now." His eyes had gone completely black, and his unnerving smile had returned. You glanced upward, relieved that the magpies were still there. Your brows knit together for a moment. Your eyes dashed between them, counting just as you had done moments before. Eyes widening, you remembered the last verse of the poem. Thirteen, beware, it's the devil himself.

    "Who... no, what are you?" The man tilted his head, grin widening.

    "An entity of vengeance, created by Celine and Damien. Celine had the reigns for a while, then Damien took control. But they were weak. Their need for revenge combined with the darkness that consumes the Manor grew until they were simply... no longer a factor. I run things now. I don't necessarily have a name, though, I suppose you could call me Dark. I'd say it's quite fitting. Wouldn't you agree?" You swallowed thickly, nodding.

    The entity straightened his tie. "It's nice to know that we're on the same page. I understand why Damien was fond of you. You're... amusing, to say the least." He extended a hand towards the mirror. "I'm sure you're just itching to get out of that mirror, now that your memories have fully returned. I'll help you safely return in exchange for your companionship." Almost as if your body was acting on its own accord, you reached forward to take his hand. You stopped yourself, mere inches away from the mirror. Dark barked out a laugh. "Afraid to make a deal with the devil?"

~*~*~

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[densi-mber]

Just For Show

A/N: Here’s part two of Just for Show, the fake date fic. I may have stolen the plot from an episode of the show “Taxi”.

***

“Remember, I told Janelle that you work for the district attorney, so you can’t really talk about any specific cases,” Kensi reminded Deeks as she drove. Her hands were clamped tightly around the steering wheel, reminiscent of the grip a 15 year old student driver might have.

“Got it.”

“And she’s very detail oriented, so if you tell her anything, she’ll remember it.”

“I’m a little insulted that you would think I, master of a dozen aliases, would get caught in a lie,” he said with mock offense.

“Deeks, I’m serious. Please don’t mess this up,” Kensi begged.

“I know and I won’t.” She took her eyes off the road for a moment to look at him and he smiled reassuringly. “Promise.”

She shook her head as she pulled into the parking lot of the bar where they were meeting Janelle and her boyfriend. It was less of a bar, more lounge and Kensi was infinitely glad that she’s chosen a dress and heels.

Deeks got out before she could and came around to her side, offering his arm as he opened the door.

“Hey, don’t lay it on too thick,” she warned as she stepped out, using his forearm for support. “How do I look?” She turned in a quick circle and tugged at the knee length hemline of her dress, which was red and sleeveless.

“Perfect,” he said almost immediately. “What about me?” She glanced at him, taking her time. He’d chosen a black suit with a deep blue shirt that made his eyes seem even more vibrant. The top two buttons were popped, revealing tanned skin, and it looked like he’d even combed his hair for once. He looked more than perfect.

“You’ll do.” She adjusted his collar, which was perfectly fine, and patted his chest. “You’ll do.”

As they walked into the bar, she felt her tension ratchet up a notch. Deeks just have noticed because he dropped his arm around her waist, giving her a light squeeze. Normally she would think he was just taking advantage of the situation, but she was actually grateful.

“You’ll be fine,” Deeks told her with an encouraging smile. They found Janelle and her boyfriend without too much difficulty and quickly.

“I’m so glad you made it,” Janelle greeted Kensi, giving her a hug. “I almost thinking you might find some excuse to back out.” Kensi laughed nervously and Deeks stepped forward, extending his hand.

“Sorry, that’s on me. I couldn’t get my hair right. Marty Deeks, by the way,” he said. Janelle shook his hand, giving Kensi a mildly impressed look.

“Janelle. And Kensi didn’t mention that you have a sense of humor.”

“She doesn’t like to brag.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely it,” Kensi muttered under her breath as Janelle gestured to her boyfriend.

“Marty, Kensi, this is Thomas.” He stood at shook Kensi’s hand and then gave Deeks a slap on the back.

“Nice to meet you.” He was about Deeks’ height and by Kensi’s guess, in his mid to late 30’s with short brown hair. Thomas gestured to the curved booth seat that surrounded half of the small table, waiting for Kensi and Deeks to sit down.

Deeks’ leg brushed hers as he slid in beside her and draped his arm over her shoulders. He was close enough that she could feel the heat emanating from his body, straight through their close.

Thomas ordered a bottle of wine and Janelle immediately engaged Deeks in conversation. This was going to be an incredibly long night.

***

“Kensi mentioned that you two met at work,” Janelle said to Deeks from across the table. “Was she one of your paralegals?” He felt Kensi tense beside him so he dropped his arm from her shoulders to her waist, tugging her against his side.

At least Janelle had waited until after they finished dinner to start truly interrogating him. Deeks took a sip of wine and nodded, taking his time before answering.

He’d killed an hour or so talking about former cases, both real and based off of case studies from his law school days. Fortunately, Janelle and Thomas didn’t seem to versed in law.

“We did meet at work, but we started out in different departments. The last 2 and a half year have been the best of my life,” he said.

“Kensi said you’ve only been dating for 6 months.” Janelle tilted her head as Kensi’s heart rate sped up dramatically.

“De-I mean Marty was just-“ Kensi started to say, sounding a little panicky.

“That’s when we met. Kensi thought I was kind of an idiot for a long time, but she eventually came around. Do you want hear about when we finally got together?”

“Honey, I don’t really think that’s necessary,” Kensi said with a forced smile, pinching his thigh.

“Oh, but it’s such a good story,” he said, grinning down at her. Kensi glared back, her eyes threatening that he would regret this moment later on.

“I would love to hear it,” Janelle said eagerly, she leaned forward towards Deeks, laying a hand over his. Thomas didn’t seem particularly thrilled about the idea-or Janelle’s wandering hand- and wrapped his arm around and tugged her back against his side, giving Deeks a proprietary look.

“Did you want to tell them Kens?”

“No, you go ahead.” He didn’t miss the mild sarcasm in her voice as she brushed his hair back from his forehead. “You tell it so much better.”

Deeks nodded, pressing a kiss to her temple, like it was perfectly normal.

“About six months ago,” he started, quickly inventing a story as he went. “I was...I had a case that didn’t go well. I kind of lost my faith in law and my abilities as a lawyer. Kensi found me one night when I’d stay late at the office-she’d noticed I been acting differently-and asked me what was wrong. I told her I was, uh, thinking of resigning.”

“Kensi took my hand and told me that there were people out there who needed my help. I said didn’t feel like I was doing anybody much good, maybe it would be better off if someone else took my place.”

“How’d she convince you to stay?” Thomas asked and Deeks huffed out a laugh and then met Kensi’s eyes, letting his expression turn to one of fondness.

“She told me that if there was no other reason, I should stay for her. Because she needed me.”

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Janelle whispered, sounding a little awestruck. Deeks didn’t let his gaze waver from Kensi’s and she reached out to take his hand.

“I’d wasted enough time as it was, figured I needed to say something before I lost him altogether,” Kensi added with a little shrug. “Plus, I couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing these gorgeous eyes and this fluffy blonde hair again,” Kensi said, running her fingers through his hair as she spoke. For a second, it felt as though it was just the two of them.

Thomas noisily cleared his throat, making them both pull apart slightly.

“Well, that’s a nice little story,” he said, his tone a little condescending.

“Thomas,” Janelle admonished him, smacking his arm. “It’s a beautiful story.”

“The last six months have been the happiest of my life,” Kensi said with so much sincerity that Deeks almost believed her.

“Mine too.” He leaned forward, intending to kiss her cheek, but Kensi surprised him, turning her face at the last second so there lips pressed together firmly. He didn’t have enough time to fully appreciate the warmth and softness of her lips against his. “Sorry about that,” he apologized with a soft laugh. “Sometimes we get so caught up in each other we forget other people are around.”

“How lovely,” Thomas commented sarcastically under his breath, just loud enough for Deeks to hear. Deeks winked at him, enjoying the other man’s annoyance.

“Yup, I’m a lucky man.” Kensi shared a smile with him and chuckled sheepishly.

“So, um, Janelle, how did you meet Thomas?” she asked.

“Oh, I was at a bar and Thomas had a martini sent to my table with his number,” Janelle said, suddenly looking self-conscious as she fiddled with her earring.

“Actually, I think it was a manhattan,” Thomas interrupted a little tightly. Janelle eyes flashed as she turned to him and said in a tight voice,

“I don’t think it really matters, Tom. You bought me a drink and I took your number.” There was an awkward silence and then Kensi looked at her watch, and gently grabbed Deeks shoulder.

“Oh honey, we better go. It’s after 8 and you have that debriefing in the morning.”

“I almost forgot about that,” Deeks said, pulling a face as he slid out of his seat and offered a hand to Kensi. “It was nice to meet you, Janelle, Thomas.” Thomas grunted something that might have passed for a agreement while Janelle rushed over and gave him a hug.

“The pleasure was all mine, believe me,” she said fervently, holding onto him a bit longer than necessary. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“Well, he’s a busy guy,” Kensi interrupted, stepping between them. “I’ll see you on Wednesday in class.”

***

“So, did I pass?” Deeks asked as they were walking up to Kensi’s front door. Kensi inclined her head, smirking at him.

“Just barely,” she decided.

“Oh come on, I thought my performance was inspired.” Kensi snorted.

“That resignation story you pulled out was definitely something else. Next time you plan on creating an entire backstory, let me know ahead of time.”

“So that would imply that you expect me to go on more fake dates with you,” he pointed out.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” she sighed. “Hopefully I won’t have to do anything like this for a long time.”

“Well, based on the way Thomas and Janelle were bickering when we left, I’d say our chances of scoring a second double are pretty slim.” He felt a little bad about that part, but if they fought that easily, then their relationship probably wasn’t that solid.

They didn’t talk for a minute, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. When they reached her door, Kensi hesitated and then turned to face him directly.

“Thank you for doing this,” she said softly. “You didn’t have to. At all.” He shrugged, brushing off her thanks.

“What else are partners for?” Kensi started to say something, but stopped short and instead wrapped her arms around him. He froze a little as she settled her chin in the cleft of his shoulder, brushing her lips over his cheeks.

“Good night, Deeks,” she whispered.