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precious-little-scoundrel · 2 months

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Dear John || Tell me you didn’t

Dear John || Masters of the Air fanfiction

Series Summary: Major John Egan wasn’t the pen-pal sort but a couple of hours into a dark night full of writing condolence letters he finds himself wondering why he never tried his hand at the nicer forms of correspondence. Who better to reanimate his numb inspiration than the glamorous Miss Lana Tierney? -the army’s girl next door, the pinup so prolific she was practically a wall paper print and Bucky’s long-standing cinematic crush. It’s not like she’ll read it anyways, tucked up in luxury in Beverly Hills with carts of tedious fanmail burned in her back yard each day, his letter will get lost in the mix. It’s harmless. That thought -and the booze- may loosen his pen a little too much but it’s alright, it’s not like she’ll read it. Right? Right.

Circa: August 1943

Plot: Gale Cleven learns that not only did his best friend send dubious fanmail while blind drunk, he seems to have singled out with his indomitable luck the one starlet of the silver screen capable of matching his depravity

Warnings: 18+ for suggestive and crass content, it’s pretty much two boys acting like a couple of girls at a sleepover deciphering a dirty text from one’s crush

My thanks to my baby Bri for literally being the brains behind the plot and for Christi for assuring me this ain’t trash. We shall if y’all share those sentiments…

The referenced letter link 💌

“Tell me you didn’t.” Gale managed to keep his tone calm but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit his fingertips had gone a little chilly.

“I-“ Egan threw his arms out as if a better truth might form with a little more gesticulation but nothing came, “I did, Buck.” he admitted.

“You wrote it blind drunk.” Gale reminded him with urgency, as if the reminder of its ill calculated circumstances could snatch back his letter from out of Lana Tierney’s posh mailbox.

“I did!” He agreed, “-And I sent it blind drunk. And I never thought she’d read it.”

“I saw you eat it!” Cleven’s voice was growing angry, “I made you-“

“That may have been a botched first draft to Donny’s folks instead.” Egan winced.

Both of them lapsed again into silence, staring warily at the unopened and daintily addressed envelope in Egan’s hand like it might explode at any moment.

“You sonuvabitch.” Gale breathed, two frantic pink splotches appearing on his cherub cheeked face, judgment and disbelief making a whirlpool of his eyes. “Can’t leave you alone for a minute. What all did you even say?”

“I didn’t tell her about ACORN!” John vowed like a child swearing to their sibling regarding secrets kept from mother, “I mean, i called her that but I didn’t explai-“

“-John!”

“-and I said a lotta nice things too, I think, but, I also-“ Egan scrunched his eyes up as if to either better recall or maybe banish entirely all memory of his sentiments, “-I may have mentioned wanting to give her children.”

“JOHN!”

“It can’t have been that bad, she wrote back!” Egan defended with wounded hope, holding up his still sealed prize. “Buck, swear to God, I never thought she’d read it.”

Gale slumped down next to him on the bed as if the ordeal in voyeuristic stupidity had taken something out of him. “Maybe she didn’t.” he suggested grimly. “Maybe it’s from her attorney tellin’ you to never contact her again.”

He was enjoying ruining this moment a little too much, and now Egan was growing angry he had waited to open it until confiding in his friend. Not a little anxious, and not a little smug, Egan flipped the envelope over, ready to tear its flap. That’s when he saw the kiss print. “Ha!” he barked, flipping it back up and shoving it directly in front of Gale’s crossing eyes, “Do lawyers leave lip prints?” he questioned cockily and when Gale pulled far enough away to ascertain for himself, he gave a conceding nod.

“Huh.”

“Yeah, huh.” John goaded but his heart beat a crazy and skittish rhythm as he slipped his finger inside the fold and tore at the slip.

Lovely, scented, gold embossed stationery came into view, it made Egan question how well he had washed his hands the paper was so white and pristine.

“Well?” Gale kept to a respectful distance of half a foot away from his friend on the bed, and being a good sort of man, he was not snooping or side eyeing private correspondence.

“Uh, yeah, right.” Bucky rallied himself and unfolded the missive fully, forcing his eyes to focus on deciphering charming, school girl cursive. “Get over here, Buck.” he griped at last as it was hopeless to make headway between his own nerves and Cleven’s hovering presence.

Gale didn’t move and Bucky didn’t expect him to so he scooted over herself, smashing him on the edge and held the letter out as they both leaned in.

“Dear John, -I’m sorry Major Egan, I just had to.”

“Oh shit.” Bucky swore in realization.

“She’s funny.” Gale’s tone was ever so mild.

“Nah she’s, Buck, she’s quoting me back to me I told her -nevermind, let’s see-“

They peered back at the letter together, Cleven more invested that he’d ever admit and Bucky’s heart doing the oddest little flips at the realization that someone gave enough of a damn to write this sorta thing back to him.

“Heartfelt.” Gale murmured her choice of words for Bucky’s letter aloud with something close to relief, only to be then followed by a groan- “you did not write the word ‘knockers’ in a letter to a woman!”

“You're right, you’re right,” Egan ducked his head, repentant, he wouldn’t have been the least surprised if he got a wallop from Cleven for it, “awful of me. I admitted it even then. She admits it. Let’s move on.”

“RACK!” Cleven growled moments later in growing disbelief. “Jesus, John.”

“Oh don’t act better than all of it, you know she’s got the best melons out there-“

“-you’re the one who felt compelled to write a nice young lady and tell her as much.” Buck stabbed an accusatory finger dangerously close to Egan’s nose, “And used vulgarities while at it.”

Egan gave a defensive shrug and began his reading anew. “She said she’s fizzing…over making babies.” he whispered, “With me.” John was awed and this time Cleven had no rebuttal, just ever growing wonderment on his ever reddening face. “And she says here, look! she says you’re a bad boy for breaking us up that night! HA!”

“She’s being polite Bucky,” Gale cautioned, worried at where this surge of confidence might lead, “she didn’t admit to remembering a bit of it. They send girls to school to let fellas like you down easy.”

“Aww, now she says to give ya a kiss.” Egan cooed, saccharine and wicked, “See, she’s so nice and you’re the one who’s awful, doubting her like that. She says to give ya one if you’re the sort to take it well, are ya Buck, huh? Are you? Huh?”

“No, no! Jesus, get off me!” Cleven exerted every bit of his wiry strength to lug off the sudden onslaught of Egan’s heavy embrace as they folded together back onto the bed, John’s mouth making sickening smooching noises against Cleven’s baby smooth cheek, mustache a foreign and terrifying tickle on his jaw. “Get the hell off me, what is wrong with you?”

“I’m riled, just like her, that’s what’s wrong.” Egan replied vehemently, pulling his face away but keeping a perturbed Buck beneath his greater weight. “And maybe one day you’ll know what that feels like, Goldilocks. See, says right here: *I can feel my pulse somewhere besides my wrists* Do you hear that?” He demanded, still holding the letter aloft as Gale looked up at him with the sort of patience people reserve for lunatics liable to murder them at the least hint of movement. “I’ve made her horny.” he spelled it out and Gale’s face somehow flushed an even deeper shade of scarlet. “She wants to know what acorn means.”

“Don’t you ever tell her.” Gale warned.

“Why not?”

“It’s not even a good acronym, it’s misspelled and missing a whole word.”

“She wants it to be ‘salacious’ -says so herself.”

“No way.”

“Yes way.” Bucky flipped the letter over for Gale to see and judging by the panic in his eyes he caught more lines than that one alone.

“Jesus.” he repeated, it was starting to sound like a genuine beg for divine intervention. “Get off me.”

That itching physical impulse to roughhouse remained but Egan obligingly rolled to the side, aware Buck didn’t have what would cure his own riled self. “She says she enclosed something for the morale, said to keep it safe. But there’s not anything else. You see anything else?”

“I don’t.” Buck sounded worn down but he made an effort to look around amongst the sheets.

“Julia Jean.” Egan pondered, “Says that’s her real name.”

“Yeah, well, maybe now you can stop calling her acorn every damn time she comes on screen.”

“Don’t count on it.” Egan grinned back.

“Maybe it’s still in the envelope.” Gale suggested, tentatively picking up the air mail slip and handing it to Bucky.

Egan sat up and shook the paper between them, wondering if it was really something worth hiding from the censors like some OSS spy shit. A couple of shakes and sure enough, some slippery little card shaped thing fluttered out of a crease and wafted to the ground, settling between Buck’s boots. John’s stoic young friend bent over and retrieved it, but not without his entire spine stiffening like he’d been hit as soon as he’d caught it.

“Jesus.” it was more of a wheeze this time. Gale’s slow hand raised it and passed it over.

There wasn’t anything to say, not when confronted with such perfection. Not even a shielding arm to cheat him of the whole display, nothin’ at all but a carefully cropped photograph of the ripest pair of-

“Goddamn.” John’s tongue finally materialized a sentiment and he heard Gale’s appreciative sharp intake of breath beside him as if he’d forgotten to breathe here lately. “They’re wonderful.”

“Yeah.” Gale’s own throat sounded dry as dust, “W-we should probably stop starin’.”

“Whadda ya think she sent ‘em for?” John laughed, a rough, victorious laugh, never once dragging his admiring eyes away from them or ceasing to thumb over the shiny print. He could almost feel her warm, giving flesh under the pad of his finger, could almost imagine the pebble of a rosy nipple responding to his swipes.

“Yeah, they’re alright-“

“Alright? Alright!?” Egan repeated, incensed for his beloved’s reputation, “THESE ARE THE BEST TITS IN THE NATION!”

Gale actually looked mildly chastened, especially as his eyes strayed guiltily back to the photograph like twin marbles gravitating to the corner of a box when tipped.

“I know you haven’t seen many, Buck,” Egan goaded him further, “but take it from me -they don’t get better than this. And you better enjoy this look, it’s your last, she told me to keep them safe. So see this? These? This pair? S’why we fight, Buck.”

“Don’t be crass, John,” Gale stood up abruptly, less angry at his friend than at himself for his momentary lapse of discipline, “we fight for the people we love.”

“Course we do,” John grinned, “but I also happen to love these, told her so myself.”

“You didn’t-“

“I did.” Bucky was pretty chuffed, bouncing on the edge of the bed like he had her seated in his lap right now, “Everybody’s got to have a goal, Buck, you wanna marry Marj and I wanna aggressively come on ripe knock-“

“-A.C.O.R.N. yeah, yeah.”

“Acorn.” Bucky grinned in agreement.

“You gonna admit to her you didn’t know knockers was spelled with a k?”

“I did, too! Just couldn’t make it work.”

“Still doesn't work.” Buck informed, but his smile was returning, he’d not been this close with Bucky for this long not to learn to roll with the differences and appreciate that what made his best friend tick was a very different sort of morale than his own. “I’m happy for ya, John.” he conceded, as he turned to leave, “But when you write her back -and you gotta, she’s been too kind -promise me you’ll be a gentleman about it. Apologize, like the man I know you are. Drink got the better of you, just, explain it that way.”

“Uhuh.” John gave him a sober nod, still a little dazed this wasn’t some fever dream. “Kinda already did. In the one I sent.”

“She wasn’t deterred.” Gale mused, “Either you were shit at it or she’s-“

“Zesty.” Egan deduced, sucking his teeth with a manic gleam in his eye.

“Yeah, as an orange peel.” Gale snarked and walked away, past the rows of empty beds and outside into the rain, “I’ll leave you to it.”

Bucky fell back against his mattress, sudden peace and aloneness giving him a chance to soak it in a second time, carefully reading over it all again, savoring each quip, each earnest prayer and naughty subtext. Which naturally led him back to admiring her little picture, groaning in unrestrained appreciation for her assets. She’d hinted about him taking it to his bunk -well wasn’t he fast to obey! Something possessed him to flip it over and there in the corner of the photograph, written in tiny little script, were doodles of music notes along with the ever so familiar lyrics:

“Beat me daddy, eight to the bar.”

John threw back his head and let out a roar of appreciation for finding a mirrored soul. “Oh Julie Jean, honey baby, don’t you worry, I’ll beat out somethin’ for ya, that’s for sure.”

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

Thank y’all for reading, hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s life blood, please scream at me, I thrive off it. 💋

Taglist (Lemme know in a comment below if you’d like to be added or subtracted for MOTA fics)

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

@earth-to-lottie

@suraemoon

@blurredcolour

@steph-speaks

@crazymadpassionatelove

@rubyfruitjungle

@taestrwbrry

@storysimp

@javden

@sexualparkour

@jointherebellion215

@sunny747

@ask-you-what-sir

@xxanaduwrites

@pretty4u

@yorkshirekiwi

@waitedforlove743

#mota fanfic #masters of the air #john egan x oc #dear John #john egan #bucky egan #bucky egan x oc #callum turner

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astaraels · 13 days

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Fem gallavich version of the prison reunion?

Ian watched the prison door close and turned around, her breath coming quickly, almost to the point of panic. This was for real, not a nightmare like she almost hoped, and she was stuck in this place for...fuck, who even knew how long? Her lawyer had tried to argue for a mental health facility, but the judge had denied it, decided instead on medium security for at least the next two years. So here she was for the foreseeable future, and it was ironic that among all these other women, Ian had never felt so alone.

She set her bedding and extra prison uniform on the top bunk and sighed—for a brief moment she'd been glad not to have to deal with her cell mate just yet, but of course as soon as she'd had the thought, the door opened, and Ian felt her shoulders stiffen in response. Turning around, she steeled herself—

But anything she might have said evaporated from her mind at the sight of Mickey goddamn Milkovich standing there, her black hair combed to one side, longer than the last time Ian had seen her, her blue eyes sparkling with poorly concealed mirth.

"So I rolled on the cartel I'd been working for," Mickey said, all casual, like she hadn't just thrown Ian's entire world out of orbit with her presence, "and in exchange, guess who gets to pick where she gets locked up?"

Ian could only stare at Mickey, breath caught in her chest, unable to believe that she was here, right here, right now, when she thought she'd be alone in the worst place possible. "...holy shit," she managed to choke out, a poor substitute for all the words she wanted to say. Like how did you get here, what are you doing back in prison, why did you do this, when did you get that new tattoo. But all the words died on the tip of her tongue as Mickey walked past her, winking as she did so.

"By the way," she said, "I got bottom, so uh, you're on top." Like it was no big deal, like she hadn't just thrown Ian for a goddamn loop by her mere presence here in the same fucking prison. That she'd given up the freedom she'd worked so hard for. Why she'd turned snitch on a Mexican drug cartel to do so, just to be back with Ian. So many questions, but there was time enough for that, later. As Mickey stretched out languidly on the bottom bunk, looking like a rather contented cat, Ian couldn't help but rush towards her.

She practically jumped on top of Mickey, pressing their bodies flush together. Her own freshly dyed hair fell around their faces, mingling with Mickey's own, and Ian's eyes wanted to close as she inhaled deeply, Mickey's familiar scent filling the air around her. It made her ache in so many ways; it'd been so long since that awful day at the border, when she'd kissed Mickey goodbye for what she thought would be the last time. But no, now she was here, pressed against Ian, a hand sliding through Ian's hair, pulling her in close, slowly, carefully bringing their faces into a kiss.

And God, what a kiss it was; it took every bit of willpower Ian had not to fucking devour her. There was a slight tremble in Mickey's hand, in spite of the confidence of her words, and Ian wanted to take her apart, piece by fucking piece. This wasn't the time or place for it, though; that could come later. For now, there was a soft, careful exploration of mouths, teeth and tongues holding back for the moment; they pressed together carefully, tentatively, as if both of them could barely believe this was real.

Ian brought one hand up and stroked Mickey's cheek, pressing their foreheads together. It was impossible to believe, but yeah, she was here, right here, and it made Ian want to weep. This was what she'd been missing. The puzzle piece she couldn't find for so long, the part of herself she'd tried to forget and put away. But there was no separating Ian Gallagher from Mickey Milkovich. No matter what, they would always find their way back to each other.

"I fucking love you," she murmured against Mickey's lips, feeling Mickey's answering smile against her mouth.

"Damn right, Gallagher," Mickey said. "Can't get rid of me that easy." And all Ian could do in response was to kiss her again. This time, she wasn't going to let her go.

#I hope you like this it was literally off the top of my head #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #leinth writes fic #shameless fanfiction #gallavich fic #shameless #fem!gallavich #rule 63 all the things

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mindofharry · 5 months

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Y/N didn’t know why she came back to Hallows Creek. After everything that happened, she promised herself she would never step foot back in that town. But Y/N is loyal and if you need her, she’s there. Her best friend, Niall from high school, is expecting his fifth child. His wife, Amelia needed some extra hands around the house while Niall was working on the farm, but didn’t want a stranger in her home. So Y/N offered. They knew her background here. But she insisted. Her job wasn’t doing much for her, her rent was insane and she had no one around to support her, so many Hallows Creek would be good for Y/N.

It would be good if she didn’t bump into him.

Y/N left for a reason.

And that reason was Harry Styles.

She was so infatuated with that man, always following him around like a lost puppy until he eventually gave in and gave her a chance. Y/N likes to think they were high school sweethearts, but that might be too nice. They dated for a year and then Harry got bored. He’s a cowboy, he needed something more and Y/N wasn’t interested in that. And so Harry broke her heart and chose his farm, instead of the girl.

Y/N didn’t blame him for that. The farm had been in his family for centuries and he was always going to be the one to take over when his father and mother retired. She blamed him for the way things went down. When he took her to the prom and publicly humiliated her.

He thought that dating Margaret Miller, the mayors daughter, would be better than little old Y/N.

That’s what Y/N thought anyways. Why else would he kiss her while he was meant to be with Y/N?

After the whole prom fiasco, her parents told her they were moving. She could stay with her grandparents or she move up her whole life and move to the coast with them. And Y/N knew what she had to do. She left when she was 17 and never once came back.

And now at 28, she wasn’t sure if she made the right decision.

Hallows Creek looked the exact same. People everywhere, all the stores open, kids running up and down the street, the ice cream parlour that everyone knows still up and running. She smiled to herself. It was like she never left. Y/N clutched her bag and made her way through the crowd, not recognising anyone. These were the knew locals now and Y/N just wanted to fit in, so she smiled and lugged her suitcase up the road to the diner she used to eat at everyday.

“Well, I never! Is that Ms Y/N I see?” Missy yelled from behind the counter, throwing her cloth down and running down the diner to throw her hands around Y/N. Y/N laughed loudly as the swayed side to side.

Missy had been here for over 30 years. Her father opened this diner and after he passed away, she made it her mission to make the best diner on earth. And that she did. She was here for everything. For Y/N’s first kiss, her first bully, her first everything. Y/N worked here during the summers and Missy was like the older sister she never had.

“You look so beautiful,” Missy cried out, throwing her arms around Y/N again.

Y/N blushed, “Oh, stop. I look a mess,”

Missy smacked her arm and took her suitcase, “Please, you look like you got off the runway,” she replied, dropping her suitcase at the first booth. Their both.

Harry and Y/N came to this diner for their dates. There wasn’t much to do in this town, but that didn’t bother Y/N. She loved coming here.

“Let me get you your usual and then you can tell me why the fuck it took you so long to come back,” Missy said, Y/N scoffed and tutted.

“I think everyone knows,” She murmured, looking out the window.

Y/N took her phone out and texted Niall that she was at the diner having some lunch and that she’d walk over to his soon, but Niall insisted on collecting her. So here she was, an hour later on her third milkshake, filling Missy in on everything she missed.

“So let me get this straight.. you could literally be the president of the united states and you’re here.. in Hallows Creek?” Missy asked incredulously.

Y/N cackled, “I’m a lawyer Miss. A bad one at that,”

“Who’s a bad lawyer?”

Y/N peeked over the booth and saw him.

Harry Styles was now standing in front of her for the first time in almost 11 years. He changed. He was more tanned, had tattoos up and down his arms. His eyes were the same, green and wide. And he wore the same cowboy hat, that Y/N used to steal.

They met eyes and it was like all the air was knocked out of her. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not this fast, she couldn’t do this.

She threw out a couple of dollars and a tip, grabbed her bags and then practically flew out of the door.

“Don’t follow me. Don’t follow me. Don’t follow,” She chanted as she walked away from the diner.

“Y/N! Come on. Y/N!” Harry yelled, jogging up to her.

“God, woman you move fast,” He smirked, looking her up and down. Y/N scoffed and kept walking forward.

“Come on, let me talk. Please,” He begged, reaching out to hold her arm.

Y/N stopped abruptly and looked up at him. He’s taller than she remembered.

“I didn’t know you were coming back,” He said, biting his lip.

“I didn’t think you’d care,” Y/N whispered, moving forward again.

“Of course I’d care. You left me,” Harry said, his voice breaking. Y/N turned around quickly, her suitcase falling to the ground.

“You broke me! You did,” She whisper yelled, she looked around and tried to contain herself, picking up her suitcase.

“Don’t follow me, Harry,”

And he didn’t.

Y/N spotted Niall’s car and immediately walked towards it like her life depended on it — in a way, it did. Niall didn’t ask questions when she saw the tears running down her cheeks. He just hugged her and let her deal with this. He knew it would be hard. Not just seeing Harry, but coming back to a town with no great memories.

“Let’s get you home,” Niall said kissing the top of her head.

“I think I am home,” Y/N said, pushing him away playfully.

“The kids and Amelia are so excited to see you. Millie has grown so much since Christmas,” Niall said, putting her bags into the boot of the car.

“Yeah?”

Niall nodded, “Knox had a growth spurt as well. Jesus, they’re all growing up,” Niall said, turning on the ignition. Y/N looked out the car window and saw Harry still in the same spot, his hat off and in his hands.

“He’s not with Margaret anymore,” Niall said. Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Don’t care,”

Niall chuckled, “Sure,”

Niall’s farm wasn’t anything special, but he took major pride in it. And it paid the bills. It wasn’t anything like Harry’s, but Niall liked it more as a hobby than a job. His whole life didn’t depend on it. During the winter, he taught middle school. In the summer, he helped his workers on the farm.

Amelia and Niall met in college. Both teachers and had so much love for kids, both coming from big families. Five kids might be a too much for Y/N though. But she loved them all like they were her own, and she’d love this baby too.

The rolled up the driveway and there they were. Her family.

Amelia had the youngest, Peter, in her arms and her bump was absolutely huge.

“Sure it’s not twins?” Y/N joked, Niall scoffed.

“The last time you said that, we actually had twins. So keep it to yourself,”

Millie and Knox, the twins, were jumping up and down in front of their mother. Taylor and Matthew were on the porch playing with their trucks, but immediately perked up with they saw their father. Y/N loved seeing him this happy.

“Y/N, you look amazing,” Amelia smiled, putting peter down and pulling Y/N into a hug.

“Eight months pregnant and still looking sexy as ever,” Y/N replied, as Niall took her bags in.

“Now where are all my hugs!”

After settling in, Y/N decided it would be nice for her and Niall to catch up. So they went to the local bar. Amelia did not want to go, cause she could barley see her feet, but she pushed the other two out of the house told them to have fun.

Niall placed a cowboy hat on her head as they walked to the car.

“Now, you’re home,”

Y/N grinned and skipped to the car.

“Feels like I never left,”

They arrived at Earl’s Bar at just the right time. A couple was leaving so they robbed their table quickly, laughing to themselves.

“I’ve missed this,” Y/N said, putting her hat down on the table.

“Remember when you grew boobs and everyone started give us free beers?” Niall laughed and Y/N hit his arm.

“Don’t even,”

“What did I miss?”

Niall stood up quickly, puffing his chest out. Y/N rolled her eyes and stood between Niall and Harry.

“No need to play Alpha, boys,”

Harry tipped his hat at Niall, “Just wanted to say hi to the competition,”

Y/N scoffed, “I’m getting a drink,”

She walked away and up to the bar.

“We need to talk,” Harry said placing a hand on her hip. She melted into his touch.

“No, we actually don’t,”

She turned around and looked him in his eyes.

Huge mistake.

“We’ll talk. But you buy me a drink first,”

#part 2?#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfic

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gojos-fr-bae · 8 months

Text

𝖂𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝕯𝖔 𝕻𝖙. 2- 𝕸𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖎𝖙 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖕

Pairing: CEO!Gojo x Fem!Lawyer!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, drinking, smoking, drug use, thoughts of su1c1de, panic attack, depressed Gojo

Word Count: 1.1k

H/C- home country

Minors DNI

Gojo stirred from his sleep...again.

He's waking up...again.

Why couldn't he just be at peace for once.

Suddenly he felt so nauseous. And then cam the pain. The strong, unbearable, disgusting, white hot pain.

He ran to the toilet and gagged so hard, trying so hard to throw up the food he hadn't even eaten. When was the last time he ate? He couldn't even remember that at a good time let alone when he was throwing up so hard his vision was blurring. But then again, maybe those were his tears as sobs racked his body.

Make it stop make it stop MAKE IT STOOP!

Why wouldn't it all just stop. Maybe it was the two bottles of gin he took before bed...or the five sleeping pills...or the kilo of cocaine. All he knew was that he was sitting on his bathroom floor wishing he took all the pills, maybe then they would've stopped his heart.

*Knocks*

"Satoru you're going to be late" Said Nanami, annoyed on the other side of the door.

Gojo slapped his hand over his mouth to muffle his cries.

"Satoru?" Nanami tried again, voice sounding slightly more worried this time.

The lack of a response caused him to open the door, his stoic expression softening ever so slightly as he looked down at his best friend.

"Again?"

Satoru looked up at him before letting his shoulders shake, tears cascading down his face as he nodded his head.

"*sigh* Alright, let's get you cleaned up"

"She's here" Nanami said to Gojo, now in his office.

"Really?" the latter perked up, rising from his seat.

"Yes but if I may ask, why are you so interested in her?"

"You know she shut down my flirting?"

"And this shocked you because?"

"When last do you remember me being reject by someone with a pussy?"

"You want to go there?" Nanami asked, smirking at Gojo who rolled his eyes.

"Just tell me where she is"

"Staff room, pretty sure she's getting breakfast, you should try it some time,"

"The staff room?"

"Breakfast,"

"Oh you're soo funny"

Satoru groaned before walking out of the office to go find you. Who knows, maybe he'll get lucky today.

"Hey~" a deep voice whispered in your ear making you jump in shock and turn around ready to kill whoever was behind you. Unfortunately, that happened to be your new boss.

"Oh, Mr. Gojo, how may I help you?"

"Not much just um... getting coffee."

"Ah, let me make you some then, how many sugars?"

"Five,"

"FIVE? What the hell, it's like you don't even want teeth."

"I guess not."

You looked at him like he had three heads before making him the coffee but putting 4 sugars instead of 5.

"So, there's a company dinner tonight for all the new staff, would love to see you there."

"Of course sir, now if you'll excuse me I have to get working."

"Please, go ahead"

"Yes sir," You said before bowing and walking away from him as fast as possible, who knows, maybe you will trip on your heels, twist an ankle and have to miss the dinner.

"Woah, and where are you going dressed like such a slut?" Toji asked, leaning on the frame of the bathroom door, looking you up and down while smirking.

For the dinner you chose to wear a light pink, knee length satin dress with a sweetheart neckline. You even straightened your hair and were finishing up on your makeup.

"Well if you MUST know, I'm going for a company dinner."

"Dresses like that? Might ass well just go naked and take birth control. I call dibs on Godfather."

"Yeah yeah, you're just cause ur going to be alone tonight."

"Says who? I'm going to be so busy I had to fill up on condoms."

"As if you'll use them." you snorted, walking past him to pick up your bag and leave.

"You look gorgeous by the way" He whispered, making you turn around and smile at him softly.

"Thank you"

"Uh huh, yeah now fuck off the strippers get here in ten, I don't need them seeing your weird ass, might think I'm cheating on them," He snorted, making you role your eyes and walk out of your shared apartment, wondering why you still put up with him.

You walked into the reserved room with a few of your colleagues, making the meeting complete. And you did your best to ignore the fact that your boss saved you the seat right beside him.

"Great! Now that we're all here and situated, I would like to raise a toast to all of you and welcome you to Gojo industries, I look forward to working with all of you. Cheers"

And while everyone was toasting, you couldn't help but notice how Gojo's hand was shaking. You also looked at his face and noticed his pupils were dilated.

"Uhm, excuse me sir, are you okay?" you whispered once everyone had settled down and were immersed in their own conversations.

"Of course, why would you ask?

"Well, it's just that you're shaking, so I was slightly concerned."

"Ah, I didn't even notice, maybe I just need some fresh air, excuse me."

He rose from his seat and made his way out of the room, but you couldn't help but notice how his breathing had sped up slightly and his shoulders tensed. Kinda of weird but then again he seemed like a pretty odd guy so you chose not to question it.

You were walking through the restaurant when you passed the back door and heard some heavy breathing. You slowly walked towards it and cracked the door open and shock cannot even begin to express the emotion you were experiencing at that moment.

There was your boss, squatting while leaning against the building wall. But what caused your surprise was his heavy breathing. He was shaking so violently that even though you technically hated his guts you couldn't help but worry.

"Sir? A-are you ok?"

Instead of a response, his breathing quickened. He was...having a panic attack? What the...huh?

"Uhm sir, please calm down." you said in the softest tone you could muster, putting your bag down and trying to pat his back.

"Make it stop, please" you hear him croak, his voice sounded so soft, so weak, so...broken. You'd had your fair share of panic attacks but through the lower half of them, you had Toji to be a shoulder to cry on so you know that being alone while suffering like this was hell. And because of this, you kneeled down and pulled him against you, wrapping your arms tightly around him and placing his head against your neck.

Once you did he began to sob so hard you were pretty sure it was tipping his throat raw. He grabbed your dress so hard he feared he would never be able to let go.

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tropes-and-tales-archives · 9 days

Text

More Precious Than Rubies: Part 7a

This is an alternate timeline story that has a Rafael Barba track and a Sonny Carisi track. The two paths split off in part 3.

WC: 5046

TW: Idiots in love; angst; hurt feelings and apologies; talk of cheating; talk of panic attacks.

AN: The prompt was "I came here to explain what happened, and I’m not leaving until you listen."

You weren’t sure if it was possible to feel worse about yourself, but over the next few weeks, you sunk to new lows. You were always so good about thinking before speaking – you always had a thoughtful, measured approach to your words. You knew that words could be a weapon. They could cut deep or hit with a heavy weight.

Your flippant, unkind comment to Barba had been like a cudgel. He hadn’t done a single thing wrong. He had looked so hurt when he left you that night, and you felt like a complete asshole.

You tried sending him a few texts – he read them, but never replied. You called twice and left voicemails. You knew this was probably karma for the way you shut Sonny out when you’d broken up. That thought – that Sonny had probably tried to reach out to you too, and you had ignored him – gave you fresh waves of shame.

You saw Barba a few times at the courthouse, but he pointedly ignored you. More shame.

All told, you were probably at the lowest you’d been in a while. You had a terrible case – a seventeen year old being held at Rikers who hadn’t even been formally charged with anything yet. Your father had called a couple times and you’d missed each call. You had a tension headache that hung with you for a week, never loosening its grip on you.

And you felt terrible about Barba. You could logic out a lot of why you’d been an asshole. First Jason, then Sonny – wonderful boyfriends until they just stopped loving you or wanting you. Barba had just been a fun hookup at first. When he tried to start a feelings talk with you, your stomach had dipped pleasantly for a split second before it twisted. If he was developing feelings for you, then it’d be a short journey from that to breaking up, hurting you.

In other words, Barba might have feelings for you now. In a year, he’d be out of love with you and cheating (like Jason) or out of love with you and possibly cheating (like Sonny). There was something about you that reeled men in, but they never stuck around. Why bothering signing up for future pain just for a bit of affection now?

Still, the guilt weighed on you. Barba was a good man, after all, and it would have been be all too easy to fall for him. You remembered how he had comforted you that day in SVU, when you’d seen a pregnant Rollins and assumed the baby was Sonny’s. You remembered how Barba hadn’t said a single snarky thing, taking you to lunch instead and being perfectly kind and consoling.

You remembered all the times you argued, but how he had smiled at you like he enjoyed it. You remembered how he used to call you “Girl Wonder,” but then took to calling you “Fordham law” until he found out about your other nickname - then how he’d call you “Sparky” with a wide grin.

You remembered how it felt when you danced with him at the swanky lawyer event.

You needed to see Barba. At the very least, you needed to apologize, and if he didn’t stalk away from you with cold fury in his green eyes, maybe you could explain yourself too.

*****

Barba felt like shit. He’d gone over to your apartment with the intention of broaching the topic of maybe being more than just hookup buddies. It had been getting harder and harder to pretend that it was just physical for him anymore. Even when you got dressed and left him, he spent the rest of the night thinking about you.

Every encounter, he managed to learn a new bit of information about you. You couldn’t cook, apparently. You had been training for a half-marathon but had abandoned it because of work. You didn’t sleep well. You lost pens at an alarming rate, which was why you just used cheap rollerballs instead of fancy fountain pens. You knew the best swear words in five different languages, because you had a weird aversion to swearing in English. You read your favorite book, ‘Possession’ by A.S. Byatt, once a year, usually over Christmas.

It wasn’t enough for him anymore. He wanted to sleep with you after sex. He wanted to fall asleep with you in his arms and wake up in the morning to wild hair and bad breath and multilingual swearing at the alarm. He wanted to go to dinner with you and get to know you better than the scavenging of facts that he was doing currently.

You did not feel the same way. You’d made a snarky comment about hate-fucking that cut him to his core, and he got out of there as quickly as he could. You’d stammered out some half-assed apology, and he wondered if you even realized what you were saying when you said it. Still, it hurt.

He ignored your texts and calls. When he felt you nearby at the courthouse – and he could: you were like a storm rolling in, making every inch of his skin hypersensitive to a changing weather front – he kept his gaze carefully ahead of him.

When you stopped calling and texting, he tried to put it all behind him.

-----

It was a Wednesday, late-morning. Barba was in his office and going through a stack of potential cases that McCoy may or may not want to take to trial. Barba took notes, summarized each case, and sent them up to his boss to decide, depending on which way the political winds were blowing. It was a quiet day otherwise.

Until it wasn’t. Barba heard you before he saw you. Clear as day, he heard you walk up to Carmen and ask if he was in and available, and when Carmen answered, you blew into his office without even knocking. You, better than anyone, should know enough to at least knock, but you were like a storm. Blowing up out of the blue like a summer squall.

Carmen was on your heels, but Barba stood and nodded at his assistant to let her know it was okay. Carmen shut the door behind her, and Barba looked at you with an impassive gaze.

You were in tailored pants and a cashmere sweater – the weather was colder and you probably didn’t have court today. Your hair was down, and the overall effect was that you looked more casual. But you also looked tired, except for your bright eyes gazing back at him.

“Before you kick me out,” you said, holding up a hand to preemptively silence him. “I came here to explain what happened, and I’m not leaving until you listen.”

“So explain,” he said. He sat back down and looked at his notes. He couldn’t bear to look at your face. It still hurt too much, your cruel rejection.

“I’m sorry,” you said, and your voice was soft. He glanced up and saw the remorse on your face, and he felt his own resolve weaken just a bit.

But only a bit. “I know,” he said, terse. “I got your texts.”

You hung your head, and your loose hair swung down so that you had to brush it back and re-tuck it behind your ear. “When I said…what I said, that evening…” you started. You took a deep breath before you continued. “I was judging you unfairly against…other people. Other situations. It wasn’t fair to say that. Or to treat you like that.” Another pause, another deep breath. “You’ve been nothing but nice, and I…wasn’t nice to you.”

Barba snorted at that last bit. “You’re lying. I’ve been other things that ‘nice.’ I wasn’t nice when I fled your place that first time.”

You gave him a small smile at that. “Well, true. You’ve been nice, but also frustrating and annoying.” Your smile slipped, and you added, “but more than anything, you’ve been nice.”

He didn’t say anything, so you fidgeted for a moment, picked at an invisible bit of lint on your sweater. Then you continued. “I like you, Barba. A lot. It’s just…I’m not very good at dating. I’m unlucky. I have…baggage…”

His stomach did a curious turn when you admitted that you liked him, but before you could continue or he could interrupt, his office door swung open to admit both Olivia and SVU’s new guy. Dodds. You turned, startled, at the intrusion.

“We interrupting?” Dodds asked, and Barba murmured a “no” while you shook your head. The two detectives watched you as you nodded first at Barba, then at them, then left the office altogether.

********

You had your chance to talk to Barba, and you had managed to apologize. You had even managed to explain yourself, a little, before SVU interrupted.

It would have to be enough.

You still felt terrible, but it was the best you could do. Besides, in the entirety of your bad feelings, you could only afford so much bandwidth to Barba. You had other things to feel badly about.

There was your father, locked up in Missouri. You kept missing his calls, and it wasn’t like you could exactly call him back where he was. You sent him a quick letter explaining that you were busy in court and not ignoring him – it was important that he knew you weren’t abandoning him. Everyone else in your family had.

There was your case load, crushing in the best of times, but you had a case that was especially terrible. Your client was locked up in Rikers, and half the time when you went to visit him, the guards made it unnecessarily difficult: once your client was in lock-down, once he was put into a holding cell on the other side of the complex. And your client shouldn’t even be in jail – he was accused of shoplifting, but he was dirt poor and couldn’t make bail. You filed motion after motion, but you were low on the docket and in the meantime, your client was suffering.

There was your health in general: you weren’t sleeping at all. You couldn’t fall asleep because of your racing thoughts, and in the rare occasion that you did nod off before two in the morning, your dreams were unsettling. You didn’t have much of an appetite anymore, and you found yourself shaking from hunger sometimes, or nauseous from low blood sugar.

And your panic attacks had resurfaced with a vengeance. You tried to will them away, and then you tried to make an appointment with your doctor, but he couldn’t see you for three months. So you managed them as best you could, which meant that you found little hiding places all around the city, places that you could be alone and let the panic attacks tear through you without an audience.

When you went to SVU, there was a file room a floor up that you could hide in. Other precincts had other places to hide – cleaning closets, boiler rooms, ladies rest rooms in precincts full of men and, therefore, rarely used.

At the courthouse, there were the stairwells. Almost no one took the stairs, so you weathered your attacks there, mostly alone.

*****

Barba wasn’t sure where he stood with you after you left his office. He would have tried to reassure you – maybe call you “Girl Wonder” again to let you know that you’d lost ground but that he still liked you – but he didn’t see you. Your schedules were out of sync again: you seemed to be on a stretch with Major Crimes, dealing with assaults and a few burglaries and other minor, petty stuff.

You weren’t at the wine bar either. He went there more, hoping to see you, but you never turned up.

You had looked sad that day in his office, and if he were honest, he had forgiven you once you apologized. He knew the walls you had up, and he knew the baggage you carried from past relationships. He could have pointed out that it had been unfair to judge him against past boyfriends, but hadn’t he done the same in his life? How many subsequent girlfriends had suffered because of Yelina? How many relationships had ended because Barba assumed that he’d be cheated on eventually?

He forgave you because he had been exactly in the same spot you were in – but with less insight. If you had done some soul-searching and realized what you’d done, maybe there was hope for you yet.

If he saw you again, he’d tell you as much.

But the next time he saw you was at the courthouse. You were in your usual courtroom suit, but with thicker tights against the drafty building and cool weather outside. You shoved your way out of a conference room, and you half-walked, half-jogged towards the stairwell. You walked right past him, but you didn’t see him because your head was down.

He saw you though: your face was wan, and your hands were balled into fists along your sides. You shoved the fire door open to the stairwell, but in the moment before it slammed shut behind you, he didn’t hear your heels clicking on the steps.

He made his way over to the door and listened for a moment. At first, he didn’t hear anything – but he could feel you. You still carried that electric charge with you, and he swore he could feel it through the metal door.

Then he heard it – quiet sniffling, and shuddering, ragged breaths, like someone crying but trying to do it quietly.

Barba considered his options – he could leave you alone, or he could go to you. It wasn’t really much of a choice, though.

He pushed open the door carefully, and you were standing there on the landing, leaning against the wall. You were startled, and you looked up at him with glassy eyes. Your wan face was gone, replaced by a flushed lividity that didn’t look healthy. You were pulling in great gasps of air, and his first thought was that you were having an asthma attack. Stupidly, he reached for your bag, dangling limply from your hand. He thought maybe you needed an inhaler or something, but you slid down the wall into an awkward sitting position on the landing, and your legs were bent at an uncomfortable looking angle under you.

He knelt in front of you in alarm. “Do you need an ambulance?” he asked, but you shook your head.

Between your hyperventilating, you answered him. “It…will…pass.” Then he noticed your trembling hands, and he realized what it was. Not an asthma attack after all.

“C’mere,” he said, and he helped you move until you were sitting on the edge of the stairs. He laid a gentle hand on your upper back and guided your head to your knees, folding your body in half and cutting off some of the air you were hyperventilating on. Your breathing calmed, but you still trembled uncontrollably. Barba, for his part, just put an arm around your shaking shoulders, and he waited for your panic attack to pass.

It eventually did, and you raised your head to glance at him. “Sorry,” you mumbled, not quite making eye contact with him. Your voice was ragged. He kept his arm around you, and he gave a quiet laugh.

“Why are you apologizing?” he asked.

You gave a feeble shrug. “It’s embarrassing.”

He laughed again and gave you a comforting squeeze. “Sure. Wouldn’t want anyone to know that the Girl Wonder is human after all.”

You glanced at him again, this time with a small smile on your face. “Don’t tell anyone.” You turned to face him a bit, your eyes searching his face, and your smile fell. “Barba, I’m so sorry.” He knew, from the sorrow in your eyes and the way your voice cracked on the last word, that you weren’t apologizing for the panic attack.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, and he pulled you against him in a sort of side hug as you sniffled and hung your head.

“It isn’t. I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

“Well, I forgive you,” he replied. You sat together in a moment of quiet, the sounds of the courthouse muffled in the stairwell. “Luckily for you, mercy is sexually transmitted,” he added with a smirk.

“What?” You pulled away from him in surprise and turned to look at him.

“Turns out I caught it from a bleeding heart public defender,” he continued. He grinned as the woebegone look on your face was replaced by an expression somewhere south of scandalized. Then you laughed – really laughed, deep in your belly until you were swiping away fresh tears from your eyes.

“What’s the incubation period on that, exactly?” you asked, and your voice was shaky again, but at least it was from laughter and not panic or shame. “Is there a cure?’

Barba shook his head sadly. “It’s terminal, sadly. The best we can do is resign ourselves to a life of compassion and clemency.”

You smiled at him, and then you smacked him lightly on his knee. “How dare you make me laugh,” you scolded him. “I was committed to feeling maudlin for at least another month.”

“Don’t do that on my account. That’s an order.”

Your smiled widened. “You’re not the boss of me, Barba.”

He released his hold on you and stood up, and he went and picked up your bag from the landing. He held his hand out to you to help you stand, and he watched you brush yourself off and smooth your hair. Then he handed you your bag, and you murmured your thanks.

“I’m not your boss, but here’s another order: go home early and take it easy.” He hesitated, and added, “I know that panic attacks can wear you out.”

You looked at him thoughtfully and then nodded. “Maybe I will.” You started to turn to leave but paused, rethinking it. You turned back and surprised him by wrapping your arms around him for a sweetly chaste hug. He froze for a moment and then hugged you back, savoring the feeling of you in his arms. When you broke away a moment later, you ducked your head, almost shyly, and thanked him again. And then you left.

-----

He finished out the day with you in the forefront of his mind. He imagined you at home, curled up in your pajamas with a cup of tea, but then he revised the mental image. You and he were too similar.

What did Barba do after a panic attack? He went back to work. He would be willing to bet his paycheck that you had gone back to work too.

Your office wasn’t too far from his own, so when he wrapped up for the day, he took a slight detour to your sad office building. There was a lone light burning, and Barba swore it was yours. Probably.

He dialed your cell, and you picked up on the third ring. “Feeling better?” he asked, skipping over the formalities. “Relaxing at home?”

“Yes,” you replied. “And…yes.”

Barba smirked. “So you’re not at work?”

A pause. “No.”

“Liar. I can see your office light on.”

Another pause, and a disbelieving huff of laughter. “Creep. Are you watching my office? Do I need to call SVU on you?”

“It’s a good thing you’re not a prosecutor, Sparky,” he replied. “What a flimsy case you’re pushing here. Textbook circumstantial evidence.”

Another huff of laughter, and he continued before you could return his volley. “Wrap up and get down here. Coincidentally, I’m parked out on the street in front of your building. I’ll give you a ride home.” He paused and looked at the clock on his car’s dashboard. “If you get here in the next five minutes, I’ll buy you dinner.” He hung up.

He timed you – you were sliding into his passenger’s seat with a playful glare in all of three minutes.

*****

When Barba forgave you, you felt a massive weight lift off of you. You still felt the sharp sting of guilt, and maybe you’d always feel a bit of shame, but if anything, you hoped it would be a caution for you to always measure your words before you spoke.

His forgiveness also made you feel something else, unexpected: a slender bit of hope. You knew now that you had feelings for him – you were able to admit that much to yourself. As you sat across from him at the sushi restaurant he took you to, you allowed yourself to explore those feelings just a bit.

On the shallow side of things, he was painfully handsome. He was amazing in bed, and you readily admitted that the two of you had great chemistry together.

More profoundly, though: he was kind. He didn’t present that way – he came across as arrogant and snide – but it didn’t take much to realize that he was a good-hearted man. Maybe the arrogance was a sort of armor, or maybe it was for the benefit of his role as a hard-hitting prosecutor, but the reality was that he was unbearable thoughtful and gentle every time you fell apart in front of him.

If you’d had a panic attack in front of Sonny, for example, you would have probably felt more ashamed of it. But in front of Barba, there was a bit of embarrassment, but his arm around you had been comforting. And he joked with you – and implied that he had the same issue. That it wasn’t anything to be embarrassed about.

You wondered about his dating past. He seemed like someone who should have been snapped up and married off young, to a high school sweetheart maybe, but he led a pretty monkish life. Aside from hooking up with you, of course. Other than that, you didn’t know of a single girlfriend or boyfriend or casual fling, and you knew more gossip about New York lawyers than you cared to admit.

Now, at dinner, you ate and chatted like old friends. You didn’t even talk about work – he told you about his favorite book, his favorite movie, and asked you about your own. You realized that he was trying to get to know you better, and it gave you a pleasant, warm flush.

You realized that you were both Vonnegut fans, and you finished dinner and ordered dessert – a sampler of mochi that you split – and you argued over which Vonnegut was the best.

“Slaughterhouse-Five, hands down,” he said.

You shook your head. “No way. His essays are the best, and his short stories are a close second. Harrison Bergeron? Come on, Barba, there’s no contest.”

“His essays are so bleak,” he protested.

“And a book about reliving the firebombing of Dresden is a playful romp?”

You caught the smile he tried to hide as he raised his glass to finish his whiskey. “Are you going to argue with me on everything?”

“Stop being wrong on everything and I’ll stop arguing with you,” you retorted with a smile.

“Hmm,” he replied. “Let me think of something we can agree on. What are your thoughts on politics?”

You leaned forward. “The further left, the better. Anarchy and free rides for all.”

He snorted. “I’m further left than you give me credit for, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“There’s probably even some overlap in our beliefs,” he added.

You spooned another scoop of mochi and let it dissolve in a wash of sweetness on your tongue. “So, here’s the question. As a New Yorker, the political quandary of our time: in the last mayoral race, did you vote for the Wall Street fat cat or the left-leaning pervert with child porn on his phone?”

His grin fell instantly, and you knew you’d overstepped, but you weren’t sure how. Your mind raced to figure out where you messed up – Alex Muñoz had been an SVU case, but you remembered O’Dwyer in all the press conferences when it went to trial. It hadn’t been Barba’s case…

“I wrote myself in on that ballot,” he said, and he tried to smile but it didn’t reach his eyes.

You sighed and laid your spoon down, your appetite gone. “What did I say wrong? I thought that was O’Dwyer’s case, and anyway, Muñoz pled out halfway through trial…”

“Alex was my friend,” Barba said quietly, cutting you off. “My best friend. We grew up together in the Bronx. I supervised SVU’s case against him in the beginning.”

“I didn’t know that.”

He nodded. “Well, there were some press conferences that called me out by name. You probably didn’t see them, or didn’t remember.” He winced. “But my family did. My neighborhood. And they have long memories.”

You tried to think back to that time. You remembered the press conferences, of course, because they were like any other press conference where a politician got caught being a sleaze: contrite but vowing to fight, with a stony-faced wife standing beside him because she had to. Muñoz had been the same, standing beside his gorgeous, disappointed wife. But that’s all you remembered – none of the content.

“I knew his wife too. Yelina.” The way he said it made you look at him closer – his face was downturned as he ran his finger restlessly around the rim of his empty glass.

“You grew up with her too?” you asked gently.

He nodded again. “Alex was my best friend. And Yelina…was my first love.”

“Ah.”

There was a long beat of silence. “She thought I was targeting Alex specifically,” he continued. “As revenge. Because she left me for him. Years ago. A lifetime ago.”

You reached out to take his free hand, the one that wasn’t fussing with his glass. You grasped it gently and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sure she realized deep down that you were caught between a rock and a hard place, and her husband was literally caught with child porn…”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. She was always blinded by him.” He twisted his mouth into a sardonic smile. “Alex had the charm.” He looked down at your hands, intertwined as they were, and he gave himself a little shake. “Sorry. This isn’t how I planned on the evening going,” he said, and when he smiled this time it reached his eyes.

You cocked a suggestive eyebrow at him. “How did you plan on it going, counselor?”

He didn’t return the suggestive look, though. He replied earnestly, “I planned on asking you out on a proper date. I didn’t plan on rambling about ancient history.”

“Ancient history came up organically,” you said. You tried to ignore your heart hammering in your chest at Barba wanting to ask you out, properly. “You need to balance the scales, hear about my first love? His name was Wayne Crawford, it was the second grade, and when I tried to hold his hand during a school assembly, he shoved me and said I smelled like hot dogs.”

He chuckled at that, and you added, “there was no press conference though.”

But you felt…trusted, like a confidant, that Barba had opened up to you, even if it was unplanned. So you added, more seriously, “my first real love, though, was Jason. Undergraduate at Fordham. We dated for a couple of years, and I found out he cheated on me for most of it.”

You glanced up to see Barba staring at you, but he had a sympathetic look on his face. You felt uncomfortable to open up, like you were exposing a raw nerve that might get irritated, but he had opened up to you. Quid pro quo. Give and take. You had learned that much from your failed relationship with Sonny: you had to open up more, take more leaps of faith.

“Well, I’m not a cheater,” Barba finally said. You smiled at him, and he continued, a sly look creeping across his handsome features. “And you got that hot dog smell problem sorted out now, so we’re good.”

You plucked your hand from his with as much dignity as you could muster, and you feigned like you were getting up to leave, so Barba reached out to snag your hand again, holding you tight.

“Does Friday or Saturday night work better for you?” he asked, and while he still smiled at you, his voice sounded earnest.

You wavered before you answered. “Are you sure? Even after what I said?”

Barba flagged down the waiter for the check, and he handed off his credit card to settle the bill. “You don’t seem to understand ‘forgiveness’ as a concept,” he told you. You shrugged a little ruefully, and he kept going. “Firstly, you forgave me when I fled the scene our first night together. You didn’t make me grovel.”

He paused as the waiter returned his card, and you watched as Barba signed the slip with a flourish. Then he picked up the thread of conversation.

“Secondly, I have people march into my office all day, every day and say rude things to me. I’m always being accused of being too political or too cautious, or not smart enough to find legal loopholes. The Muñoz case? I got it as bad from SVU as I did from Alex. And I never get an apology. Not a real one, anyway.” He sighed, and you could see how his job did wear on him, much like yours did to you.

“So it was novel, getting a real apology from you,” he said. “And thirdly, I understand now why you said what you did, so I probably would have forgiven you even without an apology.”

You hung your head a little. “I’m so….”

“…sorry, yes. I got that,” he cut you off to finish your sentence, his voice dry. “So Friday or Saturday?”

When you took too long to answer (caught between wanting to see him on Friday, but worried that you’d be too tired from the work week), he casually added a third option. “Or both?”

Your broad grin, wide enough that it hurt your cheeks to smile that wide, was all the answer he needed. Both.

#rafael barba #rafael barba x you #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba x reader #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction #tropes and tales

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4younotafool · 4 months

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Love And Justice (Genshin Impact)

This story is also available on different platforms;

Wattpad: NotAFool4You "Love and Justice"

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genre: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, mistaken identity, crime, she fell first he fell harder, second chance

Part Five

"I was really surprised when I received a legal announcement, you know!"

Yanfei exclaimed as I sat on the other side of the table. She was still standing up, and looking a bit distressed.

She showed the letter she spoke of, It was a notice of her presence being needed and requested by the Court Of Fontaine to defend my case. Marissa's name was inserted instead of mine, however, I'm sure she would've realized it was me.

"I'm sorry," I said sincerely. "I couldn't be bothered to take one of Fontaine's incompetent people, you see.

Yanfei sighed and took a sit and her head fell. The trial is yet to start but my lawyer acts as if we have already lost.

"I didn't want to come but I'm indebted to you so...."

"I know"

Yanfei is someone whom I have known in one of my travels in Liyue, we are not particularly close to the point of regarding each other as friends. But I had considerably been a great help to Yanfei. Now is the time for her to return the favor, whether she dislikes the law of Fontaine as much as I do or not.

On cue, Yanfei cleared her throat and took a wad of documented papers from her bag, and placed it on top of the table with a loud 'bang'. She's taking the case seriously now, I see.

"According to the charges pressed against you, or more precisely, your sister, she kidnapped a 7-year-old child named Elona. She held her for about half a year and demanded ransom in exchange for Elona's safety. The parents witnessed how your sister took their daughter away from them and have been continuously paying the amount needed every month for their daughter not to get sold off. Recently, they only got the courage to formally accuse her of the crime to the Court Of Fontaine."

"However, in reality. Instead of treating their one and only daughter with care and love, the parents abused Elona on a daily occurrence, may it be physical or verbal, and neglected her to rot in the streets alone. Which is where your sister had met her. Elona's parents are also part of an abduction and human trafficking group. They are responsible for the recent human disappearances in Fontaine and in other regions as well, they're targeting small villages and masking the vanishing as an attack from Teyvat's monsters. They might be using you as a scapegoat and cover for their crime."

Yanfei declared. It made me smile at how prepared she already is despite summoning her abruptly.

"Your case is also told to be related to the infamous 'Fontaine's missing children case' that has remained unsolved for about twenty years now."

"How did that happen?"

Yanfei shook her head to the side and crossed her arms.

"I'm not sure about that part. I didn't get much information. It was strictly confidential."

I nodded my head in understatement.

"It'll be tricky to get you out of here as soon as possible, to be honest"

"But not entirely impossible, correct?"

"Yeah. With actual alibi to prove you are not related to it at any point and necessary evidence I can get you out." Yanfei concluded but sighed. Again. For how many times has it been?"

"If information is our only issue, then you do not need to worry."

"How??? It's the most essential part! I can't defend you properly without it! It doesn't help if we rely on rumors or if we try to avoid them! It's unavoidable!"

"Settle down, Yanfei. I know someone who can fetch one for us."

Yanfei squinted her eyes. Bewildered with how calm I am being.

"You already have it planned out, don't you?"

"Of course." I smiled at her. "You'll be able to meet my informant outside and give you the imperative details you request."

"Yay! Then everything's solved already!"

Yanfei cheerfully rejoiced to the point of hopping around the room as she celebrated. After all, she wouldn't have to overwork or tire herself considering I have everything prepared and ordered. I only require a third person to oversee the case as my eyes and body are outside this fortress.

For a moment, Yanfei froze and looked back at me. I raised my brow at her.

"You're sure that your sister is innocent, right?"

That sounds offending, but I'll let it pass. "As innocent as a newborn child."

I have everything organized. I devised my plan during the ten-hour stay in the Fortress even way before I was arrested. All the verification and documentation to support Yanfei's defense is flawless. The phrases I would and should say against the honor, anything whatsoever the parents would accuse me of, is wholly prepared.

So, how did this happen? Why did Marissa do this?

"According to the judgment of the Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale, Lady Marissa is — guilty."

#genshin imagines #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfics #wriothesley #genshin wriothesley #angst #fanfic #wriothesley x reader

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 1 year

Note

If you’re comfy - can we see Bruce at a wedding? Preferably his own wedding with reader, but not sure if you want to do that lol. I have dreams about having a first dance with Bruce 🥰

"Are you here for the bride or the groom," Bruce rumbled, bending so his lips were close to your ear.

"I'm here for my boss," you hum, scanning the room, mentally noting the location of people Bruce had wanted to speak to.

"Well that's no fun-"

"Mr. Wayne, please."

Bruce winced and stood up straight. Realizing that you didn't want to play with him. Not like this. Not right now. You sound tense. Tense and desperately unhappy. "What's wrong?" he asked, moving to stand next to you instead of behind you, tucking your hand into the crook of his arm- unusual, he supposed but. Less intimate seeming.

"Nothing, Sir-"

"Hmm," Bruce grunted. Still keeping his face neutral and pleasant but he felt his eyes narrow slightly. Looking for the source of the tension. He knew better than anyone how rude and sometimes downright cruel this layer of society could be. Pretty polite smiles hiding acid tongue and one hand offering a handshake while the other holds a knife.

"Three of your four targets just went into the lounge for-"

"You'll be alright?" he asked, looking down at you.

"Always," you answer, giving him a smile that didn't reach your eyes, "There must be someone charming to talk to here."

"Hm." He patted your hand and gently lifted your hand from his elbow. "Call if you need anything. I'll be-"

"I'll be alright," you tell him, accepting the glass of champagne he snagged off a tray for you. And made his way to the lounge that you indicated.

"Bruce!" A man he'd went to school with- did something in the financial sector wrenched his hand into a handshake and slapped him on the back, "Just the man I wanted to talk to."

"Why's that Tony," he asked, smiling, "Need a-"

"I gotta know what agency you get your girls from," he said, "God the one you brought today is gorgeous-"

"She's my assistant," Bruce said, smile faltering. Eyes going cold. "She's a professional-"

"I bet she is," he said, giving Bruce a smug 'knowing' look.

"She came highly recommended, well educated, and she's a great asset-"

"Sure Bruce," Tony scoffed, "Do you have to pay her extra or is fucking you-"

"Tony!" Another man said from the pool table, "C'mon, man. Leave the poor girl alone. Just because she told you she was working and didn't wanna go to your room-"

Bruce felt his eyes narrow, "You what?"

The other man, another person Bruce remembered from school- someone who'd been kind if not especially popular, stepped between them quickly, "Let's go get a drink," he said smoothly, glancing meaningfully towards where you stood having a perfectly polite chat with someone else's PA. Telling Bruce that beating someone to death for implying you were a sex worker wouldn't do much to change that opinion.

"Excellent," Bruce said, letting himself be lead away.

"You gotta start hiring ugly girls, Bruce," Gerald muttered, "Or find a guy that can do it-"

"The men can't take the pressure," Bruce chuckled. "And it's not Y/N's fault she's a pretty girl who has the skill set I need."

"Careful, B," Gerald said teasing, "I probably can't afford to let her get her nails done on company time when I act like an ass but- I might be tempted to poach her if-"

"Not a Chance," Bruce said grinning, "I hate breaking in assistants almost as much as I hate weddings."

And Gerald raised his glass in agreement before taking a drink, "You mind if I give my PA her number? He's green- having a little trouble making contacts."

"Go ahead," Bruce said nodding, "There's a little 'club' of them that meets on Wednesday afternoons for sushi and a couple drinks. Y/n said they commiserate and trade notes about everything from lawyers to party planners."

"Perfect," Gerald said, nodding to the guy, younger than you who seems to be trying to figure out how to approach you.

"Let's go introduce them before Miss Rory decides he's being creepy," Bruce said, smiling a little. You might give him a tongue-lashing and a lecture, but Rory would reduce him to tears.

#Bruce Wayne x reader #Bruce Wayne #assisstant!reader #ask answered #minors dni

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drawingducktalesducks · 1 year

Text

Violet: Webbigail! We require assistance!

Webby: Violet!

Violet: My sister seems to be malfunctioning- she woke up this morning- MORNING. Not afternoon- And she shrieked, and has been staring into space ever since. Do you have any idea what-

Webby: VI WHAT DID YOU DO?!

Violet: I- What?

Webby: I SWEAR if you’ve snuck another piece of cursed junk home when I wasn’t looking, I'm gonna- HRrrk!

Violet: Webbigail does not refer to me as “Vi”. Only Lena does that.

Violet: You… are an imposter.

Webby: I’m awake at stupid seven in the stupid morning, is what I am! Let go!

Violet: …… Lena?

Webby: Now she gets it!

Webby: Webby- Webby, c’mon. It’s weird I know, but we really need your nerd brain and Scrooge-specific trivia, okay?

Lena: eeeeeeee

Webby: Webby?

Lena: aaaaaAAAAAAAAA-

Webby: Pink! Snap out of it!

Violet: Try hugging her.

Webby: And like, what, that’ll swap us back?

Violet: Unlikely, but the shock of being taller than you may restart her systems-

Lena: OH MY GOSH I’M THE TALL ONE NOW???

Violet: -and I am proven correct again, as usual.

Webby: oh I hate this

Lena: Lena! I KNOW I WOKE UP IN YOUR ROOM BUT I DIDN’T READ YOUR DIARY THIS TIME I PROMISE!

Webby: I’m a little more freaked by you being in my BODY, Pink, but great! Thanks!

Webby: wait. this time?

Lena: Yes! Your poetry is LOVELY by the way and I’m definitely not counting the days until you show it to me so I can bask in it during a non-shadow war emergency situation!

Webby: You’ve read my-

Violet: Webbigail, we need to read your journal.

Lena: Okay! Turn around is fair play!

Violet: We are not looking for embarrassing content equal to that of my sister’s poems, which would be hard to come by in any case-

Webby: Hey!

Violet: -instead, we must discover what magical artifacts you have handled recently, as that is the most likely source of my building headache.

Lena: Oh! Headache? I thought it was the mutual possession that was the problem?

Violet: Why do you suppose I have a headache.

Webby: Webby- which poems did you read?

Lena: A pretty one!

Webby: Yeah right but, was it just evil? Or-

Lena: Evil!

Webby: -oh thank duck

Violet: Then you are missing out. Her flowery word choice and dramatic flair are far better utilized when waxing poetic about-

Webby: Don't you dare-

Lena: The cursed crystal of contrived circumstance!

Webby: ...wow, that’s convenient

Violet: Quite.

Lena: No no the runes said “contrived” not “convenient”- It’s something we found on yesterday’s adventure!

Lena: Scrooge thought it might let him pick up random lucky finds of money, like Gladstone does. Only we couldn’t get it to work! It’s still really pretty though, so he let me carry it back home, and keep it on my nightstand…

Violet: And during that time, did you say or think anything relating to exchanging bodies with Lena?

Lena: No!

Lena: We-ll, not her body, anyway.

Webby: You mean we’ve swapped brains?

Lena: I mean I, I was missing you a teensy tiny bit while on the adventure! So I maybe might have been thinking about you… and, wondering about you… and maybe wishing I could know what you’re feeling…

Violet: On which topic?

Lena: CLASSIFIED.

Webby: That's sweet, but you know you can always just ask me how I’m feeling.

Lena: Uh huh, right.

Lena: I mean sure, when you felt like you were morphing into your evil aunt who enslaved and traumatized you for fifteen years, the only words to come out of your mouth were a happy anniversary song to me.

Lena: But yes. Feelings talks. Mm-hmm. Yep. Definitely!

Webby: ..Okay fine, so i'd rather die than talk about feelings. Sue me.

Violet: If I thought doing so would get you into therapy, I assuredly would.

Lena: AND I'D BLACKMAIL THE BEST LAWERS TO... keep you.. out of therapy?

Webby: Aw Pink, you really do care.

Lena: Wait no- I mean yes obviously, but- therapy good- only, hmm, well, if you didn't WANT to go then I guess would still blackmail the lawyers-

Webby: You're so cute

Lena: Um- oh, uh- your welcome! No no, thanks!! NO NOT NO THANKS JUST THANKS NOT WELCOME!!!

Webby: Webby

Lena: YOUR WELCOME TO CALL ME CUTE why am I still talking-!?

Webby: Webby breathe, it's okay. I get it

Lena: oh thank goodness

Violet: Indeed. And now so do I.

Lena: You do?

Violet: Regarding feelings and the point of willingly sharing them, the key process to reversing this situation and easing my cranial spasms has finally become clear.

Lena: It has???

Webby: why are you smirking, Vi.

Violet: I smirk because… Webbigail. You must read Lena’s poems about you.

Webby: SHE WHAT

Lena: HER POEMS ABOUT WHAT???

Webby: No! Nuh-uh! That is SO not happening!

Violet: Then enjoy being shorter than her forever, for I wash my hands of this absurdity.

Webby: No no no no, there’s gotta be another way- VI! Vi get back here and help!

Violet: I have done all that I can…

Webby: HAVE YOU?

Violet: No. But this is more amusing. Farewell.

Webby: VIOLET!

Lena: Lena?

Webby: Y-yeah?

Lena: Is that true? You… you’ve written actual literal poems about… um…

Lena: … me?

Webby:

Webby: So me being the short one. That’s a thing, huh? We could totally get used to this.

#Ducktales (2017)#Violet Sabrewing #Webby Vanderquack #Lena #Weblena #Sabrewing Sisters #incorrect quotes

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multimilfs · 2 years

Text

Melissa Schemmenti x Fem!Reader: What if I say I'm not like the others?

Summary: There's a lot you know about Melissa Schemmenti, but not so much that you understand. And when insecurities bubble over into your relationship, it just might equal disaster.

A/N: I've been writing this all week and editing over the past few days. When I watched the most recent episode... I knew I had to get this posted, since it fits a little with the familial theme. But anyway Lisa Ann Walter owns my heart, please enjoy!!!

Tag List: @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @multifandomfix @escapetodreamworld

Warning(s): None

There’s a lot you know about Melissa Schemmenti.

You know she takes her coffee with enough sugar to be illegal and her liquor neat and how she melts when she hears the kids call her ‘Miss Schemmenti’ even after years of teaching. You know her favorite meal is Veal Siciliana from Scanicchios, but how she’ll never set foot in the restaurant after Joe used it to propose their divorce.

You know she’s not a hard woman to learn, but she can be impossible to understand.

So when the door to her cousin Annette’s house opens and Melissa’s face loses a shade of warmth, you know she’s putting on an act, but you don’t know why; Besides her blackmailer of a sister, Annette has always been the one she’s fondest of.

“There she is!” Annette exclaims, grabbing you in a bone-crushing hug like she didn’t threaten you over the dinner table at last week's family dinner, “Mel didn’t know if you’d be able to make it.”

“Good to see you too, Annette.” Melissa deadpans.

You shoot Melissa a look, “I wouldn’t miss dinner for anything.”

“Good, good. Come inside before the food gets cold.”

You’re ushered into the house and surrounded in the typical chaos of the Schemmenti family. Annette takes the branzino from your hands and whisks it away to the kitchen. Uncle Anthony and his wife Lorraine are at the dining table, halfway through a bottle of wine, laughing at something one of the surrounding cousins said.

Against the wall behind them Uncle Tomas watches the room with a keen eye. He’s arguably the most intense of her family members. The first time you’d met the man, Melissa had introduced him as Stickman; the man was a lawyer, you learned, and a damn good one. He was well connected and could get anything to stick if it’d help his case. That evening, when Melissa was distracted, he assured you he’d do the same to you if you hurt his niece. You had steered clear of him for a while after that.

Annette’s husband Nico comes around the corner, doing his Greek roots proud as he enthusiastically kisses both of your cheeks. Annette scowls, but she’s long since given up on trying to break him of the habit—after 10 years there isn’t much she can do.

Bundled up in his arms is their daughter Sophia. Everytime you remember how tiny she used to be compared to now, tears spring to your eyes.

“There’s my favorite girl,” You coo, taking her out of Nico’s arms, “I missed you so much. Have you been behaving for your parents?”

She stares up in adoration while Annette and Nico smile. Melissa hangs back, hands stuffed in her pockets as she takes in the room. You try to catch her eyes, but she’s determined to look anywhere else.

“She’s been a nightmare this week. First she was sick and then when she was better, she’d refuse to sleep,” Annette throws her hands up, “I can’t figure it out.”

“You think she’d want a break from you two.” Melissa says.

Her cousin glares, delivering a harsh punch to her arm. The barely-there grin that was on Melissa’s mouth falls and she stiffens, puffing up, pulling her arm back to deliver an undoubtedly worse blow. You place your hand on her arm and step between them.

It clearly ruffles her feathers that you’re stepping in, but she says nothing. Her arm drops and she levels a glare at Annette instead. You bounce Sophia, sharing a look with Nico.

“Sweetheart, how close are we to eating? Would you like help setting the table?” Nico asks.

“You sit down, I’ll help her out,” Melissa interrupts, pressing a kiss to your cheek and brushing past you.

You blink and she’s moving towards the kitchen, shoving Annette ahead. A pointed stare burns into your face as you focus on the baby in your arms. Her original eager face has turned sleepy the longer you bounce her. Moving her to your other arm, you make the mistake of locking eyes with Nico.

“It isn’t my business…”

“We’re fine, Nico. She’s just had a long week.”

It’s a simple enough answer and it’s a true one. Melissa has been overwhelmed. You choose not to mention that the only time her behavior changes is inside this house. She may love her family and value them to no end, but lately she hasn’t been acting like herself around them, and you feel yourself being pushed away for a few hours every week.

You don’t talk about it—why would you? The second you’re back in the car, everything is normal. It doesn’t affect your relationship. All you want is to understand why it’s happening.

“Seems she’s having many of those.”

Glaring at Nico is second nature. He doesn’t apologize, only shrugging as if to say I’m only speaking the truth. Luckily, he drops the conversation, and you stand in mostly-comfortable silence watching Melissa and Annette move around from afar.

—

“So, have you found a ring yet?”

“Knock it off already,” Melissa growls, staring into the simmering sauce on the stove, “I’ve said all I needed to about that.”

“You didn’t say much, actually.”

“She doesn't want to marry me, Annette.”

“How would you know if you haven’t asked her?”

The murmur of voices from the dining and living rooms filter in. Melissa looks up and watches you, Sophia bouncing in your arms while her Aunts, Uncles, and cousins pull you snugly into their conversations. Her eyes are pained.

She wants to commit the scene to memory, discreetly pull out her phone and snap a picture of the room so it won’t fade away. It had never been like this before. No matter how much Joe meant to her, members of her family had never warmed to him, and he’d remained firmly on the outside.

Now you stand holding the youngest Schemmenti in her cousin’s home, laughing and talking easily with family members who’d have sooner taken Joe out than let him share their table.

“I just—I know, alright? I’m not going to tie her down.”

“Look at me,” Annette demands and Melissa does, “That girl wouldn’t be here if she didn’t want to be tied down. Now either you make her a Schemmenti or stop stringing her along.”

“That isn’t what I’m doing.”

“Okay, Mel.”

It’s a bad sign that Annette has stopped fighting; whatever Melissa says, she is firmly wrong on this, and her cousin has proved her point. Her stomach turns. She isn’t against marrying again, despite what everyone thinks.

It’s just complicated.

The two cousins put the finishing touches on dinner in silence; Melissa mulling over her thoughts and Annette brooding beside her. They make quite the pair with their fiery locks and matching frowns, but they make one hell of a meal.

Every now and again Melissa will glance your way. The baby never once leaves your grasp but you move around the room with her. Her cousin Lisa coos at the sleeping girl between bouts of conversation with you, making Melissa smile. She knows you’d bring Sophia home with you if you ever got the chance. And though it pains her to think about the lost sleep and headaches, she wouldn’t mind.

Their lavish spread is set on the table—and any flat surface, really—when Melissa makes her way back to you. She’s lost her appetite for the time being, craving only your closeness, which shouldn’t relieve her as much as it does. But when she grabs two chairs, Great Aunt Katherine flags you down first and insists that you sit to her right tonight.

Offering a sheepish smile, you steal a quick kiss, “I’m sorry, honey. We’ll share dessert?”

“Sure.” Melissa nods.

Uncle Tomas takes up the seat saved at Melissa’s side, raising an eyebrow at the lack of a plate. You shoot concerned glances from the other end of the table. Ignoring both, Melissa shoves her hands back in her pockets, leaning back to observe the room.

No one tries to bother her for once. She’s free to brood and take in the room on her own time, zoning in and out when her thoughts pull her in.

The sound of Sophia crying breaks her focus.

Everyone around the table looks at you as you murmur, rubbing her back and rocking. Annette is the first to move and grab a bottle. It’s rare that Sophia cries with you, almost like you’re her personal Xanax, but not even you are a balm for an empty stomach.

Flustered, you send Melissa a pleading look over the baby’s head. She’s up in an instant and taking the now-warm bottle from her cousin. Nodding her head to the hallway where the nursery is, she rubs a hand down your back as you pass, turning towards her family.

“Might help to get away from all your loud mouths.” Melissa throws behind her.

A few choice comments are thrown after her but she ignores them, making a beeline for the nursery. She can still hear you and Sophia from outside as she slips in and closes the door. Holding out the bottle, she wraps her free arm around you.

“Thank you,” It’s a bit of a hassle to get Sophia latched onto the bottle, but eventually she deems it good enough, and her whines stop. You let out a long breath,“I was a little on-edge having everyone stare at me.”

Melissa’s lips press a kiss to your temple, saying I got you. You lean into her and smile as you imagine how the scene must look. You wonder if Melissa thinks of it as fondly as you do. She’s never said much on the subject of kids, but sometimes you think she feels like she’s missing out.

Turning your neck to look at her, you stiffen at the brief pain you can see on her face, and drop the whole idea. If she wanted this, she’d tell you… right?

“What’s going on, Melissa?” You ask softly still.

“Nothin’, sweetheart.” She smiles, “Just a little tired, that’s all.”

You know by the way her smile doesn’t reach her eyes that she’s lying.

Instead of calling her on it, you nod, and lean up to steal a kiss. It doesn’t feel the way it usually does and you try to brush it off; once we’re out of the house, you think, it’ll be normal again.

But when you leave that night with arms full of tupperware, it doesn’t go back to normal. Melissa is too quiet and reserved and god, she won’t even touch you. She drives home with both hands firmly on the wheel.

The music is on but you refuse to hear any of the lyrics and when you recognize the street you’re on, something in you goes cold. You stare blankly at houses that pass and try to will away the feeling of impending doom.

“Where are we going?” You ask and it doesn’t sound like you.

“I’m taking you home.”

Something snaps then. You don’t know why, or what triggers it, but you whip your head to face her. Home, she says, like you don’t have space reserved in her closet. Home, like you don’t know her kitchen better than your own anymore.

“Pull over.”

Her eyes widen, “What? Are you insane?”

“Melissa Schemmenti, pull the damn car over!”

Your voice is too loud in the car and you hate the way it cracks, but she listens. Try as you might, the dam of tears is starting to overflow as she stops a few blocks from your place. It takes everything in you to look at her.

When you see the look on her face and the tears in her own eyes, you know.

You know, but you ask anyway, “What is going on?”

Melissa opens her mouth, then closes it, swallowing hard. She closes her eyes and shakes her head before looking back at you. Her own tears are gone and you hate her for shoving her feelings down. You hate her for making this easier on herself when it’s so hard for you.

“I realized that I… I’ve been giving you the wrong idea. About this, us.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Look, you’re the date-to-marry type, you know? But you need to know you’ve got options. I want you to know that and—and you don’t need to feel like you should tie yourself down just because we’ve been together a while.”

She’s grasping at straws. You know that, she knows that, but back to the same old story—you don’t know why.

“Is this—are you breaking up with me?” You whisper.

“Annette said—“

“Annette told you to do this?”

“No! Sweetheart, I just mean that I want you to know you have options. You’re beautiful and anyone would be lucky to have you.”

“Don’t pretend you’re doing this for me. I am—I was happy.” Your throat is closing up, words choking you, “I’m going to go. Call me when you’re done being an idiot.”

Her usual Italian fury is buried under heartache. When you get out of the car and slam the door behind you, she just watches and follows—at a distance—to make sure you get home safe. She doesn’t get out. She doesn’t yell or run after you. As soon as she knows you’re safe, she drives home, focused more on the tears that’d poured from your eyes than the insult from your lips.

——

When Annette flings open the door a week later, her smile falters seeing Melissa by herself. She looks up and down the block to see if maybe you’re trailing behind.

“Where is she?” Annette asks. Seeing the look on Melissa’s face, she’s flooded with rage, “What did you do?”

“I stopped stringing her along, like you said.”

Melissa doesn’t sound like herself, though she’s trying hard to. She doesn’t look like herself either. Her eyes are puffy and her makeup is smeared.

“You idiot!”

And Annette is flying at her, screaming in Italian and throwing her hands around a little too close to Melissa for her liking. It’s a good sign she hasn’t taken her earrings out. Annette is speaking so fast she can hardly understand and at some point she starts yelling back. Melissa does take out her earrings. They’re shoved in her pocket and she’s winding up when the door opens and Uncle Tomas steps onto the porch, folding his arms over his chest.

“Annette. Inside.” He says in a tone that leaves no room for argument.

She huffs, but moves. Melissa makes an effort to follow and slip inside but her Uncle steps in front of the door after Annette’s gone. She meets his eyes and mirrors his position, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Stickman.” She nods.

“What are you doing, kid?”

“Trying to come over for family dinner. That a crime now?”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

Stickman has seen her at her boldest, even her dumbest, but she still withers when he stares at her long enough. She hates that her desire to fight back vanishes. No one should have that power over her, but she doesn’t fight, not when it comes to him. She respects him too much to spit in his face like that.

“It wasn’t going to work. She has a world of opportunity still, but me? I’m set where I am. Why keep her from the opportunities she has?” Melissa shrugs.

He shakes his head, “Kid, you know why I never liked Joe?”

“Because he wasn’t Italian.”

“No,” He laughs, “because he was a good guy, but he wasn’t good enough. Not for you. Of course, he loved you, so we let him stick around—but he wasn’t family. Family you kill for. Joe loved you, but he wouldn’t have killed for you.”

“And you think she would?” Melissa asked quietly.

“Yeah, I do.”

Melissa had never thought about you as the violent type. You were always keeping her out of trouble, stopping her from getting into fights, stepping in between her and whoever had pissed her off… but maybe it wasn’t like that. She remembers how you glare when you step in and it dawns on her; maybe you weren’t holding her back… maybe you were trying to take on the fight yourself.

She had grown used to biting her tongue and taking a step back while Joe talked his way out of scuffles, all charming smiles and charisma. In a few minutes he’d undo all of Melissa’s damage and deal it back to her. The humiliation hurt more than any punch. But this—this steals the breath from Melissa’s lungs, her chest feeling like too-small tupperware for her heart.

“What does that have to do with her future?” Melissa asks.

“She knows you, kid. And she knows herself. Yeah, she’s got opportunities, but an opportunity doesn’t equal happiness. Let her choose what makes her happy instead of trying to choose for her.”

She nods. A harsh hand is rubbed over her face.

“I’ve really messed it up, huh?”

Tomas unfolds his arms and places his hands on her shoulders, looking her in the eye. She tries to ignore the feeling of being a little girl again after her first bad fight with her Mom, trying and failing not to cry about just how unfair it is that nobody paid attention beyond yelling at her. She never understood how he had all the answers. Even now, she still doesn’t.

“If you got yourself into it, you can get yourself out of it.” He says.

Melissa breaks more traffic laws than she can count on her way to your place, but she doesn’t get caught, so she figures it's worth it. But when she steps onto your porch, she’s filled with apprehension. Hurting someone is so much easier than making them feel better.

A soft curse leaves her lips and she forces herself to knock on the door. When you open it and stand in the doorway with arms crossed over your chest, she grimaces in place of a smile.

You’ve definitely seen better days, but you’ve at least tried to hold it together. Your eyes are red, but your makeup is impeccable. The pain in your eyes doesn’t go away and her chest aches; she put it there, she knows, and kicks herself for it.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Melissa says lamely.

Glaring, you raise an eyebrow, “Done being an idiot?”

“Yeah, yeah I am,” Her smile is pained and she’s rocking back and forth on her feet, but she’s trying, “I’m sorry for how I acted.”

“What was going through your head?”

A sigh escapes Melissa’s lips and her breathing is shaky. You want to reach out and comfort her, but hold yourself back. You deserve to know why last week happened, why you were miserable when things had been going so well.

“When Joe suggested we get a divorce, he said he thought we were ‘holding each other back,’” Melissa says, trying to laugh even though her eyes are glassy, “but I… I’d been so content with him, with everything. I guess I thought that if I was happy, it meant I was holding you back too.”

A tear falls from her eye and you step forward, wiping the tear away. You put your hands on either side of her face and smile a watery smile.

“How could you hold me back? Loving you is the greatest opportunity I’ve ever had.” You whisper.

For the first time since knowing her, Melissa looks small. She looks at you with teary eyes like she can’t believe a word coming out of your mouth. Under all the bravado she’s just as sensitive as anyone and for a minute you forgot that.

You know so much about her that sometimes it makes your head hurt; how she loves the smell of cigarettes because everyone around her smoked as a child, how the first woman she dated was the same one that repoed her car, and how under everything she was a just that scared little girl who wanted to be loved. The rough and tumble kid turned into a resourceful woman, but her wounds never left, and now they were staring you in the face.

“I’m not Joe, okay?” You say, after stealing a quick kiss, “You’re not a pit stop for me, you’re the destination.”

“God, you sound like Janine.”

Melissa shakes her head, but she’s smiling all the same, looking at you like she does after those sappy romance movies she pretends not to like. And she pushes forward and kisses you, holding onto you with a tight grip and kissing you like she’s worried it’ll never happen again, as if it’s the last time, and she’s making excuses to keep you with her for a few more minutes.

It makes your head spin how your anger just… dissolves. A week of hearing nothing from Melissa had been devastating, only to slowly morph into an ugly anger that you let fuel you, and now it’s gone. You’re wrapped up in Melissa Schemmenti and all too happy to forget the way you wanted to slash her tires two hours ago.

“Honey?” Melissa says.

You blink and look at her, her head tilted to the side, eyes looking you over. She must have said your name a few times.

You’re dying to kiss her again just as much as you’re itching to scream at her. When did you let yourself become so head over heels for this woman? It grips at you and you want to grab her, telling her that she’s the most infuriating person you know and that you never want anyone else.

“If you ever do that to me again I’ll take a crowbar to your car windows.” Comes out instead and your own eyes widen as she laughs.

“Noted,” Melissa grins, “Now, will you come to dinner? Annette nearly killed me when she didn’t see you.”

“Would have served you right.” You huff, but throw your shoes on and grab your keys, joining her on the porch.

Her hands settle on your hips as you’re locking the door and you pause—interesting way to get me to family dinner, you think. When her lips press kisses to your neck, you let it happen. What is one missed dinner? You love Annette and the family, but none of them are Melissa and her skilled mouth.

All of it stops the second you lean back against her.

“Still got it.” Melissa murmurs.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Schemmenti.”

“I’m from South Philly, gorgeous, danger is second nature.” She pats your hip and steps back, “But I’ll make it up to you later.”

“Maybe I’ll get revenge on you first.”

Her eyebrow lifts in time with the corner of her mouth. She nods once, saying nothing as you finish locking the door and walks you to the car, opening the passenger door to steal a kiss before shutting it.

And this time when Annette opens the front door, she smiles, and Melissa’s earrings stay in. You’re pulled into a hug so tight you question how much Annette’s been holding back; her threats hold a little more weight now.

Nico greets you with the customary kiss on your cheek and passes Sophia to you without prompting. She’s half asleep, but still finds the energy to curl a little hand in your shirt.

Stepping inside with a nervous smile, you’re greeted with nods and an overjoyed Cousin Rocco, “Finally! Annette said you two ran into some trouble, you get it taken care of?”

The last part is aimed at Melissa, who nods. Rocco crosses himself and mutters a quick prayer in Italian. Tomas is the only one who looks at you like he knows and you wonder how much he got his niece to spill. But he looks behind you, where Melissa’s standing, and nods his head towards the back porch.

A hand slides over your hip and warm breath moves over your ear as she passes, muttering, “Be right back.”

You’re pulled into the kitchen in her place, Annette dancing around and putting what little mobility you have to help set the food up. Both of you freeze for an instant when she jostles you and Sophia whimpers, your eyes locking with Annette’s in horror. She settles in the same beat. From then on, Annette takes care when moving around you.

Melissa catches the interaction through the back door and grins when you meet her eyes, a sheepish smile on your face.

It feels like only a moment and the table is being set, but Melissa and Uncle Tomas are still out on the back porch. Both are facing away from you with Tomas surrounded by smoke and motioning with his hands in a way that reminds you of the redhead. She’s nodding along with whatever he’s saying, throwing her head back in a full-body laugh.

Tomas stubs out his cigar when you knock on the window and motion them inside. He says something you can’t read on his lips, but it makes Melissa shake her head. Her eyes meet yours and you’re overwhelmed by the emotion in them.

“Good talk?” You ask.

“I’d say so,” Tomas nods, closing the door as soon as Melissa steps inside, “Hardly a dull moment with that one.”

“Back at ya, Stickman.”

The man weaves his way through the throng of Schemmenti’s to pack a plate. You and Melissa stay by the door, watching the chaos unfold. When you lean into her, you sneak a kiss to the corner of her mouth. Her lips twitch.

“You look good with a kid in your arms.”

Blinking, you say slowly, “Thank you.”

“Anytime, honey.”

When she smiles, there’s a twinkle in her eye. And once again you find yourself trying to understand why she’s looking at you the way she is. You find yourself not minding so much though—Maybe there’s nothing wrong with being a little oblivious.

There’s a lot you know about Melissa Schemmenti. How she smiles and softens her voice in the presence of kids, how she can only listen to jazz when she cooks, and how she loves getting her hands dirty. You look forward to understanding her one day, too.

#melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader #abbott elementary #abbott elementary x reader #melissa schemmenti imagine #abbott elementary imagine #wlw #wlw imagine #multimilfswritings #oct2022

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the-wales-5 · 3 months

Text

"Crazy for this girl" (Chapter 4)

November was shaping up to be a tiring time for everyone owing to next month's Martinmas semester exams. Aware of it William wanted to organise a party in October, to help everyone relax but also to make up for the few parties he had missed. He revealed his plans to a circle of friends he had gotten over the last few weeks while they were sitting in the dining hall.

“Will it be a costume party?!” Laura asked

“No, but I was thinking of a themed one, and the most popular thing these days is Harry Potter as I reckon so might be it” William said

“Sounds great, it’s a pity I am unable to be in two places simultaneously” Catherine sighed

“Why?” her friend Olivia Bleasdale asked.

“People from Rupert’s course are organising something on the same day, and he already confirmed our attendance. It is all planned weeks in advance. I'm sorry”

“A lawyers party full of snobbism instead of a Harry Potter themed one, that sounds fun” Fergus laughed sarcastically. Kate took a sip of orange juice “This is not my fault that he planned something, right?” She shrugged off.

Laura looked at William at the same moment as she asked “Is your girlfriend coming?”.

The prince had been meeting Carley Massy-Birch, and their relationship was well-known amongst his friends.

“She hasn't given me a direct reply yet, but I think she'll be there” he replied “Anyway, would 7 pm be the right time for a start?”

“Yes, but only if you want us to be drunk as hell by 9pm, Wills. Make it 8 pm at least” Fergus replied

“That way you’ll be drunk as hell by 10 pm” Catherine said, wanting to have revenge on him for his recent remarks about her boyfriend. Everyone burst into laughter.

“Stop making him feel embarrassed. Boyd knows the reality. He'll be drunk yet before the party starts” Olivia said, and that caused yet another wave of laughs.

“You can help me to write down the list of attendees” William said then

“But this is not a royal gathering, Wales”

The prince laughed and rolled his eyes in a playful way. “I just want to make sure that everyone who attends the party knows to address me as Steve. For security reasons. Stop teasing me and give me a pen instead”

“I haven't got one. They'll address you as Mr ‘writing names down without our consent’? Be careful. We may all boycott your social event before it even begins” Fergus joked again.

“I was about to write yours right now, but it looks like you are the first to be crossed out instead” William chuckled, got hit on the elbow from his friend, and then finally noted down several names on the paper with Catherine’s pen.

“Are you busy or going somewhere in particular now?” William asked her as soon as the rest of their friends left the table.

Middleton looked at the phone and noticed no response from Rupert to a text message that was sent by her yet in the morning.

“I thought that we could finally talk about the Raleigh expedition. For some reason, we had no time for that before”

“Some reason being endless hours of lectures” Catherine remarked, and William looked down, awaiting her final reply, assuming that it would be a negative one.

“Yes, sure. We can talk about it now” Catherine replied within seconds as she switched her phone off at the same time. “Share your experience first. You were there before me, right?” She smiled a little.

As it turned out, the Chile gap year was just the first of many topics they touched upon in a conversation that lasted for almost two hours until they decided to return to their rooms.

“It was so nice to talk and to think about something more than our classes, Kate”

“That was nice for me too," she said as she stared at William, who was slowly going upstairs to his room.

“I hope we'll continue this discussion soon” William said and vanished from Middleton's view. He smiled with his eyes closed, thinking how those few hours were so far one of the best times at St Andrews for him. “I need to give her that pen back finally” William thought when he noticed it in his pocket and slowly turned back. Right at that same time, Catherine saw Rupert on the other side of the hall. She was about to ask why he had been ignoring her text messages and felt ready to argue when she realised that he hid a huge bouquet of red roses behind himself and apologised for his behaviour. Catherine smiled and slowly kissed him on the lips. William had been staring at the scene between the two of them from a distance until Middleton closed her door.

“Do we really have to attend that party?” Kate asked her boyfriend while they were on a walk moments later.

“You had no objection to that before. Why do you ask now?” Rupert frowned a little

“Can’t you call it off and for once go somewhere with me?”

“I am often going out with you, Katie”

“I want to have fun yet before exams, not listen to boring conversations between you and other guys wearing a tie even though they're just 24!” she replied, a little bit louder

“Katie, stay calm, please. Now, all you show is that you are simply over-dramatic. Don't you remember? Raisin Weekend and foam fight had taken place not so long ago, and it was fun, wasn't it?”

“Indeed. The thing is, I just want you to think it all over, Rupert” she said, getting lost in her thoughts. She then simply carried on walking and looking at the early evening's sky from time to time.

***

Chapter 5

#royal fanfiction #crazy for this girl #chapter 4 #st andrews university themed stories #prince william #catherine middleton #2000s #st andrews university #fife #st salvator's hall #st andrews #scotland #kate x william #♡#stories #text post #tags

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punchdrunkdoc · 1 year

Text

Part 2, Chapter 7

Summary: After the events of S3, Matt Murdock is trying to once again balance life as a lawyer and a vigilante. But he’s been scarred by loss and betrayal - will a mysterious new neighbour help him heal? Or will her secrets drag him back into the darkness?

Notes: This is a slow burn romance with an original female character, told in 3 parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action/violence and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

Reference pics - *UPDATED*

————–

PART 2

Chapter 7

“We found something. More accurately, we found someone.”

The call from Yelena interrupted Calina’s research session. It was Wednesday afternoon, and she was sat at the dining room table listening to the patter of rain against the window while she investigated pheromones and Governors.

She was multi-tasking on two separate mysteries at once: Who was making the fear pheromones that Matt was chasing all over the city? And why had someone tried to make her assassinate the Governor of New York state?

Unfortunately, she wasn’t getting far on either front. So Yelena’s call was less an interruption and more of a welcome distraction.

“Who did you find?” Calina asked.

“Katya’s handler. The one that was still giving her orders after Dreykov died. His name is Maxim Volkov and we’ve tracked him to a house outside Washington D.C. It seems to be his main residence in the States. Do you want in?”

“In?”

“Yeah, in on the mission. We have the extraction planned for tomorrow night, then we’ll start his interrogation the next day. Our intel suggests that he has something to do with what happened to you, so we thought you might want to be part of it.”

She did.

And she didn’t.

The part of her that was angry - the part that never quite went away no matter how many punching bags she hit - wanted revenge. It wanted to face the man or the men responsible for what happened to her, get answers…and make them pay.

But she didn’t want to indulge that side of herself.

It was the darkness buried within her - the darkness she’d alluded to with Matt the other night. The wicked, rage-filled blight on her soul.

Matt had found a way to live with his darkness. To harness it in the fight for good. But she wasn’t so sure she could do the same. Her darkness was cultivated from decades of abuse at the hands of the Red Room. It was formed of years of pain and loathing and fury - for everything that had been done to her and her sisters. And everything they’d been forced to do against their will.

It was a relatively small part of her, but it had a gravity that belied its size. Like a black hole, always threatening to consume her.

She’d given into it once, when they’d first been freed from the serum. And she’d swore never to do so again. Instead, she’d buried it deep and vowed to move on. To build a life of hope and joy, instead of anger and shame.

She wanted to concentrate on that new life.

But it was hard to explain that to Yelena without sounding judgemental. Without sounding like she was criticising the choices the other Widows had made. So she didn't even try. All she said was, “I’ll think about it.”

The next phone call came an hour later.

“Hey, what are you up to?” Matt asked.

This was the third day in a row that he’d called her from work. He usually had an excuse - asking what she wanted him to pick up for dinner, reminding her to take the garbage out - but then he would linger on the call, and the two of them would chat for a while.

About everything and nothing.

She told herself not to read too much into it. That he was just bored at work, or needed a distraction from a difficult case. But she couldn’t help but wonder if he…missed her? That maybe the hours between saying goodbye in the morning and hello in the evening were too long for him?

Just like they were for her.

“I'm doing some research,” she answered. “I’m trying to work out why someone would want Governor Benson dead. I thought if I could figure that out, I might be able to figure out who gave me the order to kill him.”

“Any luck?”

“No. There’s too many possibilities. He’s made a lot of controversial policy choices since getting elected, so there’s plenty of people gunning for him for politically. Then there’s his history in the Army - there’s a chance that the hit was a retaliation for a past mission. And his private life is a mess. He cheated on his wife with an intern, so maybe she wanted revenge.”

Matt hummed in agreement. “Wouldn’t be the first time. But I can see why you’re frustrated.”

“Yeah.”

“A workout will fix that. We’re still on for Fogwell’s tonight, right? That’s, um, why I called.”

And there it was. Today’s excuse.

Calina smiled. “Yes.”

They’d made the plan last night - not because her anger demanded another outlet, but because it was a good way to get her some exercise and get her out of the house without ending up somewhere too public.

“Good. I thought we might mix things up this time. You up for a sparring session in the ring?”

Calina didn’t have to think about it. The chance to pit her skills against Matt again in a completely harmless, no-stakes scenario? To have the excuse to be near him and touch him…?

No brainer.

“Count me in.”

———

“Foggy and Karen will still be in Josie’s by the time we finish - what do you think about joining them afterwards?” Matt asked as he emerged from the changing room.

She’d met him outside the gym ten minutes ago. He was still in his work clothes and she was swallowed under one of his jackets, the hood up to fight against the rain and any prying eyes. The smile he’d greeted her with when he spotted her was bright enough to make her forget all about the miserable weather. And now his offer to join his friends for drinks warmed her from the inside out.

She felt like she was becoming a part of the gang. “Yeah,” she responded. “I’d like that.”

“Good.” Matt swung over the ropes surrounding the boxing ring and held them up for her to duck under. “I’ll try not to wear you out too much beforehand.”

She laughed as she joined him in the ring. “Famous last words, old man.”

“Old man?” Matt spluttered in outrage. But Calina knew from his wide smile that he was enjoying her teasing. After days of her being morose and angry, her good mood probably made a nice change.

And she was in a good mood. Her earlier frustration at the lack of progress with her research had vanished with Matt’s offer of a sparring session. She’d been looking forward to playing with him all afternoon.

Play.

It was another new experience. Training and sparring had always been serious endeavours growing up. There was no such thing as play-fighting in the Red Room. Every bout involved pain and the threat of critical injury.

She couldn’t wait to just have fun with him.

She brought her hands up in a defensive pose and mirrored Matt’s movements as he circled around her. “Yeah. You’re what? Late thirties, early forties?”

“I’m 33.” He struck at her, a slow jab that she could have seen coming from space. She dodged it with ease and landed a light punch over his left kidney.

“Really? You look a lot older.” She whipped her leg up and tapped him on the upper arm with her foot. “Its just as well you can’t see your reflection in the mirror. You’d be horrified by all the wrinkles and sagging skin.”

She was joking, of course. She knew exactly how old he was thanks to Anya’s research. And he wore those years well - she thought he was the most handsome man she’d ever met.

Matt laughed, then spun in a crouch, trying to sweep her legs from beneath her. Again, his move was slow and well-telegraphed.

Calina jumped over his leg, then rested her hands on her hips. “Come on, Matt. Are we gonna spar or just mess about?”

He gave her a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I started having second thoughts about this. I thought it might remind you too much of our real fight.”

She returned his smile. “That’s sweet, but you don’t need to worry - I’m not that fragile. I want to do this.” She thought it might help, actually. That it would serve to replace those awful memories from three weeks ago with something much more positive and enjoyable.

“You sure?” Matt asked, bring his hands back up.

She nodded, matching his pose. “Sure.”

“Okay, then. Bring it.”

She shook her head. “Uh-uh. I’m a defensive fighter. You come here.” She slowly curled her index finger into her palm, beckoning him closer.

He grinned. And launched his attack.

There were no telegraphed moves this time. And his lumbering slowness was replaced with his usual lightning-quick speed. But she met him, move for move. She blocked or evaded each of his hits and kicks and followed up with the occasional jab of her own. And when he moved from boxing to wrestling, she flowed out of his reach and turned his momentum against him, flipping him to the ground as often as he managed to flip her.

It was exhilarating. They were so in sync. Their styles so complimentary.

Of course, she knew from painful experience that when he wasn’t pulling his punches she was no match for his power - but she also knew that he struggled to get near her when she utilised all her defensive training.

And he struggled to hold on to her when he finally did catch her - like now. He had her arms pinned behind her back, one large hand wrapped around each of her slender wrists. “Gotcha,” he whispered in her ear.

She paused for a moment, enjoying the feel of him against her back, the warmth radiating from his skin and his breath against her neck…

Then she moved. She relaxed her body, bent her knees and ducked under his right arm. This unbalanced him, and a quick shove against his side caused him to roll away from her and across the mat. She stood up to her full height and grinned down at him. “You were you saying?”

He returned her grin as he got to his feet. “Nicely done. What was that?”

“Aikido. When the trainers in the Red Room realised I wasn’t as strong as the other girls, they brought in an Aikido specialist. Its a discipline that focuses on defence.”

“It obviously works for you.” He sounded so…impressed. And coming from a fighter as talented as Matt, it made her feel ridiculously proud.

And it made her want to show off even more.

A few minutes later, she got her chance. Matt came at her, crouched to land a jab against her flank. She took the hit, and used his bent leg like a step to climb up behind him. She hooked her left leg over his left shoulder and used her momentum to spin her body around his neck, so that when he collapsed to the floor on his back, she landed on top of him - a hand at his neck and her knee on his chest pinning him in place. Her other hand hit the mat by his head and she froze there, her face hovering inches above his.

A lock of hair escaped her ponytail and fell forward to brush against his cheek. He lifted his hand to tuck the strand behind her ear, then ran his fingers down the line of her jaw. “God, you’re beautiful,” he breathed.

“Wh-what?” she whispered, stunned by his quiet words. His other hand came up to her waist, as if to steady her, his fingertips pressing into her skin.

Her mouth went dry. She licked her lips, and Matt’s eyes dropped to her mouth as if he could see the movement…

She sprang to her feet and backed away, suddenly feeling flustered.

Matt sat up, and ran his hand through his hair, looking equally unsettled. “Sorry, I, um, mean the way you move. When you’re fighting. Its so graceful and fluid. I was just, um, admiring it. One fighter to another. Nothing more.”

He was lying. There was more.

There was much more, Calina was sure of it.

The way he’d looked up at her just now, his lips parted, and his eyes shining with wonder…the gentle way he'd grazed the skin of her jaw, and the way his other hand had clutched at her waist…it felt like so much more.

It felt like…attraction.

And she had no idea how to process it.

“Calina?” Matt asked.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, realising she hadn’t responded to his compliment. “Thank you. You’re pretty graceful yourself.” She tightened her ponytail and adjusted her top. “That was fun. But I think I need a break.”

“Yeah. Okay. No problem.” He pulled his bag closer to him from where it waited at the edge of the ring, then grabbed the water bottle from inside. He downed half of it it one go while she tentatively took a seat next to him.

He offered her the other bottle from his bag and she accepted it with a shy, “Thanks.”

She didn’t know how to act around him now. It was the first time since meeting Matt Murdock that she was certain he was attracted to her. And it made her wonder whether her one-sided feelings were maybe not so one-sided after all.

And with that thought, came another much more staggering realisation.

She loved him.

This wasn’t just friendship. This wasn’t just gratitude or affection or respect. It was all of those things, and infinitely more. She loved him. She was in love with him. The merest possibility of her feelings being reciprocated crystallised them in her mind after weeks - months - of uncertainty.

She loved him.

“Are you okay,” Matt asked, and she realised she’d been staring off into space for several minutes.

She laughed. She wasn’t okay. She was having a life-altering epiphany in the middle of an abandoned, run-down gym.

“I’m fi-” She glanced over at him and stopped mid-sentence. He must have removed his sweat-drenched shirt while she was distracted with her thoughts, because his bare torso was now on display as he stretched out on his back, his head resting on his crooked arm.

But that wasn’t what had caused the words to die in her mouth. It was the horrible blue-black bruising spread across his left flank. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“What do you mean?”

She swivelled around to face him and crossed her legs. Then she touched her fingers as lightly as she could to his injured skin. “This. Who did this?”

He brought his hand down to cover hers. “It’s nothing. Just some thug last night.”

“Jesus, Matt! And you still suggested sparring with me? You must be in so much pain.”

He shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

She studied the rest of his bared skin, seeing the evidence of that with her own eyes. Scars criss-crossed and marred his body. Some were neat, showing signs of suturing, whilst others were more ragged and raised.

He must have sensed what she was looking at, because he rubbed his hand over one of the thicker, more gnarled wounds and tried to make a joke of it. “Not a pretty sight, I guess. Must go well with all my wrinkles and sagging skin.”

She gently stroked his bruised skin. “You look like a survivor. Like a warrior. I wish I looked the same.”

He tilted his head to look in her direction. “What do you mean?”

“I was never allowed to keep my scars. The nature of my missions meant that I always had to look perfect. Flawless. So the Red Room used the best surgeons and the most cutting-edge laser technology to remove them.”

She held out her left arm. “A few years ago, I was caught in the blast of a car bomb in Peru. A shard of shrapnel the size of a golfball was impaled here.” She took his hand and ran it over the smooth, unmarked skin of her forearm.

She pulled the strap of her lycra top to the side and placed his hand on her collarbone. “I took a strike from a machete here. The blade hit the bone and got stuck - its the only reason I wasn’t slice in two. That, and the fact that the man who attacked me didn’t sharpen his knives often enough.”

Matt said nothing, just explored her undamaged skin with his fingertips.

“All those wounds,” she continued. “All those experiences, and I have nothing to show for it. Nothing to prove I survived.”

“You’re alive,” he said, his voice deeper than normal. “That’s pretty good proof.”

“I guess. And maybe its good that I don’t have any physical reminders about those missions. The car bomb was actually set by one of the other Widows. And the man with the machete…he wasn’t the bad guy in that scenario. Those aren’t encounters I’m proud of. I just hate that removing my scars was one more way the Red Room controlled me. One more way in which they removed any sense of…individuality.”

“Individuality?”

“Yeah. We were all so…homogenous…to them. We were all dressed the same way. We all had the same sheets on our bed and the same colour toothbrush. They even braided our hair the same way. We had no personality.” Calina pulled her hair forward to play with the long strands. “The first thing I wanted to do when I got to New York was cut off all my hair. I didn’t want to ever have to braid it again.”

“What stopped you?”

Calina let out a bitter laugh. “I didn’t know how to find a hairdresser.”

Matt reached up and took a lock of hair. He rubbed the silky strand between his fingers. “I’m glad you didn’t. I like your hair.”

“Thank you. I like it now too. And I don’t want to cut it - I just want to find my style, you know? My taste. I want to feel like this is my body. Scars, and all.”

“I get it.” Matt slide his hand from her collarbone to the back of her shoulder, to the small scar that was hidden there. “And you have this one, remember?”

Calina moved her hand to the same spot, her fingers tangling with his as she traced the tiny mark. “Oh, I forgot about that.” It was the wound she’d received from Katya in Seoul. The one that Matt had helped her dress when she’d returned to New York.

“How did that happen?” he asked. “It wasn’t from falling onto a broken bottle of glass. I knew that even at the time.”

“You did?”

“Yeah,” He smiled. “But I figured - no, I hoped - you would eventually tell me the truth about it.”

She smiled back at him. “It happened in South Korea.”

“You went to South Korea that week?” he sounded astonished. She got the feeling he rarely - if ever - left the country.

“Yeah. Katya - do you remember her from that night?” He nodded, so she continued. “It was a rescue mission for her. She was still under control of the serum so we went to free her.” She explained about her infiltration of the Ambassador’s mansion and her fight with the other Widow. “I guess if I was to have only one scar, that’s a good one to have. It came from doing something I chose to do.”

“And it came from doing something good. From helping someone,” Matt added.

“Yeah.” She ran her finger over a small puckered wound on his right upper chest. “What about you? How did you get this one?” she asked softly.

“Bullet. I was shot rescuing hostages from The Hand.”

“From who?”

“Doesn’t matter. They’re gone.”

She moved her fingers to a nearby wound, this one larger and angrier-looking. “And this?”

“Arrow.”

“An arrow? Who uses an arrow?”

He smiled. “Ninjas.”

“You were shot by a bow-and-arrow wielding ninja?” It was her turn to sound astonished.

He laughed. “Yeah. My life got very…strange…for a while.”

She looked for another scar, starting to enjoy this little game of theirs - not hearing about him being hurt, obviously. But she liked getting glimpses of his past. There was still so much about him that she didn’t know.

She traced the long oblique line across his pec. There was a matching one on the other side. “How about these?”

“Believe it or not, they were from another Ninja. He carried a blade on a chain.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

Her hand moved lower, slowly gliding down over his ribs and onto his abdomen, where a thin, barely noticeable scar resided. “And this?”

He swallowed sharply, and she felt his muscles jump beneath her wandering fingers.

Another sign of his attraction.

It was intoxicating, seeing the evidence of his desire. It made her feel strong. Bold.

For the first time since she met him, her shyness deserted her.

And for the first time in her life, she acted on impulse. She moved towards him, one hand still resting on his stomach, the other braced by his head.

And then she leaned closer…

And closer…

Until her lips were inches from his…

————–

Chapter 8

(Check out the references for Calina’s moves in the ring)

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