#queueueuue

When Jean tells us when Jeremy speaks French to him:

“Why?” The hero manages to choke out. The thought is amusing. “So I don’t get kidnapped? That’s ironic, considering you’re the one who would be most likely to kidnap me.”

“Oh, please, I'd never kidnap you randomly,” the villain scoffs, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest. She's steadily avoiding eye contact now. “I’d ask you first, at the very least.”

“Consensual kidnapping,” the hero mutters disbelievingly to herself. She shoves her hands in her pockets, an attempt to do away with some of her restless energy. “Great. Okay, fine. You can walk me home.”

The villain grins.

“i’m okay, jean,” jeremy promises. “just had a little too much fun,” he says with the quiet hope that jean won’t understand what he means. by the confused look that crosses his face, it’s safe to say that the frenchman does not.

“what he means,” cat cuts in, ever the bringer of crass news, “is that sheldon delivered.” she winks at jean and turns a sly look on jeremy, who lets out an almost busted laugh because that isn’t exactly how he would’ve said it. “you know, between the sheets something some-“

cat stops midway through her continued tease, and together she and jeremy turn to jean and just stare. his knuckles are gripped tight and white, face stony and yet an incredibly taut and stubborn set to his jaw. his long limbs are tense and he truly looks ready to commit murder.

and he is. jean has always been of the jealous sort, but recently? it’s only gotten worse when it comes to jeremy. what started as quickly-assigned concern has made the easy shift over into iron-clad envy as he pictures some other man besides himself looming over his partner, all disgusting cologne and well-endowment.