#anyway the best part is that like. if it's about concealing herself… she is a cat of rubenesque proportions & emits adorably audible snores

[winterarmyy]

Welcome Home... Soldat? | Part III

That time when Bucky accidentally relapsed into the Winter Soldier.

Navigation: Part I || Part II* || Part III (end) || Extra

Words: 5.2k++ (sorry y'all)

Pairing: winter soldier!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: implied 18+ content, implied smut, fluffy stuff, tiny sprinkle of angst, soldat is heartbreakingly adorable until the very end, bucky not being very communicative, self-loathing, confusion, conflicted feelings between guilt and need, two idiots in love who are lost in a miscommunication, excessive use of the word 'fuck', and... what else? I'm not sure either lol.

P/S: This has been truly a journey. Thank you so much for the support y'all have been giving me. I really do appreciate all the comments and dms about my work regardless which one of them. Just wanna remind you that I won't be here without you; that's the degree of importance that you possess. Anyway, enjoy your reading.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

It's only been eight in the morning and the soldat had Y/N trapped between his arms as she focused on sifting the flour for the pancake batter. There were barely any space between them; not when he made sure that her soft plushy butt rests right against his crotch, while his fingers subtly move along her hips.

Those gentle trailings didn't last too long for comfort as he slipped his left hand under her sweatshirt. The soldat let his instinct took control as the metal of his touch draws invisible circles all across her bare stomach, while his lips peppered endless amount of butterfly kisses on the marks from last night; each one was now hidden under layers of color correcter and concealer.

"Wow." A raw sound of astonisment naturally slipped from Sam's lips as he found himself frozen in his spot at the corridor leading to the entrance of the kitchen.

Look at them. Acting like newlyweds on their honeymoon.

For a moment he forgot that the huge cuddly hunk in front of him was the winter soldier and not his fellow comrade.

But then again, it might as well made sense that it was not the Bucky he knew, because that man would've been a puddle of mess if he got the chance to touch Y/N like this.

Sam still remember that night when they had a Harry Potter movie marathon and Y/N ended up falling asleep on Bucky's shoulder. Even in the room that was scarce from light, Sam could clearly see the redness on Bucky's cheeks and ears.

It was an understatement to say that Sam had the best time of his life teasing the shit out of Bucky that night, knowing he can't do anything about it without waking Y/N from her comfy slumber.

"Soldat, please. I need to move around, you know?" Y/N's amused giggle pulled the soldat from his dreamy trance.

He shakes his head in the crook of her neck, snuggling deeper as he took a deep breath of her sweet scent,  "No, you don't. You just need to stay here." The soldat huffed as he pouted and tighten his hold on her.

Y/N chuckled at his child-like antics, "You do know that you're not gonna get any breakfast any time soon if you keep doing this, right?"

Sometimes, she couldn't help but wondered if this is how it would feel like to have Bucky doting on her.

"Родная (darling), I'll gladly have you for breakfast. I'm sure I'd have a feast on that sweet little pussy of yours." He whispered seductively into her ears, as he sensed Sam's presence approaching the kitchen. 

Y/N briefly fluttered her eyes shut as he purred in her ears, before slightly peel herself off from him, "Soldat." Her voice was stern and her eyes narrowed into a frown.

The soldat gaze down at her with a hazy grin on his lips, "Родная (darling)."

Unknowingly, the one-sided glaring battle began when Y/N refused to break their intense eye contact; each opponent uses a very contrasting approach, where one has a deep frown and a pair of blazing eyes while the other has the softest, droopy stare and literal hearts in his steel blues.

"Move." Y/N instructed as if it was a warning.

The brunnette let out a defeated laugh as he loosen his hold on her, "Okay, okay. Anything for you, sweet one."

"Thank you." She sighed. "Finally" she thought. She was worried that they gonna have breakfast for lunch if he refuses to let her go.

On the other hand, the soldat was unable to sit still on his own, so he continue to follow her around, like a hungry cat rubbing their forehead up their human's leg, mewling for attention.

"Morning, y/n and... her shadow." Sam finally make himself known as he greeted while naturally went to pour himself a cup of coffee.

"Good morning, Sam." she greeted back while the soldat swiftly put himself in between them like a barrier. He shot a menancing glare at Sam as the man was standing 'too close to Y/N' for the soldat's comfort.

Obviously offended, "Dude, calm down. I was just greeting her good morning." His voice raised as he defended himself for his rights, "Tell him y/n" he continued to tattle tail.

In which Y/N responded by patting the back of the soldat's shoulder as a reassurance before asking him to move away.

Let's just say that he begrudgingly agreed to just because it was Y/N's request.

"Unbeliveable." Sam rolled his eyes, "This your friend?" He asked as Steve entered the scene, greeting everyone a good morning before he quirked, "What?"

"Look at him." Sam accusingly pointed as the soldat, "He's hogging y/n." He continued to explain while purposely reach his hand to touch her. The soldat wordlessly pulled her away before he could reach any further, "See?" Sam pointed again.

Steve didn't defend anyone this time as he only laughed it off before finding his seat. His eyes sparkled with delight to the amount of pancake made by Y/N and the multiple choice of topping and sides; from the sickening sweet stuff to the oddly savoury ones.

He glanced over at his best friend, who was unsubtly trying to hog Y/N away from Sam and his baby blues soften as he thought maybe Shuri was right. Maybe Bucky was always present somewhere in this soldat's persona.

It was such a typical Bucky behaviour to be possessive as the soldat was being. Steve noticed that Bucky would always get a bit agitated when someone touch his girl, even if he doesn't actively show it as much. In the 40's he might've been able to hide it behind his charming smile and witty jokes, but nowdays anyone can see it on his ever-present frown and unintelligible grunts.

That applies for both Bucky and the soldat.

Y/N rolled her eyes at Sam as she pulled the soldat by the hand, "Ignore him, soldat. Now, come have breakfast with me." She sat him on one of the stool by the kitchen isle as she prepared his plate.

Perplexed by the lack response, Sam admitted his defeat for once and joined the isle to have his bite of the morning.

As soon as she settled on her own seat next to him, the soldat took her hand into his, briefly kissing her the back of it. "Thank you, darling."  He whispered before placing their locked hands on his lap as they ate, casually rubbing his thumb on her for comfort.

If you thought Y/N was the only one who was blushing at the domestic show of affection, well you'd think again when you see the shade of red on the tip of his ears or the way Sam purposely looked away.

The morning went by with mostly three of them having a pleasant conversation and the soldat silently distract himself by playing with her hand, apparently enthralled by the size difference and how fragile looking hers was.

Meanwhile, the rest of the team came by the kitchen on their own time since some of them prefer to sleep off the pain from the previous mission.

Half an hour later, she felt as if she was caught in a dejavu when she found herself in the same position as before. She laughed softly as she washed dishes, while the soldat stuck himself to her like a oversize koala to a tiny tree.

"I smell pancakes." Tony spoke as he made a bee line towards the kitchen, looking like he just survived a bio hazard in the lab.

"I made extra. Help yourself." Y/N announced, not even trying to look back at them, especially when the soldat had her trapped in his tight embrace.

Tony peeked to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of Y/N, "Did you see her? I didn't even know she was here until she spoke." He asked, though he sounded more like he was teasing her.

Before Tony could reach out for his plate, Shuri stormed to the kitchen, catching everyone's attention, "Pancakes can wait, Tony." She stopped him which only cause him to whine dramatically.

It felt as if Y/N's heart completely dropped out of her body when Shuri nodded knowingly, "It's time."

There was a quick briefing of the process with everyone involved while they prep the soldat in the other side of the glassed section of the lab. Y/N tried to focus on watching the simple simulation video that was prepared by Tony.

And she heard every single words of Shuri's but all she could think was if the soldat knew what they were doing. If he felt like he was being thrown, being disposed of like some kind of object.

By the time they the explanation ended, Y/N didn't think twice as she marched towards the soldat. The team didn't questioned her motive as they can see the determination in her eyes. 

She stopped on her tracks, right at the entrance when a thought ran across her mind.

Of course, she wanted Bucky back but why does this feel so wrong?

"How are you feeling, soldat?" She prompted as she walked over to him, passing the lab employee who scurried away leaving the couple to have some privacy.

The soldat brightened in her presence as he reached out to her with grabby hands, triggering a soft giggle from Y/N. She let her hands gravitate towards his, intertwining her fingers in his hold as he replied, "Much better now." He sighed in contentment the moment he felt her skin against his own.

There was a comforting silence in the room, but Y/N's mind was the complete opposite. There was only chaos of questions that felt so sinful and immoral to utter out loud.

The soldat grip tightens with tenderness, as if he could hear the loud havoc in her head. Moments later, he decided to break the silence with an honest confession.

"I know that I'm not welcomed here."  He glanced at the other side of the glass, watching the team pacing around. "I know that you're trying to get rid of me." His ocean blues changed its tides to gaze up at her; the smile on his lips was soft and pure.

"You know, I have been many things in this life..." the soldat looked down where his hands were entangled with hers, "...a killer, a weapon, a monster, you name it." there was a hint of grudge in his voice but mostly it was woven with regret.

"But, worst of all, I have been a thief." It felt as if he has been holding his breath as he avowed.

"I have stolen decades worth of his life, robbed him of his freedom for so many years, every single happiness and hope he could ever experienced had been stripped away right before his eyes," the soldat chuckled ironically before looking up to meet her teary eyes, "...yet I'm still greedy for more days with you."

Y/N found herself unable to speak, afraid that her words would do nothing to coax him; or maybe she just couldn't trust that her voice won't crack in the middle of her sentence especially when she was damn sure that her heart was already cracking for him.

The soldat's eyes softens when he reached his hand to her face, "I never knew that I was capable to feel these futile emotions such as joy and love, until I felt it when he looks at you." Y/N didn't even notice she was crying until he wiped them away with the gentle caresses of his thumb.

"Everything I felt towards you were his to begin with." He confessed as he felt the guilt of stealing yet another precious thing from him again, "That's why, I don't deserve this." The said as he recalled every moment he got to spend with her, "I don't deserve you."

The soldat knows that very well, but that didn't stop the natural curiosity that resides from within him, "And I can't help but to wonder..." he hesitated as he tried to construct the most raw and truthful question to sum up whatever this emotion he was currently feeling.

"Will you remember me?" His voice was small and quiet, almost afraid of the answer that might come his way.

More tears were spilling out as she unhesitantly replied, "How could I not?" Her hands raised to his face, cupping his scruffy cheeks in her palms.

The soldat's eyes sightly wobbled when he asked again, "Will you miss me?" At that time, he didn't know that the feeling he felt was called 'heartache', yet he was handling it like he had been experiencing it all his life.

Y/N leaned as she pressed the most tender kiss on his forehead, "More than you know." Her answer made the soldat smile as he purred in her hold.

He peeled one away from his face and pressed a kiss of his own on the delicate palm of her hand. The same ones that had showed him nothing but so much love and kindness.

When Shuri came into the scene, they know it was time to say goodbye. But, both refused to say anything remotely close to it. So, they wordlessly walked out towards the cylinder shaped glass pod, located right in the middle of the lab.

Until the very end, Y/N stood by his side as he lay on the tight space of the pod. And just as the door was about the close, the soldat smiled lovingly at his precious person, as he called for her nickname one last time.

"So long, Родная (darling)."

Three weeks later. At Avenger's private gym.

Steve re-adjusted his stance as he took cautious step backwards, "Why are you avoiding her?" He asked straightforwardly.

Bucky huffed a heavy breath as he lunged forward for a strike, "What are you talking about?" He missed when Steve easily swerved away and countered back, "Don't play dumb, Buck. I'm not in a mood for that."

The brunette blocked his punch with his left forearm but Steve uses that as an opportunity to grab him and pushed him on the floor. Bucky groaned as he landed flat on his chest, left hand on his back.

"Well, I'm not in a mood to talk about it either." He growled as he swing his leg backwards, toppling Steve on his back and pushed his metal arm against his neck, choking him out of his breath, "So, drop it." He warned.

Steve tapped the floor as a sign of defeat and Bucky released his hold while retreat his arm away. Both of them was out of breath but for entirely different reason; Steve was literally choked, so that's fair, but Bucky was breathing heavily as soon as Y/N stepped into the gym.

He stood there with an intense frown on his face, glaring at the woman of his dreams. Literal dreams, or memories of the soldat that was left behind for Bucky after what happened with the winter soldier situation.

Thankfully the method worked, Shuri and Tony managed to bring Bucky back but just like before, he don't have any clear recollection what happened.

While Y/N made the team swore to never speak to Bucky about what he did when he relapsed, while Bucky himself also hides the fact that, much like his previous experience where the memories comes in a form of unsightly nightmares, his memories of those few days were also coming back in a form of dreams.

Though they were never linear. There was no way of knowing the actual flow of his memories.

It came more like snippets of certain moments, sometimes repetitive, sometimes glitchy but they were mostly such good dreams, beautiful even, however they didn't last very long.

At least, not according to Bucky.

Y/N stopped on her tracks as she saw Bucky, who blatantly throwing daggers at her through his eyes. She didn't know why but she didn't want to think of the worst, so she went towards him in hopes of proving her own mind that the negative instincts that she had was wrong.

But the moment she got close, "Hi Buck--" Bucky walked passed her as if she wasn't there in the first place. And she had to admit that, that shit was painful to go through.

And he had been acting like this for two weeks now. Avoiding her like a fucking plague. And she doesn't know why.

He was acting normal during the first week of his awakening, or maybe a little bit more reserved that he usually would be.

She doesn't know how else to explain it but he seemed to act really shy whenever Y/N accidently touched him.

Did someone told him about what happened? Is that why he's mad? She doesn't get it, and she wants to know why.

So before Bucky managed to walk further pass her, Y/N turned on her heels and tugged him by his right arm to stop him. Little did she knew, that might just be the one thing she shouldn't do.

It was like a pre-programmed reaction, when Bucky's body move on his own, as he harshly ripped himself from her grasps, almost dropping her to the ground.

Steve was second away from reaching out to catch her but luckily she found her balance back on her own.

Bucky leered down at her as he spoke, "Don't touch me." His voice came out much more venomous than he intended, making Y/N flinched to his command.

But if that what he needs to do to chase her away from him then so be it, "Just stay the fuck away from me." Bucky spat a cold warning before marching his way out.

Not only leaving Y/N in utter confusion, but with her heart torn to bled dry.

"No... soldat." She whimpered in his ears as his finger drew slow circles on her clit, his mouth latched on her shoulder.

Salty tears started to blur her vision when she sniffled them back.

"Look at you. Look how well you're taking me. My darling is such a good girl, isn't she?" The soldat sounds sickeningly sweet when he murmured in her ears.

"Don't." she whispered quietly.

"p-please soldat, ahh." She mewled, scratching the metal of his arm. 

"That's it darling, cum for your soldat. give it to me,, aahhh" He motioned, forming an 'O' with his mouth as she clamp down on his fingers; with his wide eyes looking down at her exposed pussy.

Bucky's eyes snapped open, ripping him out of the distorted memories only to leave him gasping in the darkness. He woke up swimming in his bed, drowning in the flood of sheets with his heart pounding as if it was desperate to tear out of his chest.

He looked around suspiciously as if he didn't recognized his own room, until strain of his crotch distracted him. His eyes pried downwards to see his cock struggling to fit in his pants and the images of his lucid dream flashes again.

Bucky shuts his eyes tightly, hoping the torture would stop reminding him of his sins, "You sick fuck." A deep frown formed as he muttered curses to himself.

After hours and hours of free falling tears in her room, letting herself drown in a sorrow that she never knew she would ever experience, she let herself wonder back to those lovely moments of her with the soldat.

She found it ironic that somehow the memories of his touch was also the cure to the wounds left by cruelty of his words.

It's hours passed midnight and her tears finally stopped, at least until her body was able physically form more tears in her glands, she took the time as a chance for her to rest.

Y/N laid on her back, letting the remaining tears to fall into her ears.

Worst part of all of this was not knowing why, and being left in the dark, yet he managed to effortlessly left her heart broken into shatters.

"Don't touch me."

"Just stay the fuck away from me."

Bucky's words had been circling her mind like a raging tornado. It felt like the spitefulness of his voice was mocking the flaws of her fragmented heart, toying with what's left behind after the storm.

Y/N didn't even realized when did she started to make her way towards the kitchen, but it was as if her body knew its own limit when her feet walked her out of the confinement of her room and her mind remind her to hydrate herself.

As she entered the kitchen area, she wasn't expecting to see Bucky standing in the middle of it, leaning forward towards the counter tops.

Even with the little source of light from the corridor, Y/N could see the tiredness in his face as he stare blankly into nothing. But, his expression soon changed when he saw her.

She didn't know what she had done to make him so agitated whenever he laid his eyes on her.

The silence between them was so loud that Y/N couldn't help but to approach him.

"I..." She truly didn't know what to say but it felt like it was her fault. She did take advantage of him when the soldat took over; endless use of his body, hands, lips and not to mention what happened that night. "I'm sorry."

Bucky was truly appalled to her words, even though he didn't show it on his expression. Why does she had to apologize to him when he was clearly the problem, "Why are you apologizing?" his anger naturally slipped through as he spoke.

But Y/N didn't know that he was frustrated at himself, and not at her, so the tone that he used stung her as much as it did prior, "I don't know." She simply said.

Lies.

She knew exactly why apologized but she wasn't sure if Bucky knew what happened when he blacked-out. "I just... I don't want to stay away from you. I don't like it."

She can't; not when her yearning for him had grew stronger than ever before.

"Well, you better get used to it because it won't change any time soon." Bucky spat harshly.

Y/N felt her own rage started to bubble from within.

Why is he being so hot-headed and stubborn like a sulking child? Can't he just act like a fucking adult and talk it out?

Her brows crunched into a frown as she held back her tone, "Why?"

Bucky let out a frustrated as he tried to walk away, shooting a demanding glare as he was passing her, "Just do as you're told, y/n"

"Oh no, you're not gonna run away from this."

She grabbed him by his arms and pulled him back into the conversation. "That's not fair, Bucky."

"Not fair?" His eyes narrowed, as he looked down at the smaller.

She puffed out an angry breath as she glared up, "No, it is not fair! It's not entirely your choice to make." She can feel the flames started to spread, "Especially when you refused to tell me why." She yelled accusingly as she shoved her finger to his chest.

Blood roaring in Bucky's ears as his heart pounded hard, pouring the concealed frustration out like a broken dam as he explodes, "He almost raped you, y/n!!"

There was a few milliseconds of non-movements as both them let those few words sink into their processing brain, "I... almost raped you." His voice shook in both anguish and anger, leaving Y/N frozen in a speechless shock.

"Or maybe I already did and I don't even fucking remember." His hands roughly tugged his long hair back as if he tried to go through the pieces of shattered memories in his wrecked mind.

"And if that is not a fucking sign for you stay away from me, I don't know what else I should do to make you see that." Bucky was breathing heavily that his breaths echoed through the silenced space.

Y/N's mind was running wild as everything slowly clicked. Did he thought that he... No. She blinked several times before she could form actual words, "Bucky, what are you saying? It's okay, it's okay. Just please calm down first and--" she tried to reach for him but that only made Bucky retorted, physically and mentally.

"It's okay? No, it's fucking not. Are you even listening to yourself? Can't you see? I'm dangerous y/n." He sounded as desperate as he was for air. "Especially to you. And if my messed up past was not enough to prove it, then what happened between us when I relapsed certainly did."

His heart rate increase rapidly, and his lungs seemed to work double time. Yet, he refused to let her see how badly he needed comfort.

"Bucky, please breathe. And just.. listen to me--" Y/N was hopeless trying to pull him out of the chaos of his mind but he just wouldn't listen.

Bucky's voice started to waver as the dark revelation continued to cloud him, "He assault you, y/n. I fucking assault you. And I can't let that happened again. So, just please, stay awa--"

"It was my choice!" Y/N snapped as she grabbed Bucky by his shoulder, forcing him to focus on her. "Bucky, I let him touch me. I could stop him if I want to, but I didn't."

Bucky didn't understand, "W-why?"

"Because I know he wouldn't hurt me. You wouldn't hurt me." Y/N tried to lay it out for him slowly but then she realized that maybe he didn't need that right now.

"Fuck, Bucky! I'm not a saint." She cursed after a few short moments of hesitation, "I have a lot of feelings I need to deal with like every other human being. Lust, love, you name it. And he..."

In a brief moment, she thought of the soldat, "He gave me the opportunity to feel the love that I always wanted from you. He showed me what we could've been." There was a sense of longing in her eyes, "It started small, soft touches and loving kisses." She smiled to the memories of it.

"And the moment that I thought that it could've been you who's kissing me, touching me. I knew it was over." She didn't know how many times she almost slipped out his name whenever she calls for the soldat; the name 'Bucky' was always at the tip of her tongue but never out.

"One thing led to another and we... I didn't mean to let it stray too far." She confessed, "Bucky, I admit it was wrong for me to take advatange of you, of the soldat, and I know there's no excuse to my behaviour than my own inability to control my feelings for you."

If the soldat thought that he was being greedy, then that makes the two of them.

"I understand if you want me to stay away from you, but just let me say this out loud." Her hands slid down to find his, thankfully he didn't repulsed this time, "Bucky... I love you." She finally spilled the truth as her soften gaze trained on his eyes, "I have loved you for a long time."

Afraid that this could be the end, she refused to look away. She didn't care if Bucky would plunge daggers to her through his words, she want him to know that her feelings for him was unconditional.

And Bucky really tried his best to let all her words sink in, even though most of them were somehow redacted and lost in his head.

But, thankfully the most important ones was so loud and clear for him to draw a simple conclusion that would ease his relentless worries, "You...I.. I didn't force it on you?"

Y/N didn't know why she wasn't expecting him to believe her but she was glad that he did, "No" she replied simply.

Bucky's voice strangled while his hand gripping tighter in her hold, "I didn't hurt you?" His teary eyes pleaded for the truth.

"Not a even close." She smiled kindly.

Bucky felt as the unbearable burden on his shoulders was lifted off completely just by those few simple words that Y/N just uttered. The tears he was desperately holding back broke freely as they stream down his face, his shoulders trembled with the force of his emotions running through his veins.

He whispered, "You don't hate me for it?" He pulled her hands closer to his face, fluttering his eyes shut as he kissed the knuckles of her fingers.

"Never." Y/N reassured, as she cupped his face; stroking her thumbs on his scruffy cheeks, wiping the warm, salty tears away.

Bucky sighed to her touch, it seemed that his body remembered her more than his mind did, "And you love me?" He blinked as he placed his hand on top of her.

Y/N nodded with a loving curve on her lips, "Always have."

Bucky didn't know how she does it but she really did managed to mend and melt his heart all at the same time. It was magic. Or, maybe it was sorcery. But even if she ended up leaving a curse behind, Bucky would still be glad that he let her bewitched him.

Bucky stared down at her, admiring her the kindness in her eyes despite the swolleness of them. He felt bad for breaking her heart, making her cry. It tore his heart just thinking about it.

His tongue darted out for a brief second as his metal hand fell, wrapping around her body.

Y/N maintained to lock her eyes on his as her hand slid down, and pressed on his chest. Despite being comfortable with his touches, and with the amount of kisses the soldat had generously gave her, she shouldn't be nervous anymore but she was.

After all, the soldat never kisses her on the lips and Bucky had his eyes on hers since the beginning.

She wanted his too.

Seeing the anticipation in her eyes, Bucky leaned in to press a kiss on her lips, his flesh hand came up to tilt her chin up, then gently cupped her face as he pulled her closer.

Her lips was so soft against his, that Bucky was sure that he will crave to this every single day.

He briefly pulled away from the kiss to whisper a soft, "I love you too, y/n." Before coming down for another chaste, "More than you could ever fucking imagine." He almost growled as he dipped for more.

Their innocent kiss soon turned into something deeper. They kissed passionately, lost in the bubble of time and space, ignoring the silenced ambiance as they were fixated on the sound of their beating hearts.

And when they pulled away for air, Y/N giggled as a silly thought went through her mind, "Well, I kinda see the glimpse of it in those few days with the soldat, so I think I got the gist of it."

That caused Bucky to let out a genuinely hearty laugh before humming playfully, "Hmm, do you now?" He went in for another kiss, knowing full well that he was already addicted to the taste of her lips.

He just can't get enough of it.

Y/N answered briefly in between his kisses, "Yes."

Bucky smirked as he smoothly guided her backwards, until the back of her waist met with the cold tile of the kitchen isle, "Three times, was it?" his eyes glint with mischieve when he leaned again to steal another kiss.

"What is?" Y/N titled her head to the side, unknowingly giving access for Bucky to lead his kisses from her soft cheek down to her exposed neck.

His lips trailed along the crook of it as he whispered, "Was it three times that he made you cum?" If his goal was to seduce her; well it was safe to say that he did it rather flawlessly.

Y/N thanked god that the kitchen was dim-litted, because the redness on her cheek was rather embarrassing, "I-I'm not sure."

She lied. But, Bucky didn't need to know that.

Bucky chuckled lowly as he murmured, "It's okay, babydoll. We have all the time in the world to beat that record." his naughty hands had already made their way toward her ass before she even have the time to register what he suggested.

Lust decorated the blues in his eyes as he whispered, "Starting now."

End.

<< Part II || Extra >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Yeay, we have reached the end but I might have more of the couple in the future. Though I don't know when will it happen but I have hopes for it. Meanwhile, why don't you tell me what you think of the series and checkout my other work!

#winterarmyyfics #welcome home soldat au #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier x you #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier!bucky

[fandomxpreferences]

Secrets Secrets Are No Fun

Masterlist

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x female!reader, past Barry x female!reader

TW:18+, mentions of alcohol consumption and drug abuse, angst, fluff,smut, oral (f receiving), dominance, mild breeding kink, I think thats all

Summary:Rafe discovers some interesting information about your past and reminds you who you belong to.

Word Count.3.6k

Rafe has never been one for involving you with his work. He insists that you're too sweet and pretty; his perfect girl that should never have to lift a manicured finger. 

Deeper than that though, is his desire to protect you. It's no secret that Rafe has gotten involved in shady dealings in the past, and he wants you nowhere near it. 

He isn't aware of your own suspicious past; your younger years before him spent on the cut and around less-than-moral people. 

One of the things that drew him to you was your natural ability to be the life of the party and he was hooked when you beat him in a game of beer pong. He never stopped to ask where those qualities came from though, and you never offered up the answer. 

To say you're surprised when he brings you along to a "business" meeting on the cut is an understatement. You're not entirely sure what he could possibly have arranged on that side of the island, but you don't press for details. 

Familiar streets and houses blur by as you draw closer to your old stomping grounds, and your stomach sinks when he pulls up to a house you recognize all too well. 

His hand falls to its usual place on the small of your back as he leads you up the yard, the man you were hoping never to see again slamming the screen door behind him when he hears your arrival. 

You stay tucked into your boyfriend's side, his fingers digging into your waist as a reminder that you're safe. Little does he know, this used to be a place of solace for you and danger isn't even a thought in your mind. 

Your eyes lock with Barry's momentarily, widening the slightest bit to try and communicate as Rafe looks forward. 

"Shiiiiiit, if it ain't the princess herself. Long time no see."

He flashes a toothy grin and you do your best to conceal the panic clawing up your throat as you shift on your feet. 

Rafe frowns a bit, unaware that the two of you have met. 

"You know him?"

He's turned to you now, confusion swimming in his ocean eyes as your gaze stays locked on Barry. 

"Yeah, she knows me re-"

You cut him off suddenly, tilting your head to peer up at Rafe.

"We've met at a few parties and talked some. We're just acquaintances, really."

You give him a blinding smile that seems to convince him, and Barry eyes you knowingly. A devilish grin splits his feathers as he casts his eyes toward the ground and shakes his head.

"Yeah, country club. Acquaintances."

Rafe glances between the two of you suspiciously, picking up on unspoken tension and the slight edge to Barry's voice. He doesn't like being in the dark, and he has a nagging feeling that you're not telling him something. 

Still, he lets it go for now and takes a step forward. You hang back with your arms crossed, toying with the grass beneath your feet as you tune out their conversation. This is a new level of trust from Rafe; he's never let you know any details in the past. 

It causes an ache in your chest; guilt eating at you as he puts his heart in your hands while you hide the truth. You try to convince yourself that it's not particularly deceitful, you're just not giving him the entire story. It wouldn't do anything but cause problems anyway; so what's the harm in a little white lie?

What he doesn't know can't hurt him. 

You're lost in your thoughts; images of white lines and passion-filled nights flashing behind your eyelids. It's not your proudest moment, climbing into bed with a drug dealer. You're ashamed of that part of your life; you were lost and willing to risk everything just to feel something. 

You've since grown up and found purpose. You're happy and it's all behind you. So really, why does it matter? It led you to where you are. 

Your little fling, if you can even call it that, with Barry was short-lived. You only hooked up with him while high, so honestly you could argue that it wasn't really you. It was an alter ego that comes out when you're under the influence, on a war path to make bad decisions. 

Granted, you were sober when you woke up still in his bed and decided to stay, but that's neither here nor there.

Is that a little toxic and twisted? Perhaps. At this point, you're making up any excuse to convince yourself that you aren't wrong for keeping it from Rafe. 

Besides, what were you supposed to do? Stroll up to him and casually say 'By the way, I used to do coke and fuck my drug dealer. Love you!'? That most definitely wouldn't have gone over well. 

You're torn out of your thoughts when you feel Rafe beside you again, and let him lead you back to his truck wordlessly. You don't cast Barry a second glance, though you can feel his gaze burning into your back. 

The drive back is silent, and you can tell by the tortured look on Rafe's face that he has questions. His fingers are tapping the steering wheel rapidly, deep creases between his brows as he scowls. 

As soon as you get back, you hop out and make a beeline toward Tannyhill. He's hot on your heels, ready to pick a fight, but you don't give him the chance. You grab your keys, spouting off an excuse about an errand you need to run, before practically sprinting to your car. 

He lets you go, a sinking feeling in his gut as he watches you peel out of the driveway. 

You're not exactly thinking clearly as you follow the route you know by muscle memory, panic clouding over any logical thought. You need to make sure this stays a secret. 

Your tires squeal as you skid to a stop, and you nearly gag at the victorious look on his face when he sees you. 

"Couldn't stay away, huh?"

You march forward, hands coming up to shove him back before pointing a finger in his face. It does little to deter him, his eyes darkening with lust at your defiant and bratty attitude.

"Don't start with me. Our deal still stands, Barry. Whatever the fuck happened stays between us."

You take a step back when he moves toward you, wanting to keep as much distance as possible. 

"Ah, so I was right. Country club doesn't know."

You scoff and roll your eyes, hands coming to rest on your hips. 

"Yeah, I told him that I used to fuck a low-level dealer on the cut that I didn't even know he was aware existed. Of course he doesn't fucking know, Barry!"

He barks out a short laugh, bringing a joint up to his mouth before holding it out as a peace offering. You shoot him a harsh glare, and his hands come up in surrender. 

"Just figured you would've told your boyfriend about us, baby doll."

Your nose scrunches at the nickname and a new fire surges through your veins as you step into his personal space. 

"There is no us, Barry. There never was!"

He raises his eyebrows, not convinced that you believe your own line of bullshit. There were one too many mornings spent over with tangled legs and a few too many secrets shared for it to have been nothing. 

"That's not what you were screaming when I was buried inside you and doing a line.." His finger moves to trace the valley between your breasts as he continues. "Right here."

You shudder at his touch, not from desire but rather disgust at feeling his hand on you again. 

"Don't worry, I won't say nothin'. But if he ever fails to satisfy you, you know where to find me. I still remember where all those little spots are that make you sc-"

You cut him off, not able to bear the rest of his sentence. 

"Yeah, whatever. See ya never."

You flip him off before turning on your heel, but stop mid-stride when his voice rings out. 

"Oh, and doll? The two of you may have more in common than you think. How you think he knows me so well?"

The question swirls around in your brain as you climb back into the driver's seat and start toward your boyfriend's house. That hadn't even occurred to you. Barry was known for one thing, so how the hell would Rafe know him? Let alone come to be in business with him. 

Your thoughts are racing by the time you arrive, questions that don't have logical answers plaguing your mind. 

Rafe is in front of you within seconds once you cross the threshold, concern and anger clear on his face. It seems that both of you have had time to stew and come up with various scenarios. 

You walk past him casually, finding a glass to fill with water as he leans against the kitchen island. 

"You know, I was thinking,"

So it begins. Rafe thinking is never good; but in this case, he doesn't know that you have ammo of your own. He's going to regret pulling at this thread, that much you're sure of. 

"You said you've met Barry at parties, but he wouldn't be caught dead on Figure Eight. Which means you were on the Cut. So you wanna tell me the truth before I go beat it out of him?"

You turn around slowly, sipping leisurely as you hold eye contact over the rim of the glass. He falters slightly at the steely look in your eyes that rivals the fire in his but holds his ground. You take your time, giving him a chance to back down. 

When he doesn't, you set the cup down and lean forward to match his stance, pursing your lips for dramatic effect. 

"You know, Rafe, I could ask you the same thing. It seems neither of us have been completely honest."

Satisfaction blooms in your chest when his eyes widen slightly, no doubt wishing that he had just dropped the subject. His mouth opens and closes a few times as he flounders, and you cock your head to the side in a mocking manner. 

"Cat got your tongue, country club?"

His eyes darken when you repeat the nickname he loathes, and he stands up straight while moving to loom over you. 

"Don't change the fucking subject."

His voice is deeper than usual, dripping off his tongue like molasses as anger bubbles up inside him. 

"I'm not changing the subject. I'm just asking how you know Barry since you seem so pissed off that I know him. We both know what he does and you said yourself that he wouldn't come to Figure Eight, which means you sought him out on the cut. Seems like your casting stones from a glass house."

Your tone is far too casual as you shrug your shoulders like you're discussing what to have for dinner and it pisses Rafe off more.

"What was the errand you had to run, sweetheart? You came back empty-handed."

Your silence seems to confirm his suspicion and he nods his head, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he chuckles. 

"Did you fuck him?"

The question is dripping with venom, but you don't miss the heartache lying just under the surface. You soften a bit at the realization he thinks you cheated and shake your head. 

"Today? No. Ever? Yes. It was a long time ago, Rafe. Way before I even knew you. I used to do some fucked up shit, but that's not who I am anymore."

Your voice is timid as you finally give him the answer he was looking for, a weight lifting off your shoulders as your last secret is revealed to your boyfriend. 

His eyes dart back and forth as he processes the new information, and he cages you against the counter while dropping his face to be level with yours. In any other circumstance, it would be intimidating. However, when you see the raw vulnerability he's displaying, it's anything but. 

"Were you in love with him?"

Your eyes widen, realization hitting you that he doesn't have all the information. As far as he knows, you were in a relationship. 

"No, Rafe. Not even close. We would do blow and then hookup. It started turning into something more towards the end and that's why I walked away from it all and never looked back. I wanted more for myself."

Your voice is soft and comforting, and he searches your eyes for any sign of deceit. 

"You did coke?"

You nod slowly, unsure how he's going to react to your confession. Against your better judgment, you decide to circle back to your question. 

"How do you know him, Rafe?"

The fury returns to his eyes at the prospect of being held accountable, and any compassion that was there just a second ago is gone. 

"I'm not done with my interrogation, baby. Did he fuck you right?"

Your mouth falls open at his brazen inquiry, unsure what the right answer is. The truth is yes, he did. However, telling Rafe that doesn't seem like a good choice so you remain silent. 

"Did he make you scream like I do? Huh? Did he know all the right places to touch? Did he know your body the same as me?"

You release a sharp gasp when his hand shoves into your pants, instantly finding the bundle of nerves and pressing tight figure eights. You choke on a strangled moan when the coolness of his signet ring grazes across your folds, his index finger dipping down to collect your slick. 

"Is this for me? Or is it for Barry?"

There's a cruel glint in his eyes, blue irises barely peeking out behind blown-out pupils. You can't bring yourself to respond, too focused on the sparks of pleasure jolting through your body. 

"Answer me! Or I won't let you come for a week."

You know that Rafe is nothing if not a man of his word, and try to muster up the strength to speak. 

"You, Rafe. It's always for you."

His lips press to the pulse point just below your ear, his hot breath causing goosebumps to erupt as he whispers into your skin. He tsks, not satisfied with your answer. 

"I don't believe you."

You're about to plead your case, when he picks you up and sets you on the counter, forcing your legs apart and ripping your shorts and lace thong off in one fell swoop. 

"Does he know how sweet you taste?"

It's a rhetorical question; and even if it wasn't, you wouldn't answer anyway. Rafe is too far gone when he's like this, anything you say will only make it worse. 

Before you can process, his lips are wrapped around your clit sucking harshly as he shoves two fingers into your soaking heat. 

Your hips jolt up as you let out a scream, his large hand resting on your lower stomach to shove you back down. 

"Don't fucking move. I want you to scream my name so loud he can hear it all the way across the island. You're never going to think about him again. Do you understand?"

You give a short nod, only to be met with a sharp sting on your clit when he bites down. 

"Words."

A shrill whine rips from your throat, desperation leaking out of every pore. 

"Yes! Yes, I understand!"

You're rewarded with his fingers curling up into that spot he knows by heart, eyes fluttering closed at the blissful sensation. 

"Look at me. I want you to see who's making you feel this good."

You do as he says, prying your eyelids open and propping up on your elbows so you can watch him devour you. 

"Fuck, Rafe."

He groans into you, alternating between licking and sucking as your high approaches at record speed. Your pussy clamps down on him, mere seconds from release when he suddenly pulls back. 

You whimper at the loss of contact, and he pulls you down to your feet. His hand presses down harshly on your head, pressing your hips into the counter hard enough to leave bruises. 

"Whores don't get to come. Maybe if you're a good girl for me and take this cock the way you're supposed to, I'll give you permission."

You moan out at his filthy words, a chuckle reverberating from his chest as you hear his belt buckle clink. 

"You just love when I treat you like a little slut, don't you?"

His hand comes down on your ass in a sharp slap when you don't respond quickly enough, and he teases your entrance with the tip of his cock. 

"Answer me or I'll leave you here dripping."

"Fuck, yes. I love when you treat me like your slut!"

He nudges inside you just enough to draw a deep moan from your chest before stopping and leaning forward so his body is covering yours. 

"Yes, what?"

The raspiness of his voice has you keening for more, now willing to do anything just to find relief. 

"Yes, Rafe."

"Good girl."

He thrusts into you suddenly, your body lurching forward at the force, and sets a brutal pace. 

"God damn, you're so ti-tight. Did he fill you up this good?"

You shake your head from side to side, turning to sink your teeth into his bicep resting beside your face. 

"No, Rafe! Fu-fuck, never."

You push your hips back to meet him, and nearly come from the groan he lets out. 

"Keep doing that, baby. So good for me."

You follow his command, a thin sheen of sweat coating both of you as you're lost in the throws of passion. Rafe can feel you tighten around him, a sign that your high is imminent. His nimble fingers reach around to rub fast circles on your clit, blistering heat itching to explode. 

"Oh, my- Rafe!" 

Your voice echoes off the walls as you scream out for him, and he remains consistent in his efforts. 

"I know. Come for me, pretty girl. Give it to me."

His words send you over the edge, and your body convulses against him as every nerve ending ignites. Your repetitive screaming of his name never ceases as your vision goes white, Rafe's strong arms holding you steady. 

"Shit, I'm close. Gonna fill you up and give you a baby so everybody knows you're mine. Taking me so well."

The desperation in his voice hurtles you into your second orgasm, barely giving you time to come down from your first. This triggers Rafe, his movements becoming erratic as he coats your walls.

He pumps into you a few more times before slowly pulling out, a combination of your fluids dripping down your legs. His fingers reach down to fuck his cum back into you as your body trembles, completely spent. 

"That's a first."

Your eyebrows furrow at his statement, turning just enough to see what he's referring to. Your jaw goes slack when your eyes land on the puddle at his feet, along with his soaked thighs. 

"Holy shit."

He chuckles with pride, his large hand coming to smooth down your hair. 

"Yeah, you made a mess baby."

He kisses your spine a few times before cleaning up quickly, his arms encompassing you once he's done. Your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you up to his bedroom, allowing you to cling to him with ease while he turns on the shower. 

Once it's to the desired temperature, he steps inside with one arm completely wrapped around your back and his other hand on the underside of your thigh. 

You release a sigh when the warm water hits your skin, nuzzling your face into his neck when he kisses your temple. 

"You have to get down if we're going to wash up, baby."

He's met with your face rubbing against him as you shake your head, and laughs loudly. 

"Come on."

He sets you down slowly, not relinquishing his hold until he's sure your legs aren't going to give out. It's peaceful for a few minutes while he goes through the motions of washing your hair, lips pressing soft kisses to your bare flesh every few seconds. 

It's a stark contrast to his persona twenty minutes ago; the side of him you love more than anything. 

"He used to be my dealer."

Your head jerks up at this, your eyes meeting his as an encouragement to continue. 

"I had a coke problem when we met. As soon as I realized you were special, I quit cold turkey. Haven't touched it in almost two years. Withdrawals were a bitch, but I just kept picturing your face and it got me through."

You nod slowly, taking in his honest answer before pressing a tender kiss to his lips. 

"Why didn't you tell me about you and Barry?"

His finger rests under your chin, gently guiding your face back up when you turn it toward the floor. 

"You never asked, and honestly I didn't think it mattered. Probably the same reason you didn't tell me. It's in the past and I don't read books backward. Once a chapter is closed, it stays that way and I didn't want to revisit it."

He hums in understanding and presses a lingering kiss to your forehead. 

"I love you."

You lean into him, allowing your body to press flush against his toned abdomen as he blankets you in comfort. 

"I love you too."

@genius2050

#rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron smut #outer banks fic #outer banks #outer banks angst #outer banks imagine #outer banks smut #obx fluff #obx angst #obx imagine

[heroesnpouges]

part two of rafe with a masculine female pogue!reader.

every bone in his body was telling him to stand her up. to never walk past the surf, or into her shop ever again. after everything, he was still terrified of something real. something he wouldn’t want to let go of because the tangibility of it in his hands was ground shaking. yet, three days after he had received her little invitation, he found himself and a board he hadn’t touched in years making his way to the coast.

he had watched her enough to know exactly where she would be and at what time she would be there, silently hoping this wouldn’t unsettle her.

“surfer boy! over here!” she could spot him from a mile away, so obviously uncomfortable with his surroundings. he nearly lost his footing at the sight of her clad in a darker toned bikini that contrasted with her skin as the water did with the sunset. he was so accustomed to her baggy pants, flannels, and clothes that hid her figure. he felt like an unintentional perv. his mouth ran dry as she strolled through the sand to meet him at his pace. he prayed to whoever that nothing stupid slipped from behind his lips.

“hey girly girl.” she scoffed a laugh out at the nick name. “s’at your board? looks like a 12 year olds?” he followed her eyes to where the nose of his board barely met his shoulder.

“well, technically it’s both mine and a 12 year olds. told ya, haven’t surfed in years.” up close, he could see everything on her. the freckles, beads of saltwater, scars from whatever she had gotten herself into. he noticed how she shied under his gaze. don’t be like that rafe, he told himself. don’t be what she thinks you are. he locked his eyes on hers and told himself that that was where they would stay. but, even her eyes were holy.

“why don’t we start off with the basics then. i’m a bit shorter than you, so if you don’t mind we can just switch. might as well be a thruster.” she caught the way he paused at the statement, and let out a hearty laugh. “just means it’s a short board, nothing naughty cameron.”

the first part of her ‘lesson’ was spent with his hands in the sand. he felt nervous with her eyes on him, even if she was just critiquing his pop-up. maybe that’s how she felt when he looked at her like that. she was growing hotter from watching him. the rippling in his muscles every time he lifted himself onto his feet. she moved them to the water, hoping it would conceal the red in her cheeks not caused by the sun.

most of their time in the water was spent by rafe watching her surf. sometimes he would purposefully mess up just so he could watch her. she was the best he’d ever seen. he could tell from the way her eyes narrowed in, the dimple in her cheek, and the fluidity of her movements that surfing lit a passion in her. he wanted to light something like that in her. wanted to pull her heart towards his. he didn’t even feel one upped like he usually would, being trained to surf by a pogue and all.

“i can tell you’re getting tired of it, nothings coming up but ankle slappers anyways. how ‘bout we call it a day?” his eyes cut to hers as she paddled beside him, pulling up to straddle the board. followed was a short silence faltered by the ripple of water. he called her name softly.

“thank you.” his soft smile took her by surprise. everything about this took her by surprise. this couldn’t be who she was warned about. how could this man beside her do the things the pogues have said he had done. “i mean you don’t have to thank me, rafe.”

“i know what you must think about me, what all you’ve heard.” he sighed, playing with the water at his fingers as she waited for him to continue. “truth is, i’m trying. really fucking hard. to not be him anymore. i know you’re scared of what i might think of you, and you’re friends. just, thank you.”

“i am, y’know, a bit scared.” she looked at him, with a strange cloud in her eyes. “i really thought you were fucking with me at first. when you were all like ‘i just come here to see you’” she mimicked in a deep voice with a chuckle, causing him to snort a bit. “not because any of the pogue stuff though, at least i don’t see it that way. i just- out of all the years i’ve lived here, no guy has ever taken any interest in me. i’m always too scary, not lady like enough, or not bubbly, y’know?”

“i don’t know. they’re out of their fucking heads.” he looked at her dead in the eye. “i knew from the moment i laid eyes on you that you would change everything, and funny enough i promised myself i wouldn’t say anything stupid today, but i think you already have changed everything.”

she caught his hand in the water, giving it a tight squeeze as he shook his head at himself. baffled with what he was feeling. amazed by the way the dimming sun was bouncing off her skin.

“whatdya say we get out of here and grab something to eat?” he laughed with her, wanting nothing more.

#spence speaks ꩜ #rafe obx #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe imagine #rafe smut #rafe fic

[monstersandmaw]

Laces for a Lady - 18th century, poly, shifters x human romance - Chapter Six (sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me. 

Thanks for answering the poll about length of chapters - much appreciated!

Really hope you enjoy this one. It's a bit of a quieter tone, but things get a touch more 'intimate' next time... It's my favourite scene so far anyway. *shrug*. I've fettled with this chapter so much now that I can't see the wood for the trees, so here it is anyway.

Content: a chance encounter with Edmund leads to some clarification, and an invitation is delivered to Heath Top House that sends a chill of dread through Winnie but opens up an opportunity for Nel... Wordcount: 2995

Catch up here: Part One (sfw), Part Two (sfw), Part Three (sfw), Part Four (sfw), Part Five (sfw)

By the time she reached the front door of the manor house, Nel could hardly see for the tears that made her vision swim and shift, but she made it upstairs to her room before bursting into a shuddering flood of emotion that threatened to drown her completely.

She ached more than ever for the easy, familiar companionship of her best friend, but she missed something else besides Will’s steady presence; something that had been teased before her that very night, but which she would probably never know in earnest: the true affection of a lover’s touch.

Plus, she’d made a complete fool of herself in nearly kissing Locryn Trevethan like that — Lammas Dance liberties be damned — and guilt and shame at what Edmund Nancarrow must think of her now flooded through her like one of the breakers which had nearly drowned her on the beach. With a shuddering huff of despair, she sank onto her bed and wept bleakly until her head ached and her throat was raw.

Outside her window, the music and dancing continued late into the night, and the laughter got more raucous and rowdy as the night wore on. She hoped Locryn and Ned were among those laughing, and Winnie too. Perhaps Locryn would dance with the young woman with whom she’d seen Edmund talking and laughing earlier. She had had the same large, brown eyes and pale skin as Edmund, and Nel wondered if she too was one of the numerous Nancarrows whom Aggie had mentioned living in the area; perhaps a cousin or a younger sister.

At some point hours later, when the music had faded and folks seemed to have drifted home in dribs and drabs, her bedroom door opened and she heard Winnie’s soft voice whisper her name. She feigned sleep from the depths of her chilly bed, her dress abandoned on the floorboards nearby, and the sliver of light on the ceiling retreated, plunging the room into midnight shadow once again.

That night she dreamed once more of thundering surf and dark kelp, and of the silvery flash of something swimming between the seaweed that wasn’t the eel’s tail she’d seen in her dreams before. She got the odd impression that she was being searched for as she lurked down among the shadows at the bottom of a deep, submerged cove, and in the dream she tried to conceal herself further in the fronds of kelp that brushed against her sides like a lover’s hands.

For three days after the dance, Nel could barely muster the energy to leave her bed, let alone go out of the house.

She pretended to have caught a chill, sitting in the library by a small and rather unnecessary fire that Davis had insisted on lighting for her, and reading the novels that Winnie regularly sent for from a bookseller in Bath.

Eventually though, she got past her dark mood, and took Blackthorn out again on more wild gallops along the coastal path, sometimes almost as far to the west from Polgarrack as Lantic Bay.

“Will you come into town with me?” Winnie asked one morning as they sat finishing a late breakfast beside the fire.

Nel shot a glance at the raindrops tracking down the windows, and pulled a face. “Today?”

“Yes,” Winnie sighed. “I want to post a letter to James’ sister in London, and I’ve already put it off for two days.”

“Can’t you ask Liddy to post it for you when she goes in anyway this afternoon?”

“I suppose I could,” Winnie said. “But I had hoped to catch the second post. We’ll take the carriage, obviously.”

Poor driver and horses, Nel thought, but said nothing.

After picking at the remainder of her eggs, she went to change into her usual, sturdy redingote, and by the time Nel was done, Winnie was already waiting for her, and the small carriage was just drawing up outside with the driver huddled under a wide-brimmed hat and an enormous, oiled cloak. He looked more like a pilchard fisherman than a coachman.

They posted Winnie’s letter and decided to sit at a table in The Lantern with a warming drink to drive the chill from their fingers and toes. “Before we go back, and now that the rain has eased off a little, I want to look for some more ribbon,” Winnie said as she finished her small cup of spiced wine. “Do you mind?”

Nel shook her head. For all that she was confident in calling herself Winnie’s friend by that point, she was also still a paid companion, and she wasn’t paid to object to Winnie’s whims, so the two of them settled the bill for their drinks and scuttled out into the rain. It had backed off to a miserable, sheeting drizzle, but the narrow lanes of Polgarrack’s twisting streets sheltered them from the worst of it. They still bustled headlong into the shop in their eagerness to get out of the weather though, and almost ploughed straight into Edmund Nancarrow on his way out.

He barely stepped back in time as Winnie flew in out of the rain, and Nel made it across the threshold with hardly any more grace, but they both drew up short when they realised that they’d almost knocked the man flat. “Oh, I apologise!” Winnie gasped, clapping her hand to her chest. “Please, I’m so sorry.”

“No harm done, m’lady,” he said and then let his gaze slide to Nel. “Miss Bywater.”

“I apologise too. We should have been looking where we were going,” she mumbled. After making such a fool of herself in front of Edmund’s lover, she found she couldn’t meet his gaze, and to her shame, she allowed herself to slink away around the ribbon display without another word.

From the corner of her eye though, she could see the way he lingered in the doorway with his own parcel tucked under one arm. He must have been on an errand for Mr. Fordyce at that time of day, and seemed to be considering whether to confront her about her behaviour with Locryn. She tried to will him away with her thoughts, but she wasn’t hopeful. While Winnie was distracted in a discussion with Mrs. Gwinnel about the best width of a ribbon for a bonnet these days, Edmund made his decision.

He eased himself back around, limping more markedly in the damp weather as he approached, and he looked at her with his head slightly cocked to one side. “Miss Bywater, might I speak with you for a moment?” he enquired in a hushed voice that scarcely carried across the scant distance between them, let alone to the other occupants of the shop.

With a tight, private sigh for herself, she nodded and turned to look at him at last.

He didn’t seem angry or hurt, which she took as a good sign.

Edmund swallowed thickly and offered her a twitchy smile. “Locryn was worried he’d upset you…” he began without preamble. “At the dance.”

“Locryn was worried?” she said, a fraction louder than she’d intended and she immediately lowered her voice to a terse hiss. “I thought… I thought perhaps I might have — ” she bit her lip and blinked rapidly. “I didn’t want to make any trouble for you,” she whispered. “I just wanted — I just wanted to dance with someone for a bit, that’s all. And then when he was kind enough to offer, I… Look, I didn’t mean anything… afterwards…” She had though. She had very much wanted him to kiss her. Frankly, she wanted either of them to kiss her, and she hated herself for the selfishness of it. Let them be happy with each other, she growled at herself.

However, comprehension and a small degree of relief too washed across Edmund’s expression, and the tension melted from him with a little, low laugh.

He shook his head, his mousy hair falling into his dark brown eyes. “Miss Bywater, the last thing that either of us thought of you was that you wanted to make trouble between us. I should thank you though for your… uh… for your discretion regarding our… relationship in front of the Penrose family,” he added. “Not everyone would be as understanding as you after all.”

She shrugged. “My best friend is not so different from you,” she said carefully. “Your situation is not… unknown to me.”

His smile grew from shy to almost awestruck for a moment, and then he glanced over his shoulder out at the rain, and ducked his head in a farewell bob. “Well, that’s all I wanted to tell you,” he said. “That Locryn was worried he’d caused offence and had asked me to apologise if I saw you.” Given that Locryn Trevethan was a bit of a loner and hardly interacted with the folk of the village, it seemed natural that he would have asked Edmund to mass the message along on the off-chance of a meeting.

“Not at all. If anything, I’m the one who should be apologising to him. I shouldn’t have left like that. Will you tell him? Next time you see him.”

Edmund nodded.

Nel heard the soft clunk of heels on the wooden floor behind her, and turned to find Winnie looking from one to the other of them. A fierce blush swept up Edmund’s pale skin from his collarbones to his ears, and he bowed stiffly from the waist, fiddling with his dark, tricorn hat in his hands. “A good day to you both,” he blurted, and bolted out of the door into the soft rain, where he jammed the hat on his head and disappeared out of sight around a corner.

Winnie raised her eyebrows at Nel, and said, “I seem to remember you talking to him at the Lammas Dance, no?”

“I’m surprised you remember anything, given how much cider you’d had,” she quipped reflexively, her sharp tone uttered mostly in defence. Mercifully, Winnie took it with a laugh before Nel could regret the barbed comment towards the person who was her employer, no matter how similar their sense of humour.

“Not enough to have forgotten the tailor’s handsome, soft-spoken assistant,” Winnie said dryly. “Shall we go back, or do you have any business in the village?”

It did not escape Nel’s notice that after that encounter, Winnie took almost every opportunity she had to take Nel into Polgarrack with her.

Most of the time, they never saw Edmund Nancarrow up close, and on only one occasion did she see Locryn Trevethan. He was mooring his little fishing boat at the far end of the harbour wall, and Nel ducked away into the apothecary’s before he could look up. If Winnie was being insufferably insistent about Nel ‘conveniently’ running into Edmund again, she certainly didn’t need Winnie noticing something strange with the village’s semi-wildman, Locryn, as well.

One morning over breakfast, Lord Penrose waved a heavy-looking piece of card stock around like it was a little flag, and chortled merrily into his boiled egg. “Winnifred, my dear, we have been invited to the Merrywells’ Christmas ball in Plymouth.” Beside him, his wife beamed at her, but Winnifred looked suddenly a little ill.

“Nel, you’ll come with me, won’t you?” she said immediately, staring wide-eyed at her companion and reaching for her forearm with a thin, birdlike hand. Nel had never seen such open panic in her eyes, even during the lightning storm earlier that summer.

“Certainly, if it wouldn’t be considered presumptuous for me to attend as well…?”

“Of course it wouldn’t!” Winnifred’s father-in-law scoffed, oblivious to — or uncaring of — Winnie’s visible discomfort at the whole idea. “You both must go. Winnifred must have someone her own age attending with her, and the high society of all Wessex will be there! One or two officers of the Navy too, I’d wager,” he added with an over-the-top wink in Nel’s direction.

Nel caught Winnie’s eye again and they came to a silent understanding, even as Nel ignored Lord Penrose’s so casually adding five years to her own age. Winnie was legally secure in her fortunes, and had absolutely no intention of remarrying, but her parents-in-law were clearly only too happy to try and set her up again. Nel would keep her company all evening if necessary. Hell, she’d bark like a guard dog if Winnie asked it of her.

Almost imperceptibly, Nel nodded her head, and Winnie relaxed with a sigh.

“Of course, you’ll both need new dresses,” Mary Penrose cooed. “But we shall have to arrange for Mr. Fordyce to come to the house, since Mrs. Dewell relocated to London.” She added that last as if it were a personal slight to her that their former mantua maker had married and moved to the capital where, no doubt, she could charge better prices.

There were certainly no female mantua makers in the tiny village of Polgarrack, and it was a cost that Lord Penrose was apparently not prepared to pay this time to send for one from Plymouth or Truro, even for the Merrywell’s Christmas Ball. Since it was also too much of a strain on Winnifred to travel herself simply for a fitting, Mr. Fordyce’s skills would have to suffice this time, as they had for the last dress he’d made for Winnie’s birthday in August.

Nel wondered fleetingly if Mr. Fordyce’s presence would mean that Edmund would come too when the master tailor came to discuss colours and details, but she deliberately didn’t spend too long on the thought. The very idea of Edmund’s graceful, pale hands that near her body threatened to recall all those dreams of exposed throats and soft, gasping moans which had long since faded since the nights after his rescue from the waves. She still dreamed of the sea almost every night though, but in a more abstract way.

Two weeks later, as October announced itself in a series of squalling storms, Mr. Fordyce was shown into the drawing room where Winnie and Nel were taking tea while they waited for the tailor to arrive. As Nel looked up, she heard the soft clunk of a cane tip on the wooden floorboards of the hallway outside, and her eyes rose to meet Edmund’s as he entered the room behind his master. Her heart gave a small flutter when she saw him. The shoulders of his simple but perfectly-fitted, dark coat were dusted with water from the short distance between carriage and front door and he had his dark hat tucked under his right arm.

He smiled briefly and bowed in greeting to the two ladies as they rose, and while Winnie spoke with Mr. Fordyce first, Nel found herself moving tactfully away towards the bay window. Winnie hardly needed her opinion on dresses — in fact it was the other way around — so Nel simply waited out of the way.

Outside, rain still hurled itself at the windows in a series of splattering gusts, and the distant sea was a cold, iron grey, and frothed with great white caps. She stared at it until she heard footsteps approaching from behind with the off-beat addition of a cane, and Mr. Nancarrow halted at a polite distance and followed her gaze out to sea.

“The weather is brutal today,” Nel murmured, her breath fogging against the windowpane while runnels of water tracked their way down the glass outside. “It’s a wonder you and Mr. Fordyce ventured out in such conditions.”

Edmund smiled softly when she glanced sidelong at him, and she tried not to notice the way his smooth, clean-shaven cheek dimpled slightly. He had freckles, she realised for the first time. They were very faint — barely a whisper of gold on his pale skin — but they were there all the same, and now that she’d seen them she couldn’t stop noticing them, so she tore her eyes away and looked out at the blurred grounds as the rain continued to race in off the sea.

“Is…” She paused and phrased her question carefully in the hopes he would understand her true meaning, “Is anyone out at sea today, do you think?”

Immediately, his smile lost a bit of its lustre and he sighed and nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Though in truth, to those who have spent more time at sea than on land, she holds little danger.”

“How can you say that?” she asked as she turned sharply to face him, her eyes darting to the pink, new scar just visible on his forehead where his hairline began. “You yourself were nearly drowned not so long ago.”

“True,” he conceded, adjusting his grip on the cane and his weight onto his left leg a little more, with the flicker of a grimace just touching his eyes.

He was clearly in some degree of pain, and trying to keep it to himself. She wondered if the cold and damp made it worse, and hoped that the warmth of the room would ease it a little while he was there. She also wondered how he had come to be hurt in the first place, but wouldn’t presume to ask.

“But… I’m a creature as much of the land as I am the sea,” he went on in his delicately-articulated way. “There are those, like Locryn,” he said with gentle emphasis on his lover’s name, “Who are quite as happy at sea in this weather as they are on a sultry summer day.”

“I find that incredible,” she breathed. “But then again, I grew up in the countryside a good day’s ride from the coast.”

“This must seem a wild and savage place indeed to you then,” he said gently, and not without a little sadness as he gazed at her.

He was not much taller than her, but she still had to raise her chin a little to meet his eyes.

She shrugged. “It’s not without its beauty too, Mr. Nancarrow.”

__

Next time, Nel gets measured for her new dress...

Next chapter ->

I hope you’re still enjoying it, and I hope you’ll consider reblogging as well as leaving a like if you enjoyed it. Take care of yourselves, and I hope you have a lovely day/night wherever you are, and whenever you read this.

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#laces for a lady #18th century romance #18th century #poly shifter romance #shifter romance #polyamory #historical fantasy #selkie x human #selkie #selkie x bucca x human #bucca #cornish folklore #exophilia #monster boyfriends

[perfectsunlight]

(𝟗) - 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞?

𝗮𝗲𝗿𝗶 𝘂𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗴𝗮 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿, 𝗵𝘂𝗵 𝘆𝘂𝗻𝗷𝗶𝗻 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

part of the series: best friends

warnings: none

word count: 2,339

“holy shit, jen.” the beauty blender you were using was doing its best to blend the concealer on your collarbone. however, it could only do so much considering your skin was now several tones darker than it was before. the american only shot you a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of her neck as she sat up from the couch. “sorry, i got a little carried away.”

“how am i supposed to hide these?” you whispered, glaring in her direction before you just gave up. “jen, you’ve never left marks like this before,” yunjin only shrugged at your accusation, only flashing you another feigned innocent smile. your eyes rolled before you continued. “and you decide to leave them while we’re here of all places.”

“it’s a good thing we performed already.” she pointed out, her gaze remaining on the patterns of crimson that decorated your entire chest and neck. there were definitely more on you than there were on her, mostly because yunjin can only restrain herself for so long. and if you were being quite honest, yunjin didn’t hold anything back this time.

“y/n!” 

your head spun in the direction of the door, causing yunjin to immediately panic at the recognition of whos voice it was. 

a string of hushed curses fell from your mouth while you just grabbed yunjin’s suit jacket from the performance earlier to cover yourself. you were already dressed, but your collarbone and chest were very exposed without the jacket, making the marks anything but hidden.

the door handle rattled, but fortunately for you and yunjin, you remembered to lock it before anything had gone down. your fingertips unlocked the door, and there you stood face to face with your best friend. 

the rapper’s eyes narrowed, eyeing both you and yunjin suspiciously before she spoke. “what took you two so long?” she playfully teased, but you saw a glint of something flashing in her eyes. except, you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. 

yunjin would have made her way over from the couch, but she realized she would rather not be burned alive by the aespa member who definitely had her suspicions about something if she came all the way backstage.

“we were just relaxing and talking about the performance,” you answered as naturally as you could, and you assumed you had gotten out of the woods since aeri didn’t ask any further questions.

 “anyway,” you smiled up at your best friend. “what are you doing all the way back here?” if you weren’t lying, she looked a little hesitant, which was an odd look for someone of her confidence. the aespa member never looked hesitant. it wasn’t like her to be timid or to shy away from her words and feelings. however, somehow the sight of yunjin in the previously locked room with you made something snap in her.

aeri took one last glance into the room at yunjin before looking back at you with a smirk. “i’m here to take you out on a date, y/n.” your eyes widened, and your jaw dropped. internally, you were exploding with numerous different emotions while simultaneously screaming into the void.

although your back was facing her, yunjin had to stop herself from sitting up the moment giselle spoke. she didn’t want to look suspicious at all, the last thing she needed was a fight with the japanese girl. and the last thing you needed was a ruined date apparently.

“a date?” you managed to squeak out, earning a chuckle from your best friend. aeri leaned against the doorframe, looking down at you with a simple smile. “yes, a date. i made us dinner reservations for,” she lifted her wrist to look at her pretend watch. “an hour from now, so we should go now.” 

how you didn’t go into cardiac arrest was beyond your understanding, but somehow you managed to nod in acknowledgement. “let me grab my phone,” you quickly said before turning back into the room. “jen-jen, have you seen my phone?” you asked, pacing around the room as quickly as possible, scanning every countertop as you went.

yunjin sat up at the call of her name before reaching under one of the pillows and handing you your phone. you walked over and gave her a grateful smile, but just before you grabbed it, she pulled it out of your reach. the american laughed at your visible frustration before actually handing it to you.

“good luck,” she mouthed before making a kissy face. your eyes rolled for what seemed like the tenth time that hour before you made your way back over to the rapper who was waiting in the doorway.

“what was that?” giselle inquired, scoffing lightly at the faint blush on your face. “just yunjin being yunjin,” you muttered before closing the door behind you. once the door was shut, the rapper pulled you in by your waist before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. you were very confused as to why she was being so affectionate all of a sudden, and was even asking you on a date. maybe things were looking up finally for you two?

you instinctively relaxed once the rapper’s lips kissed your forehead. her familiar scent of wood sage filling your senses. “you did really, really well up there.” she whispered, rocking you gently against her body. “thanks, gigi.” you mumbled into the crook of her neck.

“come on,” she pulled away and led you by your hand down the hall. “we can’t be late for our first date, can we?”

aeri managed to borrow somi’s mercedes for the occasion, and during the entire drive she insisted on keeping her hand on your thigh. it wasn’t in any suggestive way (which was another rare occurrence considering the nature of your relationship) and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying yourself so far. 

the two of you arrived at the restaurant, and you were thoroughly impressed at how aeri managed to get a reservation this late. then again, you two were idols, so it wasn’t too unbelievable. 

she actually blindfolded you once you got out of the car, and insisted on leading you to the designated area because she didn’t want to ruin your “surprise.” 

“okay okay are you sure you can’t see?” she asked, adjusting the blindfold for what seemed like the 10th time. “aeri,” you chuckled, admiring at how determined she seemed for this to go right. “sorry,” she apologized sheepishly before finally leading you up what seemed like some stairs. you walked a little further before she eventually stopped you.

your ears picked up on her moving behind you, and then you felt her hands gently undoing the blindfold. once your vision was restored, your breath hitched in your throat at the sight before you.

she had brought you onto the balcony of the restaurant where a table was set and decorated beautifully. there were fairy lights strung across the rafters, and flower petals adorning the white tablecloth. candles were lit across the floor, painting the otherwise dark night with soft hues of yellow. 

the best part was the view. it somehow managed to take the rest of the air from out of your lungs at the sight of the ocean that your table overlooked. even though it was late at night, you could still clearly see the waves crashing against the shoreline.

“aeri,” you whispered as she hugged you from behind. the rapper’s smile could be felt against the back of your head. due to the close proximity, you could feel her heartbeat hammering against her chest. she was nervous, but also filled with excitement. she had been planning this for a little while, and she clearly put lots of effort into this date.

she wanted to make sure the occasion was perfect, because that’s what you were in her eyes: perfect.

“do you like it?” she whispered softly, her signature smile never leaving her face, even when you turned around in her arms. “i love it, aeri.” you grinned at her, wrapping your arms around her shoulders while her hands rested on your waist. 

she had actually the owners of the restaurant set this up right before they closed, which was why no one was there. which was also a huge part of the other surprise that she had. 

“come on,” she led you by the hand once more. “let me make you dinner.”

your eyes widened comically at her statement. “you? cooking?” you gave her a teasing smile, “are you sure it would be edible?”

giselle’s mouth fell open as she turned around to playfully scowl at you. “i can cook very well, excuse you. besides, its your favorite alfredo, how could i mess that up?”

a faint blush painted your cheeks while butterflies fluttered in your stomach. “you remembered that?” 

aeri’s eyes softened as you two entered the restaurant’s kitchen, “of course i remembered, y/n.”

she let go of your hand and rolled her sleeves up. she had changed out of her stage outfit before you two left, and she had on a pair of black cargos paired with a hoodie that were now covered by an apron she found.

“let me help,” you whined, earning a quick shake of her head. “no,” giselle grinned and began pulling out a few bowls and ingredients. “i’m treating you for our first date, you can treat me for our next one.”

heat rushed to your face as you stumbled over your words, trying to find a way to respond to that. a first date with aeri was already a dream come true, but a second date? it was too much to think about right then and there.

“i’ll help you grab ingredients at least,” you smiled before moving towards the fridge. the rapper groaned in protest, but she couldn’t stop you now that her hands were busy. “fine, but that’s all.” 

“sing something for me, y/n/n.” 

the request caught you off guard, and you almost dropped the can of sauce on your foot. “sing? like a song?” 

aeri let out a laugh, “obviously, what else would you sing? the declaration of independence?” 

the comment made you laugh along with her. her wittiness was unmatchable sometimes, but it was always something you adored about her. “aeri, you’re japanese, not american.” 

“i still learned about the declaration of independence in school, honey.” she replied with a slight scoff, “and before you say anything, yes i did do well in history, because i already know you’re going to bring up my math grades.”

the memory of you two bickering over how to solve a 3rd grader’s math problem sent you into a fit of laughter. “hey, maybe i should really help you now since your counting is questionable.”

you teased while you took yunjin’s jacket off and threw it onto a nearby counter. your back turned to the rapper while you struggled to tie the apron. a pair of hands snaked around your waist, and a soft voice in your ear.

“let me help you,” she whispered as she pulled you closer to tie the apron for you. “thank you,” you mumbled, a soft blush forming on your face once more at the tender action. her chin rested on your shoulder while she breathed in your scent. 

“you smell different,” she muttered, seeming annoyed that you didn’t smell like you usually did. “its probably because of yunjin’s jacket,” you replied, motioning over to it on the counter. aeri hummed in response. 

“i don't like it.” 

your eyebrows raised, head turning in her direction to look at her better. “i can’t control someone else’s scents, gigi.” you snickered, which made her groan. “well, i don’t like her either.”

oh? this was different

“who? yunjin?” you snickered and caressed her cheek softly. “she’s just a good friend. besides,” aeri looked up to meet your eyes finally. “i’m on a date with you, not her.”

the notion brought a smile to her face and she pulled you in for a sincere kiss. she wanted to wait to kiss you properly later, but she couldn’t help herself anymore. you had to pull away before things got too heated. 

“now,” you smiled brightly and moved back towards the counter. “let’s make dinner, im starving.”

-

dinner was ready in roughly 40 minutes, which you found astonishing considering the fact that aeri kept almost dropping half of the ingredients. “finally, we can eat!” she shouted as she took her apron off and set it on the hook. “allow me,” she teased while she gently undid the knot she made on yours earlier. “thank you, aeri.” you giggled before turning to place it back where you found it.

the silence made you assume that aeri had gone to put the plates of food outside, and you hummed quietly to yourself while you walked back to the fridge to find something to drink for the both of you. 

“hey, where do they keep the,” you called over your shoulder, but stopped midway when you saw the rapper standing beside you. “oh, i thought you were still outside. do you know where the soju is?”

your brows furrowed at her tense state, not understanding why she suddenly went quiiet. “aeri?” you waved your hand in front of her face as you tried to get her attention.

“y/n,” she whispered, and you looked up at her in confusion. “yes?” 

the rapper swallowed loud enough for you to hear, and you couldn’t help but feel like a sudden tension had filled the room. did she forget something in the pasta? or maybe she realized she locked the keys in the car again. somi would definitely kill her, and you as well, for that. 

after what seemed like an eternity, your best friend finally broke the silence that loomed for quite sometime. she motioned with her chin towards you, eyes darkened with an emotion you had never seen on her before. it scared you, honestly.

“what’s on your neck?’

-

a/n: MWAH

#aespa #lesserafim #aeri uchinaga #giselle #giselle x reader #yunjin x reader #huh yunjin #kpop #fiction #best friends #perfectsunlight

[waklman]

Delicate (Pt. 2)

summary: jake finally gets ahold of you, but something else gets in the way.

pairing: jake seresin x female reader.

warnings: cursing, mentions of nudity.

word count: 1.9k.

previous part | next part

For the first time in a while, Jake feels nervous. 

Despite showing up at their agreed meeting spot almost two hours early, to show Natasha his sincerity towards you–it does nothing to calm his nerves as she silently observes him.

Jake’s lips are pressed together in a tight smile, as Natasha’s eyes roam up and down his body. He doesn’t say a thing, waiting patiently until she decides to speak up. 

“Okay, now take off your clothes,” she loudly demands.

“I’m sorry, What?” 

Jake makes an effort to keep his voice down, knowing there’s tourists littered everywhere, some even bumping into him as they try to walk around the two of them.

“What?” She snaps back at him.

“You have no problem flaunting in the locker room, so what’s the difference doing it here?” Natasha presses him, arms tightly crossed against her chest.

Jake sucks in a deep breath, reminding himself that he’s not here to argue with her. 

He closely examines her face, realizing that she’s being serious—her stare is unwavering but he could almost see the swarm of anxious thoughts filling up her head. And Jake recalls seeing her like this only once before—that time last year where Phoenix learned she was chosen to fly in their first mission, unsure if she'd even make it back alive.

This must mean something to her. 

Without a second thought, Jake wordlessly reaches down to unbuckle his belt, pulling it out of the loops of his jeans.

Natasha quickly conceals the shock that sweeps across her face. He’s actually doing it. He's going streaking for you.

“Do you just want me in my underwear?” He asks, fully serious.

“No underwear.” Natasha tries her best to keep the second hand embarrassment from leaking into her voice. 

“Well, you were bound to see it slip out one of these days anyway.” He sighs, pulling his shirt over his head.

Right as he’s stripped down to briefs, Jake digs his hands into his underwear, a tuft of blonde hair on his pelvis starting to make its grand debut already.

“Enough.” Natasha finally breaks, shouting at him.

Even more eyes land on them, and Natasha lets out a breath, unbelieving that Jake was completely on board, all his shame put aside to appease her.

“Get dressed, Seresin.” 

Jake opens his mouth, fully ready to say something but immediately stops himself when he notices the shift in her demeanor. Phoenix is staring up at the sky, tears brimming in her waterline. Shocked by her sudden display of vulnerability, Jake chooses to start pulling his clothes back on–sneaking a few worried glances at the brunette while she’s trying to calm herself from the random burst of emotions.

Even Natasha is confused by her own reaction. Jake Seresin–the self obsessed pilot she knew was standing in front of her now, entirely ready to show his bare self to the world just so he could get the chance to know you. 

She’s seen it so many times. People who took advantage of how human you were, making you waste your breath trying to fix them. And as your best friend, Natasha had always been there to see the aftermath–you were left more broken each time, and what hurt her more was that you didn’t even care about how they hurt you. You were more broken up over the fact that you couldn’t help them heal from the experiences that turned them so bitter and cruel in the first place.

And of course, she felt bad from stopping you every single time you’re about to get caught up with someone new. It wasn't like Natasha was unaware of the sad faces you hid from her when she pried you away from these people–standing in between you and them, like a shield. But she did it anyway, scared shitless that one day you wouldn’t have anything left of you to give to others.

But now Natasha is thrown caught off guard, as she finds herself considering giving Hangman a chance with you.

While processing her emotions, she looks back down and sees that he’s still there–fully dressed again.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to–I’ll just–I’ll go home.” Jake says, already turning his back on her before she can even say anything.

“She made you do–what?” Javy is near-tears laughing, begging through choked breaths for Jake to repeat his retelling of what happened.

In total opposition to his friend, Jake is leaned over–face buried deep into his hands, totally beat.

After a minute of Javy slapping at Jake’s stiff back trying to regulate his breathing, he finally settles down from the fit of laughter.

Jake hears his phone go off beside him but can’t even pull his hands from his face, too focused on replaying Phoenix's reaction over and over in his head. Why was she crying?

Suddenly, Javy begins to sputter beside him, struggling to form his words, and eventually choosing to smack the back of Jake’s neck to catch his attention instead. 

“Look Coyote..” Jake begins to mumble tiredly,

“Phoenix gave her your number,” 

In a flash, Jake is springing up in search of his phone.

He almost doesn’t believe what he’s seeing, there’s a message from an unknown number displayed on his screen. 

Unknown Contact:

hi jakey-pie :) 

Jakey 🥧:

you’re not ever letting that go, are you? 

Unknown Contact: 

nope.

because i heard you almost went streaking…and i wasnt even invited :/

Jakey 🥧:

sorry sweetheart :// 

didn’t know you wanted an invite to the show.

Within the next few weeks, Jake starts to understand why Phoenix grew emotional that day. You are unlike anyone Jake has ever met. A sweetness he never knew he needed. Jake even blurs out the days where you weren’t in his life, as if those days no longer mattered. It’s like he knows nothing but you.

And so, he doesn’t hold an ounce of resentment in his heart towards Phoenix for how she acted towards him, if anything Jake would’ve done the same thing if he were in her position.

Now he finds himself appreciating Phoenix for introducing you to him, as you carefully pluck his eyebrows.

“You’re so good at staying still, Jake,” you compliment him, breath fanning his face.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to compliment me over every little thing.” 

Jake makes sure to keep his face extra steady for you, acting as if what he said was no big deal. But you frown, pulling your hands away from his face. His eyes slowly open to probe your reaction.

“Why shouldn’t I, when you deserve compliments?” you blink at him.

“Sorry, I’m still trying to get used to them.”  He attempts smile at you, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

Your heart grows sad at what Jake says, and you feel the urge to pull him into a hug. 

“Can we hug?” You’d always make sure to ask, even though he answers yes every time.

He nods, already moving in to slot his body right between your legs, hands softly rubbing against your clothed hips. You pull him in even tighter against you, his pelvis softly hitting the bathroom sink you’re sitting on.

“You deserve them–the compliments,” you remind him, trying to swallow back the heartbreak you felt from his statement. 

“I know.” he whispers against your hair. 

“I’m glad I met you Jake.” you confess, squeezing your arms around his neck, as if he could vanish at any given moment.

Although you’re slightly constricting his breathing, he doesn’t even care. Nothing matters but you in moments like these. You’re so vocal about how much you care about him and he grows more soft by the day because of it. It even rubs off on him, because nowadays he’s telling Coyote that he’s grateful for him, something he never would’ve thought about saying out loud ever. But now he says it regularly because now he knows how good it feels to get told that you matter.

“Pay attention, this is where it happens,” you’re waving your hands at his television, urging him to focus even though he already is.

You’re making Jake watch your favorite office romcom, Set it Up.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’m looking.” he assures you, hand reaching out to pull you away from the edge of the sofa. 

“This is where Harper and Charlie have their love epiphany.” you excitedly tell him.

“Love epiphany?” he asks, eyebrows pinching together.

“It’s when..the characters realize their feelings for eachother–I mean, it’s clear they both have feelings for eachother, because they kind of already act like a couple but–they don’t realize it until now–that somewhere along the way, they fell in love with each other.” 

Jake nods after every sentence, taking in what you say word for word. 

“Oh my god. Look Jakey, it’s happening.” you squirm, tugging at his arm so his eyes return to the screen.

You two watch as the characters put down their pizzas, peering at eachother with love evident in their eyes. 

“Do you see it? The moment he realizes he’s in love with her?” you ask breathlessly, eyes still trained on the screen. 

“Yeah..I do.” 

Jake’s no longer looking at the screen. That strange feeling he felt in his chest that night you two drunkenly ate pizza is there again. It’s almost dizzying the way the feeling boils in his chest, urging him to recognize it–to put a label on it. That’s when Jake realizes he’s having his own love epiphany. He loves you.

“We need more popcorn.” you exclaim, suddenly standing up.

Jake’s eyes frantically follow your retreating figure–you’re already trailing off, determined to prepare more popcorn.

He blinks blankly at the two characters on screen, unsure what to do at his revelation.

Not far away from him, you’re doing the same thing. 

You space out looking at the empty bowl of popcorn in front of you. You love Jake.

You have watched that scene countless times, and everytime the feeling of satisfaction washes over you. But this time–the feeling that overtakes you felt different. The realization that you’re in love with Jake almost blindsights you, and before you realize it–you’re blurting out a random excuse to leave the room to process it.

All of a sudden his doorbell is being rung, pulling both of you out of your separate thoughts. 

“I’ll get it!” you scramble nervously out of his kitchen.

Jake gets up as well, to accompany you at the door, just in case-making sure to stand closely behind you as you pull the door open.

The sight in front of you makes your gleaming heart sink straight down to your stomach.

“Stella?” Jake calls out, shocked at her sudden appearance.

“Hey, can we talk?”

She looks past you, as if you weren’t even there. And you really wish you weren't. You wish the earth could crack right open under your feet and just swallow you. 

“You two should talk, I’ll get going,” you turn away, not recognizing the sound of your own voice–you don’t sound like yourself.

“No. Wait-”

You don’t even hear what Jake’s saying to you–his voice is nothing against the ringing in your ears.

With shaky hands you reach for anything in sight that belongs to you—slightly disarrayed by the blurry tears that swell in your eyes.

Jake immediately leaves Stella by the door—not giving her a second thought, desperately trying to stop you but you’re already hurriedly stepping past him as if he’s a ghost, your overnight bag slung over your back.

And in a blink of an eye, you’re already out the door—all your belongings stripped from his apartment, and all Jake can do is watch you disappear from him. 

thank you for reading, and as always-reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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#jake seresin angst #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin x oc #jake seresin x you #jake seresin #jake seresin fic #jake seresin fluff #jake hangman imagine #jake hangman x you #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman fic #jake hangman x y/n #tgm fic #hangman fluff #hangman angst #hangman x reader #hangman x you #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin imagine #hangman fanfiction #hangman x y/n

[jupitercomet]

Don't know why, maybe because my brain is evil and loves to watch people suffer but all I can think about is Bob x Sweet Pea where someone breaks into the bakery and Sweet Pea ends up a little bloody and bruised and we find out why Bob is called Reaper because you hurt someone he loves he will come after you. But also a call back to one of the first blurbs where Sweet Pea is cleaning Bob up and now it's his turn to clean her up. But also I feel bad for wanting Sweet Pea to be hurt

okay, I'm actually gonna save feral Bob (and the origin of Reaper) for the series, so please enjoy a slightly altered version of the second part of your request!

warnings: language, mentions of violence, mentions of injury, mentions of blood, Bob is 6'5" because I said so

“Ow! That stings—”

Bob shuts you up with a glare, his hand holding your jaw still as he dabs at your cheek with a cotton ball soaked in rubbing alcohol. “I don’t wanna hear whining from little miss ‘startin’ bar fights’ right now.” His fingers squeeze your cheeks a bit more at the reminder and it causes your bottom lip to jut out in a small pout — though you already felt like pouting anyway.

“I didn’t know she was wearing rings,” you grumble, letting out a hiss as Bob moves to clean the tender skin around your eye.

“You’re not helpin’ yourself, sweet pea.” Though his voice is firm and hard, his hands remain soft as they care for the bruises and cuts on your face. “So unless you’re gonna explain to me what happened tonight, I think it’s in your best interest to stop talking.”

You deflate slightly at his words. 

Bob’s mad, you know that. He was mad when he picked you and Eloise up from the bar you got kicked out of. He was mad when he changed you into one of his long t-shirts, dropping the pants he’d grabbed with a cluck of his tongue at the sight of your torn up knees. He was mad when he lifted you onto the kitchen counter. And now, as he cleans you of blood and dirt, Bob is mad.

“I’m sorry.” 

It comes out small, meek, in a voice you almost don’t recognize as your own. Bob looks up from your cheek bone and sighs, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead as his thumb strokes your jaw. “I'm not angry with ya, but I need to know what happened, sweet pea.”

You let out a breath, moving to play with your fingers nervously, but all that does is draw Bob’s attention to your split knuckles. He stops you, holding onto one of your hands himself, and gives you a prompting look as he grabs a wipe to clean them.

“I, um, well, there was this girl, right? And I guess you went on a couple dates with her or something, because she was talking to all her friends about it,” you purse your lips, looking away. The cotton ball Bob grabbed is hovering above your knuckles and he stares up at you with furrowed brows.

“But anyway, she was just… saying the most awful things about you. That didn’t even make sense either! Like she was upset that you were too considerate! How is that a bad thing? And all her friends were laughing, like you weren’t the most amazing person in the world. So I— I told her that I’m not surprised that someone that allows herself to be seen in public with a spray tan that tacky would have bad taste.”

Bob conceals a small snort, though you hardly notice, speaking animatedly as the anger you felt over the course of the night rears its head again.

“Then she said something and I said something back and then we were fighting— She swung first though, so it was self defense I think. And then she said something about you that I really didn’t like, so I… broke her nose.” You finish, nervously glancing at Bob through your lashes.

It’s silent for several moments and you hold your breath, unsure of what Bob is thinking. Suddenly, he lets out an exasperated laugh, dropping his head to the uninjured skin on your knee.

“How am I supposed to…” He mumbles it more to himself, pressing a soft kiss to your leg before shaking his head and looking up at you. “So you broke a girl’s nose?”

“...yeah.”

“Because she said something not very nice about me?”

“Don’t say it like that! You know what you’re doing when you say it like that,” you cross your arms with a huff. “If anything I should be mad.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” Bob raises his brows in mild amusement as he soaks another cotton ball in rubbing alcohol. 

You stick your nose out to emulate a sense of superiority over the significantly larger man, who's preparing to clean your knee caps. “Because now you have me questioning your taste in women. If you didn’t have such awful exes, I wouldn’t have to fight them— Bobby, that burns!”

“Well, it’s what happens when you fight people,” Bob discards the cotton ball, getting up to rummage through the first-aid kit. “So maybe you shouldn’t fight people, sweet pea.”

“She hit me first!”

Bob ignores your outcry, turning to you like you never spoke at all. “You want a Snoopy band-aid or polka dots?” 

You sigh. “Snoopy, please.”

He opens the band-aid quickly, smoothing it against the cut on your cheek, and he lets his thumb linger on the latex padding.

“Listen,” he starts, softening at the way you look like a scolded child. “I don’t care what she thinks about me, alright? Because she isn’t you. And I got you, so why would I give a shit about some other girl with,” his lips quirk up slightly, “a bad spray tan? I do care about you though. And I do give a shit about you getting hurt.”

The hand on your cheek travels down to your chin and he holds it so you’re looking at him. “So, no more starting fights.” He gives your lips a peck. “And no more breakin’ noses.” He gives you another. “Okay, tiger?”

You nod. “Okay.”

“Good,” Bob picks you up from the counter, supporting you with hands holding your thighs as he leads you both to the bedroom. “Now, when you did it, did you do it how I taught ya? Your form’s gotten a lot better, sweet pea. I’m proud of you.”

#bob floyd blurb #bob floyd x sweet pea #sweeter than sugar #under the hard deck #buggy's got a pen

[bronx-bomber87]

Happy Saturday Fandom :) Zero Chenford in this one but good separate SL’s for them both. Really good growth for Tim though which at this point you all know I love. Let’s dive on in.

3x12 Brave heart.

Tim is paired with Nyla today since Nolan is otherwise occupied. They visit the hospital since Harper wants to check in on John and his son. Tim is annoyed cause they’re gonna get roped into something just being there. He takes a phone call while Harper checks in. It's the venue he booked for Angela's bachelorette party. They're calling him to say they're canceling and keeping his deposit. Tim was already grumpy being here and this is not helping.

Harper rejoins him and he asks her opinion on venues and she's got nothing for him haha They're about to leave then Lo and behold they spot guys with concealed carry’s. Tim mutters how it’s been less than 5 minutes since they arrived. Grumpy Tim has arrived and isn't leaving anytime soon. I do love how he walks up to them. Hand on his duty belt as they approach. Me likey. This man makes me a puddle just walking. My god. How does he do this? The man tries to charm them both. Saying how they must be recruiting from modeling schools now.

It's not working in the least. He then adds on between Tim and Nyla he can’t tell which one is prettier. Harper cuts him off and says clearly her HA! Tim looks so offended. His reaction is the best part. He low key knows how handsome he is. Except when women announce it then he’s shy af. He looks like he took it so personally. LOL

No Lucy around to help him lick his wounds. It's ok Tim I think you're the prettier one hehe They quickly find out it’s La Fiera’s body guards. Their cop spidey senses immediately going into overdrive. Tim groans because now they’re gonna be here all day. Harper asks him what he thinks she’s doing here? Tim says 'Nothing good'… We know that’s right.

Lucy and Jackson are also at the hospital. Their rolling stop turned into more. She took off and destroyed city property. She injured herself in the process and cut her arm. They’re now stuck there until she is patched up. Jackson says he’s gonna grab breakfast since he didn’t this morning. Lucy questions him skipping a meal. He replies he didn’t have a choice Tamara is eating them out of house and home.

Lucy apologies for thrusting her upon their living situation. Jackson is trying to be sweet about it says it’s ok… but wondering when she’s going to be leaving? Lucy says it’s so hard to get ahold of the housing program. They have crazy long wait times to check on her application. Jackson mentions using right now to check since they’re stuck anyways. Lucy lights up says that’s a good point. She gets very excited only 3 callers in line. She is so adorable I can not.

Jackson makes his way back to Lucy. She mocks him for his terrible breakfast choice. I mean it's not a great one ha Everything seems like it’s lining up for them. Their suspect is all patched up so they are ready to go. Their suspects runs just as Lucy’s phone call is answered. Poor Lucy that's some bad luck. Lucy hangs up losing her place in line. They chase her all the way to the parking lot where she passes out….They find out she’s a drug mule and that’s why she collapsed. They’re gonna be at at hospital even longer now especially waiting for a Narcotics detective to show up.

Angela is made aware of La Fiera’s presence at the hospital. Walks away from her OB appointment leaving Wesley hanging. She finds out she’s here "Just for her son." Angela doesn’t believe that for a minute. Wesley comes and finds them all angry she missed her appointment. Tries to ask Tim if this was work related? He makes sure to stay out of their spat LOL Tim is beyond adorable as the scene continues. He lost Angela’s venue of choice earlier. So he tries to make it up with a sports bar LMAO

Oh Timothy, Look at that gorgeous smile of his when he tells her his plan. Tim is so damn proud of himself and is shot down quickly after. Angela's face has me cracking up so very much. Tim gets nervous and says he was joking… He would never....The way he backtracks has me rolling. Watching Tim quake in front of strong women always gets me. What makes him such a sucker for Lucy. Also she is not around to negate his terrible idea's atm and it shows haha

Harper rolls up with security footage of La Fiera clearly not at the hospital "Just for her son." They spot Mack Daniels as one of the guards…Tim’s face is everything when he sees this. Clearly hasn’t changed his ways at all working for a Narco boss. SMH.

They roll up and Mack looks high as a kite. He lies about knowing who his client is. All he tells them is it’s not La Fiera. Tim tries to get him to cooperate. Saying he doesn’t need anymore trouble i’m sure. Mack cracks and says he’s work for Tomas Madrigal. All three of them groan. He’s the kingpin of drugs in Southern California. Multiple investigations going on for him. No way Mack doesn't know that.

He then starts the pity party about why he had to take this job. How it’s all Tim’s fault. He comes at Tim SO hard. Tells them he can’t be picky about the money he makes. Up to his eyes in debt. Tim tells him working for the enemy isn’t the answer. Mack goes on that his client is dying cancer. He’s only there to make sure no one interrupts his final moments. Mmmhmm sure…

Angela calls him out about La Fiera coming by. Mack tells her she only came by to pay her respects. Ok sure Mack… and I don’t find Tim attractive. We’re both telling lies today aren’t we? Clearly she is here to make a play for his business before he dies. They get interrupted by Tomas’s son telling Mack to get back to work. He sends more daggers Tim's way before disengaging with them.

I adore Nyla checking in on Tim. Asking if he's alright? His body language is stiff as a board. Poor love having to reface that decision he made back in 3x06. It was the right call but doesn’t make facing Mack’s wrath any easier. Also seeing how much Mack has fallen from grace since he last saw him. Taking jobs like this. Too bad Lucy isn’t there to help him. Since she’s not he shakes it off and pretends he is fine. When we all know he very much is not. But once again his girl is not there so he will clam right up.

I do love this trio working together. Only thing missing is Lucy. I hope in s6 we see Lucy make detective. Then these three BAMF women and Tim with metro can all work together on a case like this. Be amazing it would. Sigh. A girl can dream can’t she? Anyways Nyla says she certified for wire tapping and they have their next move.

We return to Lucy and Jackson waiting out their suspect. She now has to pass the drugs before they are able to leave. Plus they need someone from narcotics to show which they haven’t. Lucy tries her hand again at the phone call. She’s told she's 46th in line….Jackson says he’ll check on narcotics to see if they’re coming anytime soon.

After he’s told no update he pulls out his phone. Looking back at Lucy like he’s doing something wrong. I mean he is....lol. Lucy notices right away he’s looking at something. She comes over and asks what he’s doing? He lies and says Tiktok Lucy is incensed when she see that is NOT what it is. It’s clearly him watching Tamara. She just doesn't know why. This isn't Jackson's best moment I'll say that.

Lucy is instantly in protective mama mode over Tamara. She's so mad at him. As she should be honestly. I would be pissed too Lucy. WTF Jackson. He tries to cover it up by saying he’s testing their system. Then she pulls a line from Tim’s playbook. Calling Jackson a lying liar who lies baha Also she can break Tim Bradford when he's lying you are not going to fair much better my man ha I’m so offended for Tamara tbh and for Lucy. How Jackson assumes she took his Baby Yoda figurine. Just because of her background.

Jackson decides to step it in more with his next set of words. (Stop you fool....) That she shouldn’t trust Tamara cause she lived on the streets. How he wants her to trust Tamara. But she probably had to do a lot to survive on the street. Lucy is so upset he didn’t tell her how he really felt. Also the way he's coming after Tamara. He continues his witch hunt saying baby yoda is missing. Lucy snaps and says he isn’t. That she broke him. Didn’t think he would notice like he did. She was gonna replace it soon. Then does a Mic drop of a line leaving Jackson stunned. Rightfully so IMO. Not your best moment good sir....

The SL with La Fiera’s son is tragic af. It's all her fault (not that she is going to see it that way.... ) She brought him into the line of fire. Using him as cover to make her dealings. He gets caught in the middle and killed because of it. Tomas's son comes after her and Diego is the collateral damage. Wrong time wrong place for that kid. Its pretty damn sad.

Angela was there talking to her when her son is shot to death. So she blames Angela for the death of her son. He was away from her when the shooting began. (Couldn’t have been the deal she made of course…) This sets up the finale and 4x01 and why LA Fiera comes at Angela like she does. Even though Angela saves her life Diego was in the crosshairs and dies.

Angel gets pinned down and calls for backup. Luckily Nyla and Tim are still in the building. This little moment between them is too cute above. I love their rivalry with one another. Tim saying he’ll take two leaving the third for Harper. She has to over compensate and say she’s got the big guy. Tim’s reply ‘Not that big’ LOL It is sexy af to watch him in action not gonna lie. Dispatches his two pretty quickly.

We return to Jackson and Lucy waiting for their suspect to get out of surgery. Lucy is still on the phone waiting for a call. They finally answer her and she finds out Tamara is in. That she’ll get an email by weeks end. Her little dance of excitement is so damn cute. I swear that is just Melissa coming out and I friggin love it. Jackson takes this opportunity to apologize for being a suspicious jerk. Good man.

Super proud of him for doing this. I love that he wanted to make it right. But grateful Lucy had the foresight to stop him. It would break her heart and Tamara wouldn’t feel ok staying there. Be the worst idea ever to tell her he felt that way. Love Lucy looking out for her in that way. ❤️ His heart is in the right place but it would crush Tamara.

This final scene with Mack gets me right in the feels. Tim waits for him to leave the hospital. Wants to try and get through to him one more time. Mack giving him every excuse in the book why he can’t go to rehab. Tim battles back with more logic. The same kind of logic Lucy would throw at him in a situation like this. Like 3x07 where she destroyed his every point. Asking how many times have they seen junkies act like this? Say the same things? How many actually got out of the hole without going to rehab?

This is such a good scene for Tim. We once again get to see his good heart come out. Watching what’s become of Mack is eating away at him. Tim had to try one more time to help him. To save him from himself. He does a damn good job with his speech. Gah it’s so good. Eric crushes it per usual. Pre-tears in his eyes as he passionately pleas with his friend. Killing me softly.

Look how far Tim has come. I can not. This scene is proof of that growth. Also the good heart he had before it was beat up by Isabel and all that trauma he endured. He's confronting Mack even though he knows he's going to bite his head off. Because it's the right thing to do. Even tells him to use his hate for him. Especially if that's going to be his drive to get better. To get clean and go to rehab finally. That he refuses to give up on him.*heart clutch* You can see Tim slowly getting through to Mack with his unwavering support.

it really hits home when Tim tells him to be a better example for his kids. The way Eric delivers that line. Gets me good. To take his lumps and cowboy up. The beautiful mixture he has now of logic and empathy. It gets through to Mack and he pulls him in for a sweet hug. This hug is the best part. This gets me right in the feels. Lucy would be floored by him in this moment. For Tim to even think to reach out like this. To be there for Mack in this way. My damn heart.

Letting that empathy and good heart of his to see the light of day again. It was always there but it got buried in his trauma. I saw a quote the other day made me think of Tim. Also of the impact Lucy has had on him. ‘I think the most beautiful thing in the world, is watching the light come on in someone’s eyes after they’ve been in the dark so long.’

If that isn’t Lucy and Tim and the impact she’s had on him idk what is. She’s re-awakened this part of him he thought was long gone. The light in his eyes is back. I mean for Tim to even think to reach out like this. His growth always blows me away. He couldn’t stand the thought of his friend drowning. Especially after his hand in it. Needed to be apart of helping him heal. So he took a chance and it worked.

Even when they’re apart Lucy’s impact on him shines through. This scene is absolute beautiful proof of that. This man is wonderful and refuses to let his friend suffer. To go through this alone. So he makes sure he knows he has his back. The scene ends on a sweet note though. Tim asking if he knows any venues for bachelorette parties? Mack giving him same answer he already tried LOL So Cute. I can not.

Lucy and Jackson make it home. This is the cutest part of the episode for them. Tamara has made dinner for them both. it’s a very sweet thing for her to do. Tamara tells Jackson she has something for him. Saying she knows Lucy broke his Yoda thing LOL Then panics and makes sure he knows. Lucy confirms before she continues. This scene is too funny. Tamara got him a cute plushy to replace it. He is floored by her kindness. The fact that she felt the need to replace it at all. Even when she didn't break it.

She says it’s to thank him for letting her stay. It’s the first time she’s felt safe in forever. You watch the guilt wash over Jackson. How much he regrets ever thinking badly of her. He wants to tell her but Lucy stops him. I love the way Lucy gently puts her hand on his arm. Like 'No she doesn’t need to know this.' He course corrects and says she can stay as long she needs to. The smile on Tamara’s face says everything. It’s so sweet.

Jackson geeks out and ask if she’s seen The Mandalorian? She says it’s based on a movie right? Jackson tries to keep his geek in check and says he has a lot to teach her haha it’s very cute way to end the episode for this trio.

This ep although apart was super good for them SL wise anyways. What I love about them. They stand up so well as characters separately. I always prefer them together but I’m not miserable with their SL's apart every once in awhile.

Side notes-non chenford in this case this whole ep was this ha

I do continuously love how soft Nyla has become for Nolan. She drags Tim to hospital to check on him cause Henry collapsed.

It’s cool that Bones is Henry’s mom LOL

Thank you as always to those who support these review’s through likes, comments and reblogs. I love them so much I shall see you all in 3x13 crazy 2 eps away from being done with s3.

#Caitlin Rewatches The Rookie #chenford #chenford hiatus #fall rewatch #waiting on s6 #s3 #3x12 Brave Heart #the rookie 3x12 #otp: doing my job #otp: you know me so well. too well. #otp: some things matter more #otp: you did good #tim x lucy #tim bradford #lucy chen #lucy x tim #the rookie #eric winter #melissa o'neil #tim bradford x lucy chen

[definitelynotafurinasimp]

How they act when they have a crush on you / how they confess

Characters: Dehya/Ei x gn!reader (separate)

Warnings: none

a/n: Really, REALLY wanted to write something for Dehya since I just finished most of the new Archon quest (There are no spoilers in this fic, don't worry), so I thought about writing another part of the first scenario I could think of.

I also decided to add Ei, since I thought it might be interesting to write this with her, so yeah.

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Dehya

Dehya was no newcomer when it came to how to hide certain secrets or putting on a façade to conceal once interests, she had to do so most of the time when it came to her… less imposing hobbies and interests. All of which was to say that there was no chance for you to find out about her feelings if she didn’t want to.

…well, that’s what’s the case most of the time, but while those masks of her did a good job at hiding whatever they were supposed to hide, one tease in the right direction was enough to make them almost collapse in on themselves. Simply remembering how bad she was at hiding the fact that she was ticklish once you as much as threatened to try it out yourself was a good enough reminder to herself. So, to spare herself the embarrassment of a screwed cover up, she decided on a simple course of action if you were to come close to that secret of hers: come clean.

While you neither were a mercenary yourself, nor actively had to fight in your day to day live, you still enjoyed training your sword fighting skills with Dehya from time to time. It was a nice way to bond while also technically counting as training for the mercenary, even if she didn’t have to put that much effort into beating you most of the time. But what you lacked in skill, you tried making up by other means.

“How about we go and eat something for dinner later?”, you asked while trying your best to either block or dodge Dehya’s attacks, both feeling a lot of surprise and some sort of self-satisfaction after actually managing to not get hit for a couple of her swings, only to let your sword go when you felt her blade connecting to your ring-finger, thanking the gods for making you not dumb enough to refuse her offers of using wooden swords while also trying your best not to scream in agony.

“Sounds like a good idea”, the aforementioned mercenary answered with a small smile, causing you to shoot her a small glare.

“Don’t act innocent and as if you weren’t aiming for my hands all this time”, you half-jokingly demanded, only for Dehya to playfully roll her eyes, lips still curved up.

“That’s what we professionals call a ‘tactic’”, she answered, making you realise that you weren’t going to get far by acting annoyed with her, instead proceeding to wrap your finger in your other hand while putting on a dramatic show.

“How cruel of you Dehya. Where am I going to put my future wedding ring if I lose my precious ring-finger while training with you?”, you cried out, catching the mercenary off guard for a second, only for her to quickly signal to your other hand. “No need to put on such act, we both know well enough that you wish for nothing more than to be the one to share matching rings with me. You can show your distraught and guilt. I’m not going to judge you”, you continued teasing her, only to be too indulged in your performance to notice the blush on her face.

While Dehya wasn’t stupid enough to believe that you were on to her, she would be lying to say that it hadn’t caught her off guard as much as it did, probably enough for you to score a hit on her if you still had your sword in hand and planned to use the opportunity.

“I can’t exactly say that that’s on my to-do list at the moment”, she responded once she collected herself enough to form a coherent sentence, the semi-long pause leading up to her response seemingly not bothering you a bit.

“’at the moment’? So, you say that it’s something you might put on your to-do list later? Oh my- I would have never expected for the legendary flame mane to have fallen for me”, you struck another pose while wearing the same big smile you always did whenever you enjoyed yourself way more than you should, only to fall immediately silent when you noticed how red her face had become, causing you to return to a normal way of standing. “Sorry if I struck a ner-”

“And what if I do?”, Dehya decided to interrupt you. Her brazenness causing the tables to turn as you were the one to be silent now, silently staring at her while blinking a couple of times, your face turning red enough to be confused with a giant tomato, the weird imagery somehow helping her to somewhat handle her nervousness.

“Are you serious-”, you wanted to ask, only to shut up when she nodded before you even finished, causing your pause to continue for what felt like an eternity. “…o-Okay. W-Well, about the dinner”, you continued, only to gather your thoughts for a couple more seconds, “We can make it something like our first date. I-If you’re fine with it, I mean”, you finally managed to finish your sentence, silently cringing at how bad of a job you did at stringing a response together.

“Sure”, Dehya in comparison was quick to respond, putting the wooden sword away before signalling you to follow her, letting out a sigh of relief when she was sure you weren’t looking.

Ei

Ei was far from the most proficient person when it came to understanding romantic emotions, there never really having been a person she would consider herself to be infatuated with. Back when her sister ruled Inazuma, most of its citizens didn’t even know the two of them weren’t the same person and after she had passed… there weren’t that many opportunities for her to find one.

So, when she turned her back to her Plane of Euthymia, choosing to work on becoming the ruler her sister had wanted her to be, a lot of surprised awaited her. Not only had the city and many of its customs changed in the few hundred years the electro Archon had locked herself in a prison of her own making, but once she met you, she was introduced to a lot of emotions she had never felt before.

While it wasn’t difficult for Ei to remember a time your visits weren’t a frequent thing, she thoroughly enjoyed every single of them. You seemed to have a never-ending supply of stories and anecdotes about daily life in Inazuma, and while that didn’t seem like anything too important to most, every insight into the Inazuma of today was quite literally worth more than gold to her. It also helped that they most of them were entertaining and uplifting, and even if you told one that most would consider boring, your Archon would listen attentively, being contend with watching you talk enthusiastically.

There was also that weird feeling in her stomach she felt whenever she was near you, and while she was self-reflective enough to consult someone about them before making up her own theories, Ei made the objectively bad decision to ask the person she considered her closest friend, only for the kitsune in question to have a field trip with that knowledge. The electro archon had up until that point never was embarrassed by that feeling and wouldn’t be so afterwards, but Yae had the “gift” of managing to fluster people even with what they saw as their greatest triumphs against them, so it was no surprise that it ended the way it did.

“My Archon, I’m sorry to interrupt, but someone from the Yashiro Commission requests a word with you”, one of the Shogun’s many servants interrupted your conversation by knocking on her chamber’s door and opening the door.

“Tell them I’m occupied at the moment, I’ll meet them once I’m done”, Ei was quick to respond, causing the servant to nod and close the door behind them, only for you to glance at her with a worried look.

“Are you sure it’s okay for you to prioritise me to the Yashiro Commission? It sounded like there was something important to be discussed, my Ar- Ei”, you corrected yourself immediately, remembering how she had requested for you to call her, even it the thought of calling your own Deity by her name was still a weird one to you.

“I don’t see a problem with it. Learning to understand the daily lives of one’s subjects is about as important as it can get for a ruler, or that’s what a certain someone once told me”, she countered your point, referring to one of your first conversations, one in which you felt even more nervous than you always did when speaking to the God of Thunder, but quite possibly also the one that made it possible for you to talk to her as often as you now did.

“I admire your dedication, but the people from the Yashiro Commission are really important-”, you barely managed to blurt out your sentence before Ei already interrupted you.

“There’s no human I consider more important than you, so I’m sure they will be fine waiting for a bit longer”, she bluntly stated her feelings, not caring about what you or anyone else might think about her comment, causing you to fall silent for a few seconds before you finally managed to piece just enough words together to form a sentence.

“If that’s the case, I’m going to continue then”, you looked down to hide your blush, only for your Archon to hum in response.

“Very well, please tell me more about you.” AND Inazuma, you assumed Ei forgot to add, deciding to not attempt to correct her in fear she’d somehow notice how fast your heart was beating. Before trying your best to remember where you left off, continuing your story with nothing but a few stutters here and there.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #gi ei #ei x reader #ei x you #ei x y/n #gi baal #baal x reader #baal x you #baal x y/n #raiden shogun #raiden shogun x reader #raiden shogun x you #raiden shogun x y/n #dehya #dehya x reader #dehya x you #dehya x y/n #dehya imagines

[foli-vora]

hold me down: two.

[saturday night]

drummer!din djarin x f!reader

masterlist | series masterlist

Summary: The last thing you expected upon agreeing on a night out with your friend was to be swept up by the drummer of a popular band and his sweet boy Nico. They’re only in town for the weekend, so you need to make every little moment count before saying goodbye.

Word count: just over 8.1k

Warnings: mentions of drugs & alcohol, swearing, super brief mention of murder, fluffffff, din 'king of consent' djarin, SMUT SMUT SMUT 18+ ONLY: oral sex (f receiving), fingering, hand job, rough protected sex, overstimulation

A/N: I do apologise for the unexpected delay with this story. It was on track and then life seemingly went nah fuck you, but anyways, we're here now, and I hope you enjoy! x 

The buzz of excitement doesn’t leave your system, curling and twisting in your stomach even as you fight to fall asleep, and it returns the instant your eyes flutter open to the sunlight streaming through your blinds a few hours later.

Disbelief starts to grow alongside it, a small part of your mind unable to comprehend that the early morning hours happened as they did. Was it all a dream?

Exhaustion hangs heavy in your limbs, an obvious sign that you got nowhere near as much sleep as you should have, but you’re unable to relax enough to fall back into a slumber.

Images of Din swirl through your mind, a flush of heat washing through your body when you recall the feel of his mouth moving against yours and the warmth of his calloused palm when it had cupped your cheek. 

This kind of stuff didn’t happen to you. This kind of stuff happened only in the movies you splurged on under the comfort of a blanket, or in one of Winnie’s wild tales she’d tell over drinks, but never in your life.

Your love life consisted of shit tinder dates when you occasionally found the energy to redownload the app in a wash of boredom, not this insanely wonderful spur of the moment thing at a concert with one of the musicians.

What was even happening?

It brings a thrill along your nerves, something new and different and exciting, and the small smile of wonder doesn’t falter from your face, even as you putter around your apartment through the day trying to find things to pass the time. 

Winnie appears with a surprisingly quiet knock on your door sometime after lunch, and you can’t help the snort of amusement when you see her slacken in disappointment once you reveal yourself.

“I thought you might be… elsewhere.” She murmurs, rocking on her heels with a small pout. Her brow rises in question, the barely concealed spark of curiosity and interest shining in her eyes.

You smile, stepping aside to let her stride past and into your apartment. “Nothing happened, Win.”

“Damn it. I thought for sure you were going to get your back blown out with the way he was looking at you.”

“God, you’re terrible.” You chuckle, following her through your small apartment to the kitchen.

She grins at you from over her shoulder and shrugs. “I want the best for you always, including sex with pretty people. Din Djarin looks like he fucks. Like fuck-fucks. It’s what you deserve.”

You laugh quietly, “Are you busy tonight?”

She takes your question as a subject change and makes a low noise of disgruntlement, her eyes flashing over the food in your fridge before reaching for an open packet of cheese cubes. She chews on them quietly, heaving herself onto the counter and looking at you with a roll of her eyes.

“Dinner with my parents.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” You utter, fighting the twitch of a smile as you reach for the glasses over the sink. 

The faux disappointment in your tone must have perked her interest because you see her face twist in your peripheral, her head tilting as her eyes regard you from across the small space.

“Why’s that?”

And in for the kill.

“Oh, Din’s just asked me to go see him backstage tonight and I thought, y’know, if you weren’t busy that maybe you could come too, but don’t worry about it.”

She falls silent, the bag of cheese on her lap no longer rustling with her greedy fingers. You fight the urge to turn and see her face, instead focusing on preparing the drinks with the teasing growth of a smile pulling at the corner of your lips. The weight of her stare stays fixed on the back of your neck and you relish in the stunned silence falling over your tiny kitchen.

“Back—” she clears her throat, her voice failing her, “—backstage? With—with all the bands?”

“Yeah, but seriously don’t worry. Your parents are impor—”

“Fuck my parents! They can complain about my life choices another day. Are you serious? Holy fucking shit. I’m so there. What time? It doesn’t even matter. Oh my god. Oh my god. Do you think they’ll let me ask for autographs? I need to get my posters—do you have any sharpies? Don’t worry, I’ll buy some. Oh my god. Fuck—”

“Breathe,” you coo gently, shooting her a teasing smile over your shoulder.

She stumbles as she launches herself from the kitchen bench, her legs weak under her as she tries to get to you. Her arms wind tightly around you and her excited giggle melts into your shoulder.

“‘Nothing happened’.” She scoffs, kissing your cheek with a loud smack. “He’s so into you.”

A part of you, still in complete disbelief, rejects her statement, the ugly thought rearing that you were just another groupie-wannabe along his travels through the country, but you fight it down before it could drown out your anticipation for the evening.

Winnie leaves and returns dressed to the nines in record timing, practically thrumming with her own excitement as she sits on your bed and refills her instant camera with fresh film, breaking open the new packet of sharpies and showcasing her collection of various merchandise she’s aiming to get signed.

Your afternoon is spent with her, her Spotify playlist filling your apartment and she cheerfully perks up with every other song, commenting on whenever Razor Crest starts playing through the speakers with a sly look towards you.

“It’s your boyfriend.” She’d tease softly.

It drags a giggle from your throat each and every time, your eyes rolling at her good natured pokes. Though she doesn’t comment on it, she sees your secret smile at a random drum solo and her heart flies at the wash of bashful adoration that fills your features.

Your excitement hits a new high when you move to change, your heart thrumming with the prospect of seeing both Nico and Din again. You leave Winnie for your bathroom, inspecting your products lining the limited shelving with a critical eye and pursed lips.

Stop thinking so much.

It’s easier said than done.

Winnie’s voice carries through the space when you leave the steamy comfort of the bathroom and check the time on your phone for what feels like the hundredth time in ten minutes.

“Gosh, I just feel so sick, daddy. I don’t think I should be around you both, I’d hate to pass this along. It’s just awful—” Winnie feigns into her phone, flicking through the magazine spread across her lap in disinterest, throwing out a pathetic little cough for effect. “I know. I was so excited to see you.”

You snort quietly at her, grinning when she throws a devious little smirk your way. Silently, you hold your arms out and spin with a questioning raise of your brow, showing off the outfit you’d thrown together after going through every article of clothing in your wardrobe.

It's only basic, your taste in the current fashion trends painfully lacking, but she still makes a face of dramatic approval, her playful support bumping up your confidence and sending you into embarrassed giggles.

“I know—no, I didn’t catch it from work. Yes, I know you don’t approve. No, I don’t want to work in—okay. Yep, I’ll take that on board. Okay, bye.” She throws her phone to the bed with a roll of her eyes, mimicking her dad’s voice before throwing the magazine aside and focusing on you.

“You look hot. He’s gonna love it. What have you got going on under it? Matching set?”

“Oh my god, Winnie—”

“Don’t even try to deny it.” She returns with a salacious grin, shifting onto her front and kicking her platform clad feet in the air. “The white set?”

You shift in front of the mirror, eyeing her in the reflection with a guilty smile as you touch up the lipstick coating your lips. “The red one.”

“Ooh. Babe, he’s gonna bend you over his drum set. Do you think he's ever used his drumsticks?”

“Winona!”

—

The crowds are already thick outside the venue, and you take your place patiently in line, the borderline ridiculous bag filled with her merch slung over Winnie’s shoulder brushing against your arm. The anticipation makes itself known with a vicious wave of butterflies filling your stomach, anxiety creeping along the back of your neck as doubt starts to poke at your mind.

Would he still want you here? How humiliating would it be to get to the door and find out that he hadn’t bothered to mention you to them? And then you’d have to turn and walk away with the harsh feeling of rejection that would surely follow the denial of entry. The disappointment would be bitter after spending the day hyping this evening up.

“Hey.”

The word suddenly cuts through your thoughts and you blink in surprise, turning to see Winnie already frowning at you, concern swimming in her eyes.

“I can feel that negative energy. What’s wrong? Are you having second thoughts? Do you want to go home? I can get us a cab—”

You soften, linking your hand with hers and giving it a firm squeeze. “No, it’s fine. Everything’s fine. I’m just nervous, I guess. I’m fine.”

“Well if you want to leave just say the word. I’ll get us out of here, okay?”

The anxiety fades when you get to the woman at the door, who smiles when you give your name and speaks into her small walkie talkie, and Boba appears within the next minute.

It's small but he smiles when he sees you, nodding politely to Winnie before turning and leading you to a door splashed with ‘staff only’. The crowd lingering by the door parts the second his small frown falls on them, his presence alone enough to get them to quieten and move out of the way for you to pass and go through the door. 

“You’re a scary man, Boba.” You comment as the door slams loudly behind you, grinning when he chuckles lowly.

“That must mean I’m good at my job.” He returns deeply, leading you down the surprisingly quiet hallway littered with various people both rushing around and lounging against the walls in soft conversation.

“Jesus fuck, it’s Poe Dameron.” Comes Winnie’s hiss when you pass a delightfully good looking man with a dark curl hanging over his forehead, a sleek black guitar streaked with orange hanging from his shoulder. A small dog sits at his feet, perking up at your passing but staying dutifully at Poe’s side.

“That’s his puppy—BB. Cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. He plays for the Resistance. His instagram? Full of his dog.”

You grin at Winnie’s excitement, glancing at her next to you as her eyes eagerly take in your surroundings. Boba leads you through the hall until he stops outside a room, politely sweeping a hand towards the closed door.

Nerves build in your stomach and stick uncomfortably in your throat, but Winnie’s gentle, supportive hand curls around your waist and gives you the small bit of strength needed to open the door.

It’s instant the moment after you walk through.

A tiny body hits your legs and you stumble back into Winnie at the strength of it, laughing as Nico grins up at you in pleasant surprise. 

“Hi buddy,” you greet softly, brushing away the curls falling into his eyes and grinning as his grip tightens around your legs.

“I didn’t tell him you were coming—thought it would be a fun surprise for him.”

The voice is warm and familiar, and your eyes immediately fly to Din who stands just behind Nico. Your heart jumps into a wilder, heavier beat against your chest as he smiles, your own lips curling shyly in response.

“I’m glad you came.” He mutters quietly, and your stomach twists pleasantly at his words.

“Me too.”

Winnie clears her throat softly behind you and you grin, stepping to the side and winding an arm around her waist.

“This is Winnie.”

She sniffs impassively, her hands digging into her pockets as she lets out a nonchalant ‘Hey’ before gazing around casually, and you briefly wonder how much effort she’s forcing in order to keep her cool in the presence of her favourite band. You could practically hear her thoughts screaming ‘be cool’ and you squeeze her side.

Din grins, sharing a look with you before bringing you both forward to formally meet the band and sweat starts to bite at your palms after the mortifying end to the night before. He fixes them each with a stern glare, the frown deepening when Cobb sweeps forward and wraps you into a warm embrace that’s all peppermint and cigarettes.

“Hey sweetheart. Drummer boy’s been pacin’ a track into this carpet waitin’ for you.”

“Vanth—”

He steps away the second Din growls his name, his grin wide and roguish as he backs away with his palms playfully held up in surrender.

The scarily intimidating woman from the night before—Fennec, as Din announces—gives you a small wave from where she perches on the arm of an armchair, her fingers fiddling with the tuning keys on her electric guitar. The few others in the room don’t seem all that interested in your presence after giving you small polite smiles when Din calls their name, and you're thankful for it.

“You guys want a drink?”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” you reply quietly, smiling when he throws you a look over his shoulder.

You take the hand he holds back out to you, painfully aware of the excited finger poking incessantly at your back as you follow him to where Nico’s backpack and its contents are strewn over the ground beside a large aged leather couch.

The room feels relaxed and comfortable, and is a stark difference to the growing energy out in the stage/bar area. You weren’t too sure what you were expecting if you were being honest. Maybe something darker, louder. Rowdy people, lots of alcohol, cocaine lining the tables… maybe it was stereotypical, but now that you actually think about it, of course they wouldn’t. You were certain Din wouldn’t have Nico around if they were into that kind of thing.

Din sees your curious eyes wander the room and smirks, almost as if sensing your thoughts.

“Not what you were expecting?”

You smile guiltily, “Not really.”

“We’ve calmed down over the years. I won’t lie and say we were angelic—it was messy for a while in the beginning.” He chuckles, a hand smoothing over Nico’s curls as he passes the boy diving down to kneel on the floor with his belongings.

The hand wrapped around yours loosens and makes a gesture to the couch, and both you and Winnie sink into the leather as Din moves to get your drinks. You accept the forest green plush frog shoved into your hands with a quiet giggle, scrunching your nose playfully at Nico as he makes himself comfortable beside you on the floor, ensuring to keep his colouring in your view.

“Hey—” Winnie hisses softly in your ear, and your head turns just enough for her to whisper in your ear, “—do you think I can get my camera out yet, or is it too soon?”

—

Nico doesn’t last long on the floor, and neither does Winnie’s restraint. Once you casually mention the thing or two she wanted signed by the band to Din after being unable to convince her to ask herself, she was let loose. Her usual confidence returns and she moves about the room conversing with everyone, shameless in her admittance of being ‘their biggest fan’ and wrangling each member into a polaroid selfie.

“She came prepared.” Din notes with a grin, watching as Winnie hovers over Mayfeld’s shoulder as he quietly scrawls on the poster she had pulled from her bag.

“She’s going to be talking about this for months.” You giggle, smile widening when Winnie catches your eye and mouths her excitement. “Thank you for letting me bring her, Din, and thank you for inviting me.”

“Of course,” he replies, smiling warmly at you from over Nico’s curls before his features soften, his dark eyes falling to the book spread across Nico’s lap before letting them roll back up to meet yours. “I meant it before… I’m really glad you came.”

Your smile is automatic, pulling at your lips until you drop your gaze shyly. “I’m glad I came, too.”

The familiar comfort that settled over the three of you the night before returns, and your time is spent helping Nico piece together a small frog puzzle on the floor, colouring in or listening to Din’s deep timbre read aloud from one of Nico’s many books as he nuzzles into his side.

Music soon starts and bass vibrates through the walls, but no one pays it any mind and it’s surprisingly easy to ignore. You don’t even realise just how quick time is going until a man walks in, giving the warning of fifteen minutes before vanishing again.

You do your best to stay out of the way as people start to move about and get ready for the show, some already leaving for the stage. You watch as Din lowers to a knee, carefully manoeuvring the huge green headphones forever present around Nico’s neck until the snuggly cover his ears. The boy watches him with a shine in his eyes and the smallest of smiles tugging at his lips, which widens when Din delivers a soft flick to the tip of his nose.

Din makes a few gestures with his hands—I’ve got you.

Nico beams at him, nodding and making a small gesture of his own—I know.

It’s enough to send your heart back into a wild frenzy.

Nico stays dutifully close as Din gets ready himself, and you watch in interest as he fishes something from his jacket pocket.

“What’s this?” You tug playfully at the piece of dark, soft cotton he ties around his neck, a wild flush of warmth spreading throughout your chest when his lips spread into a small sheepish grin.

“I don’t show my face on stage. It was just something fun in the beginning… something different, but it became more of a permanent thing when we started really taking off. I don’t like the attention—that’s more Cobb’s thing.”

“So fans don’t ever see your face?”

“Most of the time, no. Not on stage, and I usually sneak out with Nico whenever we’re touring so no one ends up seeing me leave. I do the photo shoots and whatever, but they know I don’t like it and usually stick me somewhere in the back. Only the more dedicated fans bother to remember my face.”

“Winnie knew who you were immediately.”

He chuckles quietly, “Is that meant to surprise me?”

Speak of the devil and—

“Oh my god.” Winnie gushes, appearing at your side with a sparkle in her eyes. She wraps an arm around your waist and squeezes. “Can you believe this? I’m backstage. I’m fucking backstage. I have so many autographs, it’s not even funny. Jyn Erso was passing by outside so obviously I had to ask her for one.”

“Obviously.” You return playfully, trailing behind Din and Nico as you leave the comfort of the room and out into the busy corridors, careful not to hit anyone rushing to get past as you head towards the stage entrance. 

“She’s so lovely. She signed my shirt. Too bad her boyfriend’s not here—he is fucking gorgeous. And I saw the back of Ben Kenobi’s head. Can you believe it?”

You snort, “I can’t believe there isn’t a person here you don’t know.”

Winnie grins, bumping her hip with yours. “Oh babes, I’ve got all the juice. You want the goss?”

“Always.”

“Okay. Who have we got… okay, see that dude there?” Winnie asks quietly, looking pointedly at a man talking to Poe Dameron.

You glance to where she aims her attention, eyes rolling over the frame of her topic of conversation. “That’s a tall man.”

“That’s a fucking tree. Ben Solo, he was in this band—First Order, they’re… questionable. Actually, they’re shit. Anyway apparently he had major anger issues. Like he trashed sets and broke a whole bunch of shit like every show…”

Din makes a low noise of agreement, glancing over to where Solo stands with a barely there frown. “Hated playing after them. Their fans are… a lot.”

“Fucked, Din. Fucked is what their fans are. It was bad, like bad bad, but then he hooked up with this chick Rey—who’s totally loner but not like sad loner, she’s like cool loner and lives in the desert and sometimes plays with Resistance—and then he left the band and now he’s all peace and love and shit. Meditates and everything. Plus there was a rumour he tried to kill his dad, but I don’t know about that one.”

“His Uncle used to tutor Nico, before we started travelling more.”

“Luke Skywalker—used to play for Blue Milk back in the day.” Winnie sips at her drink, her head tilting as she studies Solo, oblivious to the amused look both you and Din share at her extensive knowledge of his fellow bands and their family members.

“Attempted murder charge or not, the man’s hot. Poe looks like he has time to sign my hat, right? Would that be weird? We have time, right? I’m doing it. I’m going in—hold my drink. Shit, where’s my camera—”

She rushes away and you juggle her drink in your hands, melting into the arm that wraps around your waist. Glancing up at Din with a small smile, your chest tightens at the little show of intimacy. It brings a wave of tingles along your skin and you let your head rest on his shoulder as the rest of the band materialises around the entrance.

A head, distinctly not Winnie’s, suddenly comes to rest on your shoulder and Din grunts lowly, smacking a hand out and catching Cobb on the chin. He startles from your shoulder and stands straighter.

“Hey now, I just thought we were gettin’ cosy over here.” He drawls in defence, a playful smirk pulling at one side of his lips. “How about a kiss for good luck?”

“Leave her alone, Vanth.” Din warns lowly.

“I was talkin’ to you, sweetheart.” Cobb grins, gently slapping Din’s cheek before moving away.

You giggle at his antics while Din just rolls his eyes and shakes his head, fixing up Nico’s headphones and ruffling the few curls falling over the boy’s forehead. Winnie returns just in time, with the door opening and the band and its various backstage crew entering with them.

It’s dark and incredibly fucking loud, but the music rattling through your chest is nothing compared to the butterflies swimming through your system at Din’s touch. He keeps you close, pressed into his side with Nico standing just in front of you both. It’s impossible to talk with the music being as loud as it is, but you’re still able to share an excited smile with Winnie as the lights momentarily flash over you.

The band on stage draws to a close and the energy of the crowd feels so different from backstage than it did in the midst of it the night before. The lights die, giving the band onstage a chance to slip off and Razor Crest to slip on. Nico stays dutifully by your side when Din eventually lets you go with one final squeeze to your waist and fixes the bandana across his face. 

He pauses halfway to his drums, before spinning around and striding off stage to where you stand next to Winnie, ripping his bandana down and quickly pressing his lips against yours. You melt into him immediately, the feel of his moustache tickling the skin above your lip sweet and strangely familiar despite still being so new, and your stomach twists at the feel of his mouth against yours.

It lasts only a second before he backs away with a small smile, fixing his bandana back over his mouth and striding away to where the drums sit in the darkness. You exhale shakily, unable to quite wipe the smile completely off of your face as Cobb greets the crowds loudly, screams picking up the second music starts roaring through the venue.

“I’m in trouble.” You sigh wistfully, lips tingling with the ghost of his kiss as Winnie slings an arm around your waist, her low delighted giggle melting into your shoulder as she agrees quietly.

—

The quiet beep of the hotel suite lock seems deafening in the silence of the brightened corridor, and Din politely gestures for you to enter first once the heavy door swings open. You glance over your shoulder and laugh quietly as Nico quickly ducks his head from where he sits on Din’s wide shoulders to get through the doorway without injury, his hands looped softly around the underside of Din’s jaw.

“Pyjamas first, and then you can eat.” Din instructs softly after putting the boy down and setting the bags of take away on the coffee table.

Nico runs off and his bedroom door clicks shut softly, arms soon looping around your waist once the door closes. Din spins you softly until your front presses into his and you sigh lightly when his lips press against yours, your body quickly melting into his broad chest as your hands grip his leather jacket.

The kiss is soft and sweet, followed by another, and then another, until hunger trumps innocent and his tongue is seeking yours. Heat washes through your system and settles low in your gut as his hands roam your lower back, dragging you closer until you’re tight up against him.

It’s cut off much too quickly for your liking, with Nico all but ripping the door open and you inhale sharply to steady the thunder of your heartbeat in your ears, both you and Din breaking apart as Nico launches for the food, a few large plush frogs stuff under one arm.

You settle on the floor, smiling at the relaxed, almost domestic feel that falls over the room. Nico is content to watch cartoons on the absurdly large screen as he eats, leaving you and Din to fall into quiet conversation beside him.

It’s easy talking to Din—comfortable. Over the meal you find yourselves getting closer, until your thighs brush up against the others, and the notes of his cologne settle in your nose, sending butterflies through your chest. He talks about his love of music and finding a fast love of drums, finding his first band mates and starting out as just a small boy with a dream, before moving on and finding something better with Razor Crest.

You grin when you notice he drums his chopsticks absentmindedly, his eyes watching the bright flash of the screen during a quiet moment between conversation. You nudge him softly, nodding to where his hands move.

“Can you do the thing?”

Din’s face twists in curiosity as he chews quietly, his gaze moving to yours. “What thing?”

“Y’know, the thing—” you attempt to twirl your own chopstick around your fingers like you’ve seen so many drummers do with their drumsticks, and it clatters to the surface of the coffee table when you fail miserably.

A deep laugh rumbles from his chest and it warms your insides.

“Oh, this thing?”

The chopstick spins perfectly around his fingers and you cry out in playful delight, cheering when he flips it into the air and catches it with a practised swipe.

He tries to teach you, his fingertips so warm and rough against your skin that you forget what he’s even trying to do, instead relishing in the brush of his hot touch and smiling when he chuckles at your obvious distraction.

A quiet snore steals your attention, and you both turn to where Nico slumps into the couch, his open box of rice dangerously close from tipping over his chest and fork dangling from his fingers, spilling a few lone grains onto the carpet.

You stifle a giggle before it could wake him, grinning at Din as he chuckles and rises to sort him out. Warmth settles in your chest as you watch Din fuss tenderly over the child, brushing Nico’s wild curls away from his face and making gentle noises of reassurance when his arms wind around his little body to pick him up.

Nico stirs momentarily before nuzzling into the soft cotton of Din’s t-shirt, his arms coming to wind heavily around Din’s neck before falling back asleep. They disappear into the bedroom and you move to clean the small spill on the carpet, closing Nico’s take-away back into its bag and organising the food spread across the coffee table to bring some kind of clean order back into the lounge area.

A small stirring of anticipation starts to grow in the pit of your stomach at the realisation that you were now truly alone with Din. No Nico, no bandmates barging through the door—it was just the two of you, left with nothing but each other and the all consuming shadow of attraction that had been hanging over you since you met.

Sweat starts to bite at your palms and you quickly smooth them along your legs, trying your best to temper the sudden increase of your heart drumming against your chest. You wanted this—no doubt about that—but nerves still roll through your system at the possibilities of all that was to come. Insecurities soon bubble to the surface and churn uncomfortably at the forefront of your mind; doubt at your experience, uncertainty at your appearance and how he would perceive it…

“You don’t have to do that.”

You glance up at Din as he re enters, a small smile curling your lips. “I know, I want to.”

He’s in front of you by the time you manage to stumble to your feet, fingers tight around the flimsy plastic bags holding the takeaway boxes, and your breath catches when he reaches to take the bags from you, his fingers hot and rough as they slide over your skin. His eyes don’t waver from yours as he discards the bags to the side, uncaring as the containers hit the coffee table and topple over in the plastic.

The small action and his undivided attention is enough to throw the pleasant warmth curling and twisting in your core into overdrive, the hunger swirling in his gaze causing a shiver to run over the skin of the back of your neck and trickle down your spine.

A part of you wants to play coy, to tease, but then his thick fingers are pinching your chin, tilting your head just that perfect amount for him to slot his lips over yours and all thoughts of playful seduction leave you. He steals your breath and thoughts, leaving you melting into his broad frame and chasing the taste of him as his mouth soon wanders, brushing softly over your jaw and down your throat.

Your hands are left to their own devices, unsure of where to find anchor as they move up along his arms and across his wide shoulders before twisting into the short waves at the base of his skull. Your fingers tighten in his hair when the blunt edge of teeth nip your skin and he exhales sharply against your throat, his breath hot and heavy as his nose traces back along the path he made previously.

He pulls back an inch, the heat of his hand encompassing your cheek as his thumb brushes the skin beneath your eye.

“Is this okay?”

You can’t help but lean into his touch, practically drunk on the way he makes you feel as your heart beats wildly in your chest. The nod you give in return is rushed, eager, and he lets you pull him back into a fiery kiss while his fingers dig into the flesh of your waist. You barely notice your feet moving, too caught up in the way his tongue slides teasingly along yours and how his hands feel through your clothing.

His skin is soft when your fingers find their way under the hem of his t-shirt, ghosting along the waistband of his jeans and feeling his stomach muscles jump from your touch. Your hands go higher, taking the soft cotton with them as your fingertips smooth over the bottom of his rib cage until he moves to finish your task, parting from your lips and tugging the shirt up and over his head, quickly granting your greedy hands full access to his bare torso.

It’s a tangle of limbs and shared breaths as you move into his bedroom, the soft click of the door barely noticed over eager hands and hungry mouths. He makes quick work of your clothes, the chill lingering in his room biting at your skin as fabric hits the floor in muted heaps. 

The breath leaves your lungs in a rush when he gives you a gentle push, your body toppling onto soft sheets and leaving you to blink up at him from where you lie on your back, your eyes tracing along the tattoos curling around his arms and the few dotted across his chest and hips.

So wide. He seems broader standing over you now, his figure highlighted by the moonlight shining in from the floor to ceiling window along one wall. The way he stands tall, strong, gazing down at you with those beautifully magnetic eyes, is almost intimidating. The thrill of it only adds to the wild need pooling in your core and your thighs close on instinct, desperate to seek some sort of friction to calm the ache.

His eyes trace the bright red lace sitting against your skin with a keen interest, his tongue slowly sliding along his lower lip as he takes it in. 

“Open your legs,” he demands lowly, the deep timbre of his voice seeping into your ears and settling low in your gut.

You do so shyly, slowly parting your thighs until he gets the full view of your underwear and where you’ve soaked through the thin fabric. The twinge of embarrassment that had started to grow quickly fades when he makes a low noise of appreciation, your stomach flipping as his eyes flick back up to yours.

“Show me,” he murmurs, something playfully wicked stirring in his gaze, “but leave them on.”

Heat washes up from chest and fills your cheeks as his words settle around you. There’s a tremble in your hand when you move it, a shiver following the light path your fingers make as they trace along your side and down your stomach. His unwavering focus follows your hand, his breath hitching when you rub lightly over your covered cunt before hooking a finger under the sideband of your underwear and pulling them to the side.

He watches your movements intently, exhaling sharply when you shyly brush a finger over your exposed pussy and through your arousal before circling softly around your clit.

“Fuck.”

He’s on his knees before you even realise, his large hands curling around your thighs and hauling you closer to the edge of the bed. Your hands scramble to grab at the sheets in surprise, your gasp at the sudden movement quickly morphing into a whine as his fingers tug your underwear back to the side.

You don’t quite get the chance to catch your breath. His fingers spread you open and his tongue dips to run along your slit, the heat of his mouth enveloping your clit as a groan dissolves against your cunt. He’s relentless, and all you can do is take it.

Your hands tangle in the sheets, fingers clawing at the soft feel of them as he loses himself against you, your body thrumming and nerves practically alight from the feel of his mouth working at your pussy. 

His devotion feels endless. He takes you to the edge, tongue rolling and swirling and circling over your clit until you’re breathless and practically right there, before slowing and letting it ebb.

It’s when you start to beg, voice weak and barely there that he gets greedy about it, pushing his tongue deep into your cunt and relishing in the way your hips jolt and grind against his face before winding his way back to your clit, wrapping his lips around the nerve and sucking sharply.

“Din, it’s—I-I’m—”

The words die on your tongue, the tight feeling growing and growing in your core until your toes start to curl, the threat of it about to snap taking the last of your coherent thoughts. He doubles down in his efforts, forcing your hips to still under his forearm as he works you up and over the edge with a new surge of intensity.

Your back arches from the bedding when it hits, the sound dying in your throat as the last of your breath leaves in a gasp, but he doesn’t stop. His hold tightens to the brink of discomfort, his mouth keeps working, and you’re left to hold on as he drags your orgasm out. You try to breathe, try to calm your mind enough to focus, but all you know is Din and how his tongue dives to collect the cum and arousal from your pussy before circling back up to your sensitive clit.

He still doesn’t stop.

He keeps going, even as you start to squirm under his hold. Your hands fly to his head and tangle into his hair and you’re not sure if you’re pulling him closer or pushing him away. Your chest heaves, the heat flooding your body bringing a sheen of sweat across your skin.

It’s all too much, and yet not enough.

“I c—I can’t,” you whimper, your brows pinching and eyes fluttering closed with the more blissful torture he gives you.

You swear you feel his lips curl into a smile against you. He shifts, and for a moment you think he’s finally pulling away to give you a break, but then two thick fingers swirl around the entrance to your cunt and slide in without resistance, gently dragging along your walls as he pumps them in and out before sinking them in further.

It’s exactly what your body needs.

The pressure of his fingers curling and rubbing so deep within you mixing with the ruthless work of his tongue over your clit throws you headfirst into another orgasm, your hips moving on their own accord as they roll against his hand. You fuck yourself on his fingers as you shatter around him with a broken cry, your pussy clenching and flooding his skin as you move.

He breaks away after another torturously long moment, turning to softly bite the skin of your thigh as he gently pulls his fingers from your tender cunt before sitting back onto his heels. He’s quietly watching you when you eventually have the strength to look at him from over your heaving chest, your body slackening back against the bed when he rises to move over you.

“Still okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathe softly, your lashes brushing against your cheeks as your eyes close. “I just—fuck. I need a minute.”

“Take all the time you need,” he murmurs reassuringly, kissing the space between your brows before moving, the mattress dipping next to you as he lets himself fall back onto the bed beside you with a soft exhale.

Your head lolls to the side as your eyes slowly open, tracing the contours of his side profile and relishing in the comfortable silence falling over the room. Your stomach somersaults at the noticeable glisten of the short facial hair covering his chin and the way his tongue runs along his lower lip, no doubt gathering what was left of you on his mouth.

He must sense your gaze and lets his head turn towards yours, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth as your eyes meet.

“What?”

You smile, “Just thinking.”

His brow rises in interest as he rolls onto his side, his elbow digging into the bed spread as he rests his head on his fist. His eyes follow along your features, his hand rising to brush his fingers along the skin of your jaw.

“Oh yeah? About what?”

“Kissing you.”

You repeat his own words from the night before back to him and he grins, sending your heart thundering back into a frenzy. God, what is happening? 

“Funny,” he mutters, dipping to bite along the underside of your jaw, “I was thinking the same thing.”

Your giggle is quiet and soon muffled by his lips, his own smile melding into yours. The kisses are soft and languid, stoking the warmth still curling in the pit of your stomach with no real rush into anything further. He follows your pace, loosening under the hand you press against his shoulder until his back meets the bed and you’re pressed up against his side.

There’s not a part of him you don’t trace. Your fingers tangle in his hair and move along his throat, feeling the gentle drum of his pulse under your touch. Your nails scratch lightly through the patchy scruff covering his jaw before moving down to his chest and over the softness of his stomach, smiling when you feel the jump in his breath when you finally meet his belt.

“Still okay?” You whisper against his lips, your eyes opening to meet his gaze.

You’re so close, his face only a mere breath away, and you can't help but let your nose lightly run along the arch of his, watching the way his lashes flutter at the soft feel of it.

“Yeah,” he returns just as quietly, his tongue poking out to run across his bottom lip as your fingers pinch at his belt.

It comes away after a few minutes of fiddling, your fingers shaking as you finally unhook his jeans and slide the zipper down enough for you to wiggle a hand underneath. Things aren’t easy one handed though, and your clumsy hand gets stuck under the waistband of his boxers from trying to pull his thick cock out. Typical. 

He breathes a chuckle when you make a quiet noise of annoyance, his hand brushing along your wrist as he pushes his jeans and boxers out of the way and frees your hand wrapped around the solid feel of him. He throbs under your touch, his skin velvety soft against your palm as you give a few experimental pumps of your hand.

You duck your head to press a series of soft kisses to the expanse of his throat, feeling the bob of it as he swallows as you brush the pad of your thumb over the tip of his cock, collecting the bead of precum and smoothing it over him before picking up the pace, tightening your fingers and squeezing him softly as you jerk him. 

He paints a beautiful picture, dark hair ruffled with a few sweat slicked strands falling over his forehead as the two dips between his brows deepen. Your eyes run over every crease and crinkle of his face while he’s lost in your touch, heart wild in your chest with the realisation that you were making him feel this way, you had him tightening a hand in the sheets and his breath catching in his throat.

It’s impossible not to kiss the vacant patch of skin on his jaw, breathing him in and fighting the ache building in your arm as you push to dangle him along the edge of bliss like he had done to you—

A rough palm covers yours, immediately putting a stop to your movements, and worry is your immediate response.

“Did I do s—”

He pushes up and smothers your question with his lips, dousing the flicker of anxiety with the hot slide of his tongue along yours. You weaken against him, letting his large hand cup the space beneath your jaw and tilt your head until he has his fill of your mouth.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he murmurs against your lips. “Get up there—now.”

It takes a moment for your mind to catch up. You scramble back along the sheets, painfully aware that it’s probably not as sexy as you wanted, until the thick pillows hit your back and you’re able to admire him fully. He rids himself of his jeans and presses a knee into the mattress, his dark eyes rolling over you pressed into his pillows with nothing but a bit of red lace covering you.

You’re shameless as you spread your legs now, beckoning him to settle between your thighs, and his cock jumps at the view. His hand falls to his cock, his thick fingers wrapping around the base of it and giving it a firm squeeze as you shift restlessly against the pillows.

“On your knees, pretty girl.”

Your body responds immediately, turning on the soft sheets and shifting until you’re on your hands and knees, the wash of impatience mingling with anticipation intensifying with the longer you don’t feel his touch.

“Din,” you whine softly, feeling movement behind you and picking up on the slight crinkle of a wrapper. 

“I know,” he soothes, a hot hand sliding along the curve of your ass and dipping down your leg.

His fingers ghost along the inside of your thigh until they press against the heat of your pussy, rubbing against your covered entrance and up along your ass. A finger hooks around your panties and pulls them to the side, quickly followed by the blunt head of his cock running along your slit and it’s enough to steal whatever breath is left in your lungs.

He gives a few shallow thrusts, sliding against you and covering the length of him with your cum before he shifts and sinks into your cunt, the hand that’s curled around your hip tightening with every inch that disappears into you until he’s pressed up hard against your ass.

“Tell me when, pretty girl.” He pants softly, keeping still as you adjust to the length and thickness of him. 

You shift against the weight of him, pushing back against him and jolting at the sharp, borderline painful shock that shoots up your body. The shock gives way to a whole new wave of pleasure and your body thrums from it, your cunt clenching around him as you start to shallowly fuck yourself back on him.

“Now,” you breathe, back arching.

He’s slow as he pulls back, fingers briefly loosening on your hips before moving for a better hold and you just know you’re done for. He slams his hips forward, driving his cock deep into you before pulling back and repeating, every brutal slam of his hips against yours hitting the spot that has your cunt fluttering around him. 

If you struggled to breathe before, it's downright impossible now.

Your moans are broken and incoherent as he ruts into you without abandon, the harsh fill of him hurting in the best of ways you know you’re going to feel for days to come. It’s not long until your arms start to give out and soon your chest meets the mattress, the new angle of your hips allowing him to hit impossibly deeper and he grunts at the sudden change.

“You feel so fucking good, pretty girl. Shit—”

The noises that fill the room are obscene. The echo of skin against skin mixes with the slick sound of your cunt as he drills into you and you’re left to cry out into the bedspread, hands scrambling and clutching at the sheets. His pace soon falters and with one final thrust, he spills into the condom with a low filthy groan that has your toes curling.

You turn and rest your head against the sheet to breathe properly, your chest heaving as he carefully removes himself from you and slips away from the bed. It’s a relief to let your body relax fully into the mattress, each muscle unwinding with every passing minute.

Din’s gentle fingers soon return to work your bra off and your underwear down your legs, smoothing his rough hand along your thigh to coax them apart as soon as the soaked scrap of lace hits the floor. A warm cloth soon presses against your tender pussy and you hum softly, your lashes fluttering against the skin of your cheeks.

He chuckles quietly and presses a kiss to your sweaty temple. “Come on, pretty girl. Get under the sheets.”

It takes a few moments to get your body to respond, each limb feeling heavy, but soon enough you’re tucked into Din’s chest, his skin hot against yours and his arm resting around you, his fingers dancing over your skin.

“How am I meant to go home if I can’t walk?” You mutter into his chest, smiling tiredly at his low laugh.

“Guess you’ll just have to stay.”

You chuckle quietly, repositioning your head against him and sighing, almost longingly. “Don’t tempt me.”

-

everything pp tags: @maievdenoir, @javier-pena, @lv7867, @dihra-vesa, @doin-stuff, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @missminkylove, @beskarprincessjenny, @mswarriorbabe80, @danidrabbles, @sergeantbannerbarnes, @amneris21, @eri16, @absurdthirst, @hnt-escape, @acourtofsnakes, @ezrasbirdie, @mstgsmy, @lovesbiggerthanpride, @coaaster, @sherala007, @kelseyxyeslek, @greeneyedblondie44, @wyn-n-tonic, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @shirks-all-responsibilities, @withasideofmeg, @harriedandharassed, @andruxx, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @prostitute-robot-from-the-future, @tanzthompson, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @hope-for-the-best-98, @fangirl-316, @christina-loves, @jediknight122, @hallway5, @xoxabs88xox, @nicolethered, @churchill356, @massivecolorspygiant, @just-here-for-the-moment, @gracie7209, @pinkie289, @lavenderluna10, @goodgriefitsawildworld, @h-hxgirl, @juletheghoul, @punkerthanpascal, @itswanktime, @karolydulin, @pedrostories, @fabilei, @ghostwiththemostbitch, @omlwhatamidoinghere, @cannedsoupsucks, @chaoticemz, @hows-my-hair, @alexxavicry, @cran-berry-vodka, @deadhumourist, @mandocrasis, @thisshipwillsail316, @toxicfrankenstein, @hotchlover, @ew-erin, @mishasminion360, @jitterbugs927, @penelopeimp, @woodland-mist, @pedro-pastel, @spaceserialkiller, @adriiibell, @1andthesame, @elegantduckturtle, @captain-jebi, @magpie-to-the-morning, @sharkbait77, @sleep-tight1, @musings-of-a-rose, @karlawithacapitalk​, @woomen23, @frasmotic, @songsformonkeys, @loonymagizoologist​, @aynsleywalker, @ruhro7, @bluestuesday​, @what-iwish-you-knew​, @princess-djarinn​, @totallynotastanacc​, @girlofchaos​, @pjkimrn​, @bangaveragewhitewine​, @trickstersp8​, @rominaszh,

din djarin tags: @a-reader-and-a-writer, @evyiione, @stardust-galaxies, @xjsteph, @stardustingold, @androah​, @wildmoonflower​, @naughtynecromancer​, @flamesocks​, @quica-quica-quica​, @stevenmylove, @lawfulgranola​, @notagamersdey​, @yt-adriana, @dins-cyare, @clydesducktape​, @eatommo​, @ms-loverman-066​, @serini-ty​, @chaoticevilbakugo​,

hold me down tags: @jettia, @altarsw, @readsalot73, @quica-quica-quica, @chasingdreamer, @the-feckless-wonder​, @what-iwish-you-knew​, @mysticalpersontaco​, @peaches-roses-sins​, @captain-jebi​, @chasingdreamer, @readsalot73,

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #star wars fanfic #star wars AU #pedro pascal x reader #hold me down

[candlecoo]

Thank you for answering my last ask! It seems our interests align so please, can we get more rants about the depths of darkness au and the kaiju au? I want to know more about both and I kinda want to see what the relationships are like for both. Like please ramble about them, especially the depths of darkness au, I want to know more.

No problem!

Depths of Darkness au

- Izuku is very much on a journey trying to discover a new purpose in life, believing he can never return to the seas of his home and not knowing a thing about life on the surface.

- if that means helping out Uraraka, the first person to truly help him, in her journey to make money and a name for herself so she can help her poor impoverished town and family by being an adventurer then so be it!!

- him and Uraraka become really close because they are both just trying to de their best and help others, just two pure hearted fools against the world!

- when they save Todoroki they all hit it off right away!

- Todoroki promises to join them not just because they saved him from kidnappers but he senses familiarity with Izuku, they are both lost in a world they have no idea about trying to find themselves and he finds comfort in that.

- Tenya is very much a tired mother hen of a bodyguard, trailing them where ever they go.

- Izuku tries avoiding anything to do with the sea when he can, out of both fear of the evil and tretchous things that will pass if he returns and the deep longing he feels to return to it anyways.

- but at least as long as he has his magical amulet he won't transform even if he does go into the water.

- the quartet continue going on adventures and making new allies without knowing the dark events playing out under the sea.

- Izuku's father had escaped his concealment in which Inko placed him under long ago.

- he accumulates power and magic like a black hole and swears to recapture everything that was taken from him and strip the land and sea of magic.

- and he's going to start with getting his family back...

- Inko is easy enough to recapture but their child had escaped his grasp and is out of his reach... For now.

- Hisashi priorities his plans on creating magical infused amalgamation monsters to serve him, strip magic from those he deems unworthy and recapture his son.

- for these creatures can survive on both sea and land... He just has to perfect them... His Nomu.

- meanwhile disturbing events have reached the quartets ears.

- fishermen claiming strange almost pieced together monsters being found just beneath the waves, caught in their nets and washed ashore.

- at first they seem to be pitiful things. Barely alive all mashed up wrong and hardly holding their parts together.

- but as time goes on they become more solid looking, dangerous with mass magical outputs. Thank God they stay under the surface.

- or at least they do at first...

That's all I'll say for now!

I don't really have anything more on Kaiju Gate at the moment sorry!

#the depths of darkness au #candle answers #ask the candle #bnha au #bnha #bnha headcannons

[newtsniffles]

SAVING GRACE | BBC SHERLOCK

A STUDY IN PINK - bbc sherlock x oc

summary: Grace Carter, the newest and best detective at Scotland Yard meets Sherlock Holmes, the one and only consulting detective. The case of the woman in pink marking the first chapter of their story.

Or in which two pained individuals find each other in amidst some of their hardest times.

WARNING/S: This story will contain mature scenes and discuss themes of mental health, specifically depression, suicide, and drug use. If these topics may trigger you in anyway please proceed with caution or do not read. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

word count: 12.6k

There was a certain dreariness to living in a constant state of repetition. The sun would rise in the east, set in the west, and in between Grace would find herself completing the same mundane tasks. It was boring. Life is boring. Even the persistent feeling of melancholy that swallowed her entire being felt a little empty as of late.

Grace had only taken a few bites of her cereal before deciding that she did not want it to start with. The clattering of a spoon and now-emptied bowl echoed around her small apartment. The sound loud enough to distract her from thought, if only for a second. The niggling voice in her head whispering to do more with her life, find some excitement. The other half of her wanting nothing more than to curl up in bed and never get out again.

Cold fingers clutch onto the strap of her leather handbag as Grace rushes out the door. Dark hair swishing behind her as fresh winds connected with her front. It was unlikely that she’d be late to work. However, who was she to give Anderson something to bitch about? The rain had lightened up during the night, now just spitting in the early morning. There was a chill in the air, the type that you felt down to your bones. Each splash of water as boots hit the ground created a small sound that drew comfort, should you listen for it carefully.

There were too many noises in the morning rush. Grace found it severely overwhelming, but it had been something she had learnt to cope with. The overpowering of her senses that she found completely and utterly unbearable. It sent a shiver up her spine, and her fight or flight spiralling. Perhaps not the best thing to be susceptible to when working as a detective. But oh, how good she had become at concealment. So unbelievingly talented at masking it all. How great she was at getting lost in thought and forgetting the present moment. Such that as she walked into her workplace, Scotland Yard, she felt as though only moments had passed since she left her apartment, and not half an hour.

‘You’re late,’ Anderson tsked from behind his desk.

‘I’m on time,’ Grace spits back. The minute hand on the clock flicking to 9am just as she places her belongings down.

‘For future reference, it’s best to get here at least ten minutes early—’

‘For future reference, mind your own business. And get a haircut.’

‘Now, now, children, play nicely.’ Lestrade exits his office, files in hand. ‘I’m going to need you all on board for this one.’ He drops the files individually down on each desk.

‘The serial suicides?’ Grace questions. ‘I thought you and Donovan had these covered.’

‘So did I, there was another one late last night. Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport.’

‘And you didn’t call me in?’

‘You needed rest, we had it covered.’ Greg lowers his voice before continuing, ‘and I don’t want this case to trigger you.’

‘I’m fine, Greg. I wouldn’t be in this field of work if I couldn’t handle it. I’m not as fragile as you seem to believe.’

Lestrade was aware of Grace’s mental health issues, he had to be as her boss. But sometimes she wished she could erase that part of his memory, so that he’d stop treating her like a child that cannot look after herself. She was capable of resting, she was capable of eating, so why must be bother her so much? One could say it was friendship, another could say he simply worries. Grace would say that Greg just had a very caring nature. He was rough and tough around the edges, but anyone could tell he was a softie at heart. But sometimes, he cares a little too much, and it becomes overbearing.

‘We have a press meeting in an hour, you’ll want to read those files by then,’ Greg gestures with his head.

‘The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night on a building site in Greater London. Preliminary investigations suggest that this was suicide,’ Sally Donovan addresses the gathered reporters. ‘We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore. In the light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. The investigation is ongoing, but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now.’

‘Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?’

‘They all took the same poison,’ Grace cuts in. ‘They were all found in places they shouldn’t have been.’

‘Yes, and well, none of them had shown and prior indication of—’ Greg continues, only to be cut off by reporters.

‘But you can’t have serial suicides.’

‘Obviously you can,’ Grace rebuts.

‘These three people: there’s nothing that links them?’

‘There’s no link been found yet, but we’re looking for it. There has to be one,’ Greg sighs. At that moment every phone in the room goes off, signalling the receiving of a text message. There was only one word written across every screen.

Wrong!

‘If you’ve all got texts, please ignore them,’ Donovan rolls her eyes.

‘Just says, “Wrong.”’

‘Yeah, well, just ignore that. Okay, if there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Lestrade, I’m going to bring this session to an end.’

‘But if they’re suicides, what are you investigating?’

God, these people just don’t get the hint.

Grace sits back as the conference continues, the sentences of her colleagues and the reporters all blurring into one as she struggles to care enough about dealing with the press. She may not like Sally but she certainly thanks whatever higher power is out there that it is Donovan that deals with the media.

‘We’ve got our best people investigating—’

Wrong!

Grace smirks as she glances at her phone screen. This must be the famous Sherlock Holmes that Greg had been telling her about when she transferred a few months ago. She had never met the man but judging by the way Anderson and Donovan speak of him, she has a feeling that he couldn’t be too bad considering he irks them in the same way she does.

‘One more question,’ Sally informs the reporters.

‘Is there any chance that these are murders, and if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?’

‘I know that you like writing about these, but these do appear to be suicides. We know the difference. The, um, the poison was clearly self-administered,’ Greg explains.

‘Yes, but if they are murders, how do people keep themselves safe?’

‘Don’t take the poison,’ Grace answers.

‘Daily Mail,’ Sally mumbles under her breath in warning.

‘Obviously this is a frightening time for people, but all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions. We are all as safe as we want to be—’ Greg is cut off once more as all the mobiles trill their text alerts.

Wrong!

However, this time on Greg’s phone, he receives another message.

You know where to find me.

SH

‘Thank you,’ Lestrade ends the press conference.

‘You’ve got to stop him doing that,’ Sally complains. ‘He’s making us look like idiots.’

‘Well, if you can tell me how he does it, I’ll stop him.’

Grace smirks as she walks past the two and towards the exit, ready to start her own investigation of the suicides—if you could even call them that. Any human would have to be blind to continue walking the path of ‘serial suicide.’ They are murders, she just doesn’t know how, yet.

Despite all the obvious signs that point to a serial killer, Grace had yet to find any hint of how or why. There was one thing about killers though, they always make a mistake… eventually. The problem though, is waiting for that mistake to be made. How many bodies will turn up before the killer leaves behind a trace? Too many a lot of the time.

Grace knows how killers work; she’d been this career for a while now. But even despite that, her childhood had been one filled of late nights in her dad’s office at the police station. Reading books and watching documentaries written and filmed by professionals since such a young age. She was quick to complete university, graduating earlier than most. Now, Grace wouldn’t call herself a genius, she would simply say she works hard, perhaps too hard in the grand scheme of things. Burning out was not something infrequent, learning to persevere was the difficult part of it all.

She had been staring at these files for hours, the words had started to go blurry. God, she needed a cigarette, a coffee, something to keep her from pulling her hair out. Something to occupy the mind so that her thoughts wouldn’t. The shrill ringing of her phone is what finally brought her back to the real world.

Greg Lestrade

‘There’s been another one.’ Grace states rather that inquires to the man on the other side of the call.

‘Brixton, Lauriston Gardens.’

‘Be there shortly.’

A monotonous beep indicates the end of the call, as well as the end of being stuck at her desk in a hopeless back and forth of words and papers. Now the real fun starts, it’s time to catch a killer.

It was only early in the night, eight o’clock to be precise. A building and its vicinity had been blocked off by red and blue lights, police tape lined corner to corner. It seemed most of the crew was already here. Had they accomplished anything though? That is the question. Grace approaches the building, slowing her pace and coming to a halt after seeing a fuss at the entrance.

‘Quite clear. And is your wife away long?’ A tall man questions Anderson at the doorway. He has fair skin with dark curls, high cheekbones sharp as knives. His eyes a grateful victim to central heterochromia, beautifully green in the centre, fading out to a cold and calculating blue.

Ah, this is Sherlock Holmes.

Grace struggles to hold in her snicker as she listens in to the conversation, it seems he was as observant as she had heard. Although, it didn’t take much brain power to deduce Anderson was cheating on his wife.

‘Oh, don’t pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that,’ Anderson sneers.

‘Your deodorant told me that.’

‘My deodorant?’

‘It’s for men,’ Sherlock mocks.

‘Of course, it’s for men! I’m wearing it.’

‘So is Donovan. Oh, and I think it just vaporised. Excuse me.’ Grace smirks as she pushes past the quarrelling men. Intrigued blue eyes watching as her form recedes into the building.

‘Whatever you’re trying to imply Carter! —’ Anderson calls out to the woman, but she was too far to hear it.

‘Nothing is being implied,’ Sherlock nudges past Anderson, stopping to look Sally up and down. ‘And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees.’ With a smug smile, Sherlock enters the building, his new flatmate, John Watson, following close behind.

Grace was already upstairs examining the body. Her mind starts running a marathon, exploring all the details, discovering different conclusions. The dead woman sure did love pink… pink nails, pink coat.

Peculiar. Underside of the collar is wet. Rache… German, revenge? No. Rachet? Absolutely not. Ah, Rachel. Who is Rachel? She wrote it with her left hand, so she must be... there’s a wedding ring—

‘—hasn’t been here long. Some kids found her. Grace, found anything?’ Greg asks as he enters the room.

‘A bit, but I’m missing something.’ She stands, taking a step back from the body. Pulling the gloves from her hands, Grace turns to see that Sherlock Holmes and his friend had joined them.

‘Sherlock, Doctor Watson, this is Grace Carter, best detective on our team,’ Greg introduces.

‘Best?’ Grace watches Sherlock’s eyes squint as he observes her. Up and down. She’s more than interested to know if he can tell her entire life story as she has heard from others. Actually, she was observing him herself.

Straight posture. His clothes are neat, crisp. Shirt slightly crinkled, only because it seems a size too small. He doesn’t like things out of place unless it’s his own mess. And those eyes… so cold but so captivating. He’s hiding a lot behind them. There’s a loneliness—

‘Intriguing…’ Sherlock mumbles.

‘What is?’ Greg questions.

‘Nothing,’ he snaps out of his daze. ‘Now, let’s have a look. Shut up.’

‘I didn’t say anything?’

‘You were thinking, it’s annoying.’

John and Greg share a surprised look while Sherlock steps forward, beginning to examine the body. Grace watches as his eyes flicker everywhere, unbelievably quick. Only a few moments of silence pass before Sherlock is standing back up, pulling off his gloves.

‘Got anything?’ Greg asks.

‘Not much.’ Sherlock takes out his phone, using it to search something up. Meanwhile Anderson appears in the doorway.

‘She’s German. “Rache,” it’s German for revenge. She could be trying to tell us something…’

‘Yes, thank you for your input,’ Sherlock slams the door in his face, still typing away on his phone.

‘So, she’s German?’

‘Of course she’s not. She isn’t from London though,’ Grace answers Greg. Sherlock pulls his phone down, staring deeply at the female detective.

‘Coat?’ She watches a brow rise on his face as he questions her.

‘Coat.’

‘Intended to stay in London for one night…’ Sherlock trails off, turning his attention from Grace to Greg and John. ‘Before returning home to Cardiff. So far, so obvious.’

‘Sorry, obvious?’ John’s eyes appear to pop out of his head.

‘What about the message though?’ Greg joins in with his astonishment.

‘Doctor Watson, Detective Carter, what do you think?’

‘Of the message?’

‘Of the body. You’re a medical man, no?’ Grace questions the doctor.

‘We have a whole team outside,’ Greg scolds.

‘I don’t like them.’

‘They won’t work with me,’ Sherlock is blunt in his response.

 ‘I’m breaking every rule just letting you in here, Sherlock.’

‘Yes, because you need me.’ Lestrade stares at Sherlock for only a moment before lowering his eyes in surrender.

‘Yes, I do. God help me.’

‘Doctor Watson.’

‘Hm?’ John looks over to Greg for permission to assess the body.

‘Oh, do as he says. Help yourself,’ Lestrade exits the room. ‘Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes.’

John and Sherlock move to crouch by the body, the doctor painfully leaning on his cane. Grace entertains herself, fiddling with her fingers while they whisper quickly to each other in hushed voices.

‘Yeah, well, this is more fun.’

‘Fun? There is a woman lying dead.’

‘Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you’d go deeper.’

Lestrade walks back into the room, standing beside Grace in the doorway. He gives her a look and she shrugs in response.

‘Yeah... Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can’t smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs.’

‘You know what it was. You’ve read the papers.’

‘What, she’s one of the suicides? The fourth…?’

‘Sherlock – two minutes, I said. I need anything you’ve got,’ Lestrade cuts in.

‘Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes; I’m guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It’s obvious from the size of her suitcase.’

‘Suitcase?’

‘Suitcase,’ Grace murmurs. ‘That’s what I was missing.’

‘Suitcase, yes. She’s been married at least ten years, but not happily. She’s had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, if you’re just making this up,’ Greg huffs.

‘He’s not,’ Grace cuts in. ‘Her wedding ring. It’s got to be at least ten years old. Her necklace, earrings, all clean. But not the ring. State of her marriage.’

‘Yes…’ Sherlock is now staring directly at Grace as he speaks. She was quick, almost as quick as him.

How interesting.

‘The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it’s regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It’s not for work; look at her nails. She doesn’t work with her hands, so what or rather who does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover; she’d never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple.’

‘That’s brilliant,’ John admires both the detectives. ‘Sorry.’

‘Cardiff?’

‘It’s obvious, isn’t it?’ Sherlock scrunches his nose.

‘It’s not obvious to me.’

‘Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring.’

‘May I take this one?’ Grace steps in, interrupting Sherlock.

‘Be… my… guest.’

Sherlock’s eyes were locked onto her smaller form, waiting for the words to leave her mouth. Where had this woman come from? She wasn’t here three months ago on the last case he took with Scotland Yard. Not to mention he couldn’t read anything about her past the obvious lack of sleep, the slight discolouration under her eyes proving the fact. She had noticed everything he had about the crime scene… she is unreadable... she is a mystery waiting to be solved. The woman is a lack of boredom in which he’d keep documented in his mind palace for later.

‘Her coat. It’s damp. She’s been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London during that time. Under her coat collar is also damp, she turned it up against the wind. Umbrella in her left-hand pocket is dry, and unused.’ Grace paces back and forth beside the body as she speaks. ‘The wind was too strong for it. Now that Mr Holmes has previously mentioned it, I see what I missed. I missed her suitcase, which means she came a decent distance. But her coat is still wet. Where has there been heavy rain and strong winds within that travel time? Cardiff.’

‘That’s… fantastic.’

‘Yes. Quite… remarkable.’ Oh, those eyes. They studied her so deeply. Grace wanted to run and hide from the piercing gaze of the tall consulting detective. But her physicality did not betray her, remaining strong in her stance, continuing to appear unbothered.

‘Not too bad yourself, Mr Holmes.’

‘Please, Sherlock is fine.’

John and Lestrade exchange a look once more, completely confused by the odd situation in front of them. Two stone faced detectives staring into each other’s souls with such intrigue. An exchange that Greg never thought he’d see, Sherlock… complimenting someone? It couldn’t be. ‘Why are you both saying suitcase?’

Sherlock spins on his feet. ‘Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organiser. Find out who Rachel is.’

‘She was writing Rachel?’

‘No, she was leaving an angry note in German,’ Grace rolls her eyes.

‘Of course, she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be. Question is why did she wait until she was dying to write it?

‘How do you know she had a suitcase?’

‘Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand,’ Sherlock explains. ‘Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious - could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night.’

‘So, where is it? Did Anderson take it?’ Hands on hips, Grace moves to open the door that had previously been slammed in said man’s face.

‘There wasn’t a case.’

Sherlock’s stare narrows, ‘say that again.’

‘There wasn’t a case. There was never any suitcase.’

‘Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?’

Lestrade follows Sherlock down the stairs. ‘Sherlock, there was no case!’

‘But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them.’

‘Right, yeah, thanks! And…?’

‘It’s murder, all of them,’ Grace walks downstairs. ‘Unsure of how yet, been exploring the files. But they’re not suicides. They’re killings—serial ones.’

‘We’ve got ourselves a serial killer. I love those,’ Sherlock claps. His excitement unbefitting of the current situation. ‘There’s always something to look forward to.’

‘Why are you both saying that?’

‘Her case, Greg. Where is it?’ Grace, now standing beside Sherlock on the lower level of the stairs.

‘Did she eat it? Someone else was here, and they took her case,’ Sherlock has a sudden epiphany. ‘So, the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car.’

‘She could have check into a hotel, left her case there?’ Doctor Watson pitches in for the first time in a while.

‘No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She colour-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She’d never had left any hotel with her hair still looking… Oh. Oh!’

‘Sherlock?’

Lestrade leans further over the railing, desperate to hear whatever realisation Sherlock has come to. ‘What is it, what?’

‘Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake.’

‘We can’t just wait!’

‘Oh, we’re done waiting! Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!’

‘Of course, yeah – but what mistake!?’

‘Pink!’

Grace watches as Sherlock rushes out the building, a whispering voice in the back of her head growing louder, eventually shouting at her to ‘follow!’ For once in her life, she decided to listen, a split decision to do what she actually wants. Her feet carry her quickly after him, it took only seconds to catch up to his speedily walking form heading down the street.

‘You’re following?’

‘You’re looking for the case.’

Oh, I’m going to be in so much trouble for this. Forgive me, please don’t fire me, Greg.

‘A correct observation, but as to why you’re following?’

‘That is a question I would think you already have the answer to.’

Sherlock stops walking for a second, his gloved hands moving from his pockets to clasp behind his back. His taller form looked down at the shorter woman. ‘There is a lot about you that I thought I would have the answers to.’

‘One, consider me your get out of jail free card. You find the case without me; Sally and Anderson try to pin the murders on you.’ Grace starts walking again, every two of her steps equalling one of his. ‘Two, you’re aware of how dull working for Scotland Yard can be, they’d never find the case. Three, curiosity.’

‘Curiosity?’

‘You’re a curious person yourself, surely you understand. This case is intriguing. How does this killer work? How does this killer make a person take the poison? We’re running out of time to figure it out, before long another dead body will be on our doorstep, and I will be blaming it on the incompetence of Scotland Yard,’ Grace sighs. ‘I understand the steps they need to take, the protocols. But between you and me, things could be solved so much more efficiently if they turned a blind eye to the rule book, if only sometimes, which I’m thankful they’ve done this time by calling you in. Now, tell me your thought process.’

‘The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention – particularly a man, which is statistically more likely.’ Sherlock turns down a back street, not bothering to look back, knowing the female detective would be following. ‘So obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. Wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realise his mistake. If we check every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens...’

‘…and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed,’ Grace follows along with Sherlock’s thought process. ‘Back street skips.’

‘You continue to astound me, Detective Carter.’

She watches as Sherlock begins to search around the first skip, moving to help. ‘Please, Grace. Should I call you Sherlock, I think it only fair. I was never one for formalities anyway.’

‘Not this one,’ he announces, stepping back and walking onwards.

‘I heard you can tell everything about a person at first glance, have I been lied to? Greg claims you call yourself a “Master of Deduction.”’

‘I can tell things about people that not even they know.’

‘Well, can you deduce me?’

‘Most people tell me to piss off, yet you’re openly asking me to do so?’

‘I told you. I am a curious individual.’

Sherlock’s head tilts slightly to the side, as he tries once more to deduce things about the woman. But again, he was left with hardly anything. It was infuriating, and yet so exciting. ‘You’re tired.’

‘Yes, but that is common knowledge. I expected to be astonished.’

‘You’re a mystery to me. And it’s maddening.’

‘Well, “All great experience has a guarded entrance and a windowless facade.”’

‘Robert Grudin, 1997,’ Sherlock immediately recognises the quote.

‘Precisely. You can’t deduce anything about me because I won’t let you. Becoming aware of someone’s strength is to find their weakness.’

‘You seem quite adept in the nature of observation yourself. What do you see?’

‘I doubt my skills are anywhere near as I’ve heard yours to be. Although, I can say that you probably won’t enjoy hearing what I think.’

‘Did I not just say people mostly tell me to piss off? I’m quite aware of the consequences. Nobody likes to hear of their hidden complexities so easily read by another.’

‘You have very straight posture; you carry yourself tall because it makes you feel less vulnerable. Your clothes, they’re neat, ironed regularly. But your shirt is slightly crinkled because you buy a size too small. Why? Because you like the way it hugs you. It feels affectionate, something I think you’ve forced yourself to believe you don’t want, but subconsciously crave. You don’t like things out of place, unless it’s your own mess, even then the mess is somewhat organised to your liking.’ Grace could mention that loneliness, that pain in his eyes. But she won’t for the sake of the hiddenly vulnerable man digging through a skip in front of her.

‘I don’t need affection,’ Sherlock spits.

‘Ah, yes. Sociopath. You don’t have a heart, I’ve heard.’ Grace smirks as she sees a flash of pink behind the large bin. ‘But I don’t have to look very hard to know that isn’t quite true.’ She reaches an arm behind the skip, pulling the case out with little struggle. ‘Found it.’

Sherlock reaches out to grab the case from her, ignoring her previous statement. Pulling it away she hums a little ‘ah-ah.’

‘How do you expect me to investigate if you won’t hand over the case?’

‘Where do you live?’

‘221B Baker Street.’

‘Closer than me, let’s go. We have a case to investigate,’ Grace begins walking to the main road for a taxi, pink case trailing behind her.

‘Why must you insist on coming with me? I am perfectly capable, even more so than you of solving this.’

‘Perhaps, and I don’t doubt it for a second. But I have jurisdiction, something in which you don’t.’

Sherlock’s steps fall into sync with Grace’s, knowing he won’t be able to shake her off. ‘Gage won’t be happy.’

‘I think you mean Greg. And he’ll survive. Taxi!’

The two climb into the backseat of a taxi, informing the driver of their destination. They sit in silence for a moment. Grace well aware that Sherlock had no urge to start a conversation.

‘Should I tell you something about me, to make things fair? Even out the playing field.’

‘No. If I don’t figure it out myself, I don’t care.’ Sherlock is blunt, not once turning his head from looking out the foggy window. ‘There is one thing I have figured out though.’

‘That is?’

‘You get bored.’

‘Everyone gets bored.’

‘Not enough to follow a stranger down different back streets to pick up a murder victim’s suitcase.’

‘You called me a mystery, didn’t you?’ Grace grins. The streetlights casted a light glow through the window connecting with Sherlock’s cheekbones, casting a shadow across his face.

‘I did.’

‘You’re a mystery yourself. I’m a detective, a bored one, a curious one.’ Sherlock’s attention finally shifts, casting his gaze at the woman in the seat across from him. Curiosity meeting curiosity. Blue eyes meeting grey eyes. ‘Such are you. Let’s do our jobs and stop another body from showing up, yeah?’ Grace doesn’t continue to elaborate, but he didn’t need her to because he understood.

He is a challenge to her, just as she is to him. Something that intellectual minds gravitate towards. There was a comfort in finding someone that understands your thought process. Someone that could keep up. And then there was John Watson, Sherlock’s mind was running rampant. A man that craves danger, and a woman that seeks mystery. Perhaps he finally found the correct people to surround himself with, maybe he could finally belong somewhere.

No, I don’t need friends. He was simply intrigued, that is all. Intrigued in the face of mystery.

The rest of the taxi ride passed in silence. Both detectives spending the remaining period of time lost within their own minds. Neither had even realised they had reached Sherlock’s flat until the taxi driver let them know of the cost. Sherlock was already walking inside with the case, leaving Grace to pay. Which she did deem fair considering she forcibly tagged along.

‘Hm, endearing,’ she hummed, observing the sight. A small café, Speedy’s, was beside the flat building. It appears to be a nice place to live. Convenient.

Grace enters and walks upstairs into 221B. Sherlock had discarded his coat and suit jacket, his white button-up sleeves pushed up to the elbows. Forearms exposed; three nicotine patches stuck to alabaster skin. He dug through the contents of the pink suitcase, sat with his legs spread on a black leather chair by the fireplace.

What a sight for sore eyes. Snap out of it.

‘Smoker?’ Grace questions.

‘Trying not to be.’

‘Makes two of us. Three patches though?’

‘Three patch problem.’

Grace moves to sit on the armchair opposite Sherlock. Looking through the contents of the bag herself. ‘Found anything?’

‘It’s more what I haven’t found.’

‘Hm?’

‘Grab my phone. It’s in my jacket pocket by the door.’

‘Did your parents never teach you manners?’ Grace asked, doing as he said anyway. ‘Here.’

Sherlock doesn’t look up from his position, hands clasped together under his chin. ‘Text John, “Baker Street. Come at once if convenient.” Don’t forget to sign my initials at the bottom.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Tell him it could be dangerous and to come if inconvenient anyway.’

Grace’s own phone dings. She lifts it up to inspect the message, knowing already who it will be. And as she thought, Greg Lestrade.

Come back to Scotland Yard, right now.

‘And that is my signal to go back and receive a scolding.’ Phone returning to pocket, Grace walks to the entrance. Blue eyes watching her every move unbeknownst to her. ‘If I leave the case here for you to further investigate, you promise not to run off with it?’

‘I assume you’ll be coming back with the Detective Inspector the next time I see you,’ Sherlock lowers his hands, letting them cross over his lap.

‘I’ll stall him as long as I can. You’d best keep me updated, Sherlock Holmes.’

‘How do you expect me to do that? I don’t have your number.’

‘Your excuses fall to deaf ears.’ Grace holds her phone out, shaking it at him. Walking downstairs she calls back out, loud enough for him to hear. ‘I don’t think you had the numbers of everyone at the press conference either.’

Sherlock grinned to himself at her words. She was a smart woman; he’d allow himself to admit that much. Maybe he’d even allow himself to admit her beauty had he not known it to be construct based entirely on childhood impressions. One thing he knew for sure: Grace and John are both completely different mysteries waiting to be solved.

‘You just decided you’d run off from the crime scene?’ Greg scolds Grace. She sat across from him, on a chair at the other side of his desk. ‘I know you’ve been off lately, but—’

‘That’s got nothing to do with it, Greg. People are dying and you’re all being awfully slow about trying to do anything to fix it.’

‘You followed Sherlock, didn’t you?’

‘What about it? You’ve said so yourself, he’s the best out there, and you need him.’

‘That doesn’t mean you just run off instead of doing your job.’

‘I was doing my job, and I was doing it a hell of a lot quicker than anybody else here.’ Grace taps her finger on Greg’s desk in frustration. ‘Who found the case? Me and Sherlock. I’m doing you a favour. I don’t care who sticks their name on the report.’

‘You found the case?’

Oops.

Grace had flaws, of course she did. But one she hates the most about herself? Her inability to not spit things out that she shouldn’t whenever she’s angry.

‘Yes.’ Better to admit it now.

‘Where is it?’

‘With Sherlock, but please, just give him a few hours at least to figure it out.’

‘Why should I? —Grace! This is not how it works. I know you like to work on your own and differently to everyone else, but you do not just give away evidence to people!’

‘Greg, please,’ Grace takes a deep breath. ‘You know my judgment is better than anybody else’s here. As much as you, and I, hate to admit it, Sherlock is what we need to solve this case.’

‘He’s got two hours,’ Greg finally agrees after a moment of thought. ‘After that we’re going to his flat.’

Ding

‘Got a text?’ Both Lestrade and Grace know well who it is. She doesn’t get texts, there’s nobody she really talks to. Apart from work colleagues.

Got a lead.

SH

Attached to the message was an address, a restaurant on Northumberland Street.

‘Go, but I’ll be expecting to be updated,’ Greg sighs, slumping in his seat. He may not be a ‘Master of Deduction,’ like Sherlock, but he wasn’t stupid. He knows Sherlock is a great man, and perhaps Grace is what he needs to be a good one. And potentially, Sherlock may just be what Grace needs. So, for once, he will turn a blind eye to the dos and don’ts.

‘Yes, sir,’ Grace fake salutes before exiting his office and the building, rushing downstairs to get a taxi.

There is a welcoming warmth that encases Grace’s body as she leaves the icy streets and enters the restaurant. A shiver runs down her spine at the sudden temperature change. She gazed around, not taking long to notice Sherlock and John sitting at a booth beside the entrance. Pulling up a chair, and removing her coat, she sits across the table from Sherlock, and beside John.

‘Detective Carter?’ John questions, not expecting to see the woman here.

‘Evening.’

‘Wh—’

‘I texted her,’ Sherlock answers the question on John’s mind.

‘I told him to keep me updated, lest he get into trouble with Scotland Yard.’

‘George knows of the suitcase?’

‘Greg, and yes. But you’ve got time.’

John shakes his head, the poor man struggling to keep up with any events of the day. The clock hands were turning a lot faster than normal, and 6pm had been quick to become 11pm. He decides changing the subject might be the best way to involve himself in the conversation. ‘People don’t have archenemies.’

‘Sorry?’

‘In real life. There are no archenemies in real life. Doesn’t happen.’

‘Doesn’t it? How dull.’ Sherlock’s line of sight does not stray from across the street.

‘So, who did I meet?’

Ignoring John’s question, Sherlock responds with his own. ‘What do real people have, then, in there “real lives?”’

‘Friends? People they know, people they like, people they don’t like… girlfriends, boyfriends…’

‘Yes, well, as I was saying, dull.’

‘You don’t have a girlfriend, then?’

‘Girlfriend? No, not really my area.’

‘Mm,’ John pauses. ‘Oh, right. Do you have a boyfriend? Which is fine, by the way.’

‘I know it’s fine.’ Sherlock’s eyes finally move from the street and to lock onto John at his insinuation.

‘So, you’ve got a boyfriend the—’

‘No.’

Grace listens to the conversation, trying to stop herself from giggling. Lips grinning, knowing full well the misunderstanding between the two that it taking place between her.

‘Right, okay. You’re unattached. Like me. Fine. Good.’

‘John, um… I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I’m flattered by your interest, I’m really not looking for any…’

‘No. No, I’m not asking. No,’ John shakes his head. ‘I’m just saying, it’s all fine.’

‘Good. Thank you.’

John turns, giving Grace the most bewildered look she has ever seen, and she couldn’t help the small laugh finally pushing through the restraint of her lips. Sherlock snaps his head to look at her, before quickly turning back to look outside.

‘What about you, Grace?’ John asks. ‘Boyfriend, girlfriend?’

‘No, no. Not at the moment. I only moved here a few months ago. Also, not really an area I’m great at.’ If she couldn’t even love and care for herself, how could Grace ever care and love for another? The feeling was foreign, she longed for it, but found it impossible to find.

‘Oh? Where are you originally from?’

‘Around…’ Grace trails off, not wanting to discuss further.

‘Look across the street. Taxi.’ Sherlock interrupts, saving them all from a lot of awkwardness. ‘Stopped. Nobody getting in, and nobody getting out. Why a taxi? Oh, that’s clever. Is it clever? Why is it clever?’

‘That’s him?’

‘Don’t stare.’

‘You’re staring.’

‘We can’t all stare.’

All three grab their coats before hurrying out of the restaurant. The second the cab starts to drive away, Sherlock rushes forwards, almost getting hit by a car. Luckily, they slam on the breaks and narrowly avoid him.

‘Sorry!’ John yells to the driver. ‘I’ve got the cab number.’

‘Good for you. Right turn, one way, roadworks, traffic lights, bus lane, pedestrian crossing, left turn only, traffic lights,’ Sherlock lists off quickly. He takes off in a sprint, Grace and John quick to react, chasing after him.

They run through buildings, up sets after sets of stairs, across roofs, and back down again. Sherlock leading them around every corner and down every back alley. Eventually, they intersect the taxi. Pulling open the door, Sherlock observes the man in the back. ‘No, teeth, tan. What, Californian? L.A., Santa Monica. Just arrived.’

‘How can you possibly know that?’ John asks.

‘The luggage,’ Grace informs.

‘It's probably your first trip to London, right, going by your final destination and the route the cabbie was taking you?’

‘Sorry, are you guys the police?’

‘Yeah. Everything all right?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Welcome to London,’ Sherlock says sarcastically, walking away from the cab, clearly frustrated.

‘Uh, any problems just let us know,’ John closes the taxi door. ‘Basically, just a cab that happened to slow down.’

‘Basically.’

‘Not the murderer?’

‘Not the murderer, no,’ Grace answers.

‘Wrong country, good alibi.’

‘As they go.’

‘Hey, where-where did you get this?’ John pants, still exhausted, pulling a badge from Sherlock’s hands. ‘Right. Detective Inspector Lestrade?’

‘Yeah. I pickpocket him when he’s annoying. You can keep that one, I’ve got plenty at the flat.’ Grace and John share a glance, both starting to laugh at his words, and the situation as a whole. ‘What?’

‘Nothing, just… “Welcome to London.”’

Sherlock grins at the two before he notices the American man talking to a police officer by the corner. ‘Got your breath back?’

‘We’re ready when you are.’

‘That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.’ John admits, laughing as the trio stumble into 221 Baker Street. They lean against the entrance wall, panting from the long distance they had just ran.

‘And you invaded Afghanistan,’ Sherlock laughs.

‘That wasn’t just me. And why aren’t we back at the restaurant?’

‘They can keep and eye out, it was a long shot anyway.’

‘So, what were we doing there?’

‘Proving a point, from my observation,’ Grace smirks, now noticing John was without his walking stick. Also, him having ran many kilometres.

‘Precisely,’ Sherlock grins at her.

‘What point?’

‘You. Mrs Hudson! Doctor Watson will take the room upstairs.’

‘Says who?’

‘Says the man at the door.’

A knock echoes through the hallway, John glancing between Sherlock and Grace before walking over to answer the door.

‘What I don’t get is why you messaged me?’ Grace turns to Sherlock. ‘If it was a “long shot.”’

‘Because,’ he grins.

‘Because?’

‘Because you’re bored.’

‘That’s not why.’ Grace watches a brow raise on Sherlock’s face, clearly, he wasn’t expecting her to see through his lies. ‘I know a lie when I hear one. You want to try and deduce me. But you can’t, can you?’

‘It’s infuriating.’

‘I try my best.’

‘Sherlock, what have you done.’ An older woman in a purple dress comes into view. Her worried and panicky stature informing everything that something wasn’t quite right.

‘Mrs Hudson?’ One thing that Grace noted was the concern in Sherlock’s voice, and the man had the audacity to say he has no heart, that he doesn’t feel.

‘Upstairs.’

The three rush up the stairs, Sherlock skipping two at a time with his long legs. He opens the door to 221B, finding Greg sitting in his seat, and other Scotland Yard officers searching the flat.

‘What are you doing?’ Sherlock demands.

‘Well, I knew you’d fine the case. I’m not stupid. Plus, Grace slipped up and told me. You’re lucky she convinced me to lay off as long as I did.’

‘You can’t just break into my flat.’

‘And you can’t withhold evidence. And I didn’t break into your flat.’

‘Well, what do you call this.’

‘It’s a drugs bust.’

Oh Greg, that’s low, very low. Grace shakes her head, stepping further into the room to make herself known to Greg and the other officers.

‘Seriously? This guy, a junkie?’ John asks, bewildered. ‘Have you met him?’

‘John.’ Sherlock addresses sternly.

‘I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational.’

‘John, you probably want to shut up now.’

‘Yeah, but come on… No?’

‘What?’

‘You?’

‘Shut up!’ Sherlock shouts, turning back to Lestrade. ‘I’m not your sniffer dog.’

‘No, Anderson’s my sniffer dog.’

‘What, An— Anderson, what are you doing here on a drugs bust?’

Anderson peeps his head out from behind a cupboard in the kitchen. ‘Oh, I volunteered.’

‘They all did. They’re not strictly speaking on the drugs squad, but they’re very keen.’

‘Are you serious, Greg? You told me you’d come for the case in two hours, not set up a drugs bust.’ Grace’s annoyance begins to show. All of this was highly unnecessary, and frankly, just mean.

‘Yes well, you didn’t tell me you were running off from the crime scene to find the case with this guy,’ Greg points to Sherlock. ‘So, I guess we both don’t tell each other everything.’

‘Are these human eyes?’ Donovan rounds the corner, holding up a jar.

‘Put those back!’

‘They were in the microwave!’

‘It’s an experiment!’ Sherlock spits.

‘Keep looking, guys.’ Lestrade orders. ‘Or you could help us properly and I’ll stand them down. That goes for the both of you.’

‘This is childish.’

‘Well, I'm dealing with a child. Sherlock, this is our case. I'm letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?’

‘Oh, what, so-so-so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?’

‘It stops being pretend if we find anything,’ Greg stands, coming face to face with Sherlock, although slightly shorter.

‘I am clean!’

‘Is your flat? All of it?’

‘I don’t even smoke.’ Sherlock tugs up his sleeve, a nicotine patch stuck to his forearm.

‘Neither do I,’ Lestrade pulls up his own sleeve. ‘So, let’s work together. We’ve found Rachel.’

‘Who is she?’ Grace inserts herself back into the conversation.

‘Jennifer Wilson’s only daughter.’

Sherlock tugs his sleeve back down. ‘Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter’s name? Why?’

‘Never mind that. We found the case,’ Anderson points. ‘According to someone, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favourite psychopath.’

‘I’m not a psychopath, Anderson. I’m a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research.’ Sherlock’s head snaps around. ‘You need to bring Rachel in. You need to question her. I need to question her.’

‘She’s dead.’

‘Excellent! How, when, and why? Is there a connection? There has to be.’

‘Well, I doubt it since she's been dead for fourteen years. Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago.’

‘No that’s… that’s not right. How? Why would she do that?’

‘Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Yup – sociopath, I’m seeing it now,’ Anderson rolls his eyes.

‘She didn’t think about her daughter, Anderson,’ Grace spits, fed up with his shit. ‘She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails, while she was dying. It took effort, and it would have hurt.’

‘Sherlock said the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it. Well, maybe he… I don’t know, talks to them?’ John offers. ‘Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow.’

‘Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?’ Sherlock pauses after his words. ‘Not good?’ He turns to John.

‘Bit not good, yeah.’

‘Yeah, but if you were dying… if you’d been murdered; in your very last few seconds what would you say?’

‘“Please, God, let me live.”’

‘Oh, use your imagination!’

‘I don’t have to.’

‘Yeah, but if you were clever, really clever. Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers – she was clever. She’s trying to tell us something.’

Mrs Hudson stands at the doorway. ‘Isn’t the doorbell working? Your taxi’s here, Sherlock.’

‘I didn’t order a taxi.  Go away.’

Odd. Grace closes her eyes, falling into thought.

‘Oh, dear. They’re making such a mess. What are they looking for?’

‘It’s a drugs bust, Mrs Hudson.’

‘But they’re just for my hip. They’re herbal soothers.’

‘Shut up, everybody, shut up! Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t breathe. I’m trying to think. Anderson, face the other way. You’re putting me off.’

‘What? My face is?!’

‘Everybody quiet and still. Anderson, turn your back.’ Greg demands.

‘Oh, for God’s sake!’

‘Your back, now, please!’

‘Come on, think. Quick!’

‘What about your taxi?’

‘Mrs Hudson! Oh…’ Sherlock’s brain clicks. ‘Ah! She was clever, clever, yes! She’s cleverer than you lot and she’s dead. Do you see, do you get it? She didn’t lose her phone, she never lost it. She planted it on him.’

‘When she got out of the car, she knew that she was going to her death. She left the phone in order to lead us to her killer,’ Grace opens her eyes, finishing Sherlock’s explanation.

‘But how?’

‘What? What do you mean, how? Rachel!’ Sherlock exclaims. ‘Don’t you see? Rachel! Oh, look at you lot. You’re all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing. Rachel is not a name.’

John is the first to speak amongst all the vacant faces. ‘Then what is it?’

‘John, on the luggage, there’s a label. E-mail address.’

‘Er, jennie dot pink at mephone dot org dot uk.’

Sherlock sits at his desk, laptop open. ‘Oh, I’ve been too slow. She didn’t have a laptop, which means she did her business on her phone, so it’s a smartphone, it’s email enabled. So, there was a website for her account. The username is her e-mail address. And all together now, the password is?’

‘Rachel.’

‘We can read her e-mails. So what?’

‘Anderson, don’t talk out loud, you lower the IQ of the whole street. We can do much more than just read her e-mails. It’s a smartphone, it’s got GPS, which means if you lost it, you can locate it online. She’s leading us directly to the man who killed her.’

‘Unless he got rid of it.’

‘We know he didn’t.’

‘Come on, come on. Quickly!’

‘Sherlock, dear. This taxi driver…’

‘Mrs Hudson, isn’t it time for your evening soother? We need to get vehicles, get a helicopter. We’re gonna have to move fast. This phone battery won’t last forever.’

‘We’ll just have a map reference, not a name.’

‘It’s a start!’

‘Sherlock…’

‘It narrows it down from just anyone in London. It’s the first proper lead that we’ve had.’

‘Sherlock…’

‘What is it? Quickly, where?’

‘It’s here. It’s in two two one Baker Street,’ John informs.

The phone is here, how? I’m missing something, what am I missing? Grace felt like hitting herself across the head, scratching the skin from her arms. It was in front of her, she knows it, but she can’t put her finger on what she’s missing. ‘How can it be here? How?’

‘Well, maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it fell out somewhere,’ Lestrade suggested.

‘What, and I didn’t notice it? Me? I didn’t notice?’ Sherlock spits.

‘Anyway, we texted him and he called back.’

‘Guys, we’re also looking for a mobile somewhere here, belonged to the victim…’ Lestrade ignores the facts.

‘Who do we trust, even if we don’t know them?’

‘Who passes unnoticed?’ Grace adds to Sherlocks food for thought.

‘Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?’

‘Oh—’ Grace whispers, but only Sherlock hears. She steps backwards slowly, out of the room. Step, then step, she walks down the stairs and out of 221B. At the same time, Sherlock’s phone dings with a message from an unknown number.

COME WITH ME.

‘It’s you, isn’t it?’ Grace confronts the old man. He stands in front of his cab, pink phone in hand.

‘Took you ‘while. But then again you did surprise me, keeping up with the great Sherlock ‘olmes.’ The old man glances over Grace’s shoulder. ‘Speak of the devil. Taxi for Sherlock Holmes.’

‘I didn’t order a taxi,’ Sherlock’s deep voice sounds from behind Grace. He walks forwards, standing beside her with his hands in his coat pockets.

‘Doesn’t mean you don’t need one.’

‘You’re the cabbie, the one that stopped outside Northumberland Street.’

‘It was you, not your passenger,’ Grace observes.

‘See? No-one ever thinks about the cabbie. It’s like you’re invisible. Just the back of an ‘ead. Proper advantage for a serial killer.’

‘Is this a confession.’

‘Oh, yeah. And I’ll tell you want else; if you call the coppers now, I won’t run. I’ll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise.’

‘Why?’ Sherlock asks.

‘‘Cause you’re not gonna do that.’

‘Am I not?’

‘I didn’t kill those four people, Mr ‘olmes, Detective Carter. I spoke to ‘em… and they killed themselves. An’ if you get the coppers now, I promise you one thing. I’ll never tell you what I said.’

‘No one else will die, though, and I believe they call that a result.’

‘An’ you won’t ever understand how those people died. What kind of result do you care about?’

‘If I wanted to understand, what would I do?’

Grace steps towards Sherlock, placing a hand on his arm. ‘Sherlock—’

‘Let me take you for a ride.’

‘So, you can kill me too?’

‘I don’t wanna kill you, Mr ‘olmes. I’m gonna talk to you… and then you’re gonna kill yourself.’

‘Sherlock.’ Grace warns again, his face becoming far too curious for her liking. ‘Don’t.’

‘You too, Detective. Get in the cab, come for a ride.’

‘I don’t think I want to.’

‘I ‘on’t really care what you want.’ The cabbie moves his jacket to the side, flashing the sight of a pistol.

Don’t let him know you’re onto him.

Shame Grace didn’t have her own on her person at the present time. Both Sherlock and Grace get into the backseat of the taxi. ‘Phone up ‘ere please, Detective.’ Grace takes her phone from her pocket, placing it on the console of the car. The engine starts, and they’re on a ride.

‘How did you find me?’ Sherlock questions, inwardly judging the driver’s route.

‘Oh, I recognised ya, soon as I saw you chasing my cab. Sherlock Holmes!’ The cabbie exclaims. ‘I was warned about you. Both of ya, actually. I’ve been on your website, too, Mr ‘olmes. Brilliant stuff! Loved it.’

‘Who warned you?’ Grace crossed her legs, deciding it best to be comfortable while potentially heading to her death.

‘Just someone out there who’s noticed.’

Sherlock sits forwards in his seat, eyes brushing over every detail of the cab. ‘Who? Who would notice me?’

‘You’re too modest, Mr ‘olmes.’

‘I’m really not.’

The cabbie glances at his passengers through the mirror. ‘You’ve got yourself a fan.’

‘Tell me more.’

‘That’s all you’re gonna know… in this lifetime.’

‘Wow, how ominous,’ Grace rolls her eyes.

The rest of the trip passes in silence. Each set of eyes wandering out each window, staring into every mirror to avoid surprise. The cabbie gets out of the car, walking around to open Grace’s door.

‘How gentlemanly.’

‘Where are we?’

‘You know every street in London, Mr ‘olmes. You know exactly where we are.’

‘Roland-Kerr Further Education College.’

‘Why here?’ Grace asks.

‘It’s open. Cleaners are in. One thing about being a cabbie; you always know a nice quiet spot for a murder. I’m surprised more of us don’t branch out.’

‘And you just walk your victims in? How?’ Sherlock’s brows furrow on his face, his eyes darting between Grace and the cabbie. He pulls out a pistol, aiming it directly at Sherlock. ‘Oh, dull.’

‘Don’t worry. It gets better.’

‘You can’t make people take their own lives at gunpoint.’

‘I don’t. It’s much better than that,’ the cabbie tucks away his gun. ‘Don’t need this with you, ‘cause you’ll follow me.’

Grace could just run away, take the cab and drive back to Scotland Yard at this moment. Left behind in the car as Sherlock and the cabbie walk into the right-side building. What kind of detective would she be if she left an unarmed man to enter a building alone with a serial killer? She was well aware that Sherlock could look after himself, but her own curiosity needs an excuse. Her own hunt for mystery, and the excessive need to just know. That was the truth behind her rapid footsteps, gradually catching up to the two men in the building.

Lights flickered on in an empty study hall as they entered. Sherlock paced slowly, observing his surroundings.

‘Well, what do you think?’ The cabbie grins. ‘It’s up to you. You’re the ones who’re gonna die here.’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘Bold of you to assume,’ Grace and Sherlock answer simultaneously.

‘That’s what they all say. Should we talk?’

The cabbie takes a seat at one side of the table, Sherlock turns a chair to sit on the other. Grace, who still stands in the doorway walks over, pulling up a chair beside Sherlock. He was a man lacking empathy, yes. A man who struggles to show his emotions. He didn’t purposefully exude comfort. But there was just something about his tall frame, his intellect, that allowed Grace to feel safe in his presence. Or maybe, just maybe, she was simply comfortable knowing the cabbie couldn’t outsmart him.

‘Bit risky, wasn’t it?’ Sherlock removes his gloves, tucking them in his pocket. ‘Took us away under the eye of about half a dozen policemen. They're not that stupid. And Mrs Hudson will remember you.’

‘You call that a risk? Nah. This… is a risk.’ The cabbie lifts a small glass bottle onto the table, containing a singular pill. ‘Oh, I like this bit. 'Cause neither of you get it yet, do ya? But you're about to. I just have to do this.’ Two more bottles are lifted onto the table. ‘Weren’t expecting that? You’re both gonna love this.’

‘Love what?’

‘Sherlock 'olmes. Look at you! 'Ere in the flesh. That website of yours; your fan told me about it.’

‘My fan?’

‘And yours, Detective Carter. Didn’t think you’d be able to keep up, but ya did.’

‘Your compliments are very backhanded,’ Grace snarks.

‘You are brilliant. You both are. A proper genius though, you are Mr ‘olmes. "The Science of Deduction." Now that is proper thinking. Between you, me, and Detectibe Carter sitting 'ere, why can't people think? Don’t it make you made? Why can’t people just think?’

‘Oh, I see. So, you’re a proper genius too,’ Sherlock mocks.

‘Don’t look it, do I? Funny little man drivin’ a cab. But you’ll know better in a minute. Chances are it’ll be the last thing you ever know.’

‘Okay, three bottles. Explain.’

‘There's a good bottle and two bad bottles. You take the pill from the good bottle, you live; take the pill from the bad bottle, you die.’

‘Both bottles are of course identical.’

‘In every way.’

‘And you know which is which.’

‘Course I know.’

‘But we don’t.’

‘Wouldn’t be a game if you knew. You’re the ones who choose.’ Words continue to fly back and forth between the two men. Grace listens intently, thoughts racing although she appears to remain calm.

Grace sits forwards in her chair, inspecting the glass bottles thoroughly with her eyes. ‘Why should we choose? We have nothing to go on. There’s nothing in it for us.’

‘I 'aven't told you the best bit yet. Whatever bottle you choose, I take the pill from the other one, and then, together, we take our medicine.’

‘So basically, two of us die.’

‘Exactly, Detective. Think of it as natural selection.’

‘Nothing about this is natural, old man. I think six feet under is going to be calling for you first.’

‘You don’t believe that do ya? You’ve been ‘ere before, Detective. Tossing up whether to take your medicine or not.’

The racing of Grace’s mind stops only for a split second, thoughts replaced by a single word. How?

Sherlock takes note of the blank expression on her face. His mind formulating its own theories and conclusions. How? How did he miss it, of course. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

‘You of all people should know that you’ve been a lot closer to hell than I ‘ave.’

‘This is what you did to the rest of them, you gave them a choice,’ Sherlock cuts in. The tense form of Grace clearly unlikely to respond any further on the topic.

‘And now I’m givin’ you one. You take your time. Get yourself together. I want your best game.’

‘It’s not a game. It’s chance.’

‘I've played four times. I'm alive. It's not chance, Mr. 'olmes, it's chess. It's a game of chess, with one move, and one survivor. And this...’ The cabbie pushes two of the bottles forwards. ‘This... is the move. Did I just give you the good bottle or the bad bottle? You can choose either one.’

A moment of silence washes over the study hall. Grace had taken the time to collect her thoughts, bringing herself back to the present moment. ‘Who told you?’

‘Your fan has known about you a lot longer than you’d think. So, are you ready yet? Ready to play?’

‘Play what?’ Sherlock spits. ‘We each have a thirty-three-point-three percent chance of surviving.’

‘You’re not playin’ the numbers, you’re playin’ me. Did I give you the good pill? Or a bad pill? Is it a bluff? Or a double bluff? Or a triple bluff?’

‘Still just chance.’

‘Four people in a row? It’s not just chance.’

‘Luck.’

‘It’s genius. I know ‘ow people think. I know 'ow people think I think. I can see it all, like a map inside my 'ead. Everyone’s so stupid – even you. Or maybe God just loves me.’

‘Either way, you’re wasted as a cabbie.’ Sherlock interlocks his hands and rests his elbows on the table. ‘You risked your life four times just to kill strangers. Why?’

‘Time to play.’

‘Oh, I am playing. This is my turn.’

Grace sits up straight. Was she finally going to witness Sherlock Holmes’ full skill set? Indeed, she was, and that excites her. Her emotions were spiralling at this moment. She is worried, excited, scared, thrilled. A little bit of everything that is slowly going to cause her to overload.

‘There's shaving foam behind your left ear. Nobody's pointed it out to you. Traces of where it's happened before, so obviously you live on your own; there's no one to tell you. But there's a photograph of children. The children's mother has been cut out of the picture. If she'd dead, she'd still be there. The photograph's old but the frame's new. You think of your children, but you don't get to see them. Estranged father. She took the kids, but you still love them, and it still hurts.’

Oh, he’s good. Much better than her. Grace watches the side of his face with wide eyes as he continues deducing the old cabbie. Once again, his prominent cheekbones casting a mysterious shadow over his face that makes him all the more enticing. He’s like forbidden fruit, so dangerously tempting. Hosting his own set of consequences should you ever take a bite.

‘Ah, but there's more. Your clothes: recently laundered but everything you're wearing is at least... three years old? Keeping up appearances but not planning ahead. And here you are on a kamikaze murder spree. What's that about? Ah... Three years ago. Is that when they told you?’

‘Told me what?’

‘That you’re a dead man walking.’

‘So are you.’

‘You don’t have long, though. Am I right?’

‘Aneurism. Right in ‘ere.’ The cabbie points to his head. ‘Any breath could be my last.’

Grace scoffs. ‘And because you’re dying, you’ve just killed four people?’

‘I’ve outlived four people. That’s the most fun you can ‘ave on an aneurism.’

‘No. No, there's something else. You didn't just kill four people because you're bitter. Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator. Somehow this is about your children,’ Sherlock deduces.

‘Oh. You are good, ain’t you?’

‘But how?’

‘When I die, they wont get much, my kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs.’

‘Or serial killing.’

‘You’d be surprised.’

‘Surprise me.’

The cabbie leans forward, speaking his sentence slowly. ‘I ‘ave a sponsor.’

‘You have a what?’

‘For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill, the better off they'll be. You see? It's nicer than you think.’

‘Who’d sponsor a serial killer?’

‘Who’d be a fan of Sherlock ‘olmes? You're not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There's others out there just like you, except you're just a man... and they're so much more than that.’

‘What do you mean, more than a man? An organisation? What?’ Grace questions.

‘There’s a name no one says, an’ I’m not gonna say it either. Now, enough chatter. Time to choose.’

‘What if we don’t choose? We could just walk out of here,’ Sherlock threatens.

‘You can take the chance, or I can shoot you both in the ‘ead.’ The cabbie lifts his pistol, aiming it directly at Sherlock. ‘Funnily enough, no one’s ever gone for that option.’ Grace and Sherlock share a glance momentarily, little smirks on their faces.

‘I’ll have the gun, please.’

‘I’ll take the gun too.’

‘You’re both sure?’

‘Definitely. The gun.’

‘You don’t want to phone a friend?’

‘The gun.’ The cabbie pulls the trigger but is quick to sigh after realising he’s been discovered. The pistol, not real, but a cigarette lighter instead. He tosses it to the side.

‘I know a real gun when I see one.’

‘None of the others did.’

Grace stands from her chair. ‘Clearly.’

‘Well, this has been very interesting. I look forward to the court case.’ Sherlock walks to the door but stops at the cabbie’s taunting.

‘Just before you go, did you figure it out? Which one’s the good bottle?’

‘Of course. Child’s play.’

‘Well, which one, then? Which one would you ‘ave picked, just so I know whether I could have beaten you? Come on! Play the game.’

‘Sherlock—’ Grace whispers warningly for only the tall man to hear. ‘Don’t fall for it.’

Sherlock ignores Grace, walking back over to the table, he picks up the bottle that is closest to the cab driver. Grace rolls her eyes. Could this man ever just listen? A bit hypocritical of her to think actually.

‘Oh, interesting. So, what d’you think? Shall we?’

Grace watches as both Sherlock and the cabbie take the pills out of the bottles. She is quick in her movements, walking over to Sherlock, grabbing his arm in an attempt to pull him towards the exit. ‘Sherlock, come on. It’s not worth it. We can have the pills tested if you’re so desperate to know.’

‘What do you think? Can you beat me?’ The cabbie continues to taunt, ignoring Grace. ‘Are you clever enough to bet your life? I bet you get bored, don’t you? I know you do. A man like you… So clever. But what’s the point of being clever if you can’t prove it? Still the addict.’

Sherlock was much stronger than Grace. Lifting his arm to inspect the pill under the light, her hands falling in the process. He didn’t even bat an eyelid, like she didn’t exist in that moment. Just a speck in an indifferent universe. Hopeless, little Grace, she couldn’t save the ones she loved, what makes her think she could save someone who chases the danger?

You think you can stop him? You think he cares about what you want? Nobody cares about you, never did, never will. Stop trying. Get over yourself. Pathetic, and weak, is all you are.

Shut up.

‘But this… this is what you’re really addicted to. You’ll do anything… anything at all… top stop being bored. You’re not bored now, are you? Innit good?’

Just as Sherlock was about to place the pill in his mouth, Grace understands that he truly will go through with this. Ignoring the voice in her head, the instincts kick in. She forcefully slaps the pill out of his hands. At the same time, a gunshot rings out and the cabbie falls to the floor.

Sherlock rushes over, inspecting the gunshot in the window. He steps are quick to carry him back over to Grace.

‘You’re not hurt?’ He asks, hands grabbing each of her shoulders. She shakes her head, unable to voice her thoughts as her heart pounds against her chest. The gunshot having startled her, unaware of any backup that had been heading their way.

Sherlock scurries around, finding the pill that had been slapped from his hand. He stands over the cabbie, holding it in front of his face. ‘Was I right? I was, wasn’t I? Did I get it right!?’ When he doesn’t receive a response, Sherlock harshly throws the pill at the dying man’s face. ‘Okay, tell me this. Your sponsor. Who was it? The one who told you about me, my fan? I want a name.’

‘No.’

‘Give us a name,’ Grace demands.

‘You're dying, but there's still time to hurt you. Give me a name.’ Sherlock presses his shoe to the cabbie’s gunshot wound when he continues to refuse. ‘A name! Now! The name!’

‘Moriarty!’ The cabbie screams in pain.

Moriarty?

‘I’m fine,’ Grace nudges the paramedics hands away from poking and prodding. ‘Please stop touching me.’ She watches as Sherlock speaks to Lestrade in front of another ambulance, the orange blanket around him a striking contrast to his dark hair and clothes.

‘We have to make sure you’re not injur—’

‘I’m not injured!’

She feels overloaded, overwhelmed in this moment. Her senses clashing with each other in an all-out war. The flashing lights were too much, the different conversations were too much. Grace wants to run away and hide and never come back. The whole ordeal so confusing.

She was doing fine. She was doing so much better until very recently. What has gone wrong? That’s the scary thing about depression. It creeps up on you so quickly, so unnoticeable, and then you can’t see yourself anymore. It’s no wonder Sherlock couldn’t deduce her; she doesn’t even know who she is at this very moment. She doesn’t think she’s known for a while if she’s being honest.

I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Just breathe. What can I see? What can I feel?

Grace’s eyes were trained on her hands, fingers picking at fingers in attempts to ignore all the heightened senses. A soft warmth falls over her coat-covered shoulders, looking up to find Sherlock has draped his ‘shock’ blanket over her.

‘For the shock.’

‘I’m not in shock.’

Sherlock grins, ‘I know.’

‘Thanks.’ Grace tries to smile at him, but her attempt falls short.

‘It’s very busy here. A lot happening…’

‘Yes, well, we did just catch a serial killer… sort of.’

‘There’s a good Chinese, Baker Street. Open till two. Should we see if John wants dinner? He’s a growing boy.’ He pokes fun at the doctor’s height.

Grace chuckles and looks up, directly into Sherlock’s icy irises. They were so cold but so warm, so inviting, yet so standoffish. She was stupid to think he wouldn’t realise, especially after the words of the thankfully now dead cab driver. This was Sherlock’s way of trying to help, to get her out of this situation that had made her fight or flight go off the rails. This was him… trying. ‘Chinese sounds good right now, I won’t lie.’ She stands, blanket falling off her shoulders and back into the ambulance.

Sherlock looks down at her shorter form with a soft expression. There was something about her head only reaching his chin that he found… endearing? And by Gods did he despise it. Who does she think she is to waltz into his life only a day ago and inspire such thoughts.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t read her earlier, he had discovered. It was that he had stopped himself from doing so subconsciously, as she reminded him of himself. And even he wasn’t immune to the fear of looking so deeply into oneself. Even he wasn’t immune to insecurity. She was as broken as he. She has learnt to put on a mask just like him. She was lonely, in a constant battle with herself. Grace was smart, and she was misunderstood. Sherlock knew the feeling better than anyone.

‘Come on.’ Sherlock and Grace walk over to John who stands behind some police tape. ‘Good shot.’

‘Yes. Yes, must have been, through that window.’

‘Well, you would know,’ Grace smirks.

‘Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don’t suppose you’d serve time for this, but let’s avoid the court case. Are you all right?’

‘Yes, of course I’m all right.’

‘Well, you have just killed a man.’

‘Yes, I… that’s true, innit?’ John looks up at Sherlock. ‘But he wasn’t a very nice man.’

‘No. No, he wasn’t really, was he?’

‘And frankly a bloody awful cabbie.’

‘That’s true. He was a bad cabbie. Should have seen the route he took us to get here.’ The trio start walking away from the scene, giggling.

‘Stop it! We can’t giggle, it’s a crime scene. Stop it.’

‘Well, you’re the one who shot him. Don’t blame us.’

‘Keep your voice down! Sorry, it’s just nerves, I think.’ John apologises to the passing Sally Donovan. ‘You were going to take that bloody pill, weren’t you?’

‘Course I wasn’t. Biding our time. Knew you’d turn up.’

‘No, you didn’t,’ Grace rolls her eyes. ‘You were going to take the pill.’

‘It’s how you get your kicks, isn’t it? You risk your life to prove you’re clever.’

‘Why would I do that?’

‘Because you’re an idiot.’

Sherlock smiles, ‘dinner?’

‘Starving.’

‘End of Baker Street, I was telling Grace, there's a good Chinese stays open 'til two. You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle.’

‘Sherlock, that’s him, that’s the man I was telling you about.’ John gestures towards a car. A tall, posh looking man in a suit climbs out.

‘I know exactly who that is.’

Grace watches onwards, completely confused. ‘I think I missed a chapter.’

‘So, another case cracked. How very public-spirited… though that’s never really your motivation, is it?’

Ah, sounds posh too. Must be the “archenemy” from earlier.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘As ever, I’m concerned about you.’

‘Yes, I’ve been hearing about your “concern.”’

‘Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?’

‘Oddly enough… no!’

‘We have move in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer… and you know how it always upset Mummy.’

‘I upset her? Me?’ Sherlock exclaims. ‘It wasn’t me that upset her, Mycroft.’

‘No, no, wait. Mummy? Who’s Mummy?’ John asks.

‘Mother. Our mother. This is my brother, Mycroft. Putting on weight again?’

‘Losing it, in fact.’

‘He’s your brother?!’

‘Of course he’s my brother.’

‘So, he’s not… some criminal mastermind?’

‘Close enough.’

‘For goodness’ sake. I occupy a minor position in the British Government.’

‘He is the British Government, when he’s not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis.’

‘Huh? I never heard of him,’ Grace mumbles.

‘What?’ Sherlock’s head snaps in her direction.

‘Nothing.’

‘Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home – you know what it does to the traffic.’ Sherlock storms off, Grace chuckles and follows him with John close behind.

‘So, it runs in the family then?’

‘What?’

Grace grabs the lapel of Sherlock’s coat playfully, pulling it to the side to expose his suit. ‘Weird names and an affinity for suits.’ She drops the coat back into place.

‘Shut up.’ He pretends to be annoyed but cannot help the smile that rises on his face.

‘So, dim sum?’ John brings up dinner.

‘I can always predict the fortune cookies.’

‘No, you can’t.’

‘Almost can. You did get shot, though.’

‘Sorry?’

‘In Afghanistan. There was an actual wound.’

‘Oh, yeah. Shoulder.’

‘Shoulder! I thought so.’

‘No, you didn’t.’

‘Left one.’

‘Lucky guess.’

‘I never guess.’

Grace cuts in, ‘yeah, you do. Gonna tell us what you’re so happy about?’

‘Moriarty.’

‘What’s Moriarty?’ John questions.

‘I’ve absolutely no idea.’

‘I don’t think I want to know, to be honest.’

‘Come on, Grace. Not the least bit curious?’

‘I might be after getting some food in my stomach, but right now I’m hungry and tired,’ Grace groans. ‘By the way, I’m crashing on your couch.’

-

like my work? consider tipping me for a kofi!

#sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock imagine #benedict cumberbatch imagine #benedict cumberbatch #fanfiction #sherlock x reader fanfiction #bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock fanfiction #bbc sherlock fluff #sherlock imagines #sherlock

[lesbianwriter]

hi!! i’m new to your blog but i’m a huge fan, i love wlw content and it’s really rare in the heroes and villains community. plus your writing is so good like—how?? aNyway, i was wondering if you would consider continuing the hero and villain tease civilian series? no pressure obviously!! have a great day <3

Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four | Part five | Part six

Hero and Villain Tease Civilian Part 7

Thank you! It’s always nice to hear people loving my representation of sapphic characters and stories because I very rarely saw anything wlw and took a leap by doing it myself. And as for how my writing is so good…it wasn’t always.

“Civilian would be perfect for the experiment.” Supervillain said.

Frozen, Civilian stared wide eyed at the bedroom door.

She shouldn’t have been awake—she should be in her own bedroom sleeping perfectly fine surrounded by her own blankets—but the horrifying reality was that Civilian wasn’t home and she wasn’t asleep, and, worst of all, Supervillain was outside the door.

If she opened the door then she’d know that Civilian hadn’t been sleeping—she would know that she was listening in on the conversation. Albeit unintentional, the shaking Civilian doubted the much stronger and far more powerful supervillain would care that much. If anything, she craved for the captive to make a mistake.

“Mom, Civilian is perfectly fine as she is.” Villain replied. Her tone was hushed, a calm yet dark whisper as she spoke. “You don’t know what that stuff will do to her, and she’s the only secretary that I haven’t had to kill.” The shadows in the doorway flickered, and Civilian barely managed to muffle her squeak, clapping her hands over her mouth.

Her breath came in muffled gasps, a half wheeze and half sob tearing from her as she pressed her hands tighter to her face and tried to keep her fright from being heard.

There were others?!

How—how many people had there been before her?!

Her head spun, but the conversation on the other side of the door didn’t pause to let her reel in the shock for long.

“Think about how much more useful she’d be if it worked.” Supervillain said sharply. “I only want what’s best for you, and that girl is a threat to everything we have with as useless and frail as she is now. You’re not going to throw away all my work, are you?”

A pause.

Silence.

“No.”

“Good. I’ll attend to it tomorrow. Remember, this is for the best, sweetie.”

—

—

In the small sliver of time in the very early morning before dawn cracked on the horizon but while the sky was gradually lightening in streaks of orangish sunlight, Civilian was still awake and was desperately trying to break the lock on the bedroom windows.

She held the alarm clock in her hands and smashed it against the lock, sobbing as it didn’t work and only clanged in her hands.

What was going to happen? What were they talking about? Why would Villain do this?

Foolishly, Civilian felt betrayed.

She knew Villain was…well…a villain, but all those deceptively kind moments where she’d shown humanity had lured Civilian too deep into a false sense of security, and that gullible and naive piece of herself had so desperately clung to it to have a sense of safety—a shelter from the casualness in Hero’s cruelties and the sheer horror of Supervillain’s threats.

It felt like being ripped up from under a surface of water. The cold penetrated deep to her bones and the shock was even worse.

Villain was concealing her claws the entire time, and no matter how many times Civilian had told herself that, the whiplash still stung worse than if Hero or Supervillain had done it.

At least it would’ve been expected from those two.

She jolted as the door opened, the incriminating clock still in her hands, and it was Hero who rushed into the room. “Morning, sunshine.” Hero muttered, beelining for the rug on the floor.

Underneath was a trapdoor that Hero unlocked and swung open. The door led way to a wide gaping abyss that didn’t seem as if it ever ended was underneath, and it very well could’ve been the gaping mouth of a beast—it could also be her ticket to freedom.

Yet, even with the taste of her liberation so close, she was unsure what she was meant to do. Was Hero saving her?

Breath caught in her throat, her eyes darted to the door, to Hero, and then back to the trapdoor awaiting her.

If she was truly being saved, then she could go home.

Or, maybe, it was a cruel trick. A test to see whether or not she was as loyal as Villain had claimed. She would take a step down the trapdoor and then Supervillain would burst in and announce that she’d been correct all along; Civilian was a liability and needed to be killed, and everybody else was wrong.

“W-what is this?”

“I’m getting you out of here before Supervillain uses you like a lab rat.” Hero murmured, forcefully holding onto Civilian’s wrist tight enough to bruise. “Hurry. She’s going to notice—“

The glass in the window shattered, and several broken shards of glass unnaturally refined to a point aimed at Hero and Civilian.

“Told you so.” Supervillain said smugly.

For the first time in awhile, Civilian fainted.

—

—

Civilian shivered in the corner of the cell, clutching her body as if she’d fall apart—and she definitely felt that she would shatter into pieces at any second.

She had woken up in a cell to Hero, a headache pulsing behind her temples. The other’s brief stint of heroism—real heroism—died in instants when the first things that came from her mouth was a sly smile and a complaint that it was a shame that Supervillain was the one to make her faint after so long.

“I promise I was going to tell you.” Hero assured smoothly, leaning forward against the bars of the cell to get closer to Villain.

Villain kept her arms crossed.

Hero continued. “Remember that safe house by the lake? I was going to take her there, but I couldn’t tell you while your mother was guarding you like a hawk.”

“Really?”

“Pinky promise.” The other assured. She reached a hand through the bar to touch the villain’s cheek, but Villain didn’t lean into the touch. Her back stiffened and her expression became cold. Not emotionless—the sense of betrayal was clearly drawn out in her teary eyes and wobbling lips—but it was simply cold.

“If you aren’t there tomorrow, then I will make you regret everything.”

“Everything?” Hero pouted.

“There will be no corner of this world where you can hide where I won’t find you and make you crave death.” Villain grabbed onto Hero’s wrist, pulling her touch away.

“Baby, we shouldn’t be flirting right now. Not with an audience.” Hero smirked.

“Take the key—I’ll tell my mom that I gave you an extra.” Her lips flickered into a sad, mournful smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“No goodbye kiss?” Hero pouted.

“Your kissing privileges are revoked until further notice.”

Okay so little story about my writing for anybody that wants to hear it but I found the very first story that wrote when I began my writing. I deleted it a long time ago because I didn’t like it an realized just how atrocious the writing was, but it turned out that at some point when I was writing it I emailed it to myself and now I have the original version of it back. So I’ve been reading though it lately and the horrendous lack of commas is one thing, but there’s also absolutely horrible dialogue, apparently I had no idea what “show not tell” was, the MC was so bland, and even the other characters were so flat and one dimensional. Anyways, all this to say that writing is a journey and everybody starts somewhere…even if that somewhere is a bar so low that it’s in hell.

#hero x villain #civilian x villain

[the1northlanderprincess]

The end of a beautiful story....Episode 6, TCL

Well, the time has unfortunately come for Arman's story to close, and I am feeling SO many things about how it was done. I will try to write everything somewhat coherently.

Questions

Thony spent the first part of the episode being interrogated by different people wondering about her relationship with Arman. She dodges Jorge's inquiry completely. When Fiona asks her if she wants an "us two", Thony gives a little more up. Well, kind of. She asks if she should let him in, which, in all seriousness, I think she already has (more on that later).

Anyway, back to her scene with Jorge, Thony is almost elated to hear about them getting a proof of life for Arman. Then she listens to it, and you can see her expression totally change. She's, like, "conceal, don't feel", and tries her best to not show anything in front of Jorge. But, to us, you know it struck a chord with her with the memory of her time in Mexico with Arman. It's really the first time we see a glimpse into an intimate moment she's spent with him, and her feelings on them. And, it isn't the only time in the episode.

Why did Arman use the lyrics in the first place? Was he somehow hoping that Thony would listen to it and know he's thinking of her? Or was he just so drugged he was hallucinating about the actual event, and the captor used it for the proof of life? What is evident, though, is that Thony was on his mind, and I think that says a LOT.

Signs of Arman

After Thony and Fiona decide to follow up on JD's intel, Thony notices a kid setting down what she believes is Arman's jacket. She picks it up, smells it, and knows right away that it's his. How telling is that? That she knows his scent? It's love, baby! Anyway, so, after getting help from a local kid, they are able to find Dante's apartment from the outside. Thony looks through a broken window and spots what apparently is a very dazed Arman. She can hardly believe it and is nervously excited. Finding their way in, Fiona unlocks the door of the apartment. Thony wants to go in by herself, so Fiona stays outside to stand watch. Thony calls out for Arman as she looks around. She finds a whole shelf of the drug, but accidentally bumps into it. That leads to....

An Illusion

Thony's reaction as she seemingly wakes to hear Arman's voice is absolutely brutal. Like the way she clings to him and tells him in a desperate voice how she'll never let him go again. It's full of fear, relief, and, in my opinion, unconditional love. It's another glimpse into what she really feels for him. However, what she thinks she sees is only a hallucination, and how she reacts to that as Fiona comes to her aide is totally devastating. She sounds like she's on the brink of sobbing. As she is being helped to Jeremy's pickup, it becomes distraught. To hear her voice crack while saying "I need Arman". is...a lot. That fraught-ness turns into almost a crazed excitedness as she spots Arman being dragged away.

Now this may sound crude, but people do tend to be at their most honest when they've lost their inhibitions. This is what happened here. I know that people weren't pleased about this incident, but, it fit the circumstances, and it was an effective tool for us to see her true feelings exposed, and maybe reveal it to herself. Anyways, going back to her words, I think they have double meaning. Not only does she need Arman back in general, but she needs him to help her through this drug-induced suffering.

The chase

Jeremy is doing his best to keep up with the captors, and you can see how on edge Thony is with this pursuit. When they finally catch up with the getaway car, Thony's expression upon seeing Arman, and saying his name, is certainly one of relief, but you also can detect some confusion, almost like she's surprised to see him. Maybe some part of her was still questioning what was real. Arman is experiencing the same thing when he sees her. He did not expect to see her at all.

Things get more intense, and the vehicles separate for a time before meeting side by side once again. Arman and Thony lock eyes for a moment, and you know that they know something is building. For a second, there is a longing in her gaze, one unlike we've ever seen her give. Arman's is a bit more bittersweet. His mouth is set very sorrowfully. He senses that this will more than likely end badly, and is apologizing to her; that he wishes things could have been different and they had more time. It all snowballs from there, and one of the bad guys points a gun at Thony. She doesn't appear to have much of a reaction to it. I think she's too fixed on Arman to comprehend that she's the one in immediate danger. However, Arman notices. You can see him taking stock of the situation and we know that he's trying to figure out what to do. He's constantly looking back and forth from the gun holder to Thony. The last time he turns to Thony, it's quick; he wants to see the woman he loves one more time before he takes action. He does so in a swift fashion, hitting away the hands of the gunman, then reaching for the driver. Thony can only watch in confusion and shock as the car veers off the road. Her expression turns to horror as she watches the car jump over a cliff.

Seeing her run to the edge and breaking down was just so, so sad. Aside from Luca being kidnapped by his father, we have never seen her in so much pain. Yet as she raises her head after the initial grief, in what I call a moment of strength, you see some semblance of...well, not peace, but something akin to it. It is at this time she looks back to the dance in Mexico. It is a snapshot moment when the two of them were free to be in love with no obstacles; a moment resembling a couple already in a serious, romantic relationship signified by their slow, tender kiss.

As tragic as it is, all of this tells us something major (really for the first time) about how Thony viewed her relationship with Arman. I will expand on that for the next episode's meta.

#the cleaning lady #armony

[pangolinheart]

FFXIVWrite 2023 DAY 27 - SOLE

When it comes to conversation partners, you could do worse than Rhiki! You could also probably do better, though....

(Oof this one was rough! I'm sooo tired and it took me forever to stumble upon an idea for this prompt, which I wouldn't have at all were it not for the help of @avalon821, @akirakirxaa, @elliewiltarwyn, @dragoon-mid-jump, and others! Now I am going to bed... Finally....)

Rating: General Genre: Fluff, nonsense Characters: Ardbert, Z'rhiki Irhi (Warrior of Light) Word Count: 1,164 Content Warnings: None

Ardbert told himself again and again that he should be thankful. He was thankful. He had been on the verge of coming undone, of fading away entirely, when fate had seen fit to pluck him from the precipice’s edge. His curse had been lifted! For the first time in centuries there was someone who could see and hear him, even if it was just the one person. How long had it been since he last heard the sound of his own name? It had been even longer since he had felt the stirrings of genuine hope.

He was thankful, truly. It was just….

She talked so much.

“You know, I keep thinking about dying my hair,” she said as she looked into her inn room’s vanity mirror and re-fastened one of her small braids. “But I can never decide what color. A long time ago I thought about white, but white just seems so played out, doesn’t it? Plus, all of the other Scions have white hair. Have you ever noticed that? Hmmm.... Maybe silver? Red? Or maybe something bright, like teal! But then, if I dyed my hair, do you think I would have to dye the fur on my tail, too? I mean, is it better to pretend it’s natural even though everyone knows it isn’t, or should I just own the fact that I’ve dyed my hair?” When she was satisfied the braid was secure, she turned her head either which way, examining herself before glancing up at him. “You know, I’ve never thought about it, but can you do anything with your hair? I know you don’t have a corporeal form so you probably can’t cut it, but if you wanted to, I don’t know, muss it up or something, could you? Honestly, you should try it! I bet you could look a lot more roguishly handsome if you did something different with your hair!”

Internally, Ardbert sighed.

She was supposed to be his salvation, but occasionally he found himself thinking that she was a little more like purgatory. Penitence for his sins. She talked constantly. Sometimes he thought about concealing his presence, or about abandoning his newfound companion to wander the Crystarium, but he had to admit there was something nice about talking to someone again. Or, rather, being talked to again. Most of their “conversations” amounted to her vocalizing random thoughts that he expected she would have been having anyway in his general direction. She didn’t seem to expect or require much input from him, and he wasn’t sure if she even wanted it. She was, for the most part, content to ramble to herself, with him as a silent spectator. Sometimes he would contribute a few words, or answer a question if he was able, but not often. Perhaps it was for the best: he wasn’t really sure what to talk to her about, and his conversation skills were probably rusty anyway.

“How many different colors of Amaro do you think there are?” She wondered aloud as they passed the rookery. At first he had been worried people might think she was losing her mind, talking to thin air as she was, but most of the Crystarium’s residents didn’t pay her any mind. They seemed to assume that she was merely musing to herself, if they noticed her talking at all. “I don’t mean, like, ‘moss green’ as opposed to ‘swamp algae green’ – I mean actual different colors. Chocobos come in a lot of different colors, though I suppose only a few usually occur naturally. The color of chocobos’ feathers actually depends on their diet, so if you feed them the right grains and vegetables you can make them all sorts of colors! All of the amaro in the Crystarium are dark green, but I saw some red ones in Lakeland. Do you think there are any that have magenta fur? Or pastel blue? Wait, does that stuff count as fur? Or feathers? I’ll have to look more closely the next time I’m on one. It’s very soft, either way!”

She never talked about anything important, of course. Or anything too personal. She didn’t talk about how she was adjusting to life on the First, or how she felt about what the Crystal Exarch had asked of her, or what her plans were for slaying a Lightwarden. It was possible she would be willing to broach such topics if he asked, but she never seemed to bring them up in her running commentary. The closest she came to sharing her deeper thoughts on their situation was complaining – about being tired, or about the aggressive wildlife, or about the Exarch. Mostly, she just chatted about whatever thoughts popped into her head, no matter how inane or frivolous. It could occasionally be entertaining, but at times it could also be annoying. And yet, he still chose to spend most of his time shadowing her. She was the sole person with whom he could communicate, and, under the circumstances, he supposed he couldn’t afford to be too choosy. It wasn’t as if she was terrible company. Just… a little much.

Evening was coming on quickly, and he followed her as she wandered towards the Crystarium’s market district. She languidly perused the different shops and stalls, waiting for something to catch her eye rather than seeking out something specific. Their ambling took them within sight of the Last Stand, which must have made her think of food, because she said: “What do you think I should have for dinner? Any recommendations? I suppose food has probably changed a lot since you were alive, so maybe you’re no better off than I am, but is there anything you remember being good? Specific dishes? Spices? Types of cuisine?”

Oh? She’d paused long enough for him to say something. Come on Ardbert, don’t let this chance go to waste!

“Hmmm… well, it’s a bit hard to remember what things taste like, but Renda-Rae always liked baked megapiranha from the Greatwood.”

She pulled a face. “Bleh! No fish! I’ve eaten as many fish in my life as I’d like to, thank you very much! Unless fish on the First taste and smell completely different…?”

“Probably not,” He couldn’t help but smile a little. “Well, I was always partial to some old-fashioned roast ovim, but I’m sure you’ve had that already. I seem to remember that they used to make some sort of rice dish in Kholusia. It didn’t have fish in it, but the sauce was made from squid ink, of all things. Maybe that sounds mad, but I think I remember being pleasantly surprised by it. It might have had mussels in it, though. What was it called…? Something ‘negre’ I think?”

“Oh! That sounds good!  I don’t mind shellfish – they’re not really fish, you know? I wonder if they still make it! Let’s ask! I’d offer to give you a bite, but something tells me it would go right through you! Get it?!”

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2023 #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #shadowbringers spoilers #shadowbringers #ardbert #rhiki tag #auggie writes #rhiki is a menace in so many ways

[sezja]

Febuwhump Day 25: Assumed Dead Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Characters/Ship: Sanson Smyth/Guydelot Thildonnet, Nourval, Original Characters Triggers/Content warnings:

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten

She's not stupid.

He's dead, Raicheille thinks, as her steps carry her through Gridania's quiet nocturnal streets by memory alone; her eyes are too blurred with tears. He's dead, and it's all my fault. If she hadn't told Captain Sanson about her uncle! If she hadn't convinced him Nourval could fight Uncle Astarnaix! If she hadn't convinced him to break Nourval out of prison! At least in gaol, he'd been safe, he'd been alive; no one was going to hurt him there.

She thinks about her uncle's lance plunging through him again; the way he'd collapsed into the grass, unmoving...

My fault. All my fault. And now everything's going to go wrong. Captain Sanson won't be able to save the bard, and they'll both get killed, and then there'll be a war, just like Uncle Astarnaix wants; just like Nourval doesn't want anymore-

Didn't want anymore-

She squeezes the badge in her hand so tightly it bites into her skin, and she keeps running. The Adders' Nest. Even if... even if there's nothing to be done, even if it's too late, she won't let it be said that she gave up without trying. Besides, maybe if she finds a healer, Captain Sanson will stand a chance against Astarnaix - at least long enough for someone else to hear the fighting and come to their aid.

And maybe... maybe it's not too late, maybe...

Nourval had always been the only one who liked her, growing up. Being a girl, her worth to the family lay in the hope that she might one day marry a boy from another wealthy old Gridanian family, securing ancient alliances and providing the Old Guard with sons who could be raised to cling to the same old beliefs. She had little merit in and of herself, naturally, and was therefore largely ignored - only Nourval had spent time with her, telling her tales of Vainchelon and his many acts of virtue, tales of how Gridania grew from a tiny forest settlement to the grand city it was today.

He'd taught her all she knew of heroism, of strength. When he sparred with the other lancers, she swore he was the best; no one could beat him. He even won a bout or two against Uncle Astarnaix, who had trained him...

But not today. Why not today? Why couldn't he-

When he'd left for Gyr Abania, only to return in chains, a criminal, Rai had been devastated. But when she began to hear - to overhear; no one would tell her such things - that he'd begun denouncing his long-held beliefs; that he'd changed his mind about war with Ala Mhigo; that he'd uncovered the truth of Lord Landrenel's choice to conceal Vainchelon's murder...

I won't let them start a war! She's nearly reached the Adders' Nest now, badge in hand. I won't let them! I promise, Nourval!

She runs into the Nest, calling for help. It's quiet this late at night; her voice carries, shrill and piercing in the silence. Several people emerge - some of them wearing coats like the one Nourval had been wearing; it meant they were officers, she remembers. Nourval had taught her that, too; the hierarchy of the Alliance Grand Companies. She wishes, briefly, that she could have found the man Sanson went to - the man even now still locked in Nourval's cell - if only to be certain there was someone she could trust... but the time for that has passed. She must rely on luck, instead.

"Captain... Captain Sanson Smyth requires... requires a healer," she says, choking between sobs. "Please! My brother is dying-"

"Captain Smyth?" A hyuran woman pushes forward, frowning. "Calm yourself, miss. What has happened?"

There's no time! "Please, you have to come with me! It's important! Ask..." Oh, hells, she thinks. Nourval won't be returning to his cell, anyway. "Ask... ask Commander Vorsaile Heuloix," she says, her frantic mind dredging the name up from memory. "He... he's in Nourval Lhorulgois' gaol cell. But you have to come with me; my brother is dying!"

Another man's eyes widen. "Lhorul- are you the missing girl? Raicheille?"

"No," she blurts. Hells! "Yes. But I'm not missing, I've been with Captain Sanson. The Commander can explain!"

The man opens his mouth to speak; the woman shakes her head. "Go check the cell," she says. "If this is a matter of life and death, the details will wait. Inform her parents she's in the Order's custody and will be returned home safely. Miss, I am a conjurer of-"

"Good," she says, already turning to run. "Come on!"

#raicheille lhorulgois #my writing #febuwhump #febuwhumpday25 #febuwhump2023 #WE'RE SO CLOSE TO THE END #(fun fact because i'm not sure it'll come up in the story: the healer here is one of sanson's exes) #(they broke up amicably though; they're still friends)