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FemFlash February

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Minerva grips Hooch’s arm and holds her breath, hardly daring to blink as Hufflepuff’s seeker pulls up neck and neck with Slytherin’s. Hooch clings to her just as tightly, muttering ‘come on, come on, come on’ under her breath.

Next weekend, when Gryffindor takes the pitch against Ravenclaw, the two of them will go back to being the fiercest of rivals. Next weekend, Hooch will do everything in her power to knock Minerva off her broom and out of the running for the cup.

But right now, as Hufflepuff’s seeker grabs the snitch right out from under Slytherin’s nose and the crowd erupts in cheers, none of that matters. Minerva grabs Hooch by her blue and bronze scarf and kisses her full on the mouth, house rivalries be damned.

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With a deep, centering breath, Kya draws a short strand of water from her flask. It hovers for a moment, gathering into a sphere before she guides it to the deep gashes on Lin’s cheek. The blood and grit lift away in seconds, leaving the wounds clean. Frowning in concentration, Kya discards the water and replaces it with a fresh splash. Sweat beads on her forehead as she manipulates the energy, willing the wounds to knit together. Little by little they do, but after a few moments’ exertion, Kya’s control slips. Lin swears and flinches away as the water splashes to the floor at their feet.

“I’m sorry!” Kya gasps, trying to catch her breath. “I can do better, I just need a moment to –“

“Leave them. You’ve done enough,” Lin growls, keeping her eyes cast down to the floor.

Stung, Kya starts to argue. “But they’re gonna scar –“

“I said leave them.” Lin’s voice is soft, resigned, when normally she’d snap.

Kya shakes her head, but says nothing. Lin is always so stubborn, so proud. It’s her choice, though, so Kya has to respect that. Even though she can’t use her bending to heal her, Kya settles for pressing a kiss to Lin’s cheek instead.

If she didn’t know better, she’d swear she saw the ghost of a smile tug at Lin’s lips.

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Haruka is glad Michiru rides side-saddle on the motorcycle behind her. It’s distracting enough to have her arms wrapped securely around her without having her legs straddling her hips as well. She’s glad for the wind turning her cheeks red; it hides her flustered blush as one of Michiru’s hands inches high enough to cup her breast and the other slides lower, insinuating itself between Haruka’s legs. The sudden touch of Michiru’s lips hot against the back of her neck makes her heart race just as fast as they’re riding.

With a twist of the throttle, they fly even faster.

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Peggy is nearly asleep when Colleen coughs herself awake next to her. She wraps her arms around her instinctively, drawing her close and rubbing her back to quiet her cough. Colleen shivers in her arms, and Peggy frowns to note how warm her forehead feels leaning against her chest.

“Your fever’s come back. You really should take a sick day, try to get ahead of this before it gets worse,” she scolds gently.

Colleen only chuckles. “Not a chance. I do that and I’ll be the first one off the line the moment some war hero or another wants his job back.”

Peggy kisses her forehead, conceding her point. As much as she worries, she knows Colleen’s not the kind of person to let a little thing like a head cold hold her back, not when she’s set her heart and mind on something. That’s one of the many things Peggy adores about her.

It would seem she has a type.

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The best thing about being with Jessica is that it’s always so easy. They smile easily, talk easily, listen and touch and flirt easily, but perhaps the most amazing thing is how easily Jess can make her laugh. They always laugh when they’re together, Jess’s quick wit the perfect complement to Natasha’s dry humor. Sometimes they even laugh until they’re both breathless and glowing.

Considering the lives they both lead, moments like these are a rare and valuable commodity. Natasha lets Jess fall into her arms, clutching her sides, and on her lips is always the hint of something sweet.

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“Okay, Kit’s in bed, teeth brushed and everything,” Carol announces with a triumphant smirk.

“Thanks, Carol.” Marina sits up and lets Carol sit between her and the arm of the sofa, then settles into her lap. “That has got to be a record. She’s not nearly that cooperative when you’re not around.”

“It’s no trouble. She’s a good kid,” Carol grins, pulling the blanket off the back of the sofa and draping over both of them.

“You’re so good with her. She adores you,” Marina beams up at her, then tugs her down for a kiss, “and so do I.”

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She’s here again, the dreamy woman with the English accent. Angie greets her with a broad smile and some brassy words she won’t remember later.

Too eager. Tone it down, Martinelli.

She knows so little about her. She knows she works for the phone company and takes her coffee black. She knows her voice is like chocolate and the upward quirk of her lips is like bourbon. She knows that ridiculous hat of hers has her heart trained to skip a beat with every glint of red in her peripheral vision.

Maybe today’s the day she’ll find out what her name is. Then maybe she’ll find out what her lips taste like, what her skin feels like in the dark...

No, Angie. Focus.

Just pour her coffee. Just ask for her name.

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Korra grimaces as she peels off her clothes and kicks them into the corner in a sweaty, muddy pile. After the workout Tenzin just put her through, all she wants is a nice, hot shower and then maybe a nap. Just as she’s about to step into the shower, however, Asami slips into the bathroom behind her. Her hair is in a messy ponytail at the nape of her neck, and there are grease smudges on her face from continually brushing that one unruly strand out of her eyes while she's working.

“I have a meeting in half an hour; can I jump in the shower with you?” She doesn’t wait for an answer before tugging off her grease-smeared camisole and reaching for the clasp of her bra.

“Uhh, sure. No problem.” Korra manages, trying her best not to stare. No matter how many times she’s seen Asami naked by now, the sight still stops her in her tracks every time.

“Thanks.” Asami steps close to kiss her cheek, close enough that Korra catches the sharp scent of metal oxide and motor oil clinging to her skin. Somehow, it complements the ginger and jasmine tones of her perfume perfectly, just the right mix of masculine and feminine. If she wasn’t so acutely aware of how strongly her own body smells of sweat and earth and ozone, Korra would be tempted to just bury her face in the crook of Asami’s neck and breathe her in.

She’s gross, though, so she only accepts the kiss with a self-conscious shrug and climbs into the shower after Asami.

The hot water beating down on her shoulders feels amazing. Korra stretches her arms up above her head, groaning in relief as the heat starts to work the tension out of her sore muscles.

“You’re getting really nice definition in your obliques.” Asami’s comment would be casual, conversational, except for the way her hand snakes around Korra’s waist, her fingers slick against the contours of the aforementioned muscles.

The touch makes Korra’s breath catch in her throat, and she gasps outright as Asami presses her palm to Korra’s abs and pulls their bodies flush up against one another. Her breasts are soft against Korra’s shoulder blades, and Korra can’t help but lean back into her arms.

“Don’t you have a meeting to get to?”

Asami chuckles, a rich, low sound, as her lips brush the space behind Korra’s ear.

“I lied.”

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A flash of razor-sharp metal gleams between the knuckles of Laura's tightly-clenched fists, only to vanish as she uncurls her fingers a moment later. If Natasha didn’t always watch her so carefully, the nearly imperceptible flinch and hitch in her breath that accompany each motion would go unnoticed.

Clench and relax, extend and retract, over and over.

Natasha usually prefers to take no notice of this sort of thing – it’s none of her business, and it’s not as if she doesn’t do similar things from time to time – but there’s something about the dull, distant look in Laura’s eyes that’s making it impossible for her to ignore this. Against her better judgment, she reaches for Laura’s hands.

Laura’s jaw tightens, torn between outrage and shame as Natasha presses her palms to her knuckles, cupping her hands gently. It would be so easy for Laura to pierce both their hands with her claws, but Natasha trusts her not to.

“Do you want me to let go?” Natasha asks quietly, her face as soft and non-threatening as she can make it.

It takes her a moment, but Laura finally answers, stroking her thumbs across Natasha’s fingers.

“Not yet.”

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The only thing more endearing than watching a genius biochemist work is watching a genius biochemist fall asleep face-down on her work bench. Skye sets the coffee mug down – it’s clearly too late for it to do Simmons any good – and shrugs out of her sweatshirt with an affectionate smirk. As she drapes it over Simmons’ shoulders, she starts to stir, blinking up at Skye with bleary, unfocused eyes.

“Did you fall asleep?” Skye asks her with a chuckle.

Simmons shakes her head, but the way she whimpers as she rubs her eyes makes her denial less than convincing.

Skye grins and cards her fingers through her hair. “Do you want to come to bed?”

With a small pout, Simmons nods, already starting to drift off again.   

Before her head can hit the bench again, Skye bends to help her up out of her chair. “Okay, love, come on.”

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“Not bad, for an improvised meal.” Sera grins and sets her bowl on the ground next to her. She’s never been shy about praising her own handiwork.

Angela licks her fingers clean with an appreciative sigh. “Indeed. My thanks are hardly sufficient compensation, but I have nothing else with which to repay you.” There’s a lighthearted gleam in her eyes despite the solemnity of her words.

“I beg to differ,” Sera counters, raising a wicked eyebrow as she slides into Angela’s lap.

The kiss Angela presses to her lips is fleeting and chaste. “There. Will that suffice?” There’s merely a hint of teasing in her voice.

Sera hums, making a show of deliberating her response. “I’m not sure it will. Did I mention I cooked over a campfire?”

Even though she’d fished for it, Sera is still left gasping as Angela kisses her deeply, all fire and fervor.

“Better?”

“Much,” Sera breathes, all thoughts of mischief gone from her mind, “except now I am in your debt.”

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If she’s honest with herself, Mikasa knew it would end up like this.

She knew it the first time she found herself shoving Annie up against the wall, her teeth sinking into her lip and her hands working their way into her pants. That’s the way it always was between them: quick, rough, with clothes rucked up or shifted aside but never removed entirely. Even when her fingers were inside her, there was always so much distance between them, and now... Annie may as well be dead.

She did not know the dreams would follow after. Dreams where Annie is naked and splayed out beneath her. Dreams where her teeth sink into Annie’s shoulder, her throat, the nape of her neck. Dreams where Annie crumbles to ash and smoke in her hands.

She did not know how often she’d wake up sobbing.

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Oh wow, she is unbelievably gorgeous. She’s gorgeous and she’s staring really deeply into my eyes. At this rate, I’ll be lucky if my knees don’t buckle.

Look away. Look away. Why can’t I look away?!

“Forgive the over-boldness of my gaze. Your silver mask obscures your features so I cannot ascertain the color of your eyes. In truth, I know not who you are.”

Hold on, is she speaking in iambic pentameter? That’s... kinda hot.

No. Focus. You need to answer her, or she’s gonna think you’re an idiot.

“So please you, Lady Sif, my name is Thor. I can reveal no more than that, I fear.”

Oh gods, am I speaking in iambic pentameter? How am I even doing that?

“No matter, then. You’ve won the hammer’s trust. You wield it well; that’s all I need to know.”

Well, that’s a relief. One less person for me to prove myself to...

Oh no, she’s even more beautiful when she smiles like that.

Wait, is she about to –

Oh.

Oh, wow.

Okay.

Gods and goddesses, she’s an amazing kisser.

Wow. 

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Maria hasn't been a part of the corporate world for very long, but she’s pretty sure going over paperwork late into the night with one’s boss is not supposed to be this much fun. To be fair, she and Pepper finished the last of the paperwork about an hour ago; now they’re mostly just talking and laughing over the last of a truly excellent bottle of wine.

She’s also pretty sure she’s not supposed to be this fascinated watching Pepper when she’s off the clock. It’s the details that captivate her the most. The stretch of Pepper's skirt across her knees as she tucks her stocking feet up under herself on the sofa. The way her freckles stand out against the flush of her cheeks. The hypnotic motion of her fingers as she fidgets with the stem of her glass. The taste of wine and expensive lipstick when Pepper presses her lips against hers...

When Maria’s brain finally processes what’s happening, she inhales sharply and draws back, blinking at Pepper in amazement.

Pepper cringes and bites her lower lip, looking uncharacteristically mortified. “The way you were looking at me just now... did I misread that?”

“No,” Maria chuckles, sliding her hand around Pepper’s waist and leaning closer. “Not at all.”

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There’s something about Kahlan’s throat that begs to be marked up. Something about the way her hair falls across her collarbone dares Cara to bite down and suck until she bruises, red against the cream of Kahlan’s skin, the white of her dress.

Of course there are other, less conspicuous places Cara could leave her mark, given half the chance – the soft underside of her breast, her belly just below her navel, high up on the insides of her thighs – but why hide it? She wants the world to know that a Mord’Sith survived a night with the Mother Confessor.

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With a barely-contained growl of frustration, Lara hurls her empty coffee mug at the door Casey just slammed behind her. The shards of the shattered mug settle on the floor as Lara struggles to regain her composure.

Fucking Casey Blevins.

She tells herself she’s still angry about being on the receiving end of Casey’s formidable right hook. Anger is easier. Anger is safer than whatever it is that’s burning like acid in the pit of her stomach. She wants to smack her around a little, scare her (if it’s even possible to scare Casey Blevins), back her up against a wall or her desk, prove to her exactly how much she is capable of forcing her to do...

Well, that’s incredibly fucked up. God, this place needs to burn.

Everything about this is wrong. Casey is off-limits, in all of the usual ways and more than a few ways that most human minds can’t even comprehend. Even if there was a time when she knew Casey as a grown woman – a woman capable of murder, of extortion, of doing everything Lara asked of her - it’s over now.

It’s over, and she remembers none of it.

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Maria and Natasha make the perfect team.

Pepper can’t deny how much she enjoys watching the two of them, how fluid and affectionate their banter is, how often they verge on finishing each other’s sentences. Listening to them tease and flirt is mesmerizing, to be sure, but it’s nothing compared to what’s happening now.

Neither one of them has spoken a word since they ushered Pepper into their bedroom. They communicate only through fleeting glances, as if they can read each other’s minds. For all Pepper knows, maybe they can. They certainly need no words to divest Pepper of her clothing, to splay her out on the bed between them, to take her apart, piece by gasping, shaking piece.

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It isn’t often that Pepper’s relationships last long enough for her to share this particular interest, but after four months of dating, Natasha finally makes the cut. She laughs as Natasha’s eyes widen in awe. “I thought this might interest you.”

“You’ve got quite the collection,” Natasha drawls as she peruses the array of items laid out in front of her. She reaches out to examine a long, slender riding crop, to test the weight of an elkskin flogger, to admire the softness of a long coil of hemp rope.

Pepper’s hand finds the small of Natasha’s back and her lips brush against her ear. “Care to give any of them a try?”

“Oh, I’m up for anything,” Natasha smirks, leaning into the touch. “Just don’t handcuff me to the bed.”

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When Maria finally tugs off her gloves and ducks out of the ring, Sif is there to greet her with a broad grin and strong arms wrapping around her waist.

Maria makes only a half-assed attempt to dissuade her. “Don’t. I’m all sweaty, and I probably smell terrible.”

“Nonsense!” Sif laughs, nuzzling even closer into the crook of Maria’s neck. “You smell of victory and a battle well fought. Nothing is more alluring.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call those matches ‘battles,’” Maria argues, flushing with pride nonetheless.  “This was just a small, in-house tournament...”

“My Lady Hill,” Sif claps her hands to Maria’s shoulders and holds her at arms’ length, staring pointedly into her eyes, “Need I drag you to my bed, contradicting me all the while, or will you come willingly to claim the spoils of victory?”

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“I’m home!” Jess announces, tossing her keys onto the counter. “And I brought ice cream!”

Carol gapes at her from under her bundle of blankets. “What? Why?”

“Uh...” Puzzled, Jess stares back at her as she kicks off her boots and uncoils her scarf from around her neck. “Because it’s ice cream, and it’s delicious? Look: it’s got a caramel swirl in it.”

“Jess, it’s four below outside!”

Jess pulls two bowls out of the cabinet. “Don’t be so overdramatic. It only feels like it’s four below. It’s actually more like ten degrees –“

“That doesn’t help!” Carol interjects, grinning despite herself at Jess’s enthusiasm. “There’s an inch of ice on the ground; it’s too cold for ice cream.”

“Fine, more for me.” Jess sticks her tongue out and sets about scooping herself a large bowl. When she finally flops down on the sofa, she finds herself engulfed in Carol’s arms and several layers of blankets.

Jess rolls her eyes. “What are you doing?”

Carol hugs her even tighter. “If you’re gonna insist on eating ice cream when it’s this cold out, it’s my job to make sure you don’t freeze to death.”

“My hero,” Jess laughs and stuffs a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth.

 

 

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“Okay, Carol, I’ve got you this time. I’ll see your t-shirt and raise you my undershirt,” Tic smirks, her fingers drumming on the back of her cards.

Carol raises a skeptical eyebrow at her. “I’ll call. Show me what you’ve got.”

Tic tosses her cards dramatically onto the table. “Pair of fours!”

“Tic, that’s not really a good hand at all,” Carol chuckles affectionately, setting her three queens down. “Are you sure you understand how to play?”

“Trust me,” Tic insists. She winks and tugs off her top, baring her torso under Carol’s gaze. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

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All evidence to the contrary, Natasha Romanova and Tori Raven are not enemies. True, their interactions in public are chilly at the best of times and acerbic, almost hostile at the worst. True, they taunt and sneer and snap at each other if they’re forced to share space for too long at a stretch. True, it often seems as if they can hardly stand to be in the same room at the same time.

What most people do not know is that all of that changes on the rare occasions when they find themselves alone together. Behind closed doors – once the last scrap of clothing hits the floor – it’s as if their polarities realign, and the force that usually repels them drives them together.

The sex is by no means warm, by no means affectionate. It lasts until one of them – usually Tori – is sated, and then one of them – usually Natasha – takes her leave, her movements loose and languid from several orgasms (and maybe a cigarette or two). There’s no posturing, no pretense, no mistaking their nights together as anything more than the occasional lapse in judgment, and that suits both of them just fine.

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The air still carries the chill of winter, but the sun is warm on her face wherever it breaks past the buildings around them. Warmer still is Peggy’s arm, linked with hers, her shoulder and hip brushing up against her as they wander the streets of Brooklyn. This place has a spirit all its own - so different from anywhere else she’s ever been - and she can think of no better guide to the city, the real city she would never have thought to look for. They stop on a quiet corner, and Peggy turns to her with a radiant smile that warms her like sunlight. Her arms wind around her waist, drawing her close. Their lips are a breath apart -- 

-- and she wakes to the familiar bite of the cuffs against her wrist.

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The walk back to Marina’s building from the subway is far too short. The two of them linger for a few uncertain moments on the steps up to her door, reluctant to bring the evening to an end. Maybe in another life Marina would’ve invited Maria up for another drink, or maybe something more... Then again, she really isn’t the type to sleep with someone on the first date. Even if this was the best first date she’d been on in years. Even if her date is as charming and quick-witted and, frankly, gorgeous as Maria Hill undoubtedly is.

Besides, she really should go upstairs and relieve America of her babysitting duties before it gets too much later.

“I had a really good time tonight,” Marina says at last.

Maria flashes her a warm smile. “So did I. We should do it again sometime.”

“I’d like that.” Marina just knows she’s blushing, but at this point she really can’t help it. Especially not with Maria’s hands resting tentatively on her waist. Maria leans closer, pauses for only a heartbeat, and kisses her goodnight.

Marina has to admit she’s a little disappointed that the kiss lasts only a few seconds before Maria takes a respectful step back, but it’s probably for the best. They say their goodbyes, and Marina lets herself into the building, her steps light as she heads up the stairs.

Before she can even get her key in her apartment door, her text alert goes off. She laughs to herself when she sees it’s from Carol; sometimes it seems like she has a sixth sense about this sort of situation.

- so? how’d it go?;)

- Really well, I think.

- will there be a second date?

Marina blushes again as she types her response:

- I hope so.

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“JARVIS, can you turn the music up?” Natasha shouts over the already pounding bassline of her workout mix.

“Agent Romanoff, I advise against increasing the volume any further. You wouldn’t want to damage your hearing.”

Natasha winks at Sharon and rolls her eyes. “Override.”

“Very well...”

The music surges a few clicks louder, sending a shudder of pleasure down Natasha’s spine. She turns to face Sharon and centers her weight, crouching low as Sharon does the same. “Ready?”

Sharon laughs as the beat reverberates through her chest cavity. Even in the absence of a crowd of hot bodies and the smell of liquor and cigarettes, they might as well be in a club rather than a sparring ring. “Are you gonna fight me or dance with me?”

“Probably a little of both,” Natasha smirks before flying into motion with a kick aimed at Sharon’s head.

Sharon ducks under her leg and sidesteps with ease. Natasha strikes out experimentally a few more times, warming up and testing her out. It takes her a few minutes to loosen up, to match Natasha’s fluidity and rhythm, but before long it does indeed feel like they’re dancing together (despite the intermittent exchange of blows, of course).

A few songs play through, and sweat begins to bead on Sharon’s forehead; Natasha’s pushing her hard, but so far she’s keeping up with her admirably. The problem is, as hard as they’re working, Natasha has only barely broken a sweat. She mouths along with the lyrics from time to time, and even sways her body in what are clearly dance moves rather than sparring moves. She flashes Sharon a mischievous smirk, and Sharon can’t help but grin back.

When Natasha lands a quick series of blows in perfect time with the music, however, Sharon decides she’s had enough of being toyed with. She puts on a burst of speed and somehow manages to tackle Natasha to the floor and pin her in place, but her upper hand only lasts a moment. The next thing she knows Natasha surges up against her, their mouths meeting in a searing kiss that sends her head spinning.

“I think that’s technically cheating,” Sharon scolds once she’s managed to regain her breath enough to form a coherent sentence.

“Sorry, I got a little worked up,” Natasha purrs, clearly anything but sorry.

Sharon laughs. “Are we gonna keep sparring, or are we just gonna end up making out in the middle of the gym like we did last time?”

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America rubs her palms together a few times before securing her grip around the handle of the mallet at her feet. Kate bites her lip, watching the muscles in her arms and back move under her t-shirt as she hefts the mallet up off the ground.

“Now remember: it’s all in the follow-through,” the attendant confides with a slick smile. “Just aim for the – “

“I’ve got this,” America interrupts, winking at Kate over her shoulder. True to her word, she swings the mallet up over her head and brings it crashing down onto the platform with a resounding thud. A split second later the bell at the top of the game rings out, sharp and brassy and satisfying.

Kate cheers and rushes forward to congratulate her with a kiss on the cheek and an arm around her waist. The attendant presents America with a large purple teddy bear, which she immediately hands over to Kate with a smirk.

“Thanks, I’ll treasure it always.” Kate’s tone is dry but her grin lights up her whole face.

“Anything for you, Princess,” America shoots back in that way that always makes Kate’s knees a little weak. “Come on, wanna go win me one of those enormous stuffed octopuses from the shooting gallery?”

Kate scoffs and kisses her cheek again. “I’ll win you like twelve of them.”

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After three months in this place, Casey’s learned that the harder Jade tries to keep quiet after lights out, the more she needs someone to comfort her, and tonight Jade only let one sniffle slip.

 “I’m fine, Casey, go back to sleep,” Jade mumbles, trying to inconspicuously scrub a hand under her nose as Casey sits on the edge of her bed.

“I know. I had a nightmare,” Casey whispers as she slides under the covers and into Jade’s arms.

“Oh,” Jade says softly. “Okay.”

Casey hates lying to her, but as long as Jade is trying to comfort her, she’s too distracted to cry.

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There’s probably a word for the feeling that has Natasha still staring at the ceiling in the dark, even at this hour. She heaves a frustrated sigh and rolls over onto her stomach in the middle of the bed, sprawling out experimentally, trying to get comfortable.

Surely it isn’t the emptiness of her bed that’s keeping her from sleep; she never used to sleep well when she had to share a bed with someone else – too many limbs, too much body heat, too many extraneous movements – and yet she’s still awake when Maria comes staggering through the door in the wee hours of the morning.

It’s absurd, really, but the moment she climbs into bed next to her, Natasha finally starts to feel as tired as Maria looks. She rearranges herself so she’s curled up in Maria’s arms with her head on her shoulder, and it’s the most comfortable position she’s found all evening.

How strange it is that she’s come to feel Maria’s absence so keenly. How strange it is that the warmth of Maria’s body is exactly what she needs to help her sleep.

There has to be a word for that. It’s right at the tip of her tongue.