#hearing I’VE been getting people into Sherlock

[noodles-and-tea]

you single-handedly got me into sherlock holmes lmao- ive been tryin to find new stuff to watch so i just turn on whatever you post about lol

In my defence, he’s just like me fr

[deliciousangelfestival]

Underworld Insomnia - 5

Character : assasin!Bucky × Psychiatrist Female!Reader

Summary: As a ruthless contract killer, Bucky is feared in the underworld of criminals. His opponents freeze when they see him, as he is feared among them. However, they don't know that he could be warm to only one person: his psychiatrist. The only person who could make him fall asleep.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 ,-

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Please let me know what your thoughts are. I'd love to hear your feedback. Thank you once again.

What could the CIA want from Bucky? He had never worked for them. And for someone like August to walk into a bar where contract killers gathered, it had to be something precious.

The reason must be you and Conroy. August came here to get you. Remembering how you ran from your captors to save Conroy, Bucky realized you must have been running from August, too.

“I won't give it,” Bucky said firmly. He admitted he knew what August was after but wouldn't help. Why should he? You were the answer to his insomnia.

August chuckled, a sound that held no absolute amusement. “I should’ve known. Sadly, I thought we could be partners.”

“Working with the CIA? That's a fairy tale,” Bucky replied, smirking.

“Not them. I’ve gathered talented people to make the world a better place. You're a perfect addition to the organization,” August explained, his tone growing severe.

“Greenpeace? No, thank you,” Bucky shot back, his smirk widening.

August took a breath and sighed, his expression one of exasperation. “It seems like you won't take any of this seriously.”

Bucky tilted his head and raised his eyebrows, giving a look that said, "You don't say."

Before leaving, August offered one last piece of advice. “Don't trust her that much.”

He knew it must be about you. This took Bucky's attention, and August smiled. “I knew she has a charm. But... it's not just us who wants that boy.” After August said those words, he left.

Bucky was left with lingering doubts, questioning you for a moment. But he couldn't bring himself to believe it. The CIA was known for sowing seeds of doubt to ruin someone's trust.

How could someone like you, who was willing to enter this den of killers to hide Conroy from people who wanted to get him, be anything but genuine?

That was dedication—a rare quality in this messed-up world. Bucky gulped down his whiskey, trying to forget what August had said to him.

💤💤💤💤💤

He returned to his place, burdened with the decision of whether or not to tell you the truth about meeting August—the person who had forced you into hiding. The moment he stepped into the house, he heard the sound of tiny footsteps. “You're back!” Conroy welcomed him, wearing only pajama pants.

You were chasing him, holding his pajama top. “Conroy, I'm not done yet. And it's impolite,” you said, putting the shirt over his head.

Conroy puffed his fluffy cheeks. Then he looked at Bucky, his head moving left and right as if searching for something.

Bucky knew what the kid wanted. He chuckled and patted Conroy's head. “You can't have chicken every day. It's not good for you.”

Conroy puffed his cheeks and grabbed Bucky's hand. Then he stopped. “You met him,” he said, running to hug you.

Bucky flinched and looked at you. You were surprised too.

“How did you know?” Bucky asked.

“His smell still lingers on you,” Conroy said, pinching his nose.

Bucky sniffed himself, wondering if it was true. But he remembered that Conroy was a ‘little Sherlock.’ What made him nervous was what you thought.

“I didn't tell him,” Bucky said.

“I know you won't,” you replied, looking at him while calming Conroy.

Bucky felt a pang of heartache seeing the little kid. “Who is this August Walker?”

"Let's sit down first." You contemplated whether to tell Bucky the truth, but knowing August had come here meant he wasn't playing cat-and-mouse anymore.

“I told you before that we came from a facility,” you said.

Bucky nodded.

“And August Walker is… how should I say this? He's the supervisor of the facility and…” you hesitated.

“And…?” Bucky prompted.

“He's Conroy's uncle,” you admitted.

Bucky widened his eyes and gasped. “Let me get this straight. Conroy and he are related, but you both hide from him?”

“Because he's a madman!” you said, glancing at Conroy, who had fallen asleep on your lap. You gently touched his cheek with your finger. You couldn't let August have Conroy.

August has this crazy idea. He planned to make a better world, but the truth is, he wanted to create the perfect soldier. That's why he wanted Conroy back. His nephew was the fastest successful human subject—high IQ, independent, strong, and never sick.

Bucky kept silent as he processed this, looking at the kid who was still sleeping peacefully. His heart ached at the thought of what Conroy had been through.

“Don't worry. I won't let them near you,” Bucky promised.

“Thank you. Thank you,” you said, tears of relief in your eyes.

Bucky nodded, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. He would protect you both, no matter the cost.

💤💤💤💤💤💤

The next day, Bucky brought you and Conroy to a kindergarten known for its safety and secrecy. It was a gray area that even other killers couldn't reach.

Conroy looked at the kids his age. He turned to the adults and asked enthusiastically, “Can I join them?”

“Sure, buddy,” Bucky said.

Conroy ran to join the other children, who welcomed him eagerly since there weren't many kids around.

You felt a wave of relief and happiness seeing Conroy so excited. Turning to Bucky, you said, “Thank you. You're a great help to us.”

Bucky felt a warm flush of shyness and something more as he looked at you. He wasn't used to such gratitude; your smile made his heart race. He was starting to have feelings for you, a realization that both excited and scared him.

“Do you want to pick him up together later?” Bucky asked.

“Of course,” you replied with a smile.

After dropping Conroy at the kindergarten, both of you went your separate ways. Three hours later, Bucky found himself at Dr. Ben's practice, eager to pick you up. He had arrived early, hoping to surprise you.

He didn't see you at the reception desk when he walked in. Perhaps you had stepped out for a moment. He glanced out the window and noticed a park across the street.

There, he saw you talking to another man, the conversation looking secretive. Being a killer made him keenly aware when someone was lying or hiding something. From what he saw in your body language, you were clearly hiding something.

Bucky's heart sank as August echoed: “Don't trust her that much.”

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Manipulate - May Prompts (26)

“I don’t understand.”

“Never mind.”

“People get hurt, John. It’s part of the job.”

“Where’s the bloody saline gone,” John fumes. His breath comes hard and fast through his nose as he rummages in the cupboard for antiseptic and his suturing kit. Sight unseen, he hears Sherlock’s head thump against the wall. “Eyes open, you bastard. Eyes on me.”

The words tug on his memory, twist round the nervy panic thread through his spine.

“I’ve had worse. Sewed myself up in Serbia with a needle I found—somewhere. This is nothing,” Sherlock mutters, as he presses John’s sodden scarf to the wound on his scalp. 

“Stop trying to manipulate me. This is serious. We should’ve gone to A&E.”

“Nonsense. You’re a doctor. You know stuff.”

“Shut up and let me see.”

John doesn’t mention how the blood pattern on Sherlock’s face looks just like it did after he’d jumped or how hearing Sherlock’s voice, feeling the warm thump of his pulse, and smelling the cigarette on his breath are the only things keeping him from having a full-blown panic attack at the moment. 

John sets to work. “Could do with an apology.”

“Why? It was nothing to do with you.”

“Oh right. You’re nothing to do with me.”

Sherlock’s look of confusion makes John wonder how badly he’s been concussed.

+

Thank you to @calaisreno for the fun prompt series! Tags in replies. Thanks for reading! <3

[calaisreno]

Save John Watson

1098 words / Prompt: Chaos

“Go to Hell, Sherlock.” 

The DVD shuts off. He remains fixed, staring at the screen. 

Miss me? He’d thought it had to do with Moriarty. Definitely an attention-getter. He’d needed a diversion. But this…

Mrs Hudson sighs. “Sherlock…”

Her voice startles him, reminds him where he is and that she’s been watching too.

“What are you thinking, dear?”

“Hm?” He looks up at her, standing above him, arms crossed, a frown on her face.

“I’m thinking… how to save John.” 

How to go to Hell…

She takes John’s chair, opposite him. He remembers putting it away, then bringing it back. He never can make up his mind about John. What to do about John getting married, what to do about his own vow, now that he’s failed to protect Mary. 

You promised. You made a vow.

He never could make up his mind about Mary, either, even before he knew what she was. He’d chosen a dramatic way to let John see for himself, hear her confess what she’d done, and then hoped he was right. John was stubborn, but eventually yielded. But then she died, the thing he hadn’t foreseen. 

Days have already been wasted, trying to solve this. Even in death, she presents him with puzzles.

But what she means here is obvious. John is the person they love most. Both of them understand that it’s not in John’s character to allow himself to be saved. He will stubbornly go to hell, insisting that he’s fine. Sherlock must get there first.

Once, Sherlock saved him. He got in a cab with a murderer—and John came to life, followed the cab, and saved Sherlock. The cane was forgotten and never reappeared. 

There’s no murderous cabbie this time, no Moriarty threatening to burn his heart out. But there are other ways to go to hell. 

Another sigh, a hard look in his direction. “Sherlock, I know you think I’m just a dotty old woman, but I need to say this: going to hell is not good advice. I have no doubt that she loved John, in her own way, and considered you a friend, but she is wrong.”

“In what way?”

“You and John— well, you’re both lovely people— but you have a terribly dysfunctional relationship. Coming from me, a person who’s had her share of relationship disasters, this may not sound like good advice, but who better to recognise a disaster in the making? Mary thinks that if you get yourself in trouble again, lose your mind, risk your life, John will rescue you. That’s his role in your relationship, to save you. Yours is to be brilliant and to need saving from your recklessness. But it’s not healthy. What Mary said is wrong, Sherlock.”

“But she knows John.”

She shakes her head. “Mary was one of those people who needed things to be chaotic. How else would she have become what she was? Assassins aren’t exactly homebodies, you know. She wouldn’t have lasted as a stay-at-home mum. Chaos was her first love, and she married John because he loves danger. And because of you.”

“Me?”

“Because she saw the potential of being a chaos agent between you two, disrupting the partnership you’ve always had. Look what she did to the two of you! Making you both jealous, putting herself between the two of you all the time. Shooting you, then getting John to forgive her because of the baby. And here she is, reaching her hand up from the grave to stir that pot again. She couldn’t help herself. You two have done nothing but abuse one another since you returned.”

“I’ve never hit John. And at the restaurant, he did hit me, but he had reason to be angry. I don’t blame him for his reaction.”

“I’m talking about emotional abuse. Bruises and cuts heal, but when you let people think you’re dead for two years, that’s abuse as well. Yes, Sherlock, it is. When you make him believe things about himself, that he’s not good enough, not loved— that’s abuse that doesn’t easily heal.”

“You think I gaslighted John?”

“It doesn’t matter that your intent was to keep him safe. She encouraged it, always teasing him about you, making herself out to be the smart one. He believes you didn’t trust him, that he wasn’t good enough. He believes you don’t love him.”

“He doesn’t—”

“Yes, he does. It’s as plain as day.”

“I killed his wife.”

She huffs, crosses her arms. “You did not shoot her. It was her choice.”

“No, but I goaded Vivian Norwood into shooting me, and Mary took that bullet.”

“And why do you suppose she did that?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it constantly, and it doesn’t make sense. John loved her—”

“John loves you. She was no idiot, and she knew whose death would destroy him. Remember, she knew him when you were dead and understood what it would do to him if you took that bullet. She put herself in its path out of love for him. And he’s angry, of course. He’s lost his wife, and has a daughter to raise alone. But he loves you, and his anger is really guilt: when he saw you alive, and his wife dying, he felt relieved that it wasn’t you. That made him feel guilty.”

Sherlock is shaking his head. “Mrs Hudson, I know you’ve always seen us together romantically, but John isn’t gay. He—”

“Sometimes it doesn’t matter,” she replies, leaning forward. “We love who we love, and he loves you. Now, I’m not saying you meant to harm each other. Things have been out of kilter, and neither of you has dealt with it. He’s angry, and your feelings are hurt. Making it worse it not the answer. The only way to escape this is to step out of it.”

Sherlock stands and walks to the window. He stares into the street for a long time, thinking. 

They were broken when they met. He’d been out of rehab for a few months, and was trying to learn sobriety. A junkie is always a junkie, and substituting cases for cocaine was healthier, but not a cure. Every day, he’d struggled to distract himself, and felt himself weakening. The case of the pink lady was an excellent distraction, but John— 

He’d seen it that day in the path lab. A man with a cane for a psychosomatic limp. A doctor whose heart was still on the battlefield. 

He turns to her. “What should I do?”

--

Another chapter of "Things Somebody Should Have Said in Canon." Sherlock's question will be answered (eventually) in another story.

@keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @totallysilvergirl @raina-at @friday411

[haloshornsinkstains]

I Believe What You Said [James Wilson x Reader]

I have been bingewatching House, and I fell back in love with the adorable golden retriever of an oncologist. And I actually managed to write!

Warnings: hinted smut, female reader, reader has a last name (there is a reason), no use of y/n, House is House, reader is 30

“You called a hooker to the hospital? I’m telling mom!” Wilson sighed and went to apologise but the woman with him merely laughed, “then I guess you won’t want to hear about my two for one special? I’m told it’s knee-trembling.” “Oh I like her, hire her again.” “I don’t think he’s going to go away any time soon, I’ll see you later?” The woman smiled softly at Wilson and nodded. “Yeah. Thanks James.” As she reached the door she stopped and glanced back at the two men, “nice to meet you House.” “So, you got her card? How much does she charge an hour?” “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.” Wilson sighed heavily, settling back into his chair. “What do you want House?” “I want to know who the hot piece of ass in your office was.” House wiggled his eyebrows. “You’re disgusting. And it may come as a surprise to you, but sometimes people other than you actually come to consult me on cases. Now, what did you want?” “Oh, I’ve got something way more interesting to look into now.” House grinned, making his way back towards the door and leaving a baffled oncologist behind him.

“So, who’s the hot new doctor you hired?” “Hello to you too House.” Cuddy hummed, not looking up from her computer. “I haven’t hired any new doctors.” “Well there’s no way Wilson has the balls to bring a hooker to a hospital. Short, stupid accent, wears a lot of black, doesn’t quite have your cleavage but-” he cupped his hands around his chest “-about yae big?” “You’re disgusting.” Cuddy huffed. “Why do you care?” “What, I can’t get to know the fourth ex-Mrs Wilson?” He smirked. “You know, I think she’s young enough to be his daughter.” “She’s 30!” “So you do know who she is?!” He looked practically elated, or as elated as House could get, “c’mon mom, little Jimmy gets all the cool new friends.” “She was a trauma surgeon, and if you actually did the clinic hours you were supposed to do you would have met her before now.” Cuddy clicked a few buttons on her computer and smiled, “and would you look at that, your clinic duty starts in ten minutes.” For the first time in months House didn’t whine or complain, instead headed straight for the door and turned in the direction of the clinic.

“He has three ex wives you know.” “Really?” The woman laughed, flicking over the next page in her file, “that’s extremely impressive for a nine year old. I’ll let his mother know.” “Hilarious. Wilson, not little Timmy in there.” She paused, narrowing her eyes at him. “I’m not sure what that has to do with me, or this patient, but I’ll keep it in mind… unless you really were thinking about that two for one offer? Or calling dibs.” She didn’t wait for his response, slipping into exam room two and closing the door. House smiled to himself, picking a random file from the stack. This was going to be fun. Each time he bumped into her while collecting files he asked progressively more personal questions, about her, about her intentions with the oncologist, about her medical history, or just things to get a rise out of her. After his last patient she was just stood by the desk waiting for him, expectantly. “You get one more question.” “So, how many doctors in this hospital have you slept with?” She tapped her finger against her chin, “three. Why, you want to make it four? So you know my family history, how many doctors I’ve slept with, how many times I’ve spoken to your boyfriend this month, and yet you never asked my name. Have fun with that Sherlock.” “Oh please, your name is up there on the clinic rota,” he grumbled, gesturing to the board behind him, “who wastes a question on useless stuff like that?” She just laughed and walked off, throwing a wave over her shoulder as she disappeared through the doors. House, still a little peeved he couldn’t get to her, turned to study the clinic rota. Next to his name, in shiny black letters, ‘Dr. Smith’. Great, just great.

House threw open the door to his office, slightly disappointed that no one on the team jumped any more. “You two, go run a PET scan on the patient's brain. And you,” he gestured his cane at Cameron, “go find me Dr. Smith, tell her I need a consult in Wilson’s office.” “Why would we run-” “Are you going to give me a clue on-” “Out. Daddy needs time to think.” The three stared dumbly at him as he made his way back towards the door. “Go on kiddies, scram.” Sighing the team set off for their different jobs, Cameron muttering to herself about how many Dr Smith’s there must be in this hospital. House headed in the other direction, still thinking, until he stopped outside Wilson’s door. Rapping his cane against the wood three times he pushed open the door and walked in. “What are you up to?” “I believe that’s usually my line. Hello House.” The older man made a childish noise and dropped himself on the office sofa, “with this Dr Smith. Did you know she’s slept with three Doctors in this hospital? I mean, I can’t blame them, that ass is amazing-” “You’re a pig. And what I’m doing is working…” Wilson hummed, staring at his papers for a few moments before dropping them on the desk, “how do you know how many doctors she’s slept with?” “Apparently we share clinic hours. So, you’re trying to be the fourth or what?” “No, no, we are not doing this. Since when do you do your clinic hours?” “Since there was something interesting in there.” House smirked, “so you are trying to be number four?” “House,” Wilson frowned at his friend, tone hardening slightly, “I am not answering that question.” “So I can be number four? Sweet, wonder if she meant it about that two for one deal. Think Cuddy would be in?” “No and no.” “So you are interested in her,” House grinned, “Wilson’s got a girlfriend!” “Men and Women can be friends, even if the woman in question has an amazing ass,” Wilson sighed “you happy now?” “Ecstatic. What about you?” Wilson’s head whipped towards the door, where Dr Smith was leaning against the doorframe. “I think I could hear a few more compliments. You wanted me?” “Yeah, my place about 8?” She chuckled and shook her head at the diagnostician. “Still not the best offer in the room, Cameron said you wanted a consult?” “Yeah, got a patient suffering from a heartbreaking lack of sex.” He grumbled. “Hire a hooker. Or sweet talk James really nice. Now, is there a real issue or can I go back to my day job?” She glanced between the two, one eyebrow raised. “I do have a patient with hallucinations, hearing voices, the whole shebang. He’s 39.” She hummed, sitting on the couch beside House. “This is new?” “Yep.” “Very late onset for schizophrenia, personally I’d be asking the oncologist not the psych.” “Tumour is a possibility.” Wilson agreed, wandering over to the couch as well. “Great, good thing I asked them to scan his brain.” House sighed, pushing himself to his feet. After he left the woman smiled at Wilson, “so, you want to get a coffee and go over that case?” “I’d love to.”

“So my ass is amazing huh?” Dr. Smith grinned, grin only widening as she watched the oncologist splutter, his face turning red. “I can’t believe House did that to me.” “Oh I can, Cameron went to like eight Dr Smith’s before she got to me, and so do you. But that’s not an answer Dr Wilson.” Wilson sighed, staring hard at the spill now on the table. “I was just winding House up.” She hummed, taking a careful sip of her coffee. “Well that’s a shame, ‘cause now I can’t say the same thing back without getting written up for harassment.” More of the coffee splashed onto the table, “you… what?” “I’m not blind.” Wilson just stared blankly at her, a pink flush sitting prettily across his cheeks. “But you’re… you know I’m a decade older than you right?” “You know I’m too old to care right?” She stared him down, though her lips still turned up at the corners ever so slightly. “You can say no, I got over being offended by that back in college.” “Well that has to be a lie. It’s not that I want to say no-” “So, Thursday night? I finish at 7.” Wilson could only watch, stunned, as she downed the rest of her coffee and walked off.

“There’s something wrong with her, and I’m going to find it,” House grumbled as he limped back into the office, throwing his badge onto the table, “one of you go pretend to be me in the clinic, I’m busy.” “You stole another doctor's personal file?” Cameron gaped. “I’m not even surprised.” Foreman sighed. House made shoo-ing motions as he sat behind his desk, starting to flip through the file. Less than an hour later he was slamming the file back down on Wilson’s desk. “She’s broken, thats why you want her.” “Ah yes, I definitely can’t like a gorgeous woman because she’s gorgeous.” His eyes flicked to the file and back to the computer, “of course you stole her notes. I’m disappointed but not surprised.” “She has depression.” House snapped. “That makes two of us.” “She can’t have kids.” “Ah yes, because my plan was to knock her up on the first date.” House narrowed his eyes. “You’re taking her on a date.” Wilson’s retort was interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by the person they’d just been discussing poking her head inside. “Bad time?” “No, it’s fine.” Wilson hummed, smiling softly. “You need me?” “Both of you actually,” her eyes drifted over the file on the desk, “you know, I’m not morally opposed to punching a cripple when they deserve it. You want copies of all my nudes too?” House grinned. “Yes.” “Ask James for them later, there’s a weird case in the clinic.” She grinned, nodding towards the door. “And since you have enough free time on your hands to steal my notes, you have enough free time to come look at this.” “You have nudes already?” Wilson frowned. “No?” “Not yet, hence the later. Keep up House.” As she walked off the two men glanced at each other, Wilson frowning at his best friends wicked grin. This was going to be a nightmare.

Thursday evening finally rolled around and the two doctors found themselves seated at a pretty nice restaurant, glasses of wine beside their plates and soft piano music trickling through the air. The woman smiled, leaning forwards slightly towards her date. “You know he followed us right?” She chuckled, nodding her head slightly. “Two tables over. You sure I’m not interrupting something between you two?” “Only him monopolising all my free time.” Wilson groaned, rubbing his temples. “I’m sorry about him.” “Don’t be, if I didn’t think I could handle him I wouldn’t be here. You don’t work at Princeton Plainsboro for years without knowing all about Gregory House.” She laughed. “Besides, he’s good fun to mess with.” “I’m glad,” Wilson smiled softly, “not that he’s messing with you, just that you don’t mind.” She gently rested her hand over his. “I finally managed to get you out on a date, a grumpy diagnostician with a fixation is not ruining this for me.” “Finally… you flatter me.” She shrugged, “I don’t really flatter people, but if it's working then I’m happy-” she sipped from her wine “-I’d be even happier if you agreed to come to my place and try some of my wines after this. I have quite the collection.” He blushed prettily, taking another sip of his own drink before nodding. “I. I think I would like that.” She smiled, taking another bite of her pasta. Wilson did the same, smiling back at her. Once their plates were empty and the last of the wine had disappeared she reached out and offered him her hand. As they walked past the table where House was sat she bent down and murmured into his ear ‘there are easier ways to get a threesome’ before walking out of the restaurant hand in hand with the oncologist. “I may have overexaggerated how good my wine collection is.” “I may not have really cared about the wine.” She laughed, pulling him to a stop so she could lean up and press her lips into his. “Good. My apartment is just around the corner, and I’m running low on patience.” If they both sped up their steps a little, and if they ended up pressed against each other outside her door too impatient to wait just a moment longer for the door to be opened, then there was no one there to judge them.

The next morning she awoke to the chirping of an alarm and the warmth of a body curled around her own. Shifting slightly she smiled to see him still there, floppy hair a mess and brow furrowed slightly as the alarm broke through the last remnants of sleep. “You’re still here.” She murmured, fingers tracing his jaw. “You didn’t think I would be?” He murmured back, eyes still closed as he tried to bury his face against her shoulder. “I’m not necessarily used to it, but I’m glad.” Slowly she rolled over fully, pressing the front of her body against his and feeling him pressing back against her. “Mmmh, think we can get away with being late?” His eyes cracked open and he smiled, pressing his lips against hers softly. “If you’re as good as you were last night we won’t be.” Grinning wickedly she rolled him over onto his back, her hips straddling his. “Dr Wilson, you know all the right things to say.” “James. Call me James.”

[moriartyluver]

hello! can I request suggestive modern university au!william having a make out session with his girlfriend and she gets a call from her parents who are very toxic+strict so she’s telling them about how she’s alone at home currently while william is kissing all over her neck and caressing her all over

A/N: this is the first time I’ve written a purely not very sfw oneshot so uhhh keep in mind it might not be very good lol. I’m getting more comfortable writing stuff like this though but I’d like some feedback 😭

Character(s): William James Moriarty x fem! Reader

Format: oneshot

Prompt: steamy interrupted make out with liam

Genre: suggestive.

Warnings: spicy, mildly nsfw, reader is female, college au!, strict & toxic parents, William is slightly OOC? no specific dynamics..maybe soft/teasing dom liam , kissing, a few love bites, William’s a bit of a hoe (/hj), liams a menace to society

“HOLD STILL, MY LOVE” William’s hand held your hip in place gently as he spoke between kisses. He leaned forwards once more to press his (now slightly swollen and red from how long you had been making out) lips to yours, moaning in bliss

How had a study date with your boyfriend ended up with you straddling his waist, hands unable to keep to themselves and lips only parting from each other’s when you or your beautiful boyfriend needed to breathe? You hadn’t exactly known but his teasing and lingering touches as he explained maths problems to you certainly played a part

You moaned into his mouth as he played with you hair, using his other hand to massage the side of your hip, his tongue exploring your mouth, fuelled by each noise you made.

Ring Ring

A noise came from a few inches away from you. You hesitantly pulled away from william, a single string of saliva connecting your bottom lip to his tongue. He peaked over to see the contact name on your phone, now in your hand. From the contact (‘sperm donor’, yours and William’s mutual friend Sherlock had suggested it for your irritating father), he could tell your parents were calling.

You picked up with a sigh, unaware of the mischievous smile tugging at your boyfriend’s lips.

“Hello—?”

“(Name)! How are you? Why haven’t you visited?” You heard your mother say from the other line. Any moment now, she and your father would likely start acting the way they usually do. Annoying? Overly strict? Toxic? Many words could be used to describe the people you had the displeasure of calling your parents.

“I’m fine..schools been a bit much recently so I haven’t had to chance to come visit.” Although that wasn’t a total lie, upon hearing how much you detested spending time with your parents over having a social life, william had decided it was his duty to take you on dates every so often to both allow you to have fun and not have you resort to visiting your parents whenever you craved human contact. He would also allow you to tag along with him and his two brothers, occasionally his friends too, who all treated you like one of their own (but William would much rather keep you to himself)

Your father didn’t sound entirely convinced. “Are you sure? If we find you’ve been going to parties or messing around with boys, you’ll be in a lot of trouble, young lady!”

As if on cue, william had his face pressed into the crook of your neck, placing kisses all over your soft skin. Your breath hitched, one hand placed over your mouth to muffle any noises indicative of pleasure, holding the phone in your other. Your mother had started a rant, complaining about you going away for university instead of staying at some crappy state one back home, all while William had slowly unbuttoned your—or rather his that he had left a few days ago— shirt to allow him access to more of you.

“Liam..!” You scolded in a whisper as you tugged at his hair. He let out a soft laugh, caressing your thigh. He knew the effect he had on you and he felt no shame using that to entertain himself. The heat creeping up onto your cheeks and the way you held back any noises, it was all too addictive, you couldn’t blame him.

“Is there someone else with you? Don’t tell me there’s a boy!” Your mother exclaimed “we didn’t send you to university to go get a boyfriend, you bitch! (Fathers name)! Tell her to be honest with us!”

You rolled your eyes. Each word they spoke was pointless. You already had yourself a perfect, respectful boyfriend who loved you dearly and it certainly was not affecting your grades. They had been better than ever thanks to him, well they could be jeopardised if the rest of your future study sessions would somehow end up with the two of you kissing ‘till you were breathless (or more if William had his way)

“There’s nobody here, honest!” William snorted mockingly as you spoke earning an embarrassed glare from you. You were such a bad liar, but you were his bad liar and that made up for it. He pointed to the television in your room to help you, his pretty girlfriend, out. “It’s just the tv..! I’m watching tv.”

“That’s my girl,” william whispered, rewarding you with a bruise on your neck. He kissed and sucked at the sensitive skin as you coughed, a moan clawing at your throat, ready to hang up on your parents, although they wouldn’t allow you to do such a thing.

“Stop watching tv! You should be studying, you failure! Turn that damn thing off if you don’t want to end up as some beggar on the streets,” william had easily confirmed he would likely never ever like either of your parents till the day he was on his death bed. You couldn’t bring yourself to reply for a few seconds, not because he had upset you but because if you did, william would probably do something else to cause you to moan aloud , getting you disowned in a single call.

“R-Right..I’ll go study..Ah..” you put a hand over your mouth in surprise at the noise that escaped your lips, smacking William on the head playfully as he nibbled at the skin on your shoulder, another hand squeezing your waist, caressing the flesh with his thumb. “On second thought..I should probably rest. I might have caught something..I feel sick..must’ve been that annoying mosquito in my room, biting me late at night..! If I catch that pest again I’ll hit him with my shoe!”

Before your parents could protest, you hung up, tossing your phone aside. “Thank god that’s over,” you muttered

“I must say, darling, mosquito isn’t the most affectionate nickname for me..I have many other suggestions if you wish to hear them,” william smiled innocently except you knew he was far from innocent. Very far.

You turned to him with a light hearted glare “I don’t want to hear you talk about affection.” You said, your voice clearly annoyed. “What was with you? Were you upset with the lack of attention or something?”

William didn’t answer your question, instead, he continued smirking and although it was terribly attractive, you wanted to wipe that expression off his face at the same time. Your boyfriend sensed your annoyance, taking your hands in his as he quickly shifted your positions. You were now laying beneath him on the couch, your back pressed against the soft material as you let out a quiet gasp in surprise.

Your hands were pinned above your head as William rested his head back into your neck, kissing the skin as you finally were able to express to him how skilful he was as he littered lovebites over your exposed skin.

“If I cannot have your attention all the time, I should make use of it while I can, shouldn’t I, sweetheart?” William hummed as he continued to unbutton his shirt to be removed from your figure “Let me continue where we left off..~”

[aeternallis]

So I was re-watching a couple of the earlier episodes of KPTS earlier last week, and I got to thinking about this scene again from episode 2. I remember when I first watched this scene, I thought to myself, “Ah, Porsche…you judgmental himbo, you would say that, wouldn’t you?” 😂

Personally, I’ve always been somewhat of the belief that Porsche and Kim probably wouldn’t get along in the beginning, not necessarily because of Chay (although Chay would probably be part of the reason), but because of how fundamentally different their mindsets are when it comes to how they see the family unit.

Porsche is a good son. He does his best to live up to the responsibilities Nampheung entrusted to him, and he’s stubborn in giving up the last remnant (the house) of his parents’ memory, even if in the long run, it maybe would have been the wiser decision to do so.

Porsche venerates the family unit—I would almost argue that in some level, he glorifies it, in the way he has held Pat and Nampheung’s memory on a pedestal. There’s definitely some sense of betrayal in his expression, imo, when he first gets to that room and sees Nampheung alive and (not) well, yknow?

But Porsche being Porsche, ultimately, he is a good son, and will always remain loyal to his parents. In that regard, he’s not too different from Kinn.

But contrast that to Kim. Kim is also a good son—at least outwardly to Korn, and genuinely loyal to his siblings. He’s investigating Korn, yes—but he does so secretly, without implicating either of his brothers to be complicit in his Sherlocking. He still gives Korn the subtle affection his father expects from him (the fried snack he got him) and plays at being ignorant, but he doesn’t give him much else.

Kim upholds the family unit, only in so far that he remains loyal and steadfast to the people that genuinely matter to him.

Whereas Porsche venerates the entirety of the family unit itself, Kim only upholds what matters to him, and his loyalty only extends to a handful of people within that family unit.

Porsche himself thinks in the beginning that joining the mafia is a bad decision, but he does it anyway, for his and Chay’s survival. Kinn’s family is shady af to him, and he struggles very much in the beginning to get accustomed to their ways. He sees them as an arrogant bunch who hurt good people.

And yet, upon hearing about Kim moving out, he doesn’t praise him for getting away from the madness. He doesn’t say, “good on him, for pursuing his own thing!” or something like that.

On the contrary: Porsche judges Kim, based on his seemingly lack of loyalty to his family. At least the way I see it, it very much rings true of the cultural attitudes in Asia at large, in that we’re more of the collectivist mindset, rather than the individualistic one.

I've said it many times before, but filial piety plays a big role in how Porsche makes his decisions. (Let's not even get into how Porsche felt he had no choice but to lower the gun when Kinn got in the way, in order to protect his father. Porsche would never make Kinn choose between their relationship or Korn, and all the drama that that entails)

I think that’s the reason Porsche was able to judge Kim so quickly, when he heard the (very little) bit of the other man’s backstory from Pete. Of course he would see Kim as a self-centered brat; in Porsche’s mind, without even truly knowing him, Kim is someone who is the antithesis of a good son: he moved out of the main family home, he doesn’t seem involved with the business whatsoever, and he’s left all the managing of the affairs to his father and brothers.

Imo, I think that’s part of the reason why Kim (and KimChay) fascinates me so much, since the POV character of the show is Porsche, and Kim’s story show us, 1) a different angle to the story, in that shit is going on behind the scenes and on the contrary, he's quite still involved in the family business and 2) demonstrates to the audience how unreliable and very limited Porsche’s POV is.

For me personally, it’s details like this that really enhances the story, when the narrative embraces the characters’ biases, and lets that navigate the drama of it all~

[softestqueeen]

i can't do this anymore!

pairing: bbc!sherlock x gn!reader

summary: When Sherlock overhears you talking on the phone, he thinks you're going to leave him.

warnings: nothing really, just miscommunication and a little angst

a/n: hey, this is my first ever fanfic so please be a bit patient with me. English is not my first language, I apologise for all the mistakes I've probably made.

Sherlock and you have been in an relationship for almost two years and so far everything was going great. Well, at least that’s what Sherlock thought.

Until one day, when he overheard you on the phone talking to your best friend, Mary. It wasn’t his intention to eavesdrop, but you looked upset while talking and he just wanted to assure he wasn’t the cause for it.

You were on the phone ranting to your best friend about wanting to quit your job. It didn’t make you happy anymore and you’ve already applied for new jobs. You didn’t tell Sherlock yet, because he was very busy with one of his cases and didn’t want to bother him with something that could wait.

“I’ve noticed that in these past few weeks I wasn’t happy anymore with this situation. I can’t keep on doing this, it’s just too much. So the only right thing to do, is end it. Once and for all.”, you told her.

Hearing this, Sherlocks heart shattered. He thought you were happy with how things were in your relationship, but apparently that was not the case. He couldn’t hear what Mary said on the other end, but he could hear very clearly that your plan was to end it tomorrow.

He couldn’t lose you. You were his everything, his reason to live. You made his life worth living and managed to break down the walls he built to protect himself. He trusted you with his life, so just thinking about you wanting to break up with him, nearly send him spiralling.

He didn’t know what to do or say so hedecided to wait until tomorrow and then beg you to not break up with him. Even if he’d have to get on his knees and beg. Alone the thought of you leaving made tears well up in his eyes.

He quickly composed himself, because he could hear you saying goodbye to your best friend. Acting like he was in his mind palace when you entered, gave him some time to think about what to say tomorrow.

“Hey Sherly”, he could hear your joyful voice call for him, but choose to ignore it, keeping up with the act. You were not happy at all with Sherlock ignoring you. After all the time you’ve spent with the consulting detective you knew when he was really in his mind palace and when he was just pretending.

With a frown on your face, you bent down to be at eye level with him. You crossed your arms and lifted an eyebrow. The moment you lifted your brow you could already hear the defeated sigh from your boyfriend.

“Hello, love”, he greeted you with a tight lipped smile. Immediately a crease started to form between your brows. “Is everything alright, honey?”, you asked him. “Yes, everything is just fine, love. I just have to.. uh.. go to a crime scene. Exactly, John called, he needs my help. Now. Don’t wait up for me.”, while explaining his not really convincing plan he put on his signature coat and his scarf.

He kissed you on the side of your head and left without another word. You could just mumble a short “take care” before you heard the door to the busy streets of London shut closed.

Not going to lie, you were worried. Why was he acting so weird all of the sudden? He seemed almost distant. Normally, when something is on the genius’ mind he talks to you. You’ve made a lot of progress since you first got together and talk about almost everything. You knew each other so well, you could always tell what’s on his mind, even if he doesn’t like to admit that. It’s his own fault, if he teaches you to deduct people. But in this case you wanted to wait until he came to you with his worries. Whatever it was it seemed to really bother your boyfriend.

Sherlock wandered around aimlessly before he returned to Baker Street. He wasn’t ready to face you just yet, so he did something he rarely did. He visited his house keeper Mrs. Hudson. He was that desperate.

He knocked twice, before the elderly woman opened the door with a surprised smile on her lips. “What do I owe the honour to, Sherlock? You never come to visit me.”, she ushered him in and set on a kettle.

“Uhm… I fear y/n wants to break up with me.”, he mumbled, not daring to look Mrs. Hudson in the eyes. “Oh, Sherlock! What makes you believe that?”, she wanted to know from the detective, that has grown into her heart and is now like a son to her. She was worried, she knew how much you meant to him.

On the other side she also knew how much you loved him and doubted that you wanted to end things. Sherlock told her what he overheard of your conversation. “But Sherlock, are you really sure that’s what she meant? Couldn’t she have been talking about her job or something?”, she wanted to know.

He just shrugged and sipped his tea.

“I think you should go and talk to her, Sherlock. Maybe it’s all just a big misunderstanding.”, she reasoned. Still unsure of himself he nodded and thanked her for the advice. “Anytime, Sherlock, anytime.”

He went back into the flat you two shared, first as flatmates and now as lovers. He couldn’t see you anywhere and softly called out your name. He went into his bedroom, which the two of you mostly share and found you underneath the blanked, hugging his pillow. The dried tears on your face made his heart shatter.

He wasn’t sure what to do, thinking he messed up. He undressed and put on his pyjamas, but instead of joining his lover in the bed, he went back to the living area and settled on the couch. It wasn’t comfortable but he couldn’t sleep anyways. At around 4 o’clock in the morning his exhaustion won and he fell into a dreamless slumber.

You woke up to an empty bed. It wasn’t something new, but you worried about your boyfriends whereabouts. A lot.

You got up and found him asleep on the couch, looking incredibly uncomfortable, his tall frame not fitting into the small space provided. You started to rub your hand up and down his arm to wake him up.

Slowly he opened his blue-green eyes and looked into your e/c eyes. He sat up, stretched and then looked at you like a kicked puppy. If you looked close enough you could even see a pout forming on his plump lips.

“Sherlock, what’s wrong?”, you asked cautiously.

After a very pregnant pause he chocked out, “Please don’t leave me. I- I- I just cant live without you, you are my everything!”

You looked at the tear that rolled down his face, taking a path over his high cheekbone to the corner of his lip, with utter shock and heartbreak.

“Oh darling, what makes you believe I want to break up with you?”, you sat down next to him, cupped his cheek and used the pad of your thumb to wipe away a new tear that threatened to roll down his face. “I love you so much, I would never leave you!”

Sherlock released a shaky breath and leaned forward, making your foreheads touch. He cupped your face and whispered with his eyes closed, “I thought you’re going to leave me. I- I was so scared I-“ “Shh, it’s alright, darling. I’m not going to leave you. You’re stuck with me now.”

The last sentence made the detective smile. You furrowed your brows. “What made you think I was going to leave you?”, you wanted to know. He looked hesitant and then admitted, “I heard you talking to Mary about how fed up you were and that you wanted to end things. I assumed that you were talking about us.” He avoided looking at your eyes.

You chuckled a bit but stopped when you saw his puzzled expression. “I want to quit my job. I’m not unhappy with us, silly, I’m unhappy with my boss and my colleagues. I haven’t told you about it because you’ve been so busy with your case.”, you reassured him, “Why did you eavesdrop on our conversation in the first place?”

“You looked worried and I wanted to be sure that I’m not the cause of it. I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.”, he confessed. You knew that when he dropped the words ‘I’m sorry’ he really meant it.

“It’s alright, you meant it well.”, you told him, “I wish you would have been honest with me from the beginning, but I could have asked you what’s going on when I noticed you acting weird. From now on we know better.”

“You are right. As always.”, even though he whispered the last part, you’ve still heard it.

With a soft smile you stood up, “Come on darling, let’s go to bed.”

He immediately stood up, picked you up bridal style and took you to his bedroom.

He was just glad, he still gets to call you his love.

a/n: if you liked this, please leave some notes! you can now also request fics on my page!

[stories4thepack]

Upside-down bite

Spider Gwen x Vampire!Reader

(Similar things requested by 2 different people)

Warnings: Blood, bites, kissing, spider + vampire stuff!

Gwen watches you from the roof top her mask pulled tightly over her head. It wasn’t unusual for her to do this, ensure that you got home safely after college finished. It’s not that she didn’t trust you, but given what you were she would have to keep watch.

You look up, meeting her gaze before rolling your eyes and walking off. You knew she was Ghost-spider, she had told you a while ago and so, you told her your secret.

“I’m a vampire”

You had said, making Gwen burst out laughing. She wishes now that she hadn’t had that reaction.

“It’s not cool to stalk someone.”

Your voice mutters in her head, Gwen swings over to another building before thinking

“It’s not cool to be in someone’s mind.”

She can see you throw a middle finger in her general direction without breaking stride. Gwen laughs, she found you adorable.

Then she saw you freeze, your entire body going suddenly stiff as if you had been put in a trance. Your head slowly turns down the street, where Gwen could now hear a scuffling commotion.

“y/n? Is there blood?”

She mutters in your mind, cautiously swinging towards you as you give a slow, careful nod. Never breaking eye contact. You force your feet to move away, stumbling down the street as Gwen darts into the alley. There, she sees two thugs beating a young man, blood dripping down the side of the victims head.

“Alright Fellas, parties over.”

The masked thugs turn towards her, cackling as one of them swings a knife at her. She jumps over him, kicking him in the ass to knock him over. The other thug laughs again, Gwen turns to the sound of a click and the sight of a gun being pointed at the innocent man.

She would not have time to attack both the man creeping up behind her and save the victim from a bullet in the brain. She was facing a checkmate-

There’s a crash and a familiar growl as you throw yourself over Gwen and at the man. Tackling him to the floor. Gwen spins around, punching the other attacker a dozen times in the face before he could lay a finger on her. She grins beneath her mask as he flees, whimpering like a child. Then she hears a gun shot.

Immediately she dashes in your direction, ignoring the second attacker fleeing as well. She sees blood dripping from your shoulder, but you pull her into a hug with a smile on your face.

“See! I can be a helpful hero!”

Gwen webs herself away from you, hanging upside down as she looks at the bullet wound.

“You’ve been shot.”

“Fuck Sherlock, I had no idea!”

You bend down to help the hurt man up, your jaw clenched tightly at the sight of his blood flowing down the side of his head. He mutters something about going to a hospital and darts away from you before you can say anything.

“He is in shock, should we follow him to-“

You pause as you notice how close Gwen, swallowing nervously as you can smell her sweet scent from underneath her costume

“I’ve had to save that dude before, he’s up to no good. Don’t worry abou-“

She stops mid sentence as you carefully lower the bottom of her mask, stopping over her nose; you can now see her delicate lips which you lean into, pressing against them gently. She kisses you back within a moment, placing a covered hand on the back of your head to secure herself. Your lips fit into each other like a completed puzzle as they have a hundred times before, though the kiss never fails to bring butterflies to your stomach.

Peter Parker (from another universe) had told her about the upside down kiss and that all spider people eventually get to do it, it is apart of their stories after all, a canon event.

She finally understands why it is such a big deal. You pull away, now able to see the cocky grin on Gwens face.

“We should get you healed up Y/n!”

She says, removing the her mask, allowing her tied up hair to hang below her. You chuckle at the sight before finally responding

“I need blood to heal.”

You mutter, preparing to turn away before she grasps you firmly. Pulling you into her, her eyes are stern, even when she is hanging upside down.

“Just take it from me then.”

She mutters and you sigh. You had bitten her once before, purely out of curiosity on both sides but this time it felt kind of different, more risky.

Gwen pulls down the neck of her suit, allowing her throat to be exposed to you. Your hand grasps the fabric, pulling it over her collar bone before you press kisses against her warm skin, you can hear her contempt sigh at the action before your fangs graze her flesh. You bite her, blood immediately hitting our tongue. Gwen gasps at the feeling of her blood being gently taken from her, she can see the skin on your shoulder knitting itself together with every little sip you take. When all that remains is drying blood and a grey scar, you pull away, lips dripping with the scarlet liquid.

“Thanks for that.”

You mutter, pulling the neck of her suit over the fresh bite mark. She pulls her mask over her small smile before swinging onto the side of the wall carefully crawling away. You wipe the blood from your chin with the sleeve of your jumper before calling after her.

“Wanna take me for a swing across the city?”

“Can you ask politely?”

“Fucking hell can you or not?”

You tease, mocking an insult. She laughs and flicks her hand you way, her webs pulling your to the wall before she pulls you into her side, crawling the rest of the way up with you in her arms.

Your heart pounded with the warmth that your love for her caused.

(sorry for any typos)

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

I can’t get you off my mind

I knew Mrs. Hudson was wrong when she told me marriage changes people. 

Not my John, I thought.

How wrong I was.  

Seen in hindsight; has it been three months already, she was right. I should have known that. After all, she was more of an expert on relationships than me. What did I have to show for? My only relationship, if you didn’t count family, had been with John. He was the only one who could fit that term. 

I told Mrs. Hudson that Mary would be reasonable when I needed John on a case. Her response baffled me. 

“Don’t ever use that word and her name in the same sentence, Sherlock. They don’t match. At all.”

Then she huffed and clenched her jaw tight, unwilling to explain herself. So, I’d turned to Mycroft. If anyone knew what was going on, it was him.

“Brother mine,” he said quietly when I came forth with my request about John’s wife. 

“Don’t patronise me, Mycroft,” I snapped. “Just tell me what’s going on. Is John safe?”

“Why would you ask…” Mycroft began, but something about my appearance stopped him from whatever nonsense he was going to utter. 

He sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. Neither were good signs. 

“She’s an assassin with a prize on her head. We have her under surveillance. I suspect she’ll attempt to flee any day to escape,” Mycroft told me. 

My brain buzzed, analysed, and calculated in quick succession, but in vain. All I could think of was John, unknowing, unsafe, and the baby.

“Mary isn’t pregnant, Sherlock,” Mycroft said. 

“Excuse me?” Were you ever going to tell me any of this?” I asked furiously.

*** 

It’s over now. John’s personal Armageddon. His wife gone when he woke. A letter explaining nothing. The fake pregnancy belly was the final nail in the coffin. I tried to reach out to him, but he was so angry. Thought I’d known all along. He didn’t want to listen to reason. I didn’t blame him. I still don’t. 

Again, it’s Mrs. Hudson’s words putting things in motion.

“Are you just going to let it slide? He needs you, Sherlock! You are his best friend, his entire world. Save him, dear, and yourself. Ask him to come home.”

“He is home,” I protest. 

The look she gives me, makes me feel like a five-year old again. She doesn’t pester me further, but it’s enough. I fetch my laptop and start to write an email. The most important one I’ve ever written.

Dear, John

Believe me when I say I didn’t know anything about Mary or the baby until the day before she left. I would’ve told you if I knew. I was terrified when Mycroft told me, and I couldn’t bear the thought of you being unsafe and unknowing. My plan was to tell you the day you woke up without her, but by then it was too late. 

I don’t blame you for not believing me, John. After all, I’ve lied to you about severe things in the past. If you want to talk, we can. Whenever you want. I’m just a text away. And if you can’t bear the thought of staying where you live; know that you’re always welcome at Baker Street. It was your home, and it’s empty without you. 

We’re not good with words, John. Not these kinds, anyway, but don’t let our friendship end like this. I want you in my life, in my home, our home. I can’t get you off my mind, John. I never could. Please, consider coming back. 

If you don’t answer this email, text, phone or come to Baker Street, I’ll understand, but I hope you’ll do at least one of those things. To let me know where we stand. 

SH

***

I’m mentally exhausted after I’ve sent the email, and go to bed, sleeping like the dead for almost ten hours. When I’ve showered and had some tea and toast, I take out my violin and play all of John’s favourites. 

This can’t be how it ends; I think when I lower the violin and bow. After I’ve placed the instrument back in its case, I hear a sound. I’d been so lost in my own head and haven’t been paying attention to my surroundings. And why would I? I’ve lived alone for months, but now I sense a presence. 

I turn, slowly, alert, and there he is, in his chair, looking at me with eyes filled with unshed tears. Any second now they will trickle down his cheeks. In an instant I’m kneeling in front of him, letting my hands rest on his knees. 

“John, is everything okay? Are you…”

“I’m okay, Sherlock. Just…”

His voice his hoarse. I can tell this isn’t the first time he’s been crying today. Something catches my eye just inside the door. John’s duffle bag. I jerk my head back to look at him.

“John?”

“I’m coming home, Sherlock. For good,” he says and manages to smile while he’s crying. 

***

So, this is how it ends. With a pair of broken hearts that are going to be mended. We only have to give it some time, and we will get there. Together.

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @sabsi221b @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitchworld @raina-at @helloliriels @peanitbear @topsyturvy-turtely

[wavygrayvy]

What's Sherlock and co? TV? Twitter? Email? I'm confused

It’s a podcast!! It’s created from the angle that John Watson is documenting his adventures in crime solving with Sherlock in the format of a true crime podcast. All the characters are played by actors so it’s best described as an audio drama. It’s been running since October and as of yesterday it’s on episode 15. It’s created by a group called Goalhanger and it just won Pod Bible’s best audio drama podcast of 2023!

For marketing/immersion, someone at Goalhanger runs a twitter account (@/DocJWatsonMD) and an email account (docjwatsonmd@gmail.com). They’re both in character as John, and he does shoutouts on the podcast in character as well, so they’re doing a very good job of making him feel like a real guy.

If you’ve ever enjoyed any Sherlock Holmes media, I’d really recommend giving Sherlock & Co a listen. I’ve been describing it to people as BBC Sherlock but good. There’s still that good Sherlock and John banter, but they’re nicer to each other and clearly care about each other. Sherlock is canonically autistic (among other things) and both that and John’s PTSD are handled very well in both my and other fans’ opinions. The audience also gets to hear all the clues, and Sherlock explains a lot of his deductions, so the mystery solving feels very satisfying. The show is funny and charming, and the theme song is an absolute banger. If you do end up giving it a listen, I’d love to hear what you think!

[themirokai]

Never say never on returning to wips you love.

In late 2020 and through 2021, I was writing a Mystrade series called His Professional Capacity in which Mycroft is a spymaster. I had the first chapter of a sixth (and probably final) story for the series written, but I never quite figured out where to take it and I moved on to other fandoms.

Now, three years later, I’ve written a five chapter story that nearly doubles the length of the series. It’s getting proofread and beta’d now, but I hope to start posting it soon. Because the vast majority of you followed me after 2021, and I want to entice as many people to read this as possible, I’m going to start posting the stories in the series here. First up:

What He Does

Greg encounters Mycroft's security detail and comes to understand the reasons for it.

~ 2,601 words. I've tweaked some minor things from the AO3 version, which was not Britpicked, but kept the rather American conception of when someone might be carrying a gun, since it's integral to the plot. Please enjoy despite inaccuracies.

Read it below or on AO3.

~*~

Greg pondered whether he should take Mycroft’s arm. Or his hand. Or offer Mycroft his arm. Or put his hand on Mycroft’s back. This whole “dating” thing was confusing. Greg hadn’t dated for decades, and back then it had been women. Not a mature, somewhat intimidating, incredibly posh, devastatingly gorgeous man. He wasn’t quite sure how to act.

Greg would admit that dinner had been a success. The conversation was comfortable, interesting, and somewhat flirty, just as it had been for their previous two dates. And the several meals and drinks they’d shared before that - before Greg had gotten up the nerve to ask Mycroft on a real date. They had chemistry. That was certain. And when the meal ended and Mycroft had suggested they go for a walk to enjoy the fresh fall air, Greg had jumped at the chance to keep the date from ending.

He pondered the possibility of a good night kiss, but wasn’t sure if that should come before or after holding hands or linking arms on a walk. What were the procedures for physical contact with a man who made your stomach do somersaults every time you thought about him? How were those procedures different when the man in question held a highly secretive and incredibly powerful government position? Were they different? Greg settled for moving a little closer to Mycroft as they walked along, allowing the sleeves of their coats to brush against each other.

Mycroft finished the anecdote he was telling about Sherlock as a child, and Greg turned to smile up at him. As he did, movement caught the corner of his eye and Greg glanced behind them. There was a man walking half a block behind them. Greg frowned.

“Shall we take this left?” he asked Mycroft.

“If you like,” Mycroft responded with a soft smile.

They turned and Greg waited about half a block before glancing back. The man behind them made the turn as well. Greg risked a slightly longer look this time and realized with alarm that he recognized the man from the restaurant. His mind immediately ran through possibilities. Mugger. Someone after Greg because of a case he’d worked or was currently working. Someone after Mycroft for whatever shadowy reason. Someone after either or both of them as a way of getting to Sherlock.

“Gregory? Is something wrong?”

No sense in worrying him. Greg could handle this. “No, uh, no. Let’s just - do you mind if we turn down this alley for a moment?”

Now Greg did take Mycroft’s elbow to guide him into the small alley, mentally kicking himself that the first time he touched the man was out of fear and necessity.

“Gregory, what-”

“Please, just stay here a moment and keep quiet, I’m sure it’s nothing, I’ll handle it.”

“Gregory!”

But Greg was not listening, he could hear the man’s footsteps speeding up and getting nearer, and drew his gun. From his peripheral vision, he thought he saw Mycroft reaching for him, but he was already committed to whirling around the corner and slamming the oncoming man against the wall, holding him with an arm across his chest and leveling the gun to his cheek. “That’s far enough, mate. Who are you and why are you following us?”

The man slowly raised his hands, but a female voice suddenly cut in. “Drop the gun! Now!”

Greg did not drop the gun, but turned to look down the barrel of another weapon held by a well-dressed woman who Greg was also fairly sure he had seen at the restaurant. Before Greg had a chance to respond, Mycroft stepped out of the alley.

“Stand down, Ms. Bell.” Mycroft sounded tired.

“Sir, please stay back!” the woman responded.

“Ms. Bell, Inspector Lestrade is not a threat.”

“Respectfully, sir, then why is he hustling you into an alley and drawing a gun on your security?” Ms. Bell kept her own gun trained on Greg, who was frozen.

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. “Because he did not know that I have security and thought Mr. Spooner was following us with malicious intentions.” Mycroft squared his shoulders, and put the tone of command into his voice. “Stand down, Ms. Bell. That is an order.” The woman grimaced and holstered her weapon. “Gregory, kindly unhand Mr. Spooner.”

Greg stepped back, but was not quite able to pick his jaw up off the floor. “They work for you?”

“Indeed,” Mycroft said, as Mr. Spooner, with a face like a thundercloud, started brushing off his clothing. “Mr. Spooner and Ms. Bell are … associates of mine and - for the time being at least - they have been charged with ensuring my safety.”

Greg holstered his gun. “Do you always have security?”

“Yes,” Mycroft said simply.

“So the other times we’ve been out together?”

“They were there and you did not notice them. Which is how it should be,” Mycroft lowered a meaningful look at Spooner, who squirmed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Greg asked, still wrapping his mind around the fact that he was apparently trying to date someone who merited two armed guards at all times.

Mycroft sighed. “In retrospect, that was clearly a mistake. I-” he paused, looking at the three of them, then shook his head. “The bar in the hotel across the way is nice and quiet. May I buy you a drink, Gregory? I’m afraid the walk has been a bit ruined.”

“Sure… yeah, a drink sounds good.”

Fifteen minutes later they were ensconced in a booth at a swanky hotel bar. Greg had a single malt Scotch, and Mycroft was twisting the stem of a glass of red wine in his long fingers. Beautiful fingers, Greg thought. Spooner and Bell had taken a table on the other side of the bar where they were too far to hear the conversation, but had clear sight lines to Mycroft.

“So how long have those two been your bodyguards?” Greg asked, nodding at Spooner and Bell.

“They’ve only been on this rotation for about a week. They’ll spend a month with me, before moving on to another assignment and being replaced by another two. And I wouldn’t call them bodyguards. They are field agents.”

“Ms. Bell sure seems like a bodyguard.” Greg took a swig of his drink.

“Ms. Bell knows that she will be held partially accountable for Mr. Spooner’s carelessness. This assignment is meant to give a more experienced agent - in this case, Ms. Bell - an opportunity to train a less experienced agent - Mr. Spooner - in the field. It also allows me to observe agents in the field to get a feel for their strengths and weaknesses. I’m afraid tonight revealed some weaknesses.” Mycroft sipped his wine.

“It’s not their fault you decided to go out with a cop,” Greg grinned.

“Yes, but-” Mycroft stopped himself and smiled. “Yes, you’re right.”

Greg narrowed his eyes. “You expect them to be better than me. It’s alright, you can say it.”

Mycroft considered Greg for a moment before responding. “I expect them to be able to follow their mark unnoticed, even if their mark is accompanied by a particularly intelligent and observant detective.”

“Fair enough, and I’ll take the compliment,” Greg chuckled. “So is that the only reason you have security? For training and observation?”

Mycroft twirled his wine glass in his fingers again before responding. “Gregory… I have enjoyed our time together, and if you are willing I would like to continue to see you.”

Greg grinned. “More than willing.”

Mycroft smiled. “Thank you. There are many things I am unable to talk about with you, for your safety, and mine, and that of others. And even with this I must tread a bit lightly, but … I would like you to go into,” he gestured vaguely between the two of them, “this, with your eyes open.”

“I’m listening.” Greg sat a little straighter.

“The work I do, the work I have done in the past, has risks. I… have enemies. Enemies who would prefer that I were no longer operating. While I am generally able to take care of myself, I am not as young as I was and there have been … close calls, as it were. And so now my security detail is part of the field agents’ rotation.”

“How close were the close calls?”

“Too close.”

“How too close?”

“A few centimeters from a major artery, too close.”

“Ah.”

“Yes.”

They both sipped their drinks. “Well then I’m glad Ms. Bell pulled her gun on me. She was probably right to,” Greg said after a minute. “Don’t be too hard on her tomorrow.”

Mycroft smiled and hesitantly reached across the table to touch Greg’s hand. Greg immediately took the opportunity to grab hold of the long, slender fingers. “You don’t… mind? That I live a life that requires that I am under surveillance?”

“I mean you have some privacy, don’t you?”

“Yes!” A blush was climbing up Mycroft’s cheeks. “Yes, of course! I - um - they - well, I mean-“

The sight of Mycroft Holmes stuttering like a schoolboy melted the last of Greg’s discomfort and he grinned, then squeezed Mycroft’s hand. “Can I safely assume that if I go to kiss you when we leave here that I won’t end up looking down the barrel of Ms. Bell’s gun again?”

Mycroft gaped at him momentarily before recovering. “No - um - no, that would be fine.”

“Just fine?” Greg cocked an eyebrow, leaning in to the newfound confidence.

A slow smile played over Mycroft’s features. “More than fine. Welcome.”

Greg settled back into his seat with a grin. There was one thing sorted.

Greg squinted across the restaurant. “Is Bell wearing a wig?”

Mycroft took a sip of his drink. “Gregory, kindly do not peer at her. She is more effective if it is not clear that there’s a connection between her and I.”

Greg turned his eyes front, but not before he saw Bell glower at him. “Sorry,” he grinned at Mycroft. “Is it a wig though? It’s awful. Don’t you all train in costuming or something?”

Mycroft coughed and wiped his mouth carefully with his napkin, avoiding Greg’s eyes. “I believe she dyed her hair.”

Greg’s jaw dropped. “No. Mycroft, no. Not that colour.” Mycroft cut another bite of his meal without looking up. “Did she do it because of me?” Greg asked, astonished. When Mycroft neither confirmed nor denied, Greg clapped his hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh.

“You’ve been… a little too good at spotting her,” Mycroft said after a minute. “But her new assignment starts in a few days. I believe the change in hair colour is more related to that.”

“There is no way that shade is good for any kind of undercover work, darling, you’ve got to get her to change it. It looks like it doesn’t know whether it’s red or purple.”

Mycroft started a bit at the pet name, and watched carefully as Greg applied himself to his meal. After a moment, he relaxed with a smile. “I’ll speak to her.”

“Mycroft.”

“Mm?”

“The chap on the bicycle.”

“What about him?”

“Is he your new security?”

A heavy sigh, then, “Kindly leave your gun holstered, Gregory.”

About a month, a number of dates, and many quite pleasant kisses after their first, Greg and Mycroft lay naked in Mycroft’s bed following their first time having sex. Greg was gently tracing his fingers over one of the several scars that broke the plane of Mycroft’s pale skin. He had seen the scars when he had undressed Mycroft - a lengthier affair than he was used to, with far more buttons - but had been preoccupied at the time. Now he took his time to study them.

“More of these than I was expecting,” Greg said, tracing what he suspected was the remnant of a knife wound to Mycroft’s side.

Mycroft started moving away from him. “I’m sorry. If it bothers you I can-” He was stopped as Greg wrapped an arm around his waist.

Greg pulled Mycroft close. “Don’t be daft. You’re beautiful and I want to see all of you. It’s not like I like the idea of you being stabbed,” he touched the knife scar, “or shot,” his fingers found the scar from a bullet wound on Mycroft’s shoulder, “or shot again,” the scar on Mycroft’s left thigh, “or burned,” the matching marks on the forearms, “or … what is this?” Greg fingered the vaguely triangular scar just above Mycroft’s right hip.

“Stabbed, I suppose you could say,” Mycroft replied quietly. “It was an ice pick.”

“An… ice pick.”

“Indeed. The result of an error in judgment of a much younger man.”

“Just to be clear, you were the younger man with poor judgment, right? There’s not some young tosser running about who caused you to get ice picked?”

“That’s correct. I read a situation erroneously and suffered the consequences.”

“With an ice pick.”

“Just so.”

“Any chance I could get more of the story behind that?”

Mycroft considered for a moment. “If two governments were to permanently fall… no, even then it wouldn’t be unclassified in either of our lifetimes.”

Greg leaned up to kiss Mycroft’s chin. “You’re fascinating. Does anyone actually believe you work for the Department for Transport?”

Mycroft chuckled. “Yes, Detective Inspector Lestrade. People from whom I have not had to take away investigations, and who have not had to deal with my brother, and who have not seen me in a state of undress - essentially everyone in the world who is not you or who has not otherwise encountered me in my professional capacity - generally believe that I am a minor government official.”

Greg planted a kiss on his chest. “People are daft, then. You dress too well to be a minor anything.”

Mycroft’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “Thank you. I think.”

“Anyway,” Greg picked up his prior thought. “I don’t like the idea of you being hurt. I hate it in fact. But the scars are part of you. And I like you. I like all of you. Very much.”

Mycroft drew Greg up so that they were face to face and kissed him deeply. “I also like you very much, Gregory,” he breathed when they finally broke apart.

Greg pulled himself tight against Mycroft’s side and rested his head on the other man’s chest. The angle put the bullet wound on Mycroft’s thigh in his line of sight. “This is the newest one,” he murmured, touching it gently.

“Very astute, Gregory.”

“Not a youthful error of judgment, then?”

“No. That one is the reason I have a security detail.”

Greg covered it with his palm. “A few centimeters from your femoral artery.”

“Mm,” Mycroft acknowledged. “The circumstances were such that if my assailant’s shot had been better - or worse, I suppose, given your perspective - I likely would have bled out before assistance could reach me.” Greg hugged him a little tighter. “That caused my superiors to insist that I be under guard,” Mycroft finished.

Greg frowned. “You have superiors?”

“One or two. It’s a bit … complicated.”

Greg huffed. “I bet it is.” He planted a kiss on Mycroft’s chest. “You’ve certainly led an interesting life.”

“I believe the corollary to the traditional curse is ‘may you live an interesting life.’”

“Do you feel cursed?” Greg asked, craning his neck to see Mycroft’s face.

“On the contrary,” Mycroft smiled, “the fact that in spite of all this, or perhaps as a result of all this, I have ended up here, with you, has me feeling incredibly fortunate at the moment.”

“Me too,” Greg grinned.

~*~

Thanks for reading! The next story is now up over here.

[ofsappho]

Heartless, Chapter 6

🔞 Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader 🔞

Fake marriage/marriage of convenience

-

Ghost helps you when your chronic pain flares up.

-

NOTE: this chapter does not immediately follow chapter 5. this happens like a week after chapter 5, reader's chronic pain flare is not related to the smut of last chapter lmao

Ghost always wakes up before you. Always.

You’ve tried to set alarms and catch him before he goes, but the fucker evades you each time. You have a sneaking suspicion that he’s turning your phone alarms off so he can continue to win your game.

While his day consistently begins at 0600 hours, he never goes to the same place twice. Sometimes the gym, sometimes the firing range. Sometimes to speak to the captain who still doesn’t like you.

You’ve resolved to keep out of Captain Price’s way. Whatever his problem is, it ain’t none of your business.

Thankfully, the fight seems to have passed under the Captain’s radar. Neither Soap nor Ghost will tell you how that was resolved, but you have a feeling that every witness “saw nothing.” As for Langford… if he’s still alive, he hasn’t hung around.

Today is the day you beat him to it. The clock on your bedside table tells you it’s 0593 hours in red blinking numbers.

Why?

Your back is on fucking fire.

Even when you lie perfectly still in the most supportive position possible, you feel the ache like the blade of a knife slipped between your lumbar vertebrae, then left there.

And that’s just when you’re flat on your back. When you try to shift or turn over, you lose feeling below the waist completely, and your feet seem to be made of blocks of ice.

You’re not sure what’s worse; the burning pain that has made you vomit a few times in your mouth because you can’t get to the bathroom, so you don’t have a choice but to swallow it, or the cold pins-and-needles in your legs that tell of nerve damage.

It hurts. It hurts a lot.

Even coughing sends a fresh wave of blistering ache biting at your limbs.

You woke up around… 0300 hours? Something like that. You’re in too much pain to sleep or do anything other than stare at the ceiling and suffer.

Any second now, he’s going to get up.

Feigning sleep is the move, you decide. So you stifle your pained noises and forcibly shove yourself onto your side.

When you finally manage to get your cheek into your pillow, you have to blink back the tears gathering in your eyes from the effort.

Just in time, Ghost sits up. You hear him mutter, then check the clock on the bedside table. He grabs his watch and buckles it on.

You shut your eyes and curl into yourself, breathing through your nose as you try to visualize making the pain disappear. It never works beyond distracting you.

A sleeping person breathes differently; deep, even, sedate.

While most people might not notice, Ghost definitely would.

But you know how to fake sleep. Pretty well. If you can fool your parents, you can fool him.

Just when you think he’s about to get up and get dressed for the day-

“You’re awake,” He says quietly.

Shit.

You sigh, a long, slow exhale that says everything about the sheer volume of self-restraint you’re exercising. “I’ve been known to do that,” You tell him as your mouth fills with saliva.

Your nails bite into your palms deep enough to cut. 

Finally, the nausea passes, and you release your grip.

“It’s early.” There’s a soft rustling sound - Ghost picks up his gloves as usual. You expect to hear him slide them on, but he doesn’t. He grunts, then drops them back on the nightstand.

No shit, Sherlock. It’s early as fuck. Captain fucking Obvious over here. “Mm,” is all you muster in response. You don’t have the energy to be spiteful.

“…What’s wrong?”

Nevermind. It turns out you can be spiteful.

You wipe your damp cheeks on the pillowcase. “It’s nothing.” Then you close your eyes and hope, hope desperately, that Ghost leaves you be.

You don’t talk over dinner. You don’t watch movies or hold hands when you walk. He leaves you alone for ninety percent of the day. You fuck, and sometimes you sit and smoke together under the night sky, and that’s about it.

To be fair, you were never under the impression that this arrangement would be anything else.

“Right,” Ghost says. Just when you think you’ve won- “Well?” He adds in a tone that won’t take no for an answer.

The dam breaks. “I’m not in the fucking mood to play games with you, Ghost. Sorry.” You want to sound as sharp and cutting as one of his knives, something a soldier like him will understand.

Instead, you sound vulnerable. Wounded. Teary and- and unwell.

You try to press your feet together in the hopes that, magically, everything is better and you can feel them again. They don’t move an inch.

“And you don’t need to act like you actually care because we both know you don’t.”

You regret saying that as soon as it leaves your mouth.

Ghost is respectful and polite, even in his reticence. The bar for husbands in the military is in Hell, and he exceeds it by miles. He doesn’t deserve your scorn, not when you owe him so much.

The pain pulses stronger, tightening around your internal organs like a snake. “It’s my back. I- I can’t… it really hurts.” Each breath is labored, you have to force your lungs to take them.

It would hurt less if you passed out from a lack of oxygen, but that is overly dramatic and would only give Ghost more reasons to interfere.

“Are you happy now? Satisfied?” You bite out as you feel the blades in your spine twist.

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “Can you walk?”

You curl into yourself tighter. “No, I can’t fucking walk. I can’t do anything.” As you say it, you realize how literal that is.

In your old apartment, you had everything figured out.

A tray by your bed with non-perishable snacks. Not a huge distance between your bed and the bathroom; it was a tiny shoebox of an apartment, but that suited you just fine.

This place is much more spacious, and you’ll have to crawl like a fucking infant to go anywhere.

Your utter helplessness compounds this total shitstorm. “Just go. I don’t want you to see me like this, and you’re going to leave anyway.” What do you have to do? Scream? Throw something at his head?

Ghost just fucking stands there, still as a statue.

Your face screws up as you roll onto your back. “Go,” You plead, voice tight with tears.

“No.” His hands fist at his sides, you see the scars stretch, and you’re reminded that he kills people with those hands.

Is he still wearing the eye black from yesterday? That’s got to be terrible for Ghost’s skin. He’ll get wrinkles before he’s even an old man.

You’ve made your peace with living like this, but you’ll never get used to the shame that comes when someone else watches you. “Go! Please.”

“What, do you get off to seeing me cry for real? What are you doing here?”

“Please.”

“Don’t be mean to me right now.”

It’s not fun anymore.

Then you can’t hold the nausea down any longer, and fuck, if you’re going to vomit, at least it’s easier to clean the floor instead of the sheets.

So you drag yourself to the edge of the bed, and the new wave of agony in your back comes out of your stomach as… nothing, thankfully. Just dry heaves.

You feel Ghost sit beside you to gather your hair away from your face. “…I’m sorry,” He says quietly before sliding an arm around your waist.

It’s not like you have a choice but to lean on him. You couldn’t physically pull away even if you wanted to.

You’re sitting up, then back, and he’s holding you the whole time. “What?” You mumble as he clumsily shoves a pillow under your head.

He fusses over the blankets - in all of this moving, your legs have gotten tangled. “I- uh, am sorry. That I’ve given you the impression that I don’t… care.” Ghost doesn’t look at you when he speaks. You just see his painted black eyelids, the creases in the makeup, and his eyelashes.

He clears his throat before standing up suddenly. “Here, let me… which ones?” Ghost asks as he strides over to the dresser you’ve claimed as your own.

“Which…”

He pokes through your collection of neon orange pill bottles. “Which one of these?” You watch him go through the labels and pick one at random.

Is the pain making you hallucinate? It’s a possibility that you shouldn’t discount. It would explain the softness in his voice. “You’ve got the right one,” You tell him.

Lucky guess.

Ghost nods. “Need water?” He’s moving and filling up a glass from the sink tap before you can answer.

You shove the blankets down so you can poke your thigh. The blood disappears under your fingertip, leaving behind a white patch that stays long after you release the skin. That’s not a great sign.

He thrusts the glass and the pills towards you, then quickly rolls the blankets back up.

Ghost doesn’t talk until you’ve taken a few of your prescription painkillers and washed them down with the lukewarm water. “C’mon. I’on know what the fuck I’m doin’. Doll, you gotta help me out,” He murmurs, his gaze glimmering in the dim light as he watches you wince, then cough from the wince, then wince again.

It will take a little while before the pills kick in.

You stare at him for an extra long period of time. You wait to see if he’s just saying that to be nice, if he expects you to say there’s nothing else so he can go. Maybe he’s grown a conscience overnight that he needs to cursorily satisfy, and you’re the one lucky charity case for the year.

That was unkind of you to think.

You close your eyes as you feel everything just- just fucking throb.

He’s there when you open your eyes, in the same place, still waiting with that weird fucking look on the two inches of his face you can see.

“I- I… I really want to take a bath. I’m sorry, I can do it myself, I just need to get there-“ You confess as you fiddle with the empty glass. Asking for help feels like you’re pulling splinters out of your skin.

Sweaty, gross hair sticks to your neck and forehead every time you turn your head, driving you insane.

In a blink of an eye, he grabs the glass from you and puts it to the side. Then the blankets (that he was just fixing) are off you, again, and he scoops you into his arms without the slightest effort.

“Fucking- ow!”

He freezes at the sound of your pain, and his arms tense around you.

Your head is tilted back with your gaze screwed shut as you breathe, slow and deep, and remind yourself that as much as you want it to, this won’t kill you.

“You good?” Ghost asks in a voice barely louder than a whisper, as if he thinks talking too loud will make it worse.

You count the heartbeats pounding in your ears. “Copacetic, Lieutenant,” You eventually get out between gritted teeth.

When he starts walking, he moves slowly, smoothly. Heel first, ball of his foot, then toe, like a panther.

“What does that mean? And m’not your lieutenant.” You’re hardly bouncing around at all. Those big, beefy arms absorb what little shock he generates.

This is the part where you need to radically accept the chronic pain. “Chill. All good. I’m- I’m good.” Let the pain pain. Let it hurt. The pain is a part of you.

Blah blah blah.

You’re starting to feel like a piece of Grandma’s finest china when he deposits you on the bathtub's edge, facing away from him so he can support your back with his chest.

Ghost gets caught up for a few seconds debating the best strategy to get you into your requested bath, so you help him and peel off your sleeping shirt.

“Run the water,” You instruct softly.

You’d think the harsh white LED bathroom light would make him less gentle, less caring. It doesn’t.

Steaming hot water fills the bottom of the tub, and you’re relieved you can feel it.

Your panties will be a problem. Ghost notices before you can ask and coaxes them off you, inch by inch. They end up wherever your shirt is.

He’s seen your body plenty of times, you remind yourself. He’s done plenty of things to your body. This should be no different.

It is different. You’re typically at your best and most appealing when he sees you naked.

Ghost has to pick you up by the waist to get you into the water with fingers splayed over your stomach rolls.

This is kind of your worst.

The water rises to your knees now, so hot it would concern anyone else. You can feel your muscles untangle themselves, and you flop back with a relieved exhale.

Sleep drags at your eyelids the very instant your soreness lets up. By the time he shuts off the faucet, you’re dozing with your cheek resting on your damp shoulder.

He grabs your shampoo and conditioner from the shelf you keep it on, and then your body wash, before sitting himself on the floor with crossed legs.

Suddenly, you’re wide awake. “Ghost. Ghost. I can do it myself,” You tell him. For the sake of your sanity and self-respect, you can’t be so pathetic that he feels compelled to bathe you.

“I know you can,” He replies evenly, as if it’s genuinely no big deal.

He rolls the long sleeves of his shirt up so they don’t get wet, and his tattoos grin at you under the sheen of steam sticking to his skin.

You try again. “You’re gonna get your mask wet.” This isn’t even a lie. You know how he cares for them, he has a large collection that he washes separately, folds with reverence, and there’s even a bunch of actual masks that you haven’t seen him wear yet.

You’re looking at him when he starts to take it off.

As soon as you see that flash of his jaw, you shut your eyes and look away despite all the impulses screaming at you to devour the sight, to take the beautiful painting that must be his face and lodge it under your sternum, tightly bound by blood vessels, where no one can take it away.

Ghost laughs briefly before dipping his hand in the water to touch your arm. “You can look.” You give him a second to change his mind, but he doesn’t take the opportunity.

You open one eye, then the next.

Jesus. “Don’t tell Soap.” He’s gorgeous.

A sharp, squared jaw, high, sloping cheekbones, full lips, and a slightly-crooked nose, like it’s been broken a few times.

His light blonde hair is cut in an uneven buzz cut, a little overgrown and raggedy. Now that you can see the rest of his pale face, you have a reference point for the color of his eyes that isn’t just ~dark.

“My lips are sealed,” You promise.

Ghost has brown eyes.

That’s a sentence you never thought you’d put together. Brown eyes, scars through his barely-there eyebrows, and that eye-black smeared on his face like smoke or gunpowder.

He acts like it’s no big deal, so you try to act like it’s no big deal.

You close your shocked mouth and watch him squeeze a dollop of pink floral shampoo into his palm.

“Can you sit up for me?” He asks.

As you prop your torso up, you spin out into all sorts of thoughts and meandering conclusions about what this means.

Why Ghost has taken his mask off for so… mundane a reason, so civilian. This is tedious. And that’s what you are, right?

He takes his other hand, scoops up some water, and then pours it over your head. He repeats the motion a few times until your hair is thoroughly saturated and there’s water dripping into your eyes.

You splash the water a little as Ghost lathers the shampoo through your hair, trying to cause as many ripples as you can. It keeps you too busy to look at him.

This might be a one-time thing; you shouldn’t be greedy, or he’ll think you feel entitled. Then you’ll never see his face again, you’re sure of it.

He runs the light pink lather from the roots of your hair to the very ends, working clumsily but efficiently. “Do you need, uh, a doctor?” Ghost’s voice is gruff and a little hesitant, and that hesitancy makes you feel even worse about snapping at him earlier.

“No. I don’t. Unless it gets worse. It probably won’t. But no. There’s nothing they can do that they haven’t already tried.” You don’t tell him about the worst-case scenario plan, which involves an ambulance ride to the emergency room.

There’s no need to unnecessarily freak him out.

Ghost thinks it over for a second and then hums a quiet acknowledgment.

It’s good he doesn’t ask you to lean forward or bend back to wash out the shampoo. You doubt you could manage that simple movement.

He slips his arm into the water to hold you up, then repeats that scooping motion from earlier until your hair is clean of the soap.

His mouth purses with concentration, there’s a smudge of black on the top of his cheekbone, like a fingerprint, like he didn’t have time to make it look nice, he just slapped it on, there are little lines between his eyebrows and something permanently weary in his brown eyes.

You could stare at Ghost all day and still want more.

He’s finally managed to get the conditioner bottle open without breaking the top, and the smallest upturn of his mouth in victory is almost enough to do you in.

His fingers snag on tangle after tangle as he works the conditioner in. “I shouldn’t be so rough on you,” Ghost murmurs more to himself than you.

You appreciate the care he takes in sorting out each snarl, even when he accidentally yanks too hard sometimes.

In the past, rocking someone’s shit, screaming, and throwing things would leave you riled up and furious for days.

Your mind would obsess over what happened, examine each angle and each possible way you could have done better, been fiercer, or made the other party feel worse.

Over and over, until you could mentally digest what happened and move on.

Who are you kidding? You’ve never truly moved on. Not once.

“I like it. Plus, I’m an adult. If I didn’t want it, you’d know by now.”

But that last time, over a week ago?

Ghost practically beat the worked-up, exhausting fury out of you, and you woke up the following day without thinking of Langford at all.

It wasn’t quite moving on, but it wasn’t not moving on either.

Your hair has been thoroughly conditioned at this point; you’re not sure it could be any more moisturized, which means he’s running his fingers through your hair for the fuck of it.

You say nothing.

It feels really nice. And he seems… content, like every second that passes that he can touch you in such a simple, kind way makes him breathe a little easier.

You hadn’t noticed Ghost’s breathing was tense, to begin with.

He dips his fingers in the water to wash the excess conditioner from them. “An’ I do care.”

He trails those clean fingers along the edge of your shoulder, sketching across the back of your neck, like he’s afraid to even want this, but he’s still trying.

“I’m sorry I said that,” You tell him as you stare at the distorted image of your knees through the swirling water.

The very second Ghost moves his hand back, you chase it with your cheek until you’re looking up at him, he’s looking at you, and then he touches your back again.

His mouth twitches like he doesn’t know what to do with the lower half of his face now that you can see it.

“I understand why,” Ghost says at last.

Your hand bumps his when you tuck some wet hair behind your ear. Then he hides that hand in his lap like you’ve sprouted broken glass from your skin.

It feels funny when he does that. It hurts. But you suppose turnabout is fair play, so you tell yourself to bear the sting of rejection with dignity.

“Honestly? You care more than most,” You whisper.

His eyelashes appear as white as snow against his cheeks when he looks at your mouth.

All of a sudden, you’re terrified of saying too much. You’re not sure of what, or why, but something is beating in your chest that isn’t just your heart, throwing itself against your ribs and pleading to be let out.

You try to tell the thing to leave you alone, and it responds by crawling out of your throat and wrenching your mouth open. “Before, I always did this alone.”

Too much. That’s way, way, way too much.

You yank your gaze away. “By the way, I’m, like, really sorry for making you help me-“ Condensation beads on your cheeks, and you hope it camouflages the fresh tears in your eyes.

That is, until you feel something wet hit your forehead, and you look around to see that Ghost has fucking dipped his hand in the water and splashed you with it.

“Think you can make me do anything?” He asks with a cocked eyebrow.

Ghost comes alive when you splash him back. There’s no hugely perceptible change in his countenance, or anything specific you could point out, but you see it like someone’s taken an eraser to the bone-deep weariness woven into his DNA.

“I guess not.” You flick water at him once more for good measure and for the sake of his half-smile when he ducks.

If you think about it, you can feel the ache sticking to your muscles and spine like tar. But he helps rinse the conditioner from your hair and scrubs your skin with your favorite soap, and you don’t think about it at all.

Ghost gets up to grab your towels as the soapy water drains out of the tub.

He hands you two, one for your body and one for your hair, exactly what you use every time you shower. You didn’t know he was paying attention.

It’s so… it’s all so fucking considerate that you’re not even sure what to do with them for a second.

Ghost tries to take them from you, misinterpreting your shock as need, and you wave him off with a burning face.

“No, no, it’s fine. I can… I can do it,” You say before rolling up your hair and folding the second towel around your chest.

When he picks you up this time, he’s notably more careful, bordering on impractically so. One arm under your knees and some maneuvering so your back isn’t unsupported for a second, even at the cost of his balance.

Ghost rights himself instantly, biceps flexing to hold you aloft and away from his clumsy footing.

“I’m not too heavy, am I?” You ask as panic squeezes tight around your lungs. You must be a burden, and the thought spreads through your heart like rot. Dead weight, a heap of flesh and fat, you can’t do something as simple as stand.

Ghost clears his throat, you see him scoff, and you know he won’t be dignifying you with a response.

“Right, dumb question.”

Being carried around by him without the mask is a totally different experience. You loop one of your arms around his neck, then realize this is the closest you’ve ever been to his cheek, his real cheek.

There’s blonde stubble dotting his jaw and upper lip. Maybe he’s someone who freckles in the summer instead of tans, and you realize that you might get to find out.

Ghost glares at you from the corner of his eye when you try to let go of his neck and touch his face, like full-on glares, the whites of his eyes stark against the fuckin’ makeup stuff.

But the effect is dampened by the memory of him handing you a towel covered in little ducks with swim caps and the one currently in your hair branded with Hello Kitty’s face.

So you laugh, you let your head rest against his arm, and you cooperate when he lowers you to the bed with your back propped up against the headboard.

Aw, shit. You’re still mostly wet from the bath, and you shiver the instant you realize it, your hands scramble to dry off your less numb legs, but it’s too late, you’re cold as fuck. Goosebumps grow on every inch of your naked skin.

You even pull the towel out of your hair to help maximize your body coverage, furiously bundling up in the damp cloth.

That is, until something dark green and soft hits your face, covering your eyes.

“Ghost, what the fuck-“ You pull it off your head, ready to curse him out, only to see that it’s a shirt. A regulation dark green shirt with ‘SAS’ emblazoned across the chest. Special Air Services.

He looks at you like you’re crazy for not immediately putting it on. “You’re cold,” Ghost says, raising his eyebrows the tiniest bit.

Oh, he has a fucking point, doesn’t he? And he knows it.

He may have less time to revel in his superiority if you put it on fast enough.

It falls past your thighs in great folds of worn cotton, large enough that even your boobs swim in fabric. You’re only human, a human in pain who is currently very lowly, so you don’t feel an ounce of shame when you hold the collar to your nose and inhale.

It smells like him, more comforting than every blanket on the bed.

Of course, your stomach picks now to growl louder than a teenage boy’s first car at a stoplight.

“Hungry?” Ghost asks as he folds his muscular arms over his chest.

You will have to disappoint if he somehow expects you to be less snarky. “No, that was just for fun,” You quip with an eye roll.

“Shut up.” He heads into the bathroom to grab his abandoned mask. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere-“ You watch him slip the balaclava on with something like longing thrumming in the back of your teeth.

The last of his face disappears under the skull mask, and you wish- you wish you’d gotten to see him one more time.

Between the painkillers and your bath, well, you feel like a pat of butter, and your bed is a freshly made pancake. And like a pat of butter, you decide to spread yourself out under the covers as you wait for him to return.

You don’t think you’ll be giving his shirt back anytime soon. It’s so fucking soft, like hugging him without Ghost’s habit of pressing his cold feet to your warm ones.

If you close your eyes, it will make the time pass faster.

Someone gingerly sits on the other side of the bed, and the blankets dip under their body weight.

You don’t notice at first as you continue to nap in a nice place where nothing hurts and everything is soft and comfortable, until you hear the clink of dishes against a tray.

Ghost notices your face turn towards him, even though you keep your eyes closed. “Shit. Did I wake you?” He whispers as he passes a rough finger over one of your sleep-warmed cheeks.

“Mmph?”

He sighs, then plucks some hair out of your face where it’s stuck to your mouth. “Go back to sleep, love.”

British people say ‘love’ all the time. It’s something they do. But Ghost says it, and you-

You reach out your arms until they’re clasped around his waist, and you can lay your head in his lap, face buried in his shirt. “Ghost… missed you…” You murmur, the sleepiness loosening your tongue.

You didn’t know you’d missed him until now when your body felt cold no matter how deep into the blankets you burrowed.

Now, though, you’re plenty warm.

You hear him swallow. “Really?” He asks quietly, his palm curled to your temple.

Then you poke your head up.

“Did you bring me food?” You can smell it. It smells like… bacon? Bacon, and you look around and see a plate of toast with butter and jam, some eggs, and a glass of orange juice. Fuck yeah.

Ghost pushes the tray just out of reach. “Nah, this is jus’ for fun,” He teases, amusement shining in his deep voice.

How dare he. That’s your fucking breakfast. “Gimme. Gib,” You order as you stretch out your arms and open and close your hands, over and over.

Ghost relents with a laugh, first helping you sit up before he takes the tray and sets it on your lap.

Being in pain makes you eat like you’re starved, which you are. It takes up so much fucking energy, and you can’t help but inhale the creamy scrambled eggs and crispy, crunchy bacon. Fuck eating elegantly - you demolish the tray in record time.

By the time you’re done, Ghost has found his way back into bed, and you lean your head against his shoulder.

“Thank you, baby,” You tell him. The number one way to make you cuddly and soft is to feed you, which he has done, so you magnanimously hold his hand and invade his personal space, your legs thrown over his.

“Baby?” He asks as if he’s not sure whether to be touched or disgusted.

You reach up to poke his cheek through his skull mask. “What, I can’t call you cute names too?”

“Does it have to be ‘baby’?” Ah, yes, there’s his side eye that is supposed to scare you but just makes you giggle.

“You don’t want to be my baby?” You ask. Honestly, Ghost doesn’t have a choice. You’ll call him that whether he likes it or not.

He looks at you for another long moment before letting out a deep, suffering sigh. “…Not in front o’ the others,” He mutters with a shake of his head, and your answering smile is as pleased as the cat who got the cream.

“Deal.”

The two of you drift into a comfortable silence. Ghost runs his thumb over your knuckles, you scootch yourself closer to his side. Some of your hair gets trapped between your head and his shirt for a moment, and he helps you brush it free.

Then he pulls down the opening of his mask to press his lips against your hair. A quick kiss, nothing gratuitous or prolonged. But you feel it and can’t resist the impulse to draw his hand to your mouth and kiss his scarred fingers.

You don’t know how long you sit there. It could be a couple of minutes, it could be a whole entire hour.

The clock on the bedside table tells you it’s been a few hours since he got up.

You hate to break the fragile sweetness of this moment, but the fear of losing his company has made it taste bitter in your mouth. “Don’t you have, I don’t know, stuff to do?”

“‘S my day off,” He says, tightening his fingers around yours.

That’s bullshit. You both know that’s bullshit. But-

You’re not a saint. He’s a grown man. You’ll take this… whatever, for all that it is.

Ghost nudges you gently with his shoulder until you look up at him. His mask is still stretched open over his mouth, and his eyes glimmer in the darkness of your shared bedroom. His lips are chapped when he kisses you, slow and indulgent, you slide the tips of your fingers under the edge of his balaclava until you find his shorn hair. You run the pads of your fingers over the spiky texture, and he smiles into your mouth.

Eventually, the pain comes back. It bothers you in ripples, in waves slowly building through your spine and down the sides of your legs.

But it’s okay. He notices when you suck in a sharp inhale, your eyelids flutter with discomfort, and Ghost gets up to find your meds without saying a thing.

He opens the container for you, then holds it up to silently ask how many.

“Four,” You whisper. It’s more than strictly recommended, but he doesn’t know that, and you’ve taken these for years. You know when too much is too much.

Ghost shakes four pills into your outstretched palm before handing you your half-empty glass of orange juice.

Once you down them and return the empty glass, he catches your left hand in his.

You let him get under the covers with you, holding your hand the whole time, and wait for him to speak the words he’s mulling over.

“Should get you a ring.”

Oh.

“I was just saying that to the chaplain, I didn’t mean to, like… imply that we have to get one,” You say as you look to the side. You thought he knew that.

Ghost shifts. “You’re my wife, aren’t you? You’ll wear a ring.” His voice brooks no debate.

“Fine. You have to wear one, too.” You can’t say you’re displeased by the thought. It will be nice to have something shiny on your ring finger, it’ll look official. It will be nicer if he also has one.

Bite marks on his pale skin fade, your perfume on his clothes only lingers for so long. But a real wedding ring? Wherever Ghost goes, he’ll take a piece of you with him.

“Fine.” Then he kisses you again, his teeth gently nipping your bottom lip, one large hand spanning your collarbones, and your soft, pleasured sigh running over his tongue.

-

The promised caretaking! Hope y'all enjoy. We'll be back to our regularly scheduled smut next chapter, hehe, and a little birdie told me Cowboy!Ghost will be making an appearance soon!

Tagging (if you want off the list, just shoot me a message/tell me):

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[ficthots]

Resolutions

A/N: This photo of Josh really does something to me. Does that make me crazy? Probably, but I just adore photos that show his personality. Okay, this one has a happy ending, I promise! As always let me know what you guys think and enjoy.

Warnings: SMUT. DNI if you are under 18. 18+ Content only.

Word Count: 10.7k+

December 31st 

There truly is no holiday like New Years. It doesn’t get as much love and appreciation as it should, honestly. What is more exciting than a year full of possibilities and knowing that it could potentially be the best time of your life? Seriously, there’s nothing like it. 

It’s why New Year's Eve is your favorite day of the year. Sure, to some people it’s just another day, but to you, it’s an entire world of opportunity that is laid in front of you, just waiting to be given a chance.

Every year, without fail you would carefully select a resolution that you would try your hardest to make happen within the following 365 days. In your eyes it wasn’t just a superstition, but a sound way to attempt to meet a personal goal, whatever it may be. Getting excited about the year ahead and the challenges and achievements that would happen.

In years past, you had accomplished those resolutions. Getting into a new hobby had been one goal you set in previous years. Deciding that needlework looked like an interesting task and by the end of the year you were a master of it. Every now and then you still dabble in it after a long day of work or school. 

Another year was trying to get yourself more comfortable with doing things by yourself. Taking yourself out to a movie, dinner, running errands. Anything that you normally would have tried to find someone to accompany you to, you did by yourself. 

It ended up being one of the best years of your life. Doing things you normally wouldn’t have because you were embarrassed. Now, it seemed silly as you looked back on all the missed opportunities from other years simply because you had no one to go with.

This previous year, you decided that your phone was taking up far too much time in your life so setting the goal to four hours of screen time a day whilst also deleting all social media to ensure a good detox was your resolution foundation. You never even missed it anymore. Unsure how you were spending so much of your time on that device was truly mind boggling, but happy with the switch in the end. 

Standing in your best friend’s living room, helping her hang a New Year’s banner on her wall, you hummed to the tune playing in the background. “Alright, I’m dying to hear it.” Your brow furrowed, stepping off the arm of the couch, smoothing your skirt back down.

“Hear what?” She rolled her eyes, going to grab a streamer and toss it over the ceiling fan blades. “Your resolution. What is the big goal for the year?” Feeling heat creep up your neck and face, you felt sheepish in your reply. 

Clearing your throat, you caught the streamer as it sailed towards you before hurling it back in her direction. “It’s a big one this year.” She eyed you expectantly, exhaling a large gust of breath as you continued on. “By midnight of next year's New Year’s Eve I will be kissing the love of my life.” 

Her mouth hung agape, eyeing you in disbelief. “You’re being serious?” Shrugging at her question, you continued tossing the streamer back and forth. “Of course I am. I’ve accomplished all my other ones so why not this one?” 

She took the remainder of the streamer roll and sat it down on the counter, eyeing you as she continued on. “All I’m saying is that picking up a new hobby and finding the love of your life are just a tad bit different.” 

Your eyebrows wiggled at her, a laugh emitting with it. “No shit sherlock. You’ll see,” as you finished, a knock sounded at the door, signaling the party was just beginning. You were so totally going to prove her wrong. Obviously, you knew it was a big deal, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t do it or had less of a chance to actually accomplish this. 

You’d prove her wrong. 

December 31st-One Year Later

Okay so maybe you’d overshot just a little bit. You thought that it was going to be possible. Especially with how this previous year had gone. You thought it was going to align the cosmos perfectly. 

Instead, the cosmos were now laughing in your face as your best friend hung onto her boyfriend, waiting for the countdown to start. Sitting lonesome in the corner of the party, this was the first year where you truly didn’t feel like celebrating the closure of the year and welcoming the upcoming 365 days with a warm embrace. 

Not without him here. 

January 

New year also meant new semester. Within the first few days of the new year, you would always get your supply list for your courses and go shopping for whatever you would need. It’s why you were standing in the aisle of a bookstore, trying to find a copy of some eastern European novel from the 1980’s. 

Sensing the presence of another individual next to you, you made a mental note to not stray into their personal space as you searched for this book. Eyes quickly darting over the figure, his hair was shaved on the sides, an almost mixture of a mohawk and mullet decorating the top and back. His features were sharp, facial hair highlighting them. Clothes basic for the large personality you could tell he was. 

The book in his hand caught your attention, perking up at the sight of it. “Oh my gosh, I loved that book. ‘You Are The Universe’ is life altering, seriously. Dr. Chopra is a genius. Have you read any of his other works?” His deep brown eyes settled on you, seeing the overjoyed smile on your face and feeling his own match yours.

“Uh-yes. I have one of his books on meditation, actually.” Your eyes lit up even further. Hand darting out and grabbing his arm much to his surprise, you fell into a quick chatter about it. “I loved his book on meditation! He has a new one coming out this year, oh gosh what was it called? Something about definitive meditation to live an ultimate stress free life. I can’t wait!” He laughed at your excitement, shifting the book to his other hand to offer his. 

“I’m Josh.” Your smile held true as you offered your hand and name. His cheeks pinkened as he held eye contact with you, trying to clear his throat as he nodded towards the cafe. “Are you busy at all? I would love to hear about other books you’ve read or studied. Only if you’re not busy, you know!”

Biting back a laugh, you nodded at him. “I am not busy and I would love to chat with you, Josh.” He could’ve melted into the floor right then as your name fell from his lips for the first time. Letting you walk by him first, you led the way towards a free table you had spotted. 

You and Josh sat there and talked for hours. Multiple cups of coffee, laughing so hard you could hardly breath, you were enamored with the man sitting across from you. He was animated in his movements and words in a way you had never seen someone else do before. An accent or twang on words you had never heard before. Incredibly handsome features that only became more attractive the more he spoke, face mirroring everything he was thinking.

When the store associate came over to the table you both were seated at, interrupting your conversation, your face burned in mortification as they informed you both that the store was in fact closed and you needed to leave. Both scrambling to gather your belongings, you stood by the front doors and handed a piece of paper to the boy. 

His eyes widened in surprise at your number scribbled on the scrap and gave a large, toothy grin. “I had a blast talking with you, Josh. That is my number. Sorry I took up most of your day.” You turned on your heel, waving over your shoulder at him as he stood rooted to his spot in shock. “I’ll call you, okay?” 

Giggling, you offered a thumbs up, continuing on our walk to your apartment just a few blocks away. The second you got home that evening, you grabbed your phone, hearing the dial tone echo into the quiet room, waiting for her to pick up.

Her greeting rang out and you spoke quickly. “I think I met someone special today.” 

When Josh got home that evening, his twin stood in his kitchen, not an unusual sight to see. He was there more often than at his own residence. Josh was overjoyed to see him tonight anyways. Throwing his stuff onto the sofa, he released a long breath, beaming at his brother. 

“I think my life changed today.” 

February

Nearly every weekend was spent together. Brunch, park afternoons, finding crystal shops, it was a blast. You had learned a good chunk about the man and felt yourself falling for him uncharacteristically fast. Whether it was his charm, wit, or humor you didn’t know. Perhaps a combination of it all. 

The only obstacle you had faced so far was him being a tad protective over personal information about himself. Honestly, you didn’t try to pry too much, but it was the simple things like what he did for a living that was guarded by him. 

You understood, not everyone is entirely forthcoming with information and that’s okay. You knew that if you were to ask him, he would tell you. What you did know, you adored. How close he was with his family, especially his brothers. Seriously, they were involved in almost every story he told. Passion coursing through him about music in a way you had never experienced with anyone else. Spirituality being such a large portion of his life. 

Josh was a complex and extremely interesting man. It was what continuously drew you into him. Whenever he texted you, you never hesitated to respond and vice versa. If he invited you out, it was almost always a yes unless it conflicted with previous plans although you hadn’t shied away from canceling other plans to see him. 

He was doing the exact same for you. 

If your name popped up on his screen, it was in his hand in a split second. He always wanted to find activities to do with you, knowing it wouldn’t be hard to entertain you given how similar you truly were. Jake was utterly annoyed at how often he was speaking about you despite his warnings of being careful. Josh didn’t have the slightest worry in his mind. 

Not with you. 

After a morning spent at the farmer’s market together, you were overjoyed with the items you had found today. Josh’s own tote bag holding goodies he just couldn’t turn away from. “Hey, I want to drop these off at my place, is that okay? It’s super close, just a couple blocks away.” 

Your eyes were glued to your screen, but when you looked up at the boy, his smile blinded you. Chatting the entire way to your home, when you opened the door to your apartment, Josh surveyed the area. 

“Come in and make yourself at home.” You spoke as you walked the ten feet to your kitchen, setting the bag on the counter. The entire apartment was visible from where you stood. No designated bedroom, just a bed with a sofa at the end facing the television. A small bathroom off the singular room. Decent sized kitchen given the small space, but you didn’t mind.

You loved this place more than anything. It was your home and the first place you could afford to get into by yourself. Who cared if it was small? You certainly didn’t. And neither did Josh.

He toured himself around the space, taking in any information about you that he could. A small gallery wall was next to the front door, images showing a slew of people he didn’t know, but wanted to based on the show stopping smile that adorned your face in each snap. Little knick-knacks were littered on the minimal surface space. Your colorful comforter reminded him of something from the mid-2000’s. The flower shaped rug in the living room and bathroom backed that up. 

It screamed you.

Plopping yourself down on the sofa, you watched as Josh continued moving around the space. Being respectful not to touch anything, his arms securely behind his back and joined at the wrists. A permanent smile on his lips, occasionally growing larger at small things he would notice. When his eyes fell to you once again after doing a full loop, he sat next to you. 

“I love your apartment. It’s very,” his smile grew softer as did his gaze, “you.” His finger booped your nose as he finished. Your chin tipped up, a large and proud grin placing itself on your features. “Thank you. I love it, too. First place I ever called my own.” 

He hummed in thought, eyes never leaving you. It happened within a split second. One moment you had made eye contact with him, the next you were straddling his waist, ingrained in an explosively passionate kiss. 

Tongue sweeping over every crevice of your mouth he could reach, desperate to get his fill of you in anyway he possibly could. A light whimper fell from your lips as his hips jutted upwards, quickly hardening cock pressing into the tiny amount of fabric that separates you two.

Dress bunched around your hips, the lacey thong you had opted for today proved to be a good decision. Practically dripping through the white material, he could feel the dampness pooling in between your legs.

When you pulled away from his mouth, a gasp escaping your throat at the sensation of the thrusting of your hips, he took the opportunity to leave his mark on your neck.

Fingers tangling in his locks, you tugged as he cupped your breasts over the fabric of your dress. “God, I’ve wanted to rip this off you all day. Walking around, begging to be fucked in this, huh?” 

Nodding feverently, you choked out a response, his thumb brushing over your budding nipple that poked through the fabric. “Yes, please, yes.” You didn’t care how desperate you sounded. 

Not when Josh was as rock hard as he was beneath you, feeling every inch pressing into your clothed core. Pulling the already plunging neckline down further, your breasts fell out of the top. 

A groan emitted from him at the astonishing sight. “No bra either? Fucking filthy,” he muttered as he took one in his mouth, entire nipple disappearing in between his teeth. Grinding down harder on him, he decided he didn’t want to tease. 

Not the first time, anyways. 

Switching to your neglected tit, he used his free hand to release himself from the confines of his pants. His weeping head immediately sank into your heat. 

Mouth falling open, no sound escaping, you savored the feeling of the stretch. Pussy walls fluttering around him as you sank further and further onto him, he was staggering through his breaths. 

Head falling back, his exposed neck was strained, veins popping with exertion. Leaning forward, the tip of your tongue traced up from his collarbone to his jawline, following one singular vein. Placing a chaste kiss at the end, he nearly whimpered.

Starting your movements quickly, his hands held onto your bare hips, fingers indented so deep, it was bruising. Knowing that this was going to finish fast, your pace matched the desperation you both felt.

His encouraging words filled your ears, the lude sounds somehow amplified as you chased your highs. It slammed into you, your body convulsing as you halted, not able to take the sensitivity as the overwhelming finish rocked you.

Josh was only moments after you, pulling out of your cunt despite that being the absolute last thing he wanted to do, but given he wasn’t wrapped and was unaware of your birth control situation, decided to play it as safe as he could.

As you both caught your breath, your hands rested on his heaving shoulders. The post orgasmic glow that decorated his skin made him look like a mythological god as he basked in the warmth. 

“Thanks for coming over.” You huffed out with a laugh as his barking one echoed through the small space. 

March

Hangs at your place became a regular after that day. Josh would wander over for dinner constantly, spending the night more often than not. You looked forward to those days, where he would show up at your door with either takeout from a new place he had heard about or ingredients for you two to cook together. 

It was after another shared night, sweat riddled bodies stuck together, cum painting your stomach after another intense release. He pulled you up, having you join him in your unbelievably tiny shower where he washed away the dirty details of the evening from your skin. 

Far too pretty to hold the remanentes of the night on you for longer than necessary. His aftercare was unmatched, always going the extra mile to let you know that the crude phrases and acts he performed on you were never what he truly thought. You informed him that you knew he never meant it, but he swore he needed to prove it to you. 

Who were you to fight that? 

His hand traced lazy circles on your bare shoulder, on the verge of drifting off to sleep when his voice broke the silence. “Star?” Tilting your head back to get a better view of him, you placed a chaste kiss to the underside of his jaw to let him know you were listening. “Do you want to come over to my place tomorrow?”

Smile growing with a true tiredness seeping into it, you nodded. Snuggling closer to his bare chest, a content sigh escaped him. Excited for what tomorrow would offer. Ready to answer the questions he knew you would have.

This had to be the wrong address.

Double and then triple checking the address he had sent you, you stared at the massive country house in disbelief. It resembled more of an estate than a house. The message stared back at you, Doors unlocked come on in :) 

This couldn’t be the house. Wasn’t he the same age as you? You could’ve sworn he said he was. Then what the hell did he do for work? Tech? Trust fund baby? All of these thoughts ran rampant in your head as your legs carried you to the door, pushing open the large wooden piece, and stepping into the foyer. 

“Jo-Josh?” Your voice wavered and cracked as you called out. The front entryway alone looked like it belonged in Architectural Digest. You weren’t entirely sure it hadn’t been featured already. His voice carried through the space, calling out to you from a direction you weren’t sure of. The place was so large you thought your ears were playing tricks on you. 

Trusting your gut, keeping your hands at your sides, you followed the sounds of music and the smell of cooking to get you to where he was. The enormous kitchen had him looking like a gourmet chef as he prepared dinner for you both. He turned when he heard you arrive, a beaming smile greeting you as he circled the counter. 

Lips landing on yours, both hands cupping your cheeks, you barely registered what was happening. “Hello, my stardust. Did you have trouble finding the place? It took you a bit.” He walked back to the stove and you shook your head, terrified to touch anything.

“No, no, I just wasn’t sure I had the correct address. This place is,” you trailed off, eyes scouring the high ceiling, falling to the dining room, “big.” You finally finished, settling your attention back on him. “I thought you were twenty-six?” You spoke before you could catch yourself.

A cackle fell from him as he plated your food. “I am.” Eyes quickly darting up to see your confused face. “Then, what? How?” Josh nodded at your question, grabbing the plates and bypassing the dining room. “Grab those glasses and that bottle. Follow me and I will tell you.” 

Doing as he said, you trailed behind him to the outdoor patio, seeing candles all over the space, table decorated for the occasion. Land stretching for miles past the house. Sitting with a large sigh, he leaned back in his chair after taking a bite of his food, seeing you still sitting stick straight, cautiously grabbing your fork. 

“It’s a fork, babe, not a diamond.” You felt silly for acting this way, but truly you weren’t sure what you were supposed to be doing right now. He laughed at your stressed expression. “Star, you gotta relax! It’s still me. I’m still, Josh.” Your eyes narrowed in his direction, taking a bite of the food. 

Shrugging, you stifled a moan at the taste exploding on your tongue. “I have a feeling I’m about to meet a very different Josh.” His head cocked to the side, watching you, trying to gauge how you were feeling. “Possibly.” 

Taking another large bite, you eyed him expectantly. “Well, I’m waiting.” He chuckled before continuing with the explanation you were sitting on pins and needles for. “Remember how I told you I spend a lot of time with my brothers?” You nodded, eyebrows knitting together. 

“You guys work together? Like a family business?” You said as you bit into bread. “Kind of.” He replied with a breathless laugh. “We have a band. It’s called Greta Van Fleet.” Trying to understand how that occupation would’ve gotten him this house was still attempting to connect. “You guys are,” placing the words in the correct order was extremely crucial at this point, “successful, then?” 

Chuckling at your question, he nodded, chin resting on his hands. “Yeah, I guess so. Millions of monthly listeners on Spotify, multiple tours, we actually just finished our first world tour, a few albums, another coming out soon, another impending world tour,” you laughed, holding your hands up in defeat. 

“Okay, okay, I get it. So what do you do?” His eyes narrowed, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. “What do you think I do?” Tongue poking your cheek, you set your utensils down and eyed him in thought. “Honestly?” He nodded, taking a bite of his dinner. 

“Well, you have a soundboard guy vibe right off the bat, but I’m guessing that’s not it, right?” He erupted in laughter at your observation, throwing his napkin at you. “You son of a bitch! No, that is not what I do!” Giggles wracked your body as you made your actual guess.

Sighing, you took him in. Knowing his personality better than ever, what kind of aura that surrounded him, the energy he put out into the universe. “Front man. Singer. Showman. Am I right?” His cheeks tinted, pointing at your plate. “Finish your dinner before it gets cold.” 

Deciding to tease him, you sipped from your wine glass. “If I do, do I get a show?” Eyes dancing with mischief and badgerment, his jaw set in playful annoyance. “Don’t make me punish you.” 

Eyes squinting in his direction, you decided instantaneously how you wanted the evening to go. “Maybe I want you to punish me.” Watching as his jaw set, flexing that muscle in his cheek, your skin set aflame. 

Josh had the table swiped clean, plates and glasses crashing to the floor with a loud clatter. “Josh!” You exclaimed, but he had you up right after, face down on the wooden table, dress up, hand connecting harshly with your ass. 

His free hand held your face to the table, fist wrapped in your hair to hold you in place. “You want to be punished like the slut you are? I’ll punish you, mama.” Another smack left your unsuspecting ass aching. 

Thighs clenching together with burning need, his foot came between your own, pushing your legs wide. “No, you want to play this game, I’ll play. But you don’t win. Only I do.” A whimper left your parted lips. 

Underwear yanked down your legs, you hissed as his fingers ran up your slick folds. “God, look at you. What a fucking mess. All for me, right?” Nodding, you struggled briefly against his hold, but to no avail as he didn’t let you move an inch. 

Bringing his fingers to your face, you could smell your own arousal coating them. “Clean ‘em,” his fingers shoved into your waiting mouth where you hungrily accepted them, sucking them clean. 

“Disgusting,” he chuckled, but you knew he loved it. Josh got off on being the dominant one. Never the one to be incredibly domineering in other aspects of life, he craved it in the bedroom. Having utter control over you in this way was erotic in a way he didn’t know he loved so much. Not until you. 

He entered you in one thrust, tip of his cock brushing your cervix instantly. Your body jerked with the motion, causing the table to slightly shuffle on the floor. Standing on your tiptoes, ass facing up the way it was, Josh had never seen a more beautiful sight then this. 

Tonight wasn’t about you in the least. Not with how relentlessly he was fucking into you. When you felt a dribble of spit land in between your ass cheeks, an unexpected gasp flew from you. 

“I bet you’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you? You’d let me fuck your ass if I really wanted to, huh?” You nodded, a chorus of ‘yes’ escaping your parted lips.

His thumb landed on the hole, lightly pushing in. When you clenched around him, he faltered momentarily, almost stopping entirely. “You fucking like that? When I finger you?” Nodding, tears escaped your eyes.

Josh didn’t last much longer. The intense heat of your greedy cunt sucked him entirely dry, emptying out into you in a way he didn’t know was possible. It took him a few minutes to come down from that high, never pulling out from you.

You startled, feeling lips land on the center of your spine. “You’re an Angel, you know that?” Your fucked out face gave way to how gone you truly were. Not entirely sure when you had finished, you could feel it in your muscles.

Standing you both up, he turned you around, pulling your head towards him. Connecting in the sweetest greeting he could offer you, his forehead rested on yours. “Go get the shower going, I’ll bring up water and a snack, okay?” 

Eyes fluttering shut, you headed back in the house, Josh watching you in total awe. 

He was falling. Fast. 

But all you could think of was the fact that he was going to be leaving on a world tour soon and you couldn’t do long distance. You just couldn’t.

April

You had never experienced anything like this in your life. Not even remotely close. Flying first class, having a private car greet you at the curb of the airport, delivering you to a five-star resort where a suite was booked for you, VIP pass waiting on the desk with your name on it. You were in awe. 

The hotel room door opened and when you spun around and saw his figure there, you shook your head at him. “Josh, this is insane. I thought I was just coming to watch your show! What is all of this?” Your hands waved around at the enormous living room, but he knew you were talking about the entire experience as well. 

Hands landed on your hips, dragging you towards him with a deep kiss planted on you, he sighed into it, almost in relief. “I want your first time seeing us to be memorable. Unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before!” Your frown deepened at his words. “Just coming and seeing you would have sufficed and been more than memorable. This is a lot, Josh.” He could sense your unease with every word you spoke.

Fingertips landing under your jaw, he tilted your head back to look at him. “I wanted to do this for you, stardust. This is to make your trip even better. Just enjoy it with me, yeah?” His persuading tone, the lovey look in his eyes, you couldn’t fight it. 

“Yeah, yeah okay.” Literally jumping for joy in front of you, you erupted in a fit of laughter at his sheer excitement. Seeing the small carry-on suitcase that sat on the sofa, he released a large breath you didn’t know he had been holding. 

He would never admit it, but your pending arrival had been playing on his nerves. Pressure surmounting in a way he had never felt before. Wanting to impress you in any way he could, he finally understood why his feelings were as intense as they were. You didn’t care about all of this. 

No, you just wanted to see him perform. He knew that he didn’t have to do all of this for you and your reaction to it proved that. Making his heart soar, nerves releasing immediately, unsure why he was so on edge to begin with. 

Jake had told him that Josh had been driving everyone insane. Ensuring that everything was going to be utterly perfect for their show tomorrow night, spending more time than usual to secure that guarantee. 

Slightly dressier than normal, Josh told you that the day before the actual concert, his brothers wanted to go out for dinner to formally meet you. You were entirely freaking out. Not sure how to act around actual celebrities, rockstars, and the like which they all technically were. Telling yourself over and over that if they were related to Josh, they had to be good guys.

The restaurant was packed, but a small corner section of the restaurant was set for a table that had a Reserved sign atop it was exactly where Josh was heading. Being the first ones there meant you got another moment to take a breather, tamping down the nerves that wracked your frame. 

Arriving one by one, the tallest of the bunch greeted you both warmly. Immediately pulling you into an embrace, his bright smile was incredibly welcoming. “Ah, we finally get to meet! I’m Danny, only one not technically blood related, but a brother nonetheless. How was your flight out? Have they taken drink orders yet?” He was continuously speaking as he sat down across from you both, grabbing the menu and perusing the options. 

Falling into easy conversation, the next sibling arrived, Sam you could tell by the interesting fashion choice for the day. He offered a brief greeting to the group before diving into the plan for the show the next day. They fell into a chatter about it as you sat quietly, taking it all in and trying to understand some of the terminology they were throwing around. 

Instantly recognizing the final brother, Jake, you couldn’t fight the grin that took over your face at how similar yet strikingly different the twins were. Jake ignored his spitting image, focusing his attention on you solely, putting the rest of the posse into silence as he spoke. 

“Thank god we can finally meet in person. Maybe this will get him to shut the fuck up sometime.” Stunned at his first words to you, Josh reached over you to get to his brother, lightly smacking him in the face. “Sit the fuck down you imbecile.” Jake went to catch his hand, but Danny put his own up between them. “Jesus, we just got here. Everyone sit down. We have a guest!” 

You could feel your face burn, not knowing what to do. Josh’s reassuring hand landed on top of your knee, offering a light squeeze. The remainder of the night went off without a hitch, quickly discovering that the behavior you witnessed was normal for this group of siblings. A night spent full of laughter and enjoyment at the never ending stories they had of their eldest brother was endearing to bear witness to. 

Tips of his ears burning crimson, cheeks holding a permanent pink hue, embarrassment pummeling him as he could not get them to stop. Once the meal had come to a close, you all left the restaurant, earning a hug from each boy, all offering their kind words of how great it was to meet you and how excited they were for you to see them perform the next night. 

Josh and you walked hand in hand back towards the hotel, the crisp evening air still signaling it was spring, summer still a bit off on the horizon. It was a walk that was quiet, but not in an uncomfortable way. Not in the least. Just enjoying the company of who you were with, not pressured to fill the silence. 

“Everyone loved you, by the way.” Rolling your eyes at the statement, you gave him a knowing look. “That’s what you have to say.” He laughed at your statement, but tugged your hand back, forcing you to stand with him. “I’m serious! You fit in so well. You should’ve seen the first time we met one of Sam’s partners. It was horribly uncomfortable. Honestly, they love you.” 

Feeling a burst of pride, you stuffed it down, continuing to walk as he trailed behind you. “Yeah, they’re not too bad.” His booming laugh echoed off the surrounding buildings. 

You had never seen anything like it. The performance they put on was mind numbingly spectacular. Standing in awe the entire time, you wanted nothing more than to experience this over and over again. The fans were so enthralled with the boys it was unlike anything you had ever experienced. Seeing Josh in an element you didn’t know he could get to. 

When you caught his wandering gaze going towards your section multiple times throughout the performance, you eventually heard others around you shouting about who he could be looking for, that someone had caught his eye obviously. You played it cool, but the butterflies that erupted within you, you couldn’t fight off. 

As the show came to a close, following an encore you didn’t know they opted to do with most of their shows, you were dying to get backstage and see him. When you finally had found your way to where you were supposed to be, sitting in a dressing room waiting for him, you were on the edge of your seat in anticipation.

The door opened and Josh entered the room in only a towel. A bead of water dripped from his pec to his navel, slowly traveling further beneath the plushy material. 

Swallowing thickly, the tension in the room was unlike anything between you two. Buzzing around you both, it was incredibly intense. Slowly standing, you moved towards him, sinking to your knees directly in front of him. 

His eyes never left yours, on stage presence still clinging to him. The high of the nights performance sizzled on his skin. He put up no fight as you pulled the towel from him. Hard length already greeting you. 

Maintaining eye contact, you kissed the leaking tip lightly. He sucked in a shallow breath. Not a single word uttered between you, just accepting him into your waiting mouth. 

Eyes fluttering to the back of his skull the further down you sank, when his tip hit the back of your throat, he moaned. The sound vibrated all the way down to his dick, the sensation making you moan. 

Hollowing out your cheeks, you bobbed up and down his length, slowly and with intention. Both hands at work, one on the areas of him you couldn’t reach, the other cradling his balls. 

When you felt them tightening in your palm, you sucked harder on his tip only, knowing it always drove him over the edge. His cum cascaded down your throat in thick streams of creamy ropes. You didn’t let a drop go to waste, holding him still in your mouth until he decided he was done. 

As he came down, bracing himself on the chair to his right, he snapped back into the reality of himself. Your Josh was back. Pulling you up and into his embrace, he instantly began bombarding you with questions about the show. 

It was hysterical that the man had just finished in your mouth less than forty-five seconds ago and was now enthralled with how the show had gone. 

Only catch was you had to answer as he devoured your pussy like a starved man. You could do that. 

You knew that there was still one more day of your trip before you were bound to return home, Josh following only a couple days later, but he had planned a romantic day out for you two. What had been a splendid day spent in one another's company, had ended in sour ruin. 

After a wonderful dinner, you two sat in the luxurious hotel room, basking in the attention of the other. “I need to make sure I’m all packed. My flight leaves early,” you sighed out, seeing the permanent smile glued to his face. 

The expression on his face had you giggling, pushing hair from his forehead. “What?” He shrugged, doe eyes never leaving you. “Nothing.” You sat up, a smirk gracing your lips, persistent to figure out why he was looking at you that way. “Come on, what?” 

“I’m in love with you.”

Breath catching in your throat at his admission, you felt tears welling in your eyes. Jumping up from the sofa, you went to the adjoining room, attempting to occupy yourself so as to not have to deal with this. “Star!” Josh called out after you, hot on your heels as you tried to run. 

When you went to the massive closet, grabbing your clothes from the hangers and throwing them in the suitcase, you could feel the tremble in your hands. “What’s wrong? What did I do?” Your eyes squeezed shut, hands braced on the edge of the suitcase, trying to steady your breathing. 

“It’s this fucking room. This room is too big! Look at the size of that closet. It’s literally the size of my apartment. This is-is too much. It’s not meant for me,” Josh’s confused look washed over his face, monitoring your hurried movements as you tried to shakily fold a top. “You’re upset about the room?” 

Keeping your back turned to him, you went to the bathroom and grabbed your toiletries from the counter. “Of course I am, Josh. Look at this place. I don’t belong in this!” Your hands waved haphazardly around the space, hearing your panicked tone echo off the tiled walls. 

“Or you’re trying to find any excuse and reason to not say it back to me.” Your chest heaved at his words. Eyes connecting, your hands still trembled, head shaking ‘no’ as your eyes fell downcast to your feet. The plush carpet that looked like no one had ever walked on it before, soft underneath your bare toes. 

His hands grabbed your wrists, the cool touch of his fingers somehow scorched the skin it touched. “We can’t do this, Josh. Nothing has changed,” you sniffled, shuffling your feet nervously. His head shook, getting you to look at him.

“I know, sweet girl. But I do love you.” Your bottom lip trembled, feeling tears start to fall down your cheeks. His thumbs brushed them away, offering a sad smile at your teary demeanor. He sighed, pulling you into a tight embrace. 

Returning it immediately, your arms wrapped securely around his torso, crying into his chest. His cheek pressed into the crown of your head, hands rubbing your back soothingly. “I know, stardust. I know.” 

Pushing his confession of feelings to the side, you both had decided that despite the intense feelings you had, that remaining friends was going to be the best course of action. For now, at least.

With another impending world tour, you weren’t up for trying the long distance relationship, especially with it being so early in the said partnership. In the meantime, friends were what you had settled on, and that’s what you were going to roll with. No matter how much it killed you. 

Josh’s birthday had sprung up just a week and half after your trip. No matter how much you had begged him to let him help you plan the party, he refused. Stating it was a massive surprise for everyone.

He was ecstatic that you were going to be attending and meeting the remainder of the Kiszka gang. You on the other hand were terrified beyond belief of meeting his parents. Of course, since there was nothing romantic happening between you both, there shouldn’t have been as much worry.

You were dead wrong. 

The minute you had stepped into the backyard where an enormous tent covered a good portion of his sprawling land, you had been snatched by the brothers and were paraded around to meet any and everyone you possibly could.

You spent so much time mingling with the party goers, you had only briefly seen Josh and that was when he had peeled you away for two brief seconds to adorn your facepaint for the shindig. Even still, he was only able to mutter a quick hello before you were dragged off by someone else. 

Exhausted didn’t quite cover it. The party had long since dwindled down, most of the guests having left, but you remained sprawled out on a rug, head propped up by scattered pillows, eyes soundly shut as you listened to the springtime creatures coming out for the night. 

A loud sigh startled you from the relaxing state you had just been in, but instantly melted when you realized it was Josh. “There’s the birthday boy. Didn’t think I was gonna get to see you at all today,” your fingers brushed a stray curl from his forehead as he smiled at you.

“Mm.” He responded, eyes shutting as he savored your touch. “Thanks for coming, pretty girl.” You giggled, snuggling closer into his arms. Placing a chaste kiss on his neck, his arms tightened around you. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked for your birthday gift yet.” 

His head craned back to get a better look at you, excitement taking over his features. “We already did presents. You know I don’t expect anything from you,” he smiled at you, sweetly in the way only Josh could. The way that set your stomach alight with butterflies. 

“Close your eyes.” He sighed, but did as he was told. Eyes slipped shut, his fingers laced together on his stomach, a small smile gracing his full lips.

It was silent for a moment, but when you spoke, Josh nearly choked on air. “Happy Birthday, Joshy.” You were laid there, entirely nude, against some of the pillows that had been set up for the party.

Legs spreading to offer an invite, you beckoned him over with a wag of a finger. “Come enjoy your present, birthday boy.” 

May

You did great things for friends all the time. Including spending an entire day with the age group you most despised for charity. Children and you simply did not mix. They were loud, almost always sticky, and to be totally brutally honest, were fairly incompetent.

However, given your best friend is a second grade public school teacher, you would do anything in the world for her. Which is why on the most gorgeous Saturday afternoon you were at the public library, out in the grass field directly in front of the building, reading a picture book to a large group of kindergartners. 

“Boy, was she surprised! She didn’t even get mad at me for interrupting.” As you continued to read the book, your eye caught someone towards the back of the group, smiling at him as he watched you finish the book. 

The group of kids erupted in clapping as did their parents as you closed the book. Thanking everyone for their attention, you stood and made your way over to Josh. “That was fantastic. I always thought Little Critter books were the high point of literature.” Nodding in agreement, you two strolled over to one of the set up tabletops, placing the book back in one of the bins.

“Oh, I agree. Grew up on them and they taught me everything I know.” Josh nudged you with a laugh, head tipping back in the direction you two had just been. “You were good with them.” You groaned, stopping and observing the large crowds in the area, stuffing your hands in your pockets. “I hate kids.” 

Josh choked on his spit before blowing up in laughter. Your giggles mixed with his belly shaking chortles. “Wha-what? I’m serious! I despise kids. I’m only doing this for that lady right there,” your finger pointed at your best friend, but Josh didn’t see her, hunched over trying to catch his breath. 

“God, you’re awful.” Josh spoke as he finally calmed down, wiping at his eyes. Your giggles still held as you smiled at him. “Thank you for coming. Really, you didn’t have to.” Shrugging, he pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “I know the only reason you invited me is because I have a checkbook.” 

Feigning shock, you eyed the leather. “Wow. What an assumption to make. Not like I wanted to spend the day with my friend. It’s a beautiful day out and I thought we would enjoy each other’s company. It hurts me that you think so lowly of me.” He rolled his eyes, scoffing at your words. 

“Okay fine then. If you reached donation caps,” before he could finish the sentence, you grabbed his wallet, heading towards the donation table. “No, no, if you insist!” Josh laughed as he followed after you. 

When your best friend appeared at your side, out of breath and stressed, you turned your attention towards her. “God, kill me now. Seriously, please. Some of my students are here and they won’t leave me alone,” as she was speaking through gritted teeth, waving at the group she was talking about, you snorted.

“Hence why I dropped the teaching program,” she shot daggers at you, before realizing who was standing next to you. “Oh my gosh, Josh, right? It’s so nice to finally meet you. This one does not shut up about you. It was so sweet of you to come today. Gosh, you must be a really good lay,” she said as she smoothed down a section of your hair, offering what you knew was a sincere smile. 

Your eyes blew wide, about to speak again, but were cut off when she got called away by another volunteer. “And that was someone who speaks their mind without a filter!” You chuckled trying to play off the disastrous first meeting. 

Josh laughed in shock, but shook it off. “It was a compliment. Right?” You smiled at him, turning on your heel and changing the subject. “They need us over here!” You called over your shoulder at him, but he wasn’t letting it go.

“It was a compliment, right? Right?” 

June and July

It was coming to an end. The times of Josh being around whenever you wanted or needed him. He knew it was coming to a close soon, which is why he was trying to spend more time with you now than ever before. 

Laying in his backyard, a blanket underneath you, the sun's rays warming your skin, you felt at utter peace. Josh was seated next to you, scribbling things down in his notebook, humming to an imaginary tone. It was early in the day, having spent another night at his home, Josh told you he wanted to spend the morning outside before it became too hot. 

Popping another berry in your mouth, your eyes remained shut, savoring the comfort that was being offered to you right then. Something you weren’t sure when it would happen again. 

They were leaving in a week.

This was how most of the month of June had gone. Mornings and nights spent entangled in one another. Sex outside more often than you could count. Trying to be as close to each other as physically possible meant Josh was more often buried deep within you than not.

Not that you complained. It was euphoric whenever you were together, something you had never shared with another being. Especially one as magnificent as Josh. That’s why you knew parting was going to be even more difficult than it should’ve been. 

July was propelling through time at such a fast pace, you weren’t sure how time was moving so quickly. In the blink of an eye the fourth of July had come and gone, a wonderful barbecue invitation extended to you from the brothers. All of the days were melting into a blur.

Before you knew it, you were eyeing the packed luggage that was stacked by his front door, wondering where the hell the last six weeks had gone. “Okay, this key is my copy, but while you water the plants and check on the house, it’s yours.” He was running through a checklist, handing you his key, but stopped when he didn’t hear a reply.

Chin resting on the back of the couch, his sad eyes held your own. “I don’t understand how you’re leaving already.” You said with a humorless chuckle seeping into the words. His hand reached out and entangled his fingers with yours. “I know.” 

Trying to put on a happier demeanor for him, you blinked rapidly, fighting back the depressed state pushing forward. “But, you will send me pictures and videos from everywhere you go, right?” 

Thumb brushing over the back of your hand, he nodded, a smile finally holding his lips. “Of course.” Your free hand came up, making his eyes lock with yours instead of the conjoined fingers. “I expect a souvenir from every stop.” Rolling his eyes, he laughed, but it died in his throat with a heavy swallow.

“Two from every stop.” Sighing, your hand swept the smooth skin, admiring his features in the lowlight of his living room. “I love you,” he whispered out. What could only be described as a heartbroken smile formed on your trembling lips. 

A sniffle emitting from you as you nodded. “I know,” his watery gaze met yours, expecting a response. One you didn’t want to give despite feeling it yourself. Knowing that if it fell from you, you wouldn’t be able to get through this period of time with him gone. 

“You leave early.” You spoke out, but Josh abruptly stood, hands landing on his hips in anger. “Why won’t you say it back to me?” His pained expression was a solid view of his emotions. Letting your head fall forward, your eyes shut. “Don’t do this, Josh.”

Scoffing at your reply, he began pacing, thinking out loud. “Is it just me that feels this? Am I a loon for saying it to you? Every time I say it to you, I only get that reply back! Do you not love me?” His tone grew more harsh, volume increasing. 

“That’s not it,” he looked bewildered at your frame sitting on his couch. “Then what is it? Because I don’t understand!” You stood from the couch, stepping back and letting your emotions take hold of your logical reasoning. 

“Just because you say you love me doesn’t change anything, Josh! Neither does me saying it back. Because at the end of the day, you are still going to leave and I’m still going to be here!” Your chin wobbled at your words, trying to catch your breath as Josh crossed the room to reach you. 

Pulling you into his embrace, your muffled words fell onto his ears as you sobbed. “I can’t say it and then you leave. I can’t do it,” his hands rubbed your back, feeling regret seep into his bones. “I know, I know. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. You don’t have to say it back to me. I’m sorry.” 

Josh left early the next morning. 

July-September

Summer is horrible. It’s too hot out to do anything past nine in the morning, bugs crawl out from the deepest pits of hell, and when you’re getting over a heartbreak, you want nothing to do with the outside world.

There was absolutely nothing monumental that happened over the remainder of summer. You concluded your required summer courses early and decided to take a part-time job at a bookstore to fill your time with something meaningful.

While you spent most of your days sulking around, Josh was having the time of his life on another world tour with his brothers. Or so he portrayed. 

He too was miserable without your constant company. It’s why he was texting you nearly every single day with updates on what he was doing, asking what your plans for the day were, and ending as many days as he could with a phone call to you to hear about how your day had been. 

Hearing your depleted tone on the phone was destroying him. Despite agreeing to remain friends, he had never struggled with something as much as he did with this. Trying to ask in nonchalant ways if you were seeing anyone whilst he was away. He made it clear to you more than once that he had no interest in seeing other people, but deep down, you weren’t sure if you bought it.

He was a grown man who had the world at his fingertips. Why would he not take advantage of that? Because it was Josh. When he knew that you were at home, he had no interest in anyone else. That was what you had become for him in such a short span of time.

Home.

October

Halloween was a great holiday. As a child, there was nothing easier than dressing as your favorite character from the previous year, walking your neighborhood, and getting free candy. Seriously, what could beat that? 

You didn’t care how nerdy you seemed, Star Wars was your favorite alternate universe to indulge in. Your best friend was notorious for throwing the best Halloween parties where everyone would dress up and enjoy the night. This year, your Ahsoka costume was literal movie quality. 

Being immensely proud of the work you had put in for this costume, you FaceTimed Josh, excited for him to see you in the full getup. Answering, but the screen being dark, you were ecstatic. “Joshy! Look, look!” Setting the phone on your dresser and stepping back, the closeup of his face was shocked.

“Holy shit! Well, your costume is much better than mine.” You giggled, asking to see his, but he shook his head. “No, the camera won’t do it justice. Just like I’m pretty certain yours looks even better in person.” 

When you went to respond, a knock sounded from your front door. “Hold on a second, Josh.” Walking over to the door and pulling it open, you stood rooted to your spot, jaw agape at who was standing there. 

“See, I told you, looks so much better in person.” A high pitch squeal left your throat, throwing yourself into his embrace. Savoring the feeling of his embrace, even if it was slightly altered due to his Jedi robes. Still in awe, you pulled back, taking the boy in before diving into questions.

“When the hell did you get here? When do you have to go back? Why are you here? Did you do this for me?” He laughed at the slew of queries, but answered them all. “About forty minutes ago. I had to change in the airplane bathroom, which was not easy by the way. I have a flight out of here tomorrow morning at six to be back for our show tomorrow night. Of course I’m here for you. You think I was going to miss this party and the chance to see your Ahsoka costume in person? You’re crazy.” 

Feeling tears well in your eyes, you smiled brightly at him. “This is the best surprise ever. Seriously, Josh, I can’t thank you enough. You didn’t have to do this.” He shrugged, playing it off like this monstrous favor for you was just another day in the books for him. 

“Come on, Ahsoka. We have a party to get to.” 

November

Why are the holiday’s always so incredibly stressful and busy? They’re supposed to be a time of relaxation and enjoyment spent with family. Yet here you were slaving away for a meal that was going to take less than twenty minutes for twenty people to consume. 

You wouldn’t have it any other way though. 

Flying home to spend Thanksgiving with your family had been a whirlwind of a time. Between classes, being bombarded with calls from your mother about an updated guest list for the holiday, and the job you refused to quit, you were stretched thin. 

So thin, that communication with Josh had been incredibly difficult. His schedule was so hectic and yours was almost never the same day by day, if you could ever catch each other to actually talk, it was rare.

Most of the updates you received were from various forms of social media and even then, they were few and far between. 

Standing in your parents kitchen, you poured the chocolate pie filling into the baked crust, trying to scrape the bowl for all its contents when your phone rang out from the counter behind you. Quickly, hitting accept, Josh’s cheery face filled your screen.

“Happy Thanksgiving, stardust!” You smiled, attention on smoothing out the chocolate for it to set properly in the fridge. “Happy Thanksgiving, globe trotter!” As you finished, a timer went off on the stove. “Mom, the turkey!” 

Josh’s amused chuckle rang out as your mom hustled into the kitchen. Her attention settled on the screen and her smile grew tenfold. “Hi Josh! Happy Thanksgiving, sweetie. Are you with your family? How’s your mom?” Your face burned as she chatted away with him like old pals. 

Grabbing the baster, you spread the juices over the bird as they spoke to one another, entirely ignoring you. Setting the pie in the fridge, you took the oven mitt, moving to place the turkey back in the oven. 

“Oh my goodness, you boys are so silly! Your poor mother has her hands full, I’ll tell you that.” You stared at your mom, holding the massive meat and tray in your arms. “Yes, mom and my hands are full as well. The oven door, please!” She jumped realizing the task she was supposed to be doing. 

When you turned back to the counter, your eye caught his, earning a wink from him as he spoke out again. “Well, I can clearly see you’re unbelievably busy, so I will let both of you young ladies go. Happy Thanksgiving!” Your moms cheeks burned at his endearing words, your eyes rolling at his cheesiness. 

“Bye Josh.” You waved as the call ended. “Gosh, he’s such a sweet boy.” 

Smiling to yourself, your mom turned her back, but you couldn’t help but notice your accelerated heartbeat as you thought of him. 

“Yeah, he’s alright.” 

December

Staring at the gift in pure wonderment, you had no idea how he had managed to do this. A first edition Little Critter book signed by Mercer Mayer with a personal inscription to you sat in your hands. 

The package had arrived on your doorstep this afternoon. Christmas Eve had rolled around in the blink of an eye. Josh’s Christmas gift to you had arrived today and he was adamant about you opening it the second you had it in your possession. 

Now, you had no idea what to do. “Do you like it? If not, I can get you something else. I just thought-” cutting him off mid panic thought, you stuttered through your own words. “This is the best gift I’ve ever received in my life, Josh. Ho-how did you do this?” His pink cheeks turned a deeper shade at your praise. 

“I know a guy who knows a guy. It wasn’t a big deal,” you shook your head, staring at the writing. “It’s a huge deal. I can’t thank you enough. Wow,” blinking away the tears, your bright smile glowed at him. “Okay, open yours!” 

Setting his phone up to give you a better view of his present unwrapping, you thought it was utterly adorable at how excited he was to be opening a present. When he pulled the items from the box, his eyes were blown wide, observing the materials with careful hands. 

Letting him take a moment to process, his head finally snapped up to see you waiting with baited breath for his response. “Do you like them?” You asked nervously. His head fell back down to the present, no words emitting from him. “I know you have a lot of art supplies, but I researched these and know they’re supposed to be fairly good. Getting them personalized might have been a bad call,” you trailed off, second guessing your decision.

His own design sat on the engraved leather front of the sketch pad. The pencils all had symbols created by him or that held inspiration for him. Paint brushes made of the best materials, wood carved handles with intricate designs. 

“I don’t, I just, these are,” he was stumbling over his words, blinking in rapid succession. Trying to piece together how long you had spent researching these items, specifically for him. Picking out each piece must have been meticulous work. Tracking down his previous designs that he had created over the years to create this for him. No one had ever put thought like this into a gift for him before.

He was fairly certain no one would ever again. It was ridiculously stupid how in love with you this man was. He just didn’t know what to do about it.

December 31

The countdown was being shouted by everyone in the room apart from you. Standing in the back of the room, you had never felt so alone. Deciding that resolutions needed to be kept smaller in order for you not to feel like a failure. 

In actuality, it had nothing to do with the resolution itself and everything to do with Josh. 

It made zero sense how fast you had fallen for him. How well you two clicked. A connection you didn’t know was possible had been kindled between you two. Seared into the depths of your soul, making an impression you would never be able to carve out. 

You knew how you felt about him and how he felt about you. That’s why standing by yourself on New Year’s Eve was such a punch to the gut. Knowing you had met the love of your life, but not being able to be with him was torture. 

Ten, nine, eight

A shaky exhale of breath escaped your inflated lungs. Burning with an acidity you despised. 

Seven, six, five

Not wanting to watch the countdown any longer, your eyes fell down to the floor.

Four, three

An arm wrapped around your waist, spinning you around into their embrace. 

Two, one, Happy New Year!

Lips you knew like the back of your hand collided into yours. Streamers, confetti, shouting took up the space around you, but it was like being in your own world. Like it was just the two of you. 

“Happy New Year, stardust.” Your glossy eyes held his gaze. “What’re you doing here?” Your voice was weak and strained, fighting the tears that were threatening to fall. “Like I would miss your favorite holiday? Come on, you know me better than that!”

Crushing yourself to him, you uttered a small thank you, but he laughed. “I actually just didn’t want to have to kiss Danny again tonight.” A wet laugh bubbled up as you wiped at your eyes. “Ah come on, give him more credit then that.” 

Shrugging, you stared at the man across from you and realized in that instant that you had in fact met someone special almost an exact year ago. Completing a resolution only two days into the New Year had to be a record. “I love you.” Josh nodded, a big Cheshire grin pulling his face taught. 

“Oh, I know. You don’t act out a Star Wars fantasy with just anyone.” You were ready to face a lifetime of these types of statements. As long as they were coming from him, you didn’t care. 

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

To Hell...: Part Two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.9k

Summary: A man intentionally admits to murdering ten people he didn’t kill all because his sister is missing. The facts take you to a pig farm where a world of horror is waiting for you.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

x

Everyone heads back to the conference room to talk about the new evidence while Will stays in the interrogation room. You play the voicemail for everyone to hear.

"William, are you there? Something bad is happening. It's dark. I don't know where he's taking me--"

"After that, the signal cuts out."

"Is this the same night she left her mom's house?" Spencer asks.

"Yeah. Will called in an army favor. They triangulated the call to a cell tower in Canada just over the border in Port Huron. It explains why he crossed into your jurisdiction."

"It's also a surefire way to get the FBI involved. He knew we'd investigate an American citizen being held on multiple murder charges."

"You believe him?" Jeff asks you.

"I do." Penelope calls and you place her on speakerphone. "Go ahead, Penelope."

"I have good news and bad news. The good news is that I've got IDs on multiple border crosses for the dates in question. The trouble is, I've got hundreds, and as far as I can tell if your license doesn't ping for any prior felonies, you're pretty much gonna pass go and collect two hundred Canadian dollars."

"She's right. That's the busiest cross in North America. There's a lot of commercial traffic, trucks mostly. Stop and searches would cause too many delays."

"He's got a virtually free pass, and once he crosses, there's nothing but woods to hide whatever he's doing."

Rossi and Hotch managed to get Jeff to release William so that he's under the FBI's jurisdiction. Hotch wants him patrolling the streets like he's been doing. He has a rapport with those people, so he's the best bet in noticing if someone is missing. If something comes up, then there is a lot more manpower to deal with it than what Will's been given.

You and Spencer walk into the conference room where JJ is on the phone.

"Yes, ma'am, right now we just consider them missing. The second I get more information, I'll be in contact with you."

"How's it going?"

"The majority of the people on the street aren't even from Detroit. We don't have last names or hometowns on most of them. Unless there's a missing persons report on file somewhere, it's almost impossible."

"Most of these people's families probably gave up on seeing them long ago," Spencer sighs.

"A mother would never give up." You have to agree with JJ here. If your child went missing, you'd do anything to find them. "Can you hand me William's arrest report?"

Spencer does, and she leaves the room just in time for Penelope to call.

"Yeah, Garcia?"

"Sherlock, it's Watson. I think I've got something."

"What do you have?"

Rossi enters the room to hear what Penelope has to say.

"I checked Detroit crime reports over the last month because Derek and Emily astutely thought there might be some sort of assaults or disturbances having to do with our unsub. Well, it's tres weird but on five of the abduction nights, Detroit PD reports a break-in or a robbery at some type of medical facility."

"What type of medical facility?"

"We got a hospital, blood bank, medical supply company, and the Red Cross. He's not even stealing narcotics. The stuff he took is anesthesia, sterilizing equipment, and syringes."

"Where were these places located?"

"Putnam Street, St. Antoine, East Hancock, and Martin Luther King Boulevard."

"Those are all in the Cass Corridor."

That's where everyone seems to be disappearing from.

"Do you have a list of what else he stole?" you ask and grab a pen and paper.

"IV tubes, an infusion pump, units of O-negative blood, chest tubes, O-silk sutures, and Elastoplast."

"Thanks, Pen." Spencer hangs up. "You don't just randomly know how to hook a line up to an infusion pump, or that O-neg is the only safe blood type for any victim."

"I'll tell Hotch we think we know what he's doing with them," Spencer says.

Rossi and Jeff gather the men and women of the police force so that you can deliver the profile. Something about this doesn't make sense to you, but with all the evidence in front of you, you have no choice but to go with what everyone else is saying.

"We believe the man we're looking for is a sexual sadist. What this means is that for him, torture becomes a substitute for the sex act. The fact that he's stealing medical equipment like sterilizing agents and anesthesia tells us he may be performing experiments or surgeries on his victims," Rossi begins.

"We believe this unsub gets gratification from his ability to keep his victims alive in order to endure more torture. The choice of items stolen is extremely specific, which makes us believe he's got a medical background, so check disciplinary files at hospitals, med schools, and community health organizations. People would have noticed his behavior."

"This is someone who would volunteer to perform painful procedures," you state. "He would spend extra time probing a broken hand or a distended abdomen, and after a long day when everyone else is emotionally drained from multiple traumas and mangled bodies, he'd be the one pushing his coworkers to go out for a drink and talk about their day."

"Now, we know what you're thinking--a profile is fine, but our best shot at stopping this guy is still to catch him in the act. This unsub is extremely smart and obviously organized. He's managed to abduct very different victims with very different abilities, all with no witnesses. That's why we're coordinating with the police and our agents on the ground in Detroit."

"We've also asked Sergeant Hightower to act as a guide on the streets in Detroit while he's in our custody," Rossi says.

Everyone looks at Will who is silent at the table.

"That's it. If you have any questions, you find me or one of the agents," Jeff says to his people.

William is about to get up when he sees someone enter the station with JJ. He goes rigid like he's not expecting someone he knows to show up here.

"What's she doing here?" he asks angrily.

"We've notified all the family members we can locate."

"You have no right."

"It's her daughter," Rossi says. "She has a right to know."

William looks at the picture of his sister on the board and lets a tear roll down his cheek. If he's getting this emotional, then that can only mean the woman with JJ is his mother.

"It's one thing to believe Lee is lost on the streets, but I don't want her to know that there's a killer out there. We know how this is gonna end."

"No, we don't."

"Look, everything I have done is to find the truth so I can spare her. I don't want her living off hope."

"There are worse things," Jeff says.

"You're wrong. Bad news stops us for a while, but then you move on. Hope is paralyzing."

"He has a point," you say. "Hope in situations like this drains you of the person you are. I'd rather the bad news."

His mother stands at the doorway so that when he looks behind him, he sees the look on her face. He gets up to greet her even though he can't seem to say anything. She doesn't say anything but opens her arms for him, to which he hugs her back.

"Oh, my God," she whispers and pulls away from Will to approach the board with all the victims on it. "Are all these people missing?"

"We believe so."

"Do you have any suspects?"

"No, but we have a strategy to try to catch him. William is helping."

"My daughter... Is there any chance she could still be alive?"

"It's possible."

"Do you know what he's doing to them?"

"It's difficult to say."

JJ escorts Will's mother out of the room to sit somewhere else to answer a few questions. You, Hotch, and Will are going to join Derek and Emily down at the station in Detroit while the rest stay in Canada. You reach over to grab Spencer's hand but he quickly moves it away from you.

"Please don't touch me."

"Oh, okay."

"I mean, not my hands," he stutters.

"You don't have to explain yourself. It's okay. I'll call you if we find something."

You leave Spencer with that and head to Detroit with Will and Hotch. Spencer is still probably freaked out about what happened with the whole Anthrax situation, so you'll give him as much space and time as he needs to heal. In the meantime, you have a case to worry about. Emily and Derek meet you at the station when you arrive in Detroit.

"Thanks for believing me," Will says to you and Hotch.

"You don't have to thank us," you say.

"William, I want you to understand that even if we catch him, you're probably gonna end up doing some time in Canada."

"I can live with that."

You three get out and walk over to Derek and Emily who is with a woman.

"Detective Tay Benning, this is SSA Aaron Hotchner and SSA Y/N."

"Hi, this is William Hightower. He's gonna help us on the ground. Will, these are agents Prentiss and Morgan. We should split up and cover male and female potential victims."

We'll take the men," Derek says.

"I'll make introductions for you," Will offers.

"Stay close to your phones. If anyone's out of place, Detective Benning can get a name and a description of our patrol cars as quickly as possible."

You, Emily, and Hotch go off to talk to the women while Will, Detective Benning, and Derek talk to the men. This unsub is going to strike again with someone in this area soon whether that be tonight or tomorrow. He's stuck to a tight schedule in the past and you don't think he's going to deviate from that. Yes, it'd be much easier to approach a prostitute rather than a homeless man, so how is he doing it? The question is, why does he alternate victims in clusters of men and women? Why take the men at all if this has a sexual component to it?

The unsub sees these people as disposable, it doesn't matter if they're male or female. For a sexual sadist, male or female isn't important because the torture itself is the sex.

Unless sex has nothing to do with this.

With the photos that Will provided you with, you're able to go around and check off who is working on the street. There are only three people who have not been accounted for, and you go to Hotch once he's done with his section. Will had come back to Hotch after he made an introduction to Derek, so he is in the car with Hotch.

"We have three unaccounted for."

Hotch and Will get out of the car and approach some girls on the street with you and Emily by their sides.

"Excuse me, ladies, did you see any of these girls leave with customers?"

You show them the photos of the three girls.

"I saw Monica and Sasha leave with two men, but I don't know about Kelly."

"Do you know where they would go?"

"There's a parking lot down at Cass Park. The girls have their Johns park there."

Hotch walks away and dials Detective Benning to confirm this.

"What about Kelly? Is there a reason why you wouldn't have seen her leave?" you ask.

"I don't know. I could have been distracted."

"So, she was here before? Was there any reason she would sneak off?" Will asks.

"I don't know what she does. She's fresh meat out here."

"Okay," Hotch returns, "Detroit PD confirmed two prostitutes with Johns in the parking lot at Cass Park."

"We're short one girl."

"Did you know his sister, Lee Hightower?" you ask.

"Yeah, I knew her."

"Is there any place where she would have taken clients? Maybe somewhere the other girls wouldn't go?"

"She didn't do it normally. She'd try to get a real job but then she'd slip. Then about a month and a half ago, she said she was leaving."

"That's when I took her to my mom's," Will says.

"I haven't seen her since."

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[ohwhataniight]

more than the world can contain - Chapter 4: A Scandal in Belgravia

Part 2

J

If I had a therapist, she would note down yet another trigger in my list of traumas: swimming pools. The smell of chlorine. Semtex. Although I am fairly certain that having a phobia of deadly explosives should be considered the picture of good mental health. Anyway, I don't currently have a therapist. But, on second thought, maybe I should reconsider.

Because my flatmate is complete bonkers, and I have to deal with his antics every day.

I’ve only managed to get what feels like two hours of blissfully dreamless, uninterrupted, Xanax-induced sleep, after we return to Baker Street, before I wake up with a scream.

The reason I'm screaming is that Sherlock is awake and hovering over me, watching me sleep, his pale blue eyes glinting in the dark as the lights from the street catch them in their stride through the windows. He’s staring intensely at my face, brow furrowed, as if he's trying to decipher some code. He’s wearing a look I became acquainted to for the first time tonight: uncertainty, with an unusual tinge of vulnerability. Once again in this night that feels like a century, he looks much younger than he is.

“What on our-planet-that-orbits-the-sun are you doing?” I hear myself mumbling as I rub my eye with the heel of one hand, and even I’m surprised with my own eloquence at this ungodly time of the night, after a near-death experience. It’s then when I register the slight pressure of cold fingers on my other wrist. “Your hands are cold, you look like a vampire, you act like a vampire. Is there anything you need to tell me, Sherlock?”

“Nope, nothing,” he pops his p quite dramatically, drops my hand on the frame my bed rather gracelessly (this is going to bruise later) and throws himself up, walks away, silk blue robe swishing around him.

I sit up and my eyes slowly get accustomed to the darkness of the room. “Sherlock,” I demand, cutting him dead as his tracks by the door. “You were taking my pulse,” it sounds like an accusation. “In the middle of the night.”

“Nothing to worry about, all seems normal.”

“Yes, but why were you taking my pulse?”

“It’s for an experiment.”

I’m still faced with his back. “Listen,” I say. “There’s no need to be worried. I’m alive, and I'm home, thanks to an uncharacteristic stroke of luck. And, well, you.”

A breath hovers in the empty space between us for a second. “You've got your answer, John,” he eventually exhales, still refusing to turn around and face me. "Not the one you want, maybe, but definitely the one you need."

“What answer? Sherlock, why do you have to be all enigmatic? It’s bloody 3 in the morning, you’re allowed to take a break, y'know?” I stand up from my bed, barefoot on the carpetted floor, infuriated.

Finally, he turns around. Be careful what you wish for, Johnny, I think, because his gaze is burning through me. It's pretty intense, disarming. Especially considering everything that’s taken residence in my mind during the past couple of days.

“You have been wondering whether I am capable of human emotion for a while now. Whether I care,” he almost spits the word. “Well, John, tonight you have observed it’s in your best interests if I don’t. I hope that explains my usual... disposition. Now, go back to sleep. You are still in shock.”

“And you aren’t?”

He doesn’t respond. Just stares at me. Then, “why would I be?”

I take a few steps, closing the distance between us. My heart is thrumming like a caged bird and I want to extend my hand, touch him, comfort him. But this isn’t how Sherlock Holmes works. “We are all bound to lose people we care about in our lifetimes, Sherlock,” I eventually resort to say, realizing I’m feeling slightly dizzy - the shock, the benzo, his stare. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t. Care. I mean.”

More seconds pass. They eavesdrop, they dance in the room, its air thick with our scents (sleep, leather, upholstery, sweat, whiskey?) My flatmate remains unmoving, the bloody vampire. “Right,” he says eventually, before turning around again. “Goodnight, John.”

During the following days, we become... closer. It’s strange to observe, even stranger to feel. I find Sherlock doing our laundry one morning. It’s almost endearing, even though my white jumper is now bright pink after being washed with his aubergine shirt. He even makes me toast a couple of times, makes sure I’m always properly nourished. I don’t catch him checking my vitals again, to my slight disappointment, as I realize with a feeling of dread one day. But I remain feeling quite touched. If not a bit flattered.

Also, my blog is booming. He develops a habit of mocking my titles, but even though he’s the king of banter, I am the writer in this equation. I make him internet famous, he makes me tea. Deep down, I know we both like it.

One night about a week later, I’m at a medical conference in Dublin, I’ve had a couple of beers, and I’m flirting with a beautiful brunette. An oncologist. She’s brilliant and sexy. I think her name’s Sue? And then the facetime app on my phone starts ringing. I’ve been ignoring Sherlock’s increasingly urgent texts all night. They ranged from “John, are you up?” and “I need your insight on the comic book case” to “Pick up John it is a matter of life and death”.

“I’m sorry, I need to get this,” I sigh, and Sophia (?) looks frustrated. My knees wobbles as I try to stand up from the bar stool and it takes a while for my feet to get accustomed to the floor again. “What do you want?” I hiss at the camera after picking up.

“The printer, John, it’s all in the printer. I need you to find out the model of the printer, quickly.” He looks... naked, wrapped in a white sheet, in what seems like his bed. My flatmate texts me “u up” when I’m away, and then facetimes me from his bed in nothing but a sheet. No wonder people talk.

“I’ve met someone, Sherlock,” I whisper-shout, walking out of the pub and the cold Dublin air slaps me in the face. “It was going very well until you rudely interrupted us...”

“Don’t tell me you’re not in the least bit excited to hear my brilliant deductions, then write all about it in your little blog...”

“I’ve met someone, as I just told you. The world doesn’t revolve around you...”

“I don’t think that the world revolves around me,” he says, looking terribly offended. “Although admittedly it would make much more sense if it did...”

“Come on, Sherlock,” I chuckle at the camera. “I see how you dress, flamboyance is your middle name, and you love an audience. Need I remind you that my first role in your turbulent life was that of a skull on the mantelpiece?”

“You’ve evolved since then.”

I’m left gaping incredulously at the level of his audacity. “Well, ta.”

“Anyway, John, contrary to your assumptions about my person, and despite the fact that I still do think you would profit profoundly from an introduction to the joys of custom-tailored trousers, I don’t care what people think.”

I hear myself giggling in the middle of the pavement as people less drunk than I am pass by, chatting merrily. The buzz of the city makes me somewhat giddy too. “Prove it.”

“How?”

“Wear what you’re wearing now during our next case.”

“What do I get if I do that?”

“You see, you don't have the balls to do that...”

“What do I get?”

“My acknowledgment and utmost respect.”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Dull.”

“Okay, okay,” I chuckle again. “I’ll buy us dinner. Wherever you want.”

“Cafe Royal?”

“Cafe Royal.”

“Fine,” a wide smile spreads on his face. It’s endearing, really.

When I return inside, Susannah is unfortunately nowhere to be seen.

*

Sherlock, please tell me you’re not currently headed where I’ve just been informed I’m headed wearing that sheet. I was drunk last night when I dared you.

Reservation for two at the Cafe Royal at eight. See you soon. SH

And God save Her, of course. SH

To be continued...