#// ignore. will add/fix but needed to physically see the list

[lunar-years]

royKeeleys really were done incredibly dirty so I do feel bad. but a lot of stuff I see people say about them or how the show shorted them just does not make sense to me lol.

(I also felt like him kneeling was never a sign that the show was taking his knee problems seriously and that it was a Big Deal he was kneeling. They bring it up and then immediately forget about it over and over. One day he can���t run or walk up stairs, the next he’s running miles upon miles with Jamie)

YEAH!! I think I might be in the minority in that while I did/do love roykeeley in season 2 and in general, I was actually kind of hoping for a breakup when I went into s3 and I wasn't at all sad when it happened 🫢 To me, this was something that actually was foreshadowed at the end of s2, so much so that it almost felt... inevitable? There were so many cracks there and the breakup kind of felt necessary. The problem was that they never went anywhere good with it.

So while I definitely agree that their arc was done dirty, I disagree with a lot of the reasons people like to list for HOW they were done dirty (e.g., the writers were wrong simply for breaking them up, it was mean to tease them sleeping together only to not have them immediately back together the next episode, Roy was supposed to propose/keeley was supposed to be pregnant 🤢, Keeley's arc was bad for the exclusive reason that it didn't revolve around Roy, etc.)

The biggest problems with s3 roykeeley were actually (imo):

breaking them up should have been the conduit for individual growth and addressing the personal issues that led to the break up for BOTH of them, but then they only tried to go that route with Roy whilst actually making Keeley REGRESS and never directly acknowledging, let alone resolving, any of her problems

roy's apology was non-specific if not downright Bad i'm sorry; he never tells Keeley why he broke up with her in any meaningful way

they never got the really good conversation i wanted to them to have (and feel their storyline desperately needed & deserved) about where they went wrong/how they're trying to fix it

too much happened offscreen. I think the offscreen breakup would've been fine if they'd then followed it up with the above bullet points, but you can't have an offscreen breakup that's then never discussed and is followed by an offscreen hookup followed by one conversation that gets interrupted before it even really begins. like what WAS that??

The breakup alone wasn't the problem! them not getting back together also wasn't the problem! it's just that none of it was done purposefully enough and Keeley's individual arc sucked bad

//

That's such an interesting perspective on Roy's knee stuff!! I don't think I really share that complaint, because I think it's easy enough to assume that some days his knee is really a Problem and other days it's mostly fine. He's never going to be able to keep up a professional athlete's level of activity again, but I really like that they show him running with Jamie. I think it highlights that their training is something that's good for both of them, because Roy is definitely the sort to forgo his physical therapy and not take care of himself. But I assume that keeping active actually helps him on the days when it's a struggle to say, go up the stairs. And they do show that he can't quite keep up with Jamie and gets exhausted much quicker.

So i dunno, I don't think the show is ignoring his problems, so much setting a balance between "Roy suffers chronic knee problems due to repeated injuries" and "he also is learning to take better care of himself and let other people help him so that the injury no longer has to dictate his life."

(okay editing to add: in rereading your first sentence on it I actually think i do agree with you, lmao. I just wasn't fully understanding at first. Yeah the writers FOR SURE weren't consciously thinking Roy Kneeling = a Sign That He Cares Extra About Keeley because it Hurts His Knee but he's willing to Endure The Pain just for her. which is how some people spin it, lmao. "Roy only kneels for Keeley wow he's so brave and in love!!" Like, no? ...sometimes the man just kneels?)

[xbunny-k]

The Actor & I: PART TWENTY-FOUR – Mr. Butler, It’s Ana, Please

This is part TWENTY FOUR of a very long, SLOW BURN series on Austin Butler and a Production Assistant on set of Elvis (2022).

Masterlist here!

Anything italicized is main character’s thoughts!

Warnings: Possessiveness, smidge of misogyny, Smut, Fluff, eventual Spoilers for Elvis (2022), language (If i missed anything, please comment so i can add!)

Tags: @manddor @pumkiinpasties​ @its-funny-til-its-not​ @karamelcoveredolicity @butlerstyles @feral4austinbutler @mirandastuckinthe80s @emilykolchivans @atombombbibunny @francescababy @starry-night-20 @yeetfack-blog @milaa24 @londonalozzy @xo-aurora @chaoticbilly @mamaspresley @sageskywalker @cryingabtab @readerloverlevy @jakiki94 @dancer4j @southstreetsunrise (Let me know if you’d like to be added!)

Please, if you like this, share it, comment, like it and enjoy xx

The weekend flies by and I get a few texts from Austin, but nothing other than casual conversation. It doesn’t feel like how we used to talk. I didn’t even bother replying to his last message. I’m disappointed. I always knew it couldn’t be anything but getting that close to him physically only made it clear how attracted I am to him. We had such an intense connection emotionally already, but physically, it was even stronger.

When I head into the office Monday, I have a calendar reminder for a big meeting with my boss, Alison, and a few people from Baz Luhrmann’s office to go over some pre-production schedules. I check the emails on the calendar invite and see Austin’s manager listed, but no Austin. I assume this clears me from an unexpected visit with Austin.

Before the meeting needs set up, I run to the bathroom to subtly fix up my appearance as I hadn’t planned on seeing anyone as important as Baz today. I’m wearing a white tank with grey pants and some platform sneakers. My hair is up, but I’m able to take it down and make it look presentable. I put on some lip oil and glide on some perfume I had in my bag. I decide it’s enough to make me look effortless, but on top of it.

As I head back to my desk, I grab the binders I’ve put together for calendars, scheduling, contacts, studio assignments and more. I bring them to a conference room and set up a place for each attendee from the email. As I head back to my desk, I see him. Austin’s in some jeans and a graphic tee headed towards the conference room I just walked out of with his manager. I don’t think he’s seen me yet, so I go back into the conference room.

Shit, Ana what are you doing? You need stuff from your desk, you can’t just hide in here. Get out of here!

I panic and pretend I’m busy doing what I was already in the room doing when Austin’s manager, my boss and Austin all come in through the door.

Austin looks at me and his face lights up, but he sees my general expression hasn’t changed and his face falls. Alison doesn’t notice this interaction at all and says, “Ana, looks good in here. I’ll go see if everyone else is here while I grab my…” I cut my boss off as I see a chance for me to get out, “I’ll grab your laptop for you. I have to get a few things from my desk as well. Anything else you need?” I smile at her, and she looks relieved as she says, “Just my planner and a pen if you don’t mind.” I nod as I walk towards the door and say, “Nice to see you again, Mr. Butler and Mr. Bryson.”

I politely smile at both Austin and his manager. I walk out quickly towards Alison’s office first and when I’m headed back to my desk, I see Austin headed the same direction. What is he doing?

As I get to my desk, I go to grab my laptop and knock off some papers. Great, just great. I bend down to pick them up and when I stand back up, Austin is leaning over my desk. “Are you just gonna ignore me, Anastasia,” he asks dryly and his eyes look like they’re searching me for more than just a yes or no answer. He seems like he’s studying my entire body and reaction.

My body betrays me as it usually does when Austin is around; my cheeks burn red as I’m blushing, I can feel myself breathing quicker than normal like I can’t get enough oxygen or something and subconsciously, I bite down on my bottom lip while I look at him. Worst of all, I can feel my nipples harden as I think about our last interaction together. I pull myself together and say, “Mr. Butler, it’s Ana, please.” I smile at him, and he looks the opposite of pleased. “Anastasia, come on. We said we’d be friends,” he says firmly, but like he's pleading with me at the same time. I giggle and say, “You’re right. Do you wanna follow me back to the conference room?” He sighs and motions for me to lead the way.

He's following right behind me, but I can feel him as he leans down and whispers in my ear, “Is this tank top really work appropriate, Anastasia?” I can feel myself turning bright pink as I blush in reaction to thinking he’s checking me out, but then I panic and look down at my chest. I can see my nipples through my tank. Ana, would it kill you to wear a bra… to work… I roll my eyes though as I start to think who is he to comment on how I’m dressed.

“Well, Mr. Butler, this is a casual office, we do a lot of physical work so we’re able to dress as we see fit unless there’s big executives coming in from the main office,” I say as I turn around from him and stick my tongue out at him quickly. I giggle and turn back around as we make our way to the conference room. I open the door for him to enter, but as he walks in the room, he leans down and whispers, “Stick that tongue out at me again, Anastasia.” His eyes are dark as he grazes my hand with his and he enters the room where now Baz and some of his team are.

Baz smiles at Austin and then at me as well, which brings me back to earth. This is your job. Look at the people you’re in a room with. I straighten myself out and say, “Nice to see you, Baz, Catherine and Greg! I have preproduction binders set out for everyone along with pens and paper. If anyone needs anything else, please let me know.” I smile and after some small talk, Alison leads the meeting.

After an hour of fine-tuning what prep will take place when, Baz turns to Austin and his manager, Will, to go over some fittings that need scheduled with Catherine and her team. I chime in and say, “Austin’s schedule looks clear at the same time as Catherine having available time next Tuesday and Wednesday, which is also when we have the rehearsal space cleared from the lot as they’ll have wrapped up the current production in that space. We could utilize the space there before it starts getting taped off for rehearsals if you wanted. That way anyone who needs to come in, we won’t be crushed for space in a small office.”

Baz and Catherine both light up as they talk over one another saying it’s perfect. I coordinate with Catherine and her assistant so I can help getting anything set up in the space and clear anything they need to drop off. I give them both my cell so it’s easier to get in touch and I look up to see Austin watching me. He looks like he’s listening to the conversation, but also like he’s happy to see me in action. I blush looking at him and I see him beam at me. I giggle and get back to my conversation.

Baz looks over the updated calendar on my laptop to see if any additional adjustments are needed and he asks, “Now Alison, are you sending Ana to every rehearsal or…” My boss nods before Baz can finish and says, “Basically, if Austin is doing something Elvis related, Toby wants Ana there. Ana will not only take notes, but that way if you need something Warner Brothers can provide, Ana will know who to reach out to make it happen. This production is one of the top priorities and we’ve learned from previous productions, it’s best to have someone from our end there at all times just to be a mixture of a handler, assistant, provider, just whatever is needed.”

Baz nods and smiles at me and then Austin as he says, “Well I guess you two are about to be extremely close.” I politely smile at Baz and nod in Austin’s direction. Austin’s eyes lock on me and say, “I can’t wait.”

After we wrap up the meeting, everyone starts to leave and I stay behind to clean up the conference room. As I’m headed out, Austin appears in the doorway and backs me into the conference room again. “Austin, what are you doing,” I quietly snap at him. He looks at me and as the door closes, he firmly says, “Why are you acting like you don’t know me? I thought we had become pretty good friends.”

He looks disappointed as he stares at me. His face looks as if he’s searching my body’s reaction for an answer. I sigh and stare back at him. He has disappointed you too many times, Ana. Don’t go back on it now.

I sigh before I answer him, “I’m sorry, I just get some whiplash from being open with you and then you telling me you have to back off. I’d rather play it neutral and professional.” I look at him blankly and his eyes fall. I see Austin sink into himself and he says, “Play, huh? I just thought we were friends, Anastasia.” I frown as I realize I hurt him. He really had opened up to me and let me be there for him as a friend. I just got twisted in my attraction to him… No, Ana… he was flirting with you. You were on top of him at some point…

“Ok, Austin. We can be friends, but no more flirting. No physical touching. Just friends. That way there is no confusion,” I say and look into his eyes. His eyes instantly lighten up, but as he looks me up and down, they darken. He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and then his eyes meet mine. “Alright, Anastasia. A deal. But physical touching, let’s discuss.” I giggle and say, “Mr. Presley, that doesn’t sound like a deal.”

He laughs back, but before he can say anything, Will, Austin’s manager, sticks his head in the conference room. “Hey Austin, we need to head out.” I smile at Will and Austin says, “2 minutes and I’ll be in the car.” Will nods and leaves the room.

I grab my stuff off the table for a second time and head to leave the conference room. As I head towards the door, Austin opens it for me and says, “After you, ma’am.” I giggle and as I walk past him, he asks, “So when am I seeing you next?” I look back at him and say, “I believe it’s in your calendar, Mr. Butler.” He scoffs and rubs my shoulder as he heads towards to leave my office building.

Being friends with him is gonna be tough….

[pukwudgie-tremaine]

Shipname Masterlist

Jack&Ella: ( pumpkin spice and everything frightening: jacella )

James&Ella: ( the consciously brave ones: jella )

Rapunzel&Ella: ( glowing embers: enzel )

-Pending-

AnastasiaxElla: Unknown - Ellastasia

AquataxElla: Unknown - ??

AristaxElla: Unknown - ??

AttinaxElla: Unknown - Ellina

BarryxElla: Unknown - Barla

Eric&Ella: Unknown - ??

Gaston&Ella: Unknown- Elston

Jim&Ella: Unknown - Jila

Kent&Ella: Unknown - Ellent

MalenaxElla: Unknown - ??

PanxElla: Unknown - ??

SoraxElla: Unkown - Elora

WendyxElla: Unknown - ??

[murdertoothpick]

Hi!! If you’re still taking requests I was wondering if I could ask for prompts 7+19 with crosshair please :) <3 (off the 501 follower prompt list)

speechless

Crosshair x gn!Reader | w/c: 630

501 follower prompt list - [7] speechless + [19] 'don't act so innocent'

Warnings: the lead up to smut, light choking, slight d/s undertones, 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (im SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG)

'Look at me,' he grits, fingers trapping your jaw in a fixed position as he holds your gaze. Crosshair assesses your face with a domineering scrutiny—and if weren't for the plastoid-clad knee pressed between your thighs, your legs would have given out under you. 'Not so talkative now, are you?' he sneers.

The rise and fall of your chest betray your attempts to hide your state of fluster under his observation—and the eyes that always take your breath away are set in a hard glare that still manages to trace your features with a softness reserved only for you. But he's pissed. You see the subtle flaring of his nostrils, seeming to make itself at home with the scowl on his face. The sound of your breathing is faint but intimate to him, yet it does little to quell his anger despite the closing gap between you.

You gulp, struggling to recall the events that have led to this very moment.

Unamused by your lack of response, he leans in impossibly closer, voice lowered to a near-whisper. 'Got something to say?' He releases the pressure on your jaw, though his hand remains cupping your face as if some sort of power play. A calculated move just like him to make.

He traces his thumb over your bottom lip just as you open your mouth to speak, causing you to inhale sharply, a reaction that isn't lost on him. How perceptive, you'd snark if you weren't in deep shit right now.

'I- I'm sorry,' you breathe, shifting your expression into one you hope will work in your favour. He doesn't move, not for a moment, then two. So you add, 'I didn't mean it.'

He scoffs, pulling his upper body away from you, though your legs are still situated together. 'Don't act so innocent, doll. He managed to get you in the same position I have you in right now.'

Okay, you'll admit: you had taken things too far, you wanted to rile him up. But this was an exaggeration. You didn't let the stranger get more than one hand on you, and you were quick to politely turn him down when he first made physical contact, to which he respected and bid you farewell. You had hardly gotten a moment to yourself before Crosshair crossed the room and grabbed you by the arm.

'C'mon,' you half scoff, 'you and I both know that's not what you saw.' With each word you manage to get out, a new confidence surges through you, one that mimics the one you've felt all night. 'Or do you need to get your eyes checked, ner ramser?'

You tilt your head in a wicked smile.

Crosshair resumes his grip on your jaw. He inspects your face, clicking his tongue in fake satisfaction when he's done. 'Careful, doll,' he warns, flashing his teeth at you, 'that mouth could get you in trouble.'

You bite your lip, dropping your eyes to size him up despite the way your face is angled upwards by his hand, 'What are you gonna do about it?'

He smirks, straightening his stance and somehow further towering over you. He brushes his thumb over your lips, 'I'm gonna fuck this filthy mouth,' he reveals, before releasing his grip and curling his fingers around your neck. 'And you help me decide whether you deserve my cock anywhere else tonight.'

Your lips part as he momentarily tightens his fist—not to harm you, but enough so that you're unable to ignore the power he holds over you. He relents pressure once again, eyes boring into yours, 'Any objections?'

You gulp, shaking your head in acquiescence.

He lets go, stepping away from you with a slight smirk on his face, 'Get on your knees then.'

taglist: @baroclinicinstability @kybacrystal @perpetual-fangirl900 @teletraan-meets-jarvis @foodandbooksplease @proadhog @sageislostinspring @dwarfplanet69 @ahsokatano-thetogruta @loth-wolffe @dinbeskarbaby @the-dreamy-mermaid @diagonallie5400 @thotlympics @dolphincommander @99squad @bb-8 @ladykatakuri @shuttlelauncher81 @moonstrider9904 @14mcmd1122 @hobiiwan @kimageddon @incandescentlywarm @paige6768 @nahoney22 @wolffeskitten @clonecyare

[runawaymun]

Hi hi! I dont know if its ok to send more than one request but i like your writing so much, i couldnt resist lol, if not then feel free to ignore this one~

I need more fluff in my life fr, fem! reader struggling with social anxiety and insecurity (totally not projecting) stuttering, avoiding everyone, tremors, sweating, the whole package- with anyone other than family. They end up meeting and working alongside Lindir, Erestor and Glorfindel in Rivendell where they sadly arent familiar with anyone and gets super homesick. (Platonic or romantic completely depends on how you think it would go!) Have a great day! 💕💕💕 Side note: Moving to a new place is really lonely.

You can absolutely send as many as you like! Thank you so much for the compliment 💖 I hope this works for you, my friend! Honestly we can all use more fluff in our lives. All these bois are so soft and I love them so much  🥺😭 

 Here goes: 

Lindir

Lindir is the first person to greet you when you come to Imladris. As Lord Elrond’s assistant and steward of his house, he feels responsible for you and wants to do his best to make you feel at home, making sure that your room is well-furnished and comfortable when you arrive and immediately asking what you need to personalize it, and finding everything to the best of his ability.

If there is something you want that isn’t immediately available, he’ll ask one of the many skilled artisans in Imladris to make it for you, or if they aren’t able to or don’t know how, he’ll try and order it in on one of the shipments to the Valley. 

He’s really shy and fretful himself, and so it's super awkward between the two of you at first. Like-- painfully awkward-- because he recognizes and empathizes with how you feel and wants to help, but is way too anxious to do much other than interact with you in a professional capacity. 

But you can sense that there’s something very warm and friendly behind his own overly-proper pleasantries that he clings to when he’s nervous. 

He worries when you don’t seem to make any friends and keep to yourself at mealtimes, but he understands and doesn’t try to push you into anything.

One afternoon everything just becomes too much for you. You’ve stumbled over all of your social interactions and can’t stop beating yourself up about it, and you miss home so much it physically hurts somewhere inside your chest. You can’t even make it to your room before you’re in tears, so you end up hiding in a back corner of one of the secluded gardens, hoping no one will hear you cry. That’s when Lindir finds you.

He’s still very awkward about it, but he can’t stand to see you so upset and so he comes over and sits next to you and asks you what’s wrong, and he doesn’t much mind whether or not you’re able to tell him. He just sits there, present with you (maybe a little anxiously), and offers you one of his neatly-pressed white handkerchiefs.

And then he’ll finally blurt out: “I understand just how you feel” in one, tumbling mess. He adds that he doesn’t fit in very well either and he often feels insecure and worries what others think of him. But he’s quick to reassure you that no matter what lies you tell yourself, you haven’t given anyone any reason to dislike you and he’ll list all the reasons he admires you. 

He’ll offer to fix your hair for you and he lets you take your time before going back to your day. If you want a snack or something nice to drink, he’ll make sure you get it.

And after that, he’s sure to check on you regularly and say hello to you when the two of you pass each other. And soon the two of you become fast friends, sharing in that incredibly strong bond that forms between two anxious people who know that the other person accepts them just the way they are. You become each other’s solace when social interaction becomes too stressful and overwhelming. 

You end up using each other as an excuse to get away from anxiety-inducing situations, developing a knack for knowing when one of you is overwhelmed so the two of you can go somewhere quiet to calm down. 

Just...ugh...absolute besties. 🥺 

Glorfindel

Glorfindel introduces himself to you on your very first morning in Imladris. He knows everybody in Imladris, and everybody knows him, so he’s absolutely delighted to see a new face. He assumes you’re just passing through, but when he asks you quietly tell him that no, you’re here to stay. He’s thrilled and immediately wants to know everything about you, but backs off as soon as he realizes how terribly anxious you’re getting. 

Since he knows you’re new, he makes a point to say hello to you and ask how you’re doing every time he sees you. He always has a bright smile and a compliment for you. He isn’t deterred when you can’t work up the courage to say anything to him. He knows he’s a little intimidating and he’s aware that you’re anxious, so he doesn’t ever try and drag you into conversations or take up too much of your time. 

Whenever he notices that the other elves and non-elvish visitors in Imladris are making you uncomfortable (they all mean well, but you have such a difficult time making friends and group-interactions are fraught with all sorts of pitfalls for you-- especially when it comes to how badly you stutter when you get anxious), he devises some reason to lure them away from you so that you can have some space. And he’s very good at doing this without making it seem like he’s doing it.

Eventually he works up the courage to drop by your room with a plate of pastries (he has a sweet tooth and can’t think of a better gift) and knocks on your door. When you open it, he holds out the plate and immediately says: “I want to apologize for making you so uncomfortable on your first day here!” And of course he has to gush about the cinnamon rolls he’s brought you. 

He asks if there is any way he can make you more comfortable, and offers to introduce you to some of Imladris’ quieter residents so that you can make some like-minded friends.

He continues to keep an eye out for you and comes to check on you whenever he hasn’t seen you in a while, just to make sure you’re doing okay (and he always brings sweets).

As you become more comfortable around him, he gifts you a gentle horse that he helped train, and offers to teach you how to ride. He promises to show you all of the best hiking and riding trails around the Valley and offers to take you stargazing anytime you like, as it’s a favorite pastime of his.

He’s always ready to listen if you need to talk-- especially about missing home. He understands completely! He misses Gondolin and is often struck with sea-longing for Valinor, but he’s bound to Middle Earth until his quest here is complete. The two of you swap stories about your homes and the people you miss, and he’s very good at knowing just what to say whenever you’re feeling especially lonely or sad. 

Also he is an absolute snugglebug. You just have to say the word and he’ll shower you with affection: hugs, forehead kisses, cuddles, the whole works. He’ll even offer to spend the night with you if you don’t want to sleep alone.

Which of course turns into something a little more than friendship... but he’s respectful and keeps his distance, waiting until you’re completely comfortable with him before he even asks if you’re interested in him.

He’s thrilled when he learns that you return his feelings, and he’s so attentive and protective when the two of you are in a relationship. And he dotes -- making sure you have everything that you could ever want and then some, and makes sure to look after you whenever you’re having a bad day. 

Erestor

Erestor takes the longest of the three to warm to you. He’s swamped with responsibilities as Elrond’s chief advisor and isn’t exactly the friendliest of elves-- and you find his grouchy, prickly demeanor daunting, so you try to stay out of his way as much as possible.

It’s Glorfindel that introduces the two of you to each other. He and Erestor are the best of friends and Glorfindel thinks the two of you would get along, if you could just get past Erestor’s grumpiness and Erestor could take five minutes out of his day to talk to you.

Eventually Glorfindel convinces Erestor to let you help him out with his office duties. It’s quiet work where you don’t have to talk to anyone. Mostly filing things, organizing, cleaning, and running small errands for him. Erestor really appreciates that you aren’t super chatty and eventually the awkward silences between the two of you morph into something much more pleasant. Both of you are grateful that there are no expectations of being sociable. 

As time goes on, the two of you start to swap little facts and stories about yourselves. Not too much, just little things here and there when both of you feel like talking.

He always asks if you’ve eaten anything, if you’re sleeping enough, and whether or not you need to take a break. He’s also super perceptive and will insist that you take the day off to do something that makes you happy whenever he notices that you’re feeling extra tired, anxious, or sad. 

Like Glorfindel, he keeps an eye out for you and notices whenever social interactions start to become overwhelming. He’ll rush over and bark some commands at whoever is bothering you, sending them off on some errand or reminding them of appointments or responsibilities that they’re neglecting. And, like Glorfindel, he’s very good at making sure that it never looks like he’s doing it for you, so no one ever gets mad at you for it. Everyone just always complains: “Ai, Erestor’s in a foul mood today!” which is nothing unusual so he doesn’t mind taking a hit for you. 

He never gets upset with you when your anxiety gets the better of you and you start to stutter or shake. He just listens patiently. He doesn’t rush you. And he always asks if there is anything he can do to help. 

He’s really awkward when it comes to reassurances and compliments, but he tries. A+ for effort.

He also sneakily asks Elrond if he has any herbal cures for anxiety, saying it’s for him and passing them along to you. 

Like Glorfindel, he understands homesickness. He’s an excellent listener and is really good at sitting quietly and being present with you when you just need a friend to chill with.

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Band-Aids Don’t Fix Bullet Holes, But Your Kisses Do

summary:  in a standoff with an unsub, reader makes a choice: her life or spencer’s. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader 

category: angst/fluff at the end 

warnings/includes: canon typical case violence, based off of episode “haunted” so spoilers, guns/gun violence, hospitals, kissing, mentions of hotch’s stabbing 

word count: 3437 

author’s note: i wrote this one a while ago and thought i’d share it. if anyone wants to be tagged, i’m going to figure it out and i’ll add you to a tag list!!  

Band-Aids Don’t Fix Bullet Holes, But Your Kisses Do

The two agents that sat on swivel chairs facing each other fake arguing about an episode of Dr. Who. Spencer had his legs straight out, resting on Y/N’s lap comfortably. She leaned forward and placed her chin on her hand as she explained to Spencer her thoughts on the episode. 

“Spencer, you cannot tell me that you don't think  David Tennant is hot! I watched the episode with you and I can tell you are-" 

“I’m not going to argue against that, Y/N. David Tennant is,” Spencer started as he fiddled with the lollipop that Garcia handed him when he and Y/N walked into the bullpen.

“Is what, Spence?” A teasing look graced her face as Spencer’s blush grew down his exposed neck and collarbone. 

“He’s hot, okay Y/N is that what you want me to say!” Spencer’s voice rose a couple octaves from his admission over his not-so-subtle-crush on The Doctor.

“That’s exactly what I wanted you to say, Spencer. Least I know we have the same type” She said with a wink. 

“You got a type, Y/N?” Derek called from the doorway of the conference room. 

“Yeah, hot doctors with brown hair”  Emily said without missing a beat. She had walked in behind Derek, the pair  of them discussing her annual Sin-to-Win Weekend in Atlantic City. 

“But they, you know, have to be like Time Lords, or whatever” She said in efforts to cover up her growing discomfort. 

She turned her attention back to Reid, who was in the process of trying to remove his leg from her warm lap. He did not want to give Derek anymore ammunition to make sly jokes at his not-so-subtle-crush on his best friend/co-worker. Secretly, he wanted to keep his leg there, against her soft thigh and maybe she’d drop her hands on his leg in a comforting gesture of….friendship. 

Garcia placed a tin decorated with white and orange cats dressed in bonnets on the table just within reach of Hotch’s usual spot near the monitor. Reid reached forward to open the tin, which he deduced was filled with Penelope’s infamous snickerdoodle cookies. Unfortunately, before the genius profiler could reach the gaudy tin, Penelope swatted his hand away from grasping the cookies. 

“Hey! Those are for Hotch” Penelope shouted as she grabbed the tin and moved them closer to Hotch’s chair. 

“What? You know I love cookies, Garcia. Come on, Hotch hates attention” 

“I just made some cookies, it’s not like I made him a cake.” Penelope argued as Derek and Emily both quietly eyed the cookies. 

“Spence, we’ll make cookies tonight. It looks like it’s just a paperwork day” Y/N said with a slight smile, that, in turn, elicited a big grin from an unsuspecting Spencer.

“Anyway,” Derek started as he chose to ignore the interaction that unfolded before him “we all know he’s going to act like nothing happened” he remarked as he fingered through the dozen case files spread out before him on the table. 

“Doesn’t mean we have to,” Penelope said sadly as she looked down at the cat cookie tin.  

“Maybe we should,” Reid said quietly to his co-workers. 

“But, I’m not built like that!” said Penelope. 

“Hotch is though, Penny,” Y/N noted as she snuck a cookie while Penelope’s back was turned. She broke it in half and handed it to Spencer under the table. He winked at her as she shushed him. 

“Yeah, Y/N,” Spencer said with a mouthful of cookie, “Hotch never blinks” he finished with a large swig of lukewarm, sugared coffee. 

“Classic Alpha Male” Spencer said, looking towards Derek. 

“Do you think he stared down Foyet...you know while it happened?” Emily questioned. She was usually the one who could stomach all these, but when it came to the team, she was as nervous as the lot of them. 

“It’s probably what saved his life,” Derek said somberly. 

“He can’t be okay,” Penelope said with a whisper. 

“I wouldn’t be,” Spencer said with an air of uncertainty, “I’m a blinker” 

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There was an uncomfortable silence during the ride to Louisville. Hotch was more sullen than usual, but, thankfully, Garcia broke the tension with her reports via computer screen. 

“Our point in Louisville is Lieutenant Kevin Mitchell, my contacts don’t report any more attacks related to this unsub” JJ relayed. She sat next to Derek, who was across from Hotch and Rossi. Emily sat criss cross on the table across from the foursome. On the small jet couch, Spencer and Y/N played a game of chess as they listened to the initial reports JJ received from the local PD. 

“Call’s proving hard to track. He never had a driver’s license, so he’s probably still on foot,” Spencer mumbled without removing his eyes from the chessboard. 

“Or public transportation,” Y/N added as she cringed when Spencer announced “check”. 

“Well, he’s not going to get anywhere too far with his face all over the news,” Emily continued. 

“So, what do we think the stressor is,” Rossi nodded. 

“He just lost his job. Worked in a factory since 1990. He made appliances forever. Not a single promotion” Garcia’s voice came across a little staticky. 

“That’s a long time to be bitter,” Derek posed. 

“Or he just doesn’t care,” Reid countered. 

“According, to what you sent over Garcia, he kind of seems like a hermit. Far as I can tell he’s got no one. No wife, no children, no parents.” Y/N added with a sad tone in her voice. 

With a sharp tone, Hotch added “then why didn’t he kill himself?” 

“He’s not finished killing yet,” Reid continued the thought, “check mate!” 

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It was at times like these that it seemed like the case drags on forever. Call had kidnapped a little boy, who, Spencer had figured out was Call’s biological son.  The local PD was getting them nowhere. Those overly macho cops seemed to be having a difficult time taking orders from JJ. Y/N watched as she marched over to Mitchell and demanded that he give a press conference. 

Y/N chuckled quietly to herself as she watched the interaction. JJ was a force to be reckoned with, especially when the life of an innocent child was at stake. That cop had no idea who he was challenging. 

“Hey, Y/N,” Spencer called from his spot in front of the whiteboard. It was decorated with a combination of their messy, rushed handwriting. Spencer grasped his blue marker and looked at Y/N with a painful expression. 

“I’m not getting anywhere with this geographical profile,” Spencer’s somber tone flooded Y/N’s emotions with an overwhelming sense to comfort him. 

“Spencer, put the marker down and look at me, please, for a second.” He obliged as he turned to face her.

Y/N reached up on her tiptoes to gently rub her hands along the base of Spencer’s neck. He could feel the tension melt away. Spencer was not one for physical affection, but he realized that he, in fact, craved the soft touches of people he trusted. Whether it was a brotherly pat on the back from Morgan, a playful high five from Garcia, a proud fist bump from Hotch, Spencer had grown to seek out affection. 

“Y/N,” he said. His voice but a whisper in the loud, hectic bullpen. 

“Shh,” She could sooth his worries just with a graze of her hands across his neck. It was magic to a scientist. Her magical presence set him on fire. 

“Hey, we can do this, Spence, all of us, but we need you,” Y/N voice mirrored his own. A hushed whisper that fueled the flames of his love. 

Instead of kissing her forehead or even hugging her, all Spencer could make out was a small thank you, before, like the wind, she was gone to see if Garica had any updates on the missing boy. 

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In a frantic hour, Garcia had discovered a possible location of Tommy and his father, Darrin. Like most the unsubs, they were children of tragedy. Children of abusive homes and of deep rooted violence. It was up to the team, as they raced down the street in their crowded SUVs, to stop the cycle of violence for claiming another innocent child. 

“Hotch, you are on speaker,” Emily called from the passenger seat of the car as Derek sped down the warehouse where they suspected Tommy to be held. 

“Do not go in there without SWAT, do you all here me?” Hotch said sternly. 

“That means you, Derek, don’t go in there till backup gets there,” JJ added from the phone that Emily held. 

“You got it, boss man,” Derek made a sharp turn that led Y/N to nearly fall into Spencer, who sat next to her. 

“Spencer! Where is your vest!?” Y/N asked him impatiently, with a tinge of nervousness and fear laced in her tone. 

“Y/N, Call doesn’t have a gun, he’s been using weapons of opportunity. The profile points to him not even being armed right now. If anything-” 

“Screw the profile, Spencer!” Y/N’s voice was hysterical now. “You need to where a damn vest, you are an FBI agent, if you get-” 

Y/N’s rant to Spencer was stopped short by the disturbing sight before her. From the SUV the four of them could see an even more distraught Call standing out in the middle of the warehouse parking lot. He held Tommy by the neck, with a gun pointed at his temple. Derek stopped the car and jumped out, his gun wielded as he began to try to talk the man down. 

“Call, drop the weapon and release Tommy, right now!” Derek’s voice loomed large and powerful as Emily, Reid, and Y/N each got out of the vehicle and turned their spots with Morgan. 

“You don’t want to hurt Tommy,” Spencer started. “we know who he is to you, we know that he’s your son, and that you weren’t there for him.” He put his gun away in an attempt to show Call that he was not a threat. Y/N could read the desperation in Spencer’s voice from a mile away. Call, like Spencer’s mom lives with schizophrenia. Spencer and Hotch nearly had it out in the middle of the bullpen after Spencer insinuated that Hotch was implying that Call was only going on this murder spree because of his condition.

“Just let the boy go, Call.” Y/N continued the track that Derek and Spencer started. “Just let your son go. We will make sure that you can get medicine, that’s why you went to the pharmacy, right? You need meds to help yourself and then,-” 

Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N could see Spencer inching closer and closer to Tommy. As if it was a chain reaction, Call drew his weapon and fired towards Spencer. Before she even could realize the consequences of her actions, Y/N tackled Spencer to the ground. The bullet lodged itself into the Kevlar vest she wore. Her side burned as she came to understand what had transpired in the last couple of seconds. 

Spencer scrambled onto his knees and clutched Y/N’s cold hands in his. 

“Spence, I’m okay,” Y/N said as she struggled to sit up straight with Spencer practically laying on top of her. 

“No, Y/N! Don’t do that,” Spencer started with tears flooding the corners of his eyes. The little droplets made his sometimes brown and sometimes green eyes sparkle with sadness. 

Spencer moved his hands from the place where the bullet lodged itself in her Kevlar to grasp her face tenderly. But his movement caused her cheek to be painted with a deep red handprint in the shape of the crying man crouching before her hand.

“Spencer,” she let out a small whimper when she saw the look of horror on his face.  Before he could even ask her why she did what she did, Y/N passed out, her limp, cold hand finding its home in the comfort of soft, warm ones. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rest of the case passed in a numbing hum for Spencer. Once Y/N got shot by Call he let go of Tommy and Derek shot him the leg. Spencer did not even stay for when Emily and Derek apprehended the unsub. It was like his legs acted of their own accord when the EMT showed up for Y/N and he walked with them never letting go of her hand. 

The ride to the hospital in the back of the ambulance was hectic. The EMTs had to monitor her heart rate, her blood pressure, and her oxygen. Even the temptation of numbers could not capture Spencer’s attention as he mulled over the possible conclusions to why Y/N would take a bullet for him. There was no logical reason for it. Not one. Spencer let the steady rocking of the ambulance to soothe him as he gently rubbed his thumb over Y/N’s hand. Even though he longed to hold her against himself, this would have to do, for now at least. Till then, Spencer forced his mind to focus on the pattern that her beating heart created.

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Hospitals terrified Spencer. The smell, the sick people, the people who were unsavable. Part of him wonders what his life would be like if he became a medical doctor. As a kid, he had a future where he could do anything he could dream of. Cure schizophrenia on Monday, operate on an inoperable tumor on Tuesday- that’s what his life could have been like. 

But sitting there, in the sterile hospital with the white walls and constant beeping, Spencer’s mind was only thinking of another life he could be out living. In the minutes that he sat with Y/N as she lay in pain in his arm, false memories of a life together painted in his mind. Laughing children, family picnics, couple’s Halloween costumes. He stroked her hair and saw a life so familiar that he could almost taste it. He tasted cookies that they baked together as they danced without a care in the world. He tasted Halloween and Forth of July and all the holidays in between. He tasted butterfly kisses with his children that had her hair and her eyes and her smile. 

He was stripped away from those memories that he didn’t even own. Now all he could taste was the bitterness of regret, the sourness of what if, and the tartness of the nightmares masquerading as reality. 

“Family of Y/L/N,” a surgeon dressed in light blue scrubs walked into the waiting area with an unreadable expression on her face.

JJ and Derek stood up immediately as the doctor went to continue to deliver the news. 

“She’s awake and doing okay,” the doctor said with a relieved expression. 

“Oh that goodness,” JJ said as she hugged Emily in a moment of happiness. 

“She’s a fighter,” Derek quipped, “I’m going to call Garcia, she’s probably a nervous wreck” 

“She’ll make a full recovery, but should avoid air travel because her internal bleeding,” the doctor reported, “also, which one of you is Spencer? Even since she’d been lucid, she’s been asking for you,” she said looking around at the remaining group, with her eyes landing on the man in question. 

“She is?” Spencer questioned carefully. He was worried that maybe she regretted jumping in front of him. 

“Yes, why don’t you come with me. It may make her more comfortable having someone she wants with her” 

Y/N wants him. 

Him. 

Spencer was not sure how he even walked himself down the corridor to where Y/N’s room was located. But sure enough, he was met with her ashen face beaming up at his. 

“Y/N! Oh my goodness, are you okay, I mean, obviously you’re injured so you’re not okay. I don’t mean to invalidate your pain, I just...why, Y/N, why on Earth would you do that?” Spencer finished. His voice was more tender towards the end. He looked down at his friend before him and tried to read the expression that graced her face. 

“Spencer, I did what I had to do. You….you would have died,” Spencer noticed the tears that puddled in her eyes and had to suppress the sudden urge to kiss them away. 

“I’d rather die than live my life in a world without you, Spencer.”

Spencer closed his eyes and sat down on the bed with her. 

“Why?” he asked in a voice that was hardly audible. It can’t be, he thought. Maybe this is just something that a teammate does for another teammate. Comrades in arms or something like that, he thought. Trying to make sense of senselessness. 

“Why do you value my life more than yours? Why-how can you do that” there was not stopping tears in his eyes now. She reached out and held his face, like he held her as she bled out in the warehouse only a couple of hours ago. 

“Spence, my life would be dull and gray without you in it. You’re my best-” She stared as he tensed up at what he knew was coming. She only jumped in front of him because it’s what a teammate does. 

“Please, I can't bear to hear that. I-maybe you only can think of me as a teammate or worse a brother, but part of me. A hopeful and romantic part of me that I can't let go of the thought of you thinking about in a different way,” he was so embarrassed, so raw in the moment that he could not bear to even look her in the eyes. 

“Spencer?” he could only watch the way that their fingers laced together. He focused on the patterns between the itchy hospital blanket. 

“Y/N,” he started and took a deep breath. Spencer had never intended to tell her this. Maybe in moments of drunken bravery he thought about it, but he’d always sober up before his dreams could come to fruition. 

“I’m a logical man, I solve problems for a living but sometimes. Sometimes, I can’t use logic to solve some problems, and there’s no logical reason for you to jump in front of a bullet for me. Unless you love me? And I hope with every fiber of being that you do, because I am so desperately in love with you” 

Spencer allowed himself, for the first in his life, to have once of hope and faith. 

Y/N’s eyes met Spencer’s in an uncharacteristically shy moment. 

“I do, Spence. Of course I love you”

Spencer let out a nervous laugh as he, once again, gently placed his hands on her jaw. He placed a kiss on her forehead. The small, tender affection elicited a whimper from Y/N. Spencer jumped back in horror. 

“Oh, honey did I hurt you? You gotta tell me where it hurts” he murmured in a comforting voice. 

“Hmm, no I’ve just been waiting five years for you to kiss me and you settle on my forehead?” Y/N beamed up at him expectantly. 

“Nowhere do you want me to kiss you, my dear?” Spencer questioned playfully. 

“How about in between everywhere and anywhere you want, Doctor Reid,” Y/N, despite the pain, managed a smile for the man that held her hand so lovingly. 

“How about here?” Spencer leaned forward and kissed the left corner of her mouth. 

“Or here?” The right corner. 

“What about here, I’ve dreamed of kissing you here.” He moved his mouth to meet the place on her neck that met her collarbone. Y/N looked up at Spencer dreamily. One day she might chalk it up to the painkillers flooding through her system, but the pure adoration that melted from Spencer’s lips to her skin was something that never knew she’d crave. 

“And here” 

His lips parted slightly as he moved in to meet hers. The feeling was more divine and earth shattering than when Prometheus gave humans fire. Together, intertwined in bedsheets, IVs, and fingers laced with hair, they lit a fire of their own. Kissing Spencer stopped time. 

It was Y/N who broke first. 

“Spencer,” she said with a new reverence that would only be reserved for him. 

“Yes, sweet girl?” 

“You gotta promise me something,” she said as she raked her hands across his arms, feeling him shudder under her touch. 

“Anything and everything for you” he said, mirroring her earlier words to him. 

“Wear a vest next time”

[persephones-wren]

Could you write a Kaz Brekker request where the reader and Kaz are more than friends but not lovers and the reader is a Crow and therefore, can handle things for herself so she doesn't tell Kaz when a friend's ex is threatening her but Kaz ultimately finds out when the ex comes to the Crow Club and Kaz handles it since as much as he knows she capable, he is still protective of her and it leads to them finally becoming official?

Protective (Kaz Brekker x Reader)

I'm sorry about the ending, I couldn't find a great way to finish it- but maybe I'll fix that when I can think of something. Besides that, I hope you like it! :)

Warnings: depicted abuse, mentions of sedatives, misogynistic language (please let me know if there's any more)

Genre: not fluff

Word Count: 2705

You had a confusing relationship with Kaz.

It was an odd “more than friends, less than dating” relationship. It made sense, considering in the Barrel, women were more property than anything else. Besides, leverage was a thing everyone wanted on Kaz, even his closest allies. He wasn’t going to put himself in a position that made him anyone’s puppet. You didn’t exactly need him to declare you untouchable, anyway; you were usually more than okay with skirmishing with the Dime Lions and others that happened to be in your way.

You had never expected him to help you handle things that you could do alone.

It had been one of your wealthier friends, who helped get you out of the Menagerie. She had dated Zachariah Alix, a man with power and influence. She had usually dealt with his off-putting advances and abuse, but even you, who couldn’t see her often, could tell she wasn’t happy.

“Break up with him, then.” Your voice echoed in her private chambers as she sighed, multiple emotions running through her expression.

“Y/N, I just, I can’t. We’re already supposed to be married soon. Criminals in the Barrel are lucky in the way that you’re allowed to love who you please,” and damn your head for immediately thinking Kaz, “but merchers, well, it’s not that simple.”

“You callin’ me a criminal?”

“Yes,” she muttered, and you laughed, “but that’s not the point.”

“Are your parents forcing you to marry him?”

“Not exactly, but there’s going to be a lot more pressure if I break up with him.”

“Alright, well...from the list of merchers we’ve stolen from-'' she shot you a look, “sorry, sorry. It’s true though. I’m sure there’s someone on the list that’s for you.”

“I’ve got someone in mind already.”

“Well, that makes things easier, doesn’t it? Break up with him and get with the other guy. No parental pressure. Why do you need my advice, then? I get caught here and I’m as good as dead.”

“Okay, okay! It’s not parental pressure,” she lowered her voice, guilt painted across her face. “He’s going to stalk me if we break up. He might kill me. I don’t know what to do.”

“Alright,” you mulled it over. “That’s different. What can I do for you, then?”

“Can you be there when we break up? Moral support? And perhaps, well...if it wouldn’t trouble you, maybe do a little something to get him to leave me alone.”

“Like beat him up. It won’t trouble me,” you had answered. “Sure, I’ll do it.”

“Thank you,” she sighed in relief. “You’re the best, Y/N.”

“It’s nothing.”

…

“I don’t think we should continue on like this.”

There was a tension-filled silence, before Alix spoke again. “Why not, sweetheart?” He advanced towards her, and you had to prevent yourself from physically cringing. You were mostly moral support, and there to defend your friend if she got into deep shit, but, well...hopefully it wouldn’t come to revealing yourself.

“You- get off of me,” she pushed him away harshly. “You don’t get to talk me into forgiving you again. You are a child. You hit me and scream and throw tantrums. I want to be with someone who loves me, not someone who treats me like his mother. So that’s it. Get out of my house. We’re breaking up.”

There was another silence, before he spoke up again. “You little bitch,” he snarled, and grabbed at her dress, “you think you can just break up with me? No one’s ever going to be there for you. I’ll kill you and blame it on some Barrel thug. Check yourself, you’d be nobody without me.”

His hand closed in on her neck, and she looked to you, panicked. You put a finger to your lips before you snuck behind him, flicking off the safety and putting the pistol to his head.

He froze.

“Drop her.”

He did, and she slid down against the wall, tears streaming down her face. You had never intended to let it get that far, and it hurt your heart- but you had to deal with him first.

You knocked the gun into his head and used your elbow to knock him to the ground, putting a foot on his chest.

He looked up at you, terrified. What a coward.

“Too bad your daddy never taught you how to use guns,” you taunted, and grinned. “You leave her alone. She’s broken up with you. Get out of her house.”

“You’re Brekker’s whore, aren’t you?”

Your grin grows incredulous. You apply pressure to his chest steadily, and he wheezes, but he still continues.

“Yeah, look at you.You’re all upset, aren’t you, girl? Bet you’re sold out to half of the Barrel by him. Brekker likes his Kruge.” His eyes scan from underneath you. “Can’t say I’d blame him if he wanted to keep you as his personal pet, though.”

You scoff. “Careful what you say, I’m the one with a gun,” you remark, and you click a bullet into place for show, before taking your foot off. “Get out. If you touch her again, it’ll be more than me you’ll deal with.”

He scrambles upwards and disappears, and you hear the front door open and shut. You sigh.

“I’m sorry, I never intended for him to get that far. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” your friend sighs, hands lightly touching the bruises on her neck. “I think I’ll be okay. Thank you. What about you? You’re not-”

“I’m not with Kaz.” You help her up, and she smothers out her dress. “If Alix ever bothers you again, let me know.”

“Of course. I doubt he will. Thank you again, Y/N.”

…

He never did bother her again, but you- you were a different story. Every day, now, Kaz would offer you a note with some vague taunt on it.

“I’ll kill you.”

“Brekker’s slut! Slept your way to the top!”

“Let’s fight without a gun next time. I’ll have you pinned underneath me.”

“I’ll sedate and have my way with you. You still know some things from the Menagerie, don’t you?”

You had brushed off most of the taunts and threats, but they might’ve been starting to impact you, just a bit. You had assumed that Kaz had never read the threats. Each time, he would hand you the note with no expression.

Today’s note was a bit different.

“Y/N. Another note came in for you today.” He set the note on the table.

“Huh? Oh, thanks.”

You picked it up and unfolded the note, shielding the back of the paper with one hand. Kaz was clever, one of the many things you liked about him. You were sure that he’d try and read the back of the note if he could.

“Let’s meet on your territory. Crow Club at eight, in the alleyway.”

“Got yourself a boy, Y/N? These notes have started coming in every day,” Jesper whistled next to you, eyes scanning over the note. You look up, and Kaz is gone, watching from more of a distance. They’ve got it completely wrong.

You glance back down, and fail to notice how Kaz’s fingers tighten on his cane. Your laugh is dry, and you shake your head. “Nothing of the sort.”

Jesper ignores your denial. “Well, whoever he is, he seems awfully persistent. He wants to meet at the Crow Club, in the alleyway? Kinda sweet he wants to meet on your land, but why won’t he come in? He afraid of us, or somethin’?”

“Something like that,” you affirm.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to meet in here, either,” Inej says.

“Especially not with him here,” Jesper adds.

Your eyes meet Kaz’s across the room, and you both stare for a moment before he turns and looks away.

“Maybe.” Your answers are ambiguous, and you’re sure both Inej and Jesper want to know more, but you need to prepare for tonight.

“Sorry, guys. Excuse me.”

…

You have three throwable knives strapped into your boots, a small handgun holstered in your coat, and a syringe full of clozapine tucked up your sleeve. You’re prepared to take Alix down easily. You don’t exactly intend to shoot him, if only to make sure that the Crows don’t have a bigger target on their back from getting involved with the wealthy, but- well, you can’t deny it’s good to be ready in dire circumstances.

It’s 7:58 by the time you’re heading out to the back of the alley. You’re hiding behind the wall, just about to step over, but there’s already voices conversing there.

Did he bring backup? You grimace. You hadn’t considered that he might not fight fairly.

“Did she send her boyfriend after me ‘cause she was too much of a pussy to show?”

“I’d be careful what you say about Y/N.”

That’s Alix, and Kaz.

You’re not sure what you’re supposed to feel. He never did these kinds of things for you, never declared you his, but- you could handle this yourself. You didn’t need his protection, and you didn’t need him going out to deal with things because of one creepy ex.

Or, your thoughts betray you, you’re worried for him, because this could be a trap.

He glances over at the wall, where he seems to know you’re standing. It’s a warning glance, one to be quiet and let him deal with it.

“Aw, Brekker, you sweet on her? And here I thought it was a one-sided thing. Too bad I’m gonna ruin that pretty face of yours.”

Alix comes swinging. Kaz doesn’t say anything in reply, and instead jabs his cane forward, right into his stomach. He stumbles backward, and Kaz is still poised, waiting.

“I thought you were going to be more of a challenge than this. Even a fool knows not to attack first.”

“I’m no fool, Brekker. Don’t make any more sudden moves, or you’ll be shot. Do you know how easy it is to hire hitmen?”

There’s a faint look of surprise in Kaz’s expression before it smooths back into calm. “Well, to be honest,” he smiles pleasantly, “I thought merchers were above such methods.”

He’s glancing at you again, before his eyes move over two guard towers.

He’s pointing out to you where they are. Shit, what do you do? You’re no Inej, who can scale the walls and take them down silently. You’re no Jesper, who can shoot them with precision. You’re not going to be able to take out both snipers quickly enough. If you kill Alix and Kaz doesn’t dive behind the wall in time, he’ll get shot.

You let out a silent sigh. If only you could get both Kaz and Alix behind the wall, then you can get rid of the problem at its source, and then fuck the hitmen. They’re not going to kill Kaz if they can’t get paid.

“The rich are never above any methods. The only thing the rich care about is eradicating the criminals that roam the streets. I thought I was gonna get Y/N, and I could take her back to Tante Heleen,” he grinned, “But you’ll be worth a lot more. Wonder who’ll lay claim to you first.”

Kaz doesn’t say anything, just puts his hands behind his back, as if he’s waiting to be cuffed. But he gives quick signals to you, right before Alix steps around to secure the bonds- a quick countdown. He’s expecting you to shoot.

“No plans up your sleeves this time, Dirtyhands?”

You suddenly fire at Alix’s shoulder, a scream tearing through his throat as the cuffs drop to the ground. Kaz dives towards the wall, grabbing his cane along the way and breathing hard next to you.

Somehow, your aim remains true, and when you peek over the corner, you see Alix desperately trying to grasp at his wound. A grim sort of satisfaction greets your expression.

“Should’ve shot him in the head,” Kaz looks on with you.

“I’m trying not to paint a bigger target on our backs,” you explain, before you remember you’re supposed to be mad at him. Damn him for taking the fall for you. Did he know it was going to be a trap?

“Why the hell would you confront him alone? I had it handled, Kaz.”

“Not now..” His stare is directed at the shadows. And before you can get another word out, both of you are headed to his office.

The brisk walk is silent, and the tension could be cut through with a knife. At last, you reach his office, and he shuts the door, and sits down at his desk. You stand in front of him.

“Care to explain why you decided to confront Alix by yourself?” “I read the notes. I knew it was a trap.”

This doesn’t make you feel any better. “So you read the notes, where he called me a whore, a slut, your personal toy, and you don’t decide to tell me? You let it continuously happen, and then when the note comes today, you decide to go and white-knight for me because protecting me is a better idea than consulting me, huh?” you scoff. “That’s bullshit. You know I can handle myself. There’s a reason you chose me to be a part of the Crows, is there not? Or is what Alix said true? Did I sell myself to get to the top? Become your bitch?”

“I knew you could handle yourself just fine,” Kaz says calmly. “I didn’t want you to get hurt, because you didn’t consider the fact it was a trap. You could’ve died.”

“I would’ve been fine alone. Just because you’re the one who accounts for everything doesn’t mean I don’t use my head.” You know you’re being unfair, he’s right about the fact that you thought the fight was legitimate, but you could’ve saved yourself all the same.

“I’m not saying you don’t use your head, I’m saying that the probability of you dying if you went alone were much higher. I wanted to help you, save your ass back there,” he refutes.

“I would’ve died. So what? Deaths happen all the time in the Barrel! I die, and what?”

He doesn’t say anything.

You give a sardonic laugh. “I’m just an investment to you. I do what you want, with no question or hesitation, because I put my faith in you. My death just means the loss of a good soldier. I’m replaceable, though. My opinions are invaluable, so you don’t talk to me before you do shit. I’m always going to be underneath you, just a pawn.”

“You’re assuming things.”

“Like what, then?”

“Have you considered the fact that I was there because I wanted to help you? Because you’re a part of my Crows, and I don’t take anyone threatening us too kindly?”

His admission has you pausing, but he continues. “You die, and what? Forget what I may feel. What about Inej and Jesper? What about Nina, Wylan? I don’t want you to be underneath me. I see you as an equal.”

“I-”

“That’s why I was there. Because I-” love you, he nearly says, but he stops himself. “I protect the people I love.”

“And I’m someone you love,” you state quietly.

“Yes.”

You’re not sure how much you must have pissed him off to make him an honest man, but you can’t help smiling a little. “Saints, Kaz, at least ask a girl to be yours before you tell her you love her.”

“Fine. Y/N, will you be my girlfriend?”

“Who the hell are you and what have you done with Kaz Brekker?” You grin.

“Stop dodging the question,” he bites out.

“Yeah, I will,” you sigh. “But don’t get yourself killed, and especially not over me, please.”

“Well, darling, I think it’s fair of me to ask the same thing for you- don’t be reckless. People die far too easily in the Barrel,” he responds.

There’s another small silence, before you speak up again.

“Kaz. Thank you.”

He’s slightly surprised at the genuine warmth in your eyes, quickly replacing the anger that was in them before. He shrugs a little.

“It’s what lovers do, right?”

“Yeah,” you answer. “Lovers.”

Lovers, indeed.

[holylulusworld]

Single Parent

Title: Single parent

Square Filled: Relationship break-up

Ship: Mobster!Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Characters: Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Benny LaFitte

Rating: Mature

Summary: Your arranged bond with Dean grows fruits but you can’t be happy as you should.

Warnings: angst, language, arranged marriage, unrequited feelings, sad reader, abandonment, Dean being a douche, giving birth (no description), shitty relationship, pregnant reader

A/N: I already outlined the story before I got the request. I changed the ending and a few scenes to make it fit.

Word Count: 3.5 k

Written/Created for: @spnmixedbingo​​

Divider by @firefly-graphics​​

2021 SPN Mixed BINGO Masterlist

Now…

“No John, I’m done,” you cry, running your hand over your baby bump. “You could force me to marry your son, to stay with him and have his heir,” you sniff, looking around the guest room you chose over your comfortable bedroom. “But you can’t force me to play the obedient housewife. I tried, John—I really tried but Dean doesn’t even like me.”

“He’s just a little stubborn and rough on the outside like me, doll,” John tries to reason with you. “Show him the latest ultrasound and he’ll change.”

“No, he won’t,” voice bitter you sit on the bed, shaking your head lightly. “That’s the problem. I-I’m nothing more than a breeder to your son. I know he doesn’t reciprocate my feelings, but I had hoped he’ll be kinder to me when he sees me swollen with his child. I know he cares for the baby, but sadly I’m not sure it’s because he loves them or as you want an heir.”

“Y/N,” sitting next to you John watches you tear up. Months of rejection and coldness took a toll on you. “I didn’t know it’s that bad.”

“He told Sam I’m nothing but a vessel for his child, John. I could be dead, and he wouldn’t care,” choking out a sob you give John a sad smile. “Did you know he never came to the doctor with me? He never showed and my gynecologist believes I am a single parent – and maybe I am.”

“What happened last week? Why did you suddenly move out of your shared bedroom, doll? Did Dean hurt you?”

“Not physically-“ you huff, looking at the wedding band around your finger. “I was at my doctor’s practice for the next check-up, as usual, Dean didn’t show, even though, he promised to be there,” sniffling you take the wedding band off, dropping it onto the bed, not wanting to feel it on your skin right now.

“We had a meeting, I’m sorry for keeping Dean away from you,” John lies, you can see it in his eyes and his voice is a little too low. He doesn’t realize you know him too well to not see through his lies. “Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt you, Y/N.”

“I saw all those happy couples and excited dad’s pacing around the waiting room and realized, Dean gives a shit on me and his child. I can’t leave, but at the same time I won’t pretend Dean is not the cold-hearted man he is,” sadly you can’t hide you are still in love with his son, but your try your hardest.

“What happened, Y/N? I heard you fought with your husband. Did he hurt you?” John presses. “I need to know…”

“You really want to know? Fine, I’ll tell you everything happening that day-“

One week earlier…

“Mrs. Winchester,” the nurse chirps, leading you into the room. “Where’s your husband? Didn’t he want to join us today?”

“He wanted but as always, business comes first,” you grumble, handing the young woman a business card. “That’s my brothers-in-law’s number. If I ever need help, please call him.”

“What about your husband?” confused the nurse looks at you, blinking a few times before she recognizes your teary eyes. “Ah, got it. I will call Sam Winchester if it’s necessary. We will add it to your medical record.”

“Thank you,” giving the nurse a sad smile you try to push the tears away. “As I said, my husband is always busy, and Sam offered his help. If not, call the second number, that’s my father-in-law.”

“No problem, Mrs. Winchester. Now let’s turn our attention toward your baby. Are you excited to find out about the gender?” nodding you swallow the lump in your throat, hiding you wished Dean would’ve come to find out with you.

“All done, Cher?” watching you walk out of the practice, a soft smile on his lips Benny offers his hand to you. “So, did they tell you the gender today?”

“It’s a boy,” you choke out, done fighting the tears. “You’re the first one I told, Benny-“ ignoring people watch you cry outside of your doctor’s practice you hide your face in Benny’s chest.

“He should’ve been here, Y/N. I’m sorry.”

“Everyone is always sorry; everyone but Dean,” angrily fisting Benny’s jacket you look up at your bodyguard. “I’m done trying, Benny. This is ridiculous. He’s not interested in me or the baby.”

“Dean cares about the baby, Cher,” you huff, rolling your eyes. “It’s true.”

“Dean only cares about my son as he needs an heir. There is no love in him. I-I wanted to share this with him. Dean, he should’ve been here with me, experience every step but he refuses to even give me that. My first pregnancy should’ve been something special but now, it only makes me sad.”

“How’s the baby?” Dean asks, awaiting your report as usual.

“Still alive. Benny got the ultrasound if you want to see them. If you want to know about the gender, ask your friend too,” you quip, walking toward the walk-in-wardrobe to get your favorite pajamas, you ignore Dean follows you. “Unlike other people he was there.”

“I had a meeting, Y/N,” arguing Dean watches you gather more clothes, frowning as you didn’t jump on him to tell him every single detail about your appointment. 

Usually, you would excitedly tell him about the baby, forcing him to look at the ultrasound picture and demand his attention. Today, you barely said two words, not even tried to talk to him. 

“A meeting, sex with one of your girls – I don’t care Dean. I’m tired of this, of you. To give you the space you need, I’ll go and have lunch with Charlie. Don’t wait for me–“ you chuckle, humorlessly. “Ah, yeah I forgot. You wouldn’t care if I never return.” walking out of the room, leaving a speechless Dean behind, you slam the door shut, making him flinch. 

“Benny, my wife is gone; just like all of her belongings, we need to find her! She’s pregnant with my child.”

“You only care about the baby, huh? Do you even know it’s a boy, Dean?” Benny sneers, placing the ultrasound picture into Dean’s hand. “Y/N is not gone, she simply moved into the guestroom next to John’s room. I helped her while you were out, doing god knows.”

“Wait – she moved into the guestroom? Why?”

“Seriously, Dean? You promised to be there, at least to get to know about the gender, and yet, you didn’t come to the practice. I think Y/N gave up trying,” huffing Dean watches you step out of the guestroom, ignoring he glares at you.

“Y/N, you can’t just move out of our bedroom!” muttering the words Dean watches you walk past him.

“Oh, you meant me. I thought I’m only a vessel, a breeder to carry your heir,” whipping your head toward Dean you give him a cold glare. Your heart races and you can feel fresh tears well-up to your eyes, but you need to get this out before you can return to your room and cry some more. 

“I’m talking to you, Y/N. What if you go into labor and I’m not close by?” Dean mutters.

“I think it’s for the best you keep on ignoring me and give your whores all of your attention,” brushing past Dean you slap his hand away when he tries to touch you. 

“Y/N!”

“Don’t Winchester-“ you growl. “I fulfilled my duty and got pregnant. Now you can stick your dick into any pussy and stay the fuck away from me and don’t worry about my labor. I will, just like anything else since I got pregnant, handle this on my own. If I should need help at any point of my pregnancy, Sam and John offered to be there for me.”

Now …

“Dean messed up epically, huh?” John carefully tries when you get up to walk toward the nursery next to the guestroom. “What are you going to do?“

"Nothing, John. Just like the first four months of my pregnancy, I will try to do what’s best for my son,“ John’s eyes light up when you tell him he’s going to have a grandson. “Today I’ll focus on finishing the nursery. Benny and Sam helped me with the wallpaper and cradle. I must check on the bears I painted and will make a list of what I will need.”

“I can help,“ offering you a cracked smile John holds out his hand. “I got you into this shitshow, let me at least try to make things easier for you, doll.”

“You could check on the shelves and cradle,” you sniff. “I just wish I had a man like you or Sam by my side. I see the way Sam cares about his wife and children. I know Dean is a little closed-off, like you but he’s kind to everyone he likes. Must be me.”

“Oh, Y/N,” slinging one arm around your shoulders John leads you out of your chosen bedroom. “You still got people caring about you. Sammy and I will be there and help you.”

“I know…”

“You’re talented,” looking at the bears you painted John smiles. “Mommy bear and baby bear,” he hums, admiring your painting. “Where’s the dad?”

“I’m a single parent, John. Why should I paint a daddy bear if he gives a shit on me and his son?” Dean stands in the doorframe, watching his father help you fix one of the shelves, swallowing thickly. “You know, every single woman at my doctor’s practice looks so happy, they glow and I just-“

“I get it, Y/N. You wanted your pregnancy to be special,” nodding you look at the bears. “You could draw an Uncle Sammy and Granddad John bear.”

“I’ll think about it, John,” with a small smile on your lips you watch John place the plushies onto one of the shelves. “You know, he didn’t even care about my morning sickness or cravings. I had this image in my mind. Dean the devoted soon-to-be dad helping me during my pregnancy. I know he doesn’t love me, I’m not delusional. But a bit more attention would’ve been nice.”

Two months later…

Used to being on your own you walk into your doctor’s practice. This time you don’t look at all the happy couples wishing it were you and Dean. Over the last weeks, you made up your mind.

Only as you don’t get to leave Dean doesn’t mean you must bear his behavior. So, you decided to keep your distance and only ask John, Sam, or Benny for help with the nursery.

You no longer tell Dean about your check-ups or try to include him in your pregnancy. 

“Morning, Mrs. Winchester,” you flinch when the nurse calls your name. “How are you feeling today? Will the baby daddy be here today too?”

“No,” you breathe out. “Let’s be honest, Sally.” giving the young nurse a sad smile, you point toward the other pairs. “I know you are only trying to be friendly but anytime you are asking about my non-present husband it stings. Why don’t you treat me like a single parent? Cause that’s what I am.”

“How’s the baby?” Dean asks again, following you toward the nursery. “Listen, I know you try to punish me but not telling me about our baby breaks one of my rules.”

“The baby is still alive. He grows fast and the ultrasound picture lies on your desk. If you have more questions, call my gynecologist or,” turning around you give Dean a cold look, “you could move your ass to the practice next time but I get it – you were busy.”

“I got the right to know about my son,” growling the words Dean steps closer but this time, he doesn’t intimidate you with his size. “Tell me everything.”

“Weight and size are average. His heartbeat is strong, and he sucked his thumb today,” you scoff at Dean’s sudden interest. “You would know more about your child if you actually cared. He started to be more active, I can feel our little boy kick me harder but so far, only John felt our baby kick.”

Walking away you enter your room, slamming the door shut behind you, locking it to take a deep breath.

“He’s my son too! You can’t shut me out!” Dean yells from the hallway.

“Sperm donator, you son of a bitch,” you growl. “If it were up to me, I’d file for divorce.”

“YOU WON’T!” he mutters. “I will not allow you to leave me.”

“I got that, but you should know that our marriage is over to me. If you dare to get close to me ever again, you’ll lose your hands or cock. Go and fuck one of your sluts.”

“I should-“ frustrated Dean kicks your door. “You’re still my wife, Y/N. I expect you to respect me and our bond.”

“Fuck that,” feeling exhausted you lie on your bed, gently running one hand over your belly. “He’ll not ruin your life, baby boy. I promise to protect you from your asshole father.”

“I heard that.”

“I don’t fucking care,” you cry. “Now leave me alone. You got the information you need. Don’t worry, your heir is still healthy. Even though, you didn’t help me at all…”

Two months, two weeks, and five days later…

“Looks good,” John hums, glancing at the ultrasound picture. “How are you, doll? Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m fine,” looking at your wedding band you try to swallow the lump in your throat. “Is there a way to protect my child from Dean? Can you add something to the prenup? Please.”

“I will not allow Dean to hurt your son, Y/N. I don’t think Dean would ever lay a finger on him-“

“That’s not what I meant. Being around Dean is unhealthy for me. What will he do to our child? How shall I explain to my baby boy that his father hates me? That I’m only a breeder to him, a body he could use to get a child.”

“Are you fucking my father?” ludicrously you look at Dean when he storms into your room, your solace. “That’s the reason you moved out of our bedroom – huh? You spread your legs for John Winchester.”

“What the fuck, Dean?” you sniff, reluctantly leaving the bed. “Over the last week I barely left my room as I didn’t feel well, and you accuse me of such a thing? I don’t have the time to fuck anyone. Unlike you, I had to take care of anything-“ whimpering you feel a piercing pain ripple through your womb. “Oh, god-“

“Y/N?” paling Dean watches you crouch down in front of your bed, crying out in pain. “What’s wrong? Y/N, talk to me, sweetheart.”

“Go and get your father or Sam,” you pant, while you try to remember everything the midwife taught you. “I think the baby wants to get out.”

“No, it’s too early,” panicked Dean rushes to your side to help you sit on the bed. “I’ll call an ambulance, Y/N.”

“O-okay-“ you scream, feeling another painful contraction approach. “No, no. My water just broke.” tears run down your cheeks when John and Sam stumble into the room. They heard your screams and try to help.

“Fuck, doll,” John mumbles, kneeling in front of you to calm you. “Sammy, call an ambulance and tell Benny to get Y/N’s bags. I’ll stay here to help her.”

“I already called an ambulance. Stop acting as if that’s your son,” Dean growls, glaring at his father.

“Do you want to help the mother of your child or fight with me right now, son? I think you showed how much you are interested in your child. Now shut the fuck up and help me here,” John would like to give his son a piece of mind but right now, he must take care of you.

“John,” grasping for your father-in-law’s hand, “promise me he won’t be there. I don’t want Dean inside the room while I give birth.”

"That’s my wife and child in there! Lemme inside,” Dean growls, fighting against one of the security guards. “Let me pass.”

“DEAN,” John’s voice booms through the hallway. “Your wife is in there. She’s in pain, scared, and tries to give birth to your baby. Stop acting like an idiot. You had it coming.”

“You didn’t care about your child or wife for over eight months. Did you honestly believe she wants you in there?” Sam huffs, squeezing Jess’s hand. “I was with Jess the whole time. I heard the heartbeat, saw my baby, felt it kick. I can’t believe you didn’t want to experience any of it.“

“I-I never wanted to marry Y/N. It was an arranged bond,” Dean sniffs, hearing you cry out in pain.

“This doesn’t change she’s your wife and that she needed you. Even more important, your son needed you. I believe babies bond with their parents in the womb. You could’ve talked to him, played music, or feel him kick.”

“Look at you baby boy,” cooing your son you feel your heart swell. Even if Dean is not going to show any affection toward your child, you’ll give the little boy all your love. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Can I finally see him too?” Dean mutters, sneaking into your room. “How could you let my father, Sam, and Jess see my son first?”

“I didn’t think you will find the time to visit me and your baby. If you would excuse me now, I want to concentrate on Robert Maximilian Winchester.”

“What?” gaping at you Dean feels his stomach churn. “You named him Robert? But-but we agreed to name him Dean jr. How could you not only keep me away while giving birth but also deciding on a name without me? That’s cruel.” Dean sniffs, looking at your son in your arms.

“Cruel–?” you take a deep breath, try to ignore the burning rage running through your veins. “Do you know what cruel means, Winchester? Cruel means that your husband, the man you love with all your heart ignores you completely. Cruel means that he never shows affection or at least cares about you during pregnancy.”

“I’m his father!”

“Sperm donator,” you retort. “We are only a breeder and a sperm donator. You are not a father, and never will be. You’ll not hurt my baby boy and push him away as you did with me. You can lay claim on him when he turns 18, until then I’ll give him all the love he deserves.”

“He’s my baby boy too,” sniffling Dean looks at your child, tearing up. “Let me at least hold him. Please.”

“Not today,” adamant you defend your son, not giving in. It’s your turn to be selfish and not to show any compassion. Dean can cry as much as he wants to.

Today, you’ll be the cruel one – even if it kills you.

“She doesn’t let me hold my son,” outside of your room Dean starts to cry. “I wasn’t allowed to hold my baby boy. How can she be so cruel?”

“I say it again – you had it coming,” John shrugs, ignoring he feels sorry for his son. “Y/N never was cruel. All she wanted was a bit of affection. Why couldn’t you give her that?”

“I just didn’t feel like pretending. But I care about our baby and want to hold him.”

Dean doesn’t leave your side. He sits next to your bed, still looking at his son.

“Please let me hold him, Y/N.”

“Five minutes,” you whisper, not looking at Dean. “You can hold him for five minutes and after that, you can pretend we do not exist until you need your heir.”

“It’s not like that,” with trembling fingers Dean takes Robert Maximillian out of your hands. “He’s so beautiful and tiny.”

“It’s a baby, what did you expect,” turning around to not watch Dean with your son you close your eyes. “Tell me when you are done playing daddy, Dean.”

“Why are you so cold. This isn’t you, Y/N.”

“That’s what happens to a loving person when she gives up. If you don’t like me the way I am now, you can always ask your dad to let me out of this marriage...”

“Look this is your room, baby boy,” cooing your baby you walk around the room. “There is a teddy bear, and over there is a cute duck. Maybe you’ll like the cat Sammy bought for you?”

“He doesn’t like cats,” Dean grumbles, walking into the nursery. “I bet he’s allergic like me.” hopefully looking at you Dean holds out his hands. “Come on, lemme hold him for a while.”

“I will leave you to your son, Dean. If you are done pretending you are a father, holler and I’ll take care of Robert,” carefully placing your son into Dean’s arms you ignore he tries to talk to you. 

“Y/N, we should talk about a few things.”

“Don’t hurt yourself, Dean. I’m stuck in this marriage, but this doesn’t mean I let you walk all over me ever again. I am a single parent, and this will not change…”

>> Part 2

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[writefasttalkevenfaster]

John Munch / Simple

Prompt: “Suck it” “oh i’m gonna suck something” 

Word Count: 3,887 

Warnings: canon typical situations and violence, discussion of rape (non-graphic), hurt/comfort apparently, fin and munch are literally some of my fav characters to write for lmao, some discussion of the psych evals from 1x22

A/N: what is this? how did this happen? I don’t know - i blame @laneygthememequeen​ mostly, but also my friends for enabling me beyond belief lmao. 

“Am I allowed to come in or must I bow and show my allegiance before I am deemed worthy?” and you didn’t need to look up from your desk to know who it was. Your pen still moved, scribbling notes in the margins of the answer that was given to you by Roger Klessler — more hassle than law. 

“No need for allegiance, Detective Munch — I know you only give that to your squad and your string of conspiracy theories,” you finish with the page, sparing him a glance, “only compliance is needed — the one thing you didn’t do on the last case.” 

“Your hands aren’t exactly clean yourself, counselor,” he shuts the door behind him, slipping his hands into his pockets, “what did you do to get that warrant again?” 

You raise an eyebrow, “Are you questioning my integrity?” 

“Funny, I didn’t know lawyers had any,” 

“They don’t, but I can try, can’t I?” you lean on your elbow, “what do you need?” 

“We have a suspect in holding who just invoked, we thought they might be a little more conducive to having an A.D.A. in the box with them,” he tilted his head. 

“Alex isn’t available?” 

“Alex told us to get you,” you held in your sigh, “don’t you lawyers talk to each other?” 

“No, we communicate through telepathy,” you reply drily, grabbing your coat and bag, “Let’s go.” 

~~~

“Counselor, you should remind your client that his options are running out,” to say this meeting was going poorly would have been the understatement of the century, “and my patience is running thin.”

A serial child and women abuser — with videos abusing so many children and women over the last twenty years, videos that made your stomach turn — and to make matters worse, he had made into a business, selling these children and women and their pain for profit — and now it was time to make his pain your profit. 

“You have no evidenc—” 

“We have a witness who saw your client, we have his DNA being run against the blood that was found at the scene, and when it comes back it will match and your client will be facing life in prison—” your teeth grit,  “And I’ll be sure he gets it. Or, give up your sick buddies. And maybe you’ll have the possibility of parole in the far off future.” 

“You fucking bitch—” he spits at you. 

“Is that the best you can do?” you raise an eyebrow, as you see Munch tense out of the corner of your eye, “Mr. Bradford,  I’m not scared of you. I’m not a defenseless child or battered woman you can intimidate—” you cross your arms, “not so easy picking on someone who can fight back, is it?” 

 Bradford lunges,  but Munch shoves him back into his chair, “Do we need to add assault on an A.D.A. to your laundry list of charges, Bradford?” and you blink, slack jawed, a shiver going down your spine — if Munch was a second later— “Try that again and I’ll have you—” 

There’s a knock on the window, and your eyes snap over, “Control your client, counselor, or I’ll have him locked up in solitary,” your jaw is set — you wouldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing you waver, “the offer had 24 hours — it now has an expiration date in ten, so look forward to hearing from you in one.” 

The door shuts behind you, your fingers white knuckling the handle of your briefcase. Liv frowns, “Are you—” 

“I’m fine,” you wave them off, as Munch emerges from the room as well, “tell me when he caves to my offer. And when you’re setting up the sting to get the other guys — I want to be there to make everything go smoothly. No screw ups this time.” 

“All due respect, counselor, but we don’t need a babysitter,” Fin says. 

“All due respect, Detective, maybe you do,” you swallow the lump sitting on your throat, “we need to nail these guys — we have all of New York, 1PP, and the D.A.’s office all breathing down our necks — it needs to be airtight,” you scan all of their faces, “unless all of you would like to take the heat?” 

“I don’t think any of us want that, counselor,” Cragen cuts in, “we appreciate your help. We’ll let you know when we decide to go ahead with the sting.” 

You nod curtly, intent on leaving the precinct as quickly as you could — the image of Bradford lunging at you still fresh and stinging — but nothing was that easy, “Counselor,” Munch was at your side, standing beside you at the elevators, as you pressed the button, “in a rush?” 

“To go home? Yes,” 

“I just wanted—” 

“Wanted what, Munch? What do you want?” you sigh exasperatedly, fighting a losing battle for your voice not to break, “I’m not in the mood for a verbal sparring match, so why don’t we take a rain check?” 

The elevator doors ding, and you step in, hoping to spare yourself the agony of a response, but he follows, the doors shutting behind him. 

But surprisingly his voice was soft,  “I wanted to make sure you were okay,” 

“I’m fine,” you cross your arms, hoping that it would hold you together, until you got to your office, “I’m not scared of him, Munch—” 

“I know you could kick his ass, counselor, I’m not asking you if you’re ready to go seven rounds in the ring with him—” he leans against the wall of the elevator, “I’m just asking if you’re alright.” 

You raise an eyebrow, “John Munch asking me if I’m alright? No sarcastic remark?” 

“I know, I’m surprised myself, I might have to ask Skoda to do a psych eval on me,” and you crack a smile, shaking your head. 

“It was scary,” you admit, something you didn’t want to, “I’ve been threatened before — messages, verbally, even had a guy say he would kill my family—” you bite your lip, “but I never had someone try something, physically before.” 

“It’s okay to have been scared, y’know,” the elevator doors ding, and you step out, shaking your head, “no one expects you to be strong all the time, counselor.” 

And you pause, looking back at him, “But I do,” you blink away the tears, “good night, detective.” 

~~~

“It’s too risky!” you ignore Munch, continuing to fix your makeup, “You saw how you acted when Bradford lunged at you — why—” 

“I would do anything to make sure these men get put away,” you finish your makeup, grabbing the outfit Liv had handed you, “and that includes this.” 

This being an undercover operation designed to get names of victims, ages, and dates if possible, before arresting the group for exchanging pictures and videos of their crimes. 

“Putting yourself in the middle of this chaos? You’re being reckless—” 

You slide past him and into a bathroom stall, “I know what I’m doing,” 

“Do you? Do you know how many things could go wrong?” he continues, “I could list them for you for posterity — assault, battery, rape, and let’s not forget murder—” 

“I don’t think Liv will let me get murdered when she’s in the room with me, and I would you, Fin, Stabler, and the Captain wouldn’t either—” 

“Things go wrong on these ops, counselor — the field isn’t as safe as a courtroom — court officers, a metal detector right outside—” 

His words fail when the door swings open, a skin tight bodysuit clung to your figure, crimson, just as his ears nearly were, his eyes raking over your outfit, before finding their way back to your raised brows, “You were saying?” 

He stumbles over his words, “I was saying that—” you cross your arms, waiting and he finds himself distracted all over again, before he shakes himself from his stupor, “I was saying that this is too dangerous—” 

“Munch—” you cut him off, “I appreciate your concern, really I do, but I’m going to nail these guys anyway I can, so you can’t change my mind,” your hand finds his shoulder, squeezing, “but I can count on you to have my back right?” 

He simmers, sighing, his eyes softening, “Of course,” and you squeeze his shoulder, and he calls after you as you head towards the squadroom,  “I just hope they taught you taekwondo in law school,” 

“And I hope you know by ‘having my back,’ I meant more than my ass,” you flash him a smile over your shoulder, shaking your head, and flexing your fingers. 

It would be fine. 

You would be fine. 

~~~

It wasn’t fine. He couldn’t find you. 

“Where is he? Where is that son of a bitch, he took—” 

“Munch, calm down,” Liv starts, and he’s shaking his head, his finger in his face. 

“You were supposed to watch them, you were supposed to—” 

“Hey, Munch,” Elliot cuts between him and his partner, his hand on his shoulder,  “we all were there, Bradford slipped out during the raid, there wasn’t anything we could do. We’re going to find them.” 

Munch brushes him away, finding Fin, “Where are we on Bradford?” 

“Got him sneaking out during the takedown,” Fin points you out in the crowd, “looks like he had a knife pressed against counselor’s back, just out of view.” 

“How the hell did that scum sucking, gangrenous low life of a—” 

“Looks like he stole it off one of his buddies he was setting up,” Fin rewinds the tape, and points it out, “lifts it right from his pocket.” 

“Where does he go?” Fin fast forwards, until he gets to the cameras outside, shooting from the van itself. 

“He steals a car down the street, must belong to that brownstone,” Fin shoves the equipment at another officer, “Let’s get the license plate and get a bolo out.” 

Liv and Elliot join the two of them, handing a report to Fin, “We got a list of places that Bradford was known to hang out at—” 

“What are we waiting for?” Munch brushes past them to the car, rounding the car to the driver’s seat, pulling it open, before Fin stops him. 

“I’m driving,” Fin says, holding his hand, and Munch opens his mouth to rebut, “do we really have time to argue right now?” 

Munch glares at him, before handing him the keys, “You better not abide by any traffic laws,” 

“Do I ever?” 

~~~

“Can we go any faster than this? I swear my great uncle could drive faster than this,” Munch expects his partner to be angry, but he’s only sighing and shaking his head, “what?” 

And Fin side eyes him, “If you’re in love with—” 

Munch gapes at him, “I’m not—” 

“--then why don’t you just say something, man?” Fin scoffs, “you can deny it all you want, explain it away with one of your crazy ass conspiracy theories, but it’s there, John.” 

Munch pulls off his glasses, running his hand over his face, fingers resting right below his nose, “You know every time I got married, I thought I was in love,” 

“I know, and then your ex-wives screwed you — what about it?” 

“This is different,” he sighs, “and I don’t want to admit that to myself.” 

“What’s so bad about that, Munch? You want to try again,” and Munch is shaking his head. 

“You know a psychiatrist once told me that the reason all my marriages failed was because I chose women who were spoiled, beautiful, and not my intellectual equal?” 

“Meeting some of your ex-wives, I could believe that,” Fin’s eyes fall back to the road, “what’s your point?” 

Your name slips from his lips, “this is different — this is someone’s who's my equal — smarter than me, beautiful— it could — we could be—” he cuts off, “I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose--” and he cuts off, sighing, “I don’t know.” 

“Well that’s easy, John,” Fin pulls over, the car screeching as it does, “we won’t,” and he jerks his head, “whose car does that look like?” Munch calls in the car, unbuckling himself and slipping from the car, “We have to wait for back-up—” 

“I’m not waiting—” before he adds, “you don’t have to come—” 

“I’m not letting your bony ass get shot again,” Fin is already shutting the car door, pulling his gun out, “let’s go.” 

~~~

“Are you scared now?” Bradford asks, circling you — a predator gauging its prey — no, he was simply playing with you now. Your wrists flex against your restraints, the wood grain of the chair digging into your skin the more you struggled, the rope around your wrists ungiving, “are you, counselor?” 

It was rhetorical — judging by the tape stuck to your lips and the fact he continued to speak, and his fingers fist into your hair, pulling your head back, “Come on, no smart remarks now?”

Are you that stupid that you’ve forgotten that you taped my mouth over? 

No, wait he was that stupid. 

And he slaps you — the sting of his palm against your cheek dazes you a moment, and then his fist lands a blow in your stomach, choking on the same air you breathed, tears burning before slipping down your cheeks. 

“Do you think this is bad?” and now he’s holding your face between his fingers, nails digging into your cheeks, and he grins, a shiver going down your spine,  “just wait.” And he disappears a moment, his shadowy figure rifling through a bag on a table. 

Your eyes darted around, looking for something that could help you, something to help you escape, but nothing was within reach. Your chest squeezed — what if you died here? What if you never saw your family again? What if you never saw your friends again? What if they never found your body? Fear claws up your throat, eyes burning. 

What if they found your body? 

What if Munch found your body? 

You had promised him you’d be careful, but you were careless. You didn’t watch Bradford close enough, you didn’t stick with Liv, you were stupid — so stupid. 

And you wondered if he’d rape you before he was done — if they would find your body like so many victims that came across your desk. You wondered if he’d kill you at all — or just let you live with the memories of his torture. 

And you didn’t know what was worse. 

But then something clatters in the distance, and his head is whipping around, there are footsteps, and he’s grabbing a knife, cutting your restraints free,  “Come here bitch,” he mutters, hurrying to cut the ropes, at your feet before moving to the ones at your wrists,  “they aren’t taking me before I get a chance to slit your throat.” 

Blood roaring in your ears, you know you have to do something — he’s almost done cutting the last rope at your wrist. You couldn’t wait for help. 

You rear your head back, before smashing it into his, hard. His groan gets caught in his throat, as you lunge for the knife, the handle within grasp of your fingers, and you’re trying to crawl away, a deep ache in your skull. You’re stumbling to your feet, but his fingers close around your ankle. 

“I should have fucking killed you from the start,” and you kick him with your free foot, hearing him scream and the satisfying crack of his nose breaking, gripping the knife in your hand and pushing yourself to your feet. 

And you rip the tape from your mouth, “Get the fuck away from me!” you point the knife at him, heart pounding against your ribcage, as he lays clutching his bloody nose. 

But he’s still getting to his feet, “You better hand over that fucking knife—” 

“You better not take another step before I blow your brains out,” and suddenly Fin and Munch are there, Fin stepping forward to arrest Bradford, as Munch is beside you. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” and he’s trying to ease the knife out of your fingers, but you won’t let go, “let go of the knife, it’s okay,” he’s murmuring in your ear, slipping the knife from your fingers, “you’re okay. I got you.” 

Your knees are buckling, and he’s holding you, your head buried in his chest, “I thought he was going to—” 

“I know,” he says softly, “I know, but you’re okay.” 

“Because of you,” And he’s helping you up, and police sirens in the distance, as he helps you out of the building, “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” he whispers, “I’m sorry,” 

“For what?” and his arm around you squeezes you gently. 

“For not saving you sooner,” And suddenly EMS and police are flooding the scene, Fin is shoving Bradford into a car. And you spot him, glaring, but Munch steps between his view, his arm around your shoulders, “don’t bother with that scum. He’s not worth it.” 

And he wasn’t — you knew he wasn’t, but you know that you wouldn’t be able to prosecute him now. But, you craned your neck to watch him be taken away, you wanted to see the bastard get put away at least. 

It’s over, you tell yourself as you rest your head against Munch’s shoulder. 

It was over. 

~~~

“I just want to go home,” you shake your head, but he pulls you along regardless, protesting all the same.

“Just let them look at you, please?” he asks, “if only for my sanity.” 

And you scoff softly, “I thought you lost that a long time ago,” 

“There’s that wit,” he replies, and you go with him, fingers intertwined with his. E.M.S. examines you, insisting on taking you to the hospital for a possible concussion. But you don’t want to — you just want to sleep, you want to take a shower, you want to forget this ever happened— 

“Please just let me go,” you’re pleading with him, tears slipping down your cheeks, “John, please let me go home.” and he’s wavering for a moment, before his hand is on your shoulder, gently pushing you back down. 

“I can’t, and you know that, counselor,” he never wanted to see you cry like this, he never wanted to see you as a victim — because you aren’t just another victim at his desk or in photos spread across his desk — you were you. 

But you were also a victim now. 

“Why not?” you lie against the pillow in defeat, tears slipping down your cheeks, and he’s leaning down to your level, running his fingers through your hair. 

“Because you’re hurt, and you need to be seen. I don’t trust doctors as much as the next conspiracy nut, but you still need to see one,” he tilts his head, “do you want me to come?” 

And you’re blinking back tears, before nodding, “I’m sorry, I’m—” 

“Don’t apologize,” he’s wiping your tears away, “don’t ever apologize for this.” 

~~~

You don’t remember much else — it’s a blur of testing, until finally they let you sleep. And you don’t know how long you sleep. But you don’t dream, and for that much, you’re thankful. You awake to the low hum of hospital machinery, and quiet voices in the room. And you blink, the fluorescents much too bright for you, and your eyes flutter shut again, before not before voices creep in. 

“—been asleep?” 

“It’s been a few hours,” Munch whispers, assumedly trying to keep from waking you, but that was out of the question already, “docs gave something for sleep.” 

“Have you said anything yet?” and it’s Fin asking. 

“When? In between the ambulance ride here and the C.A.T. scan and the fifty other tests they ran?” Munch replies drily, sighing, “it’s not the right time,” 

“You know there’s never going to be a right time, John,” and you’re grateful that you’re turned away from them, your brow furrowed, their voices growing louder, “you have to say something or is counselor a mind reader now?” 

“Well—” 

“Don’t spout another conspiracy theory or you’ll be the one in the hospital bed,” you could almost see Fin crossing his arms. 

“You know that psychiatrist also told me I could make a conspiracy theory from a five-year-old’s lemonade stand,” 

Fin raises an eyebrow, “Well now that I believe,” 

“What am I supposed to say?” Munch asks, “‘hi, I know you almost just died, but I think I’m in love with you?’” 

And your eyes snap open, the air sucked straight from your lungs — “It can be that simple,” 

He was in love with you? John Munch was in love with you. Your heart squeezed at the thought — you hadn’t a clue that he was. You knew he cared — but you didn’t know he… loved you.  

“Nothing is ever that simple,” and you turn around, the words leaving your lips without a thought. 

“It can be, John,” and both him and Fin’s gazes snap to you, a small smile on your lips, “if you let it be.” 

Munch is staring at you slack jawed, while Fin is grinning, elbowing him, “I’ll leave you two alone,” before he adds, “remember that there is an officer at the door—” 

“Fin—” and he’s gone, disappearing out of the door, and Munch is wiping a hand down his face, his cheeks flushed red, “so how much of that—” 

“All of it,” and he’s covering his hands with his face, “for someone who claims to be so evolved, you’re very cute when you’re embarrassed,” 

“I’m cute?” he repeats, and you hold out your hand to him, and he’s staring a moment — as if he can’t believe it — before taking your hand, “how cute?” 

You snort, “Just cute enough, don’t go getting an ego,” 

“You’re sure it’s not just the concussion? And the almost dying?” and you roll your eyes, tugging him closer, by his coat’s lapel, and he’s whispering your name. 

“How’s this for an answer?” and you kiss him — his lips barely brush yours a moment, but he’s already pulling you back in, parting and meeting until you hold him there a moment, fingers twisting in the hair resting on the small of his neck, “John—” you breath against his lips. 

“I don’t understand why…” he whispers, your foreheads brushing. 

“Why...?” 

“I don’t understand why me,” his fingers cup your cheek gently, as if you’d disappear between his fingers, “you could be with anyone — why would you choose this paranoid, old detective?” 

“Because it’s you,” you softly chuckle, and you draw your lips to his again, “and I wouldn’t want you any other way,” before you add, “except maybe sharing your feelings more so I don’t have to overhear any other conversations to know how you’re feeling.” 

“I could say the same to you, counselor,” 

“Excuse me, I said how I felt first,” you gape at him, in mock offense. 

“Only after hearing how I felt,” but you shrug, smiling as your noses brush. 

“Still, I was the first, so suck it,” you reply, and he laughs, a warm sound that makes your chest stir. 

“Oh,” his lips brush yours, a smile on his lips,  “I’m gonna suck something.” 

[youarejesting]

Sly like a... ? part 11

[Full Masterlist] Beta: n/a (at the moment) Rating: All (Marked Chapters 18+) Pairing: Hybrid!BTS x FailedHybrid!Reader Genre: Hybrid au, fluff, action, adventure, angst, drama, slice of life. Some marked chapters will contain mature/smut scenes, BUT they will not have plot in those scenes and are 100% skippable without losing your place in the story.

Summary: Human’s strive to be better, faster and stronger looking to animal DNA. Thus Hybrids are born. As the rise for designer and Pedigree Hybrids increase, so do the failed attempts. There is one species scientists are unsuccessful in creating, but, folklore says they have been here all along, hiding and blending in with the humans for many millennia. How clever they are.

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‘No girls or Jungkook’s allowed! ’

The sign on the door filled you with so much anger. You had to physically remember to breathe, it wouldn’t do to start yelling at the hybrids, they already felt inferior and vulnerable compared to humans. You never wanted them to feel weak, which is why you were mad. You didn’t care if they wanted to exclude you, but you would give the two young men a strong lecture for even thinking about excluding Jungkook.

“Jimin and Taehyung I would like to talk with you,” you ripped the sign down and tore it up. It would be best to dispose of the evidence before the young man saw it. Seeing his hyungs ignoring him would break him, “If you are upset talk to me and I will try to fix the situation.”

There was no response so you sighed walking away pushing the small lump in your throat down, you heard them whispering and thought maybe they needed time. It was after lunch that you began wondering if they planned to lock themselves up all day. Jungkook sat on the soft rug looking at the video games and he smiled setting up the controllers as he looked between two games.

“Which one do you think is better?” Jungkook asked Seokjin who took one of the controllers and smiled, he read both and grinned and you stepped over sitting on the floor picking up a controller.

“I can play right, I think Jimin and Taehyung are talking about some things,” You smiled, nuzzling his hair for a second and leaning back on Seokjin’s legs. “So what are we playing, I have never played before?”

Namjoon ended up joining and Yoongi took a seat on your spare side on the rug and leaned on one of Seokjin’s legs laughing at your expense. “You missed, he was right there and you missed, he shot you,”

“Look, I am a Minecraft kind of videogamer, you know the sims?” You puffed your cheeks flailing as you tried to shoot Namjoon who was doing a lot of shouting and not a lot of aiming either.

Everyone was in stitches. You almost forgot about the other two boys who were feuding with you. It was late and you had played a series of driving and shooting games and a game of Minecraft; where you all made a village and lived side by side and visited each other's houses with food and tools.

“I am hungry,” Jungkook pouted, pulling your sleeve and glancing at the dark kitchen. You looked at the time, and your mouth dropped open. “When is dinner?”

“Let’s order in, I can’t be bothered cooking,” You ordered a bunch of food, making sure to get Jimin and Taehyung’s favorite dishes so that you could lure them out. They would no doubt be hungry.

The food was delivered and as you removed the lids you named the dishes loudly hoping the two locked away in their room would emerge and eat something.

It’s super effective!

You smile as everyone digs in. The two boys were obviously mad and jealous that you had slept in Jungkook’s room and you wondered how you would possibly be able to fix this.

“I will take Wednesdays,” Yoongi smiled “I like Wednesdays”

“What is he talking about?” Hoseok asked he was just as confused by the white tiger's outburst looking towards Namjoon who with a mouth full of noodles shrugged.

“Sunday’s you can sleep in Jungkook’s room, and mine on Wednesdays,”

“Oh I will take Monday’s” Hoseok smiled, brightly

“Monday is tonight” Jimin accused looking panicked, “fine, I will take Tuesday then”

“Can you sleep in my rooms on Wednesday?” Taehyung said,

“Wednesday is already taken,” Yoongi glared, placing some meat on Taehyung’s plate in an attempt to console him, “Take Thursday”

“Yes Thursday”

“I will take Saturday,” Jin grinned, “Which means Namjoon is Friday? Is that alright?”

You blinked watching this all unfold, they had just decided on their own sleep schedule for you. It was nice to see them working together but you didn’t know how to feel about moving rooms every night. But at this point, anything seemed more comfortable than the couch. “Maybe once and when I have stayed once in everyone's rooms, I will go back on the couch.”

“What if two people share a room and have bunk beds or something, then that leaves a free room for you?” Jimin said, grabbing some tteokbokki, “I can share with Hoseok or Taehyung or Jungkook, I can give you my room. It can be your own little space.”

“Oh, my room! My room!” Hoseok said, “I miss the sound of other people in the night, we can get bunk beds.”

Hoseok and Jimin grinned at one another, the two already talking about how they would design and decorate their room. Heading into the bathroom you cleaned up the clothes off the floor and dumped them in the hamper. It made you laugh how comfortable they were all getting enough to drop their clothes on the floor right beside the hamper.

Taking a rather warm shower you scrubbed your skin wondering if you would smell different again in the morning. It was a strange thought, once scrubbed and buffed clean you wrapped yourself in your towel and stood on the small mat in front of the basin. Examining your appearance, as you slowly moisturize your skin.

Whilst smoothing the cool night cream across your brow you thought you saw an orange tail in the mirror turning you thought Seokjin had burst into the bathroom to pee but when you turned nothing and nobody was there.

It left you feeling a little unsettled, it was your head playing tricks on you. Getting dressed you all but ran out into the hall smacking into Seokjin who was coming out of his room. You grasped his large shoulders to prevent yourself from falling back. He gripped your waist in response.

“Woah, what’s wrong, why are you scared?” He asked, his tail fluffed and his ears twitching looking for a threat. A few heads popped out of their rooms, “You reek of fear, what happened?”

“I spooked myself, one of the towels moved in the bathroom and I thought it was something else and I got scared, that’s all” Your voice died off with your rambling, and the blush settled upon your cheeks.

Hoseok walked over and took your hands, “don’t worry, you are staying in my room tonight so I will protect you!” His chipper tone did wonders to ease your distress, pulling you along to his room where he tucked the two of you into the bed.

“Thank you, I miss having people to talk to and just be there,” He smiled, “I am excited to get to stay with Jimin, he is such a nice guy.”

“He is a sweetheart when we were little we used to play together and he always wanted to play pirates and superheroes but on my 4th birthday no one from our school showed up to my princess party. So Jimin dressed up as a princess as did my carer Felix and his carer Astrid and we all shared snacks and cake”

“YOU SAID YOU WOULDN'T TELL ANYONE!” Jimin’s voice screeched from the hallway seconds before rapid footsteps. His figure appeared in the doorway for a split second, his sock-clad feet slipping out from underneath him sending him sliding further down the hallway.

“I have pictures too,” You giggled

“Send them to me.” Yoongi’s tired drawl came from a few rooms up and you grinned airdropping them around the house. Jimin tried to wrestle the phone from your hands and you grinned, pulling him onto the bed.

“Time for bed Jimin, lay down or get out.” he indeed snuggled up on your other side, Hoseok and Jimin's arms wrapped around you and you were indeed feeling quite safe from your previous scare.

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Tags:  @simplymemyself @lolsiiike @min2jeon @notruercolors @luvaffaire @grazysf  @ella-mella @lustremyg @sonnymii @moments-of-melancholy @calling-dips-on-j-hope @jiminiessipabo @staerryminimini @afangirl91 @halfway-insane @ireallylikeyourwriting @lindsayjoy444 @lindsay1013 @bangtansleftnut​ @chimchoom​ (please make sure you have tagging setting on so you get notified when the story updates)

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[jisungscaramel]

vexation | hyunjin

❀ genre; smut, college au, enemies au  ❀ pairing; hyunjin x reader (fem) ❀ word count; 2.7k 

[warning] strong language, explicit sexual content, dry humping, (mild) begging, hate sex

There it was: Hwang Hyunjin, name beautifully printed right above yours. You shuddered in complete disgust, not believing that you were paired with him of all people for your history presentation. There were 34 students in the class; that meant you had a whopping 97% chance of being paired with literally anyone else, but no. Your professor, Dr. Zhang, just had to pair you with him. 

Overachiever: that was an understatement. He was the type to want all of the glory for the taking, the type to enjoy making others feel like they were dumb, the type who had no issue in forsaking common morals for his own gain. 

You couldn’t fucking stand him. 

Begrudgingly, you stood up from your original seat, trudging your feet to sit next to him - at your professor’s instruction, of course. You planned on at least being polite, and you thought for a second that he might do the same, but he didn’t even bother looking at you, staring through to the front of the room, eyes stoic. If he was trying to provoke you, it was definitely working. 

You dropped your backpack to the ground, unceremoniously, sound drowning in the increasing levels of chatter in the small lecture hall, but clearly loud enough to make his composure teeter; his head jerked back a millimeter, a minuscule gesture but it was painfully obvious to you. And you let out an equally obvious slew of snickers before sitting back in the seat, neck meeting the old frayed fabric as you tilted your head back, arms stacking on one another as you folded them, woman spreading to occupy more real estate than you actually required.

You had to at least try to keep yourself amused. 

Hyunjin began scribbling mindlessly on a blank piece of paper - still acting as if you were not even there. 

He slammed the white sheet down on your knee, sending vibrations straight up your leg rather rudely. 

Asshole. 

Oh, baby, he hadn’t even started yet. 

“Okay. We’re doing our paper on I-Hotel and… I’m gonna write it. All you have to do is find these books for me at the library.” He turned to look at you with a very aggravating smirk… maybe you’d notice the tiniest hint of flirtation if the feeling of overwhelming irritation didn’t encompass you. 

But the chance passed when his countenance morphed into counterfeit concern, tapping his chin in contemplation for added effect, “although, I think the library’s computer system is down… I guess you gotta find them the old-fashioned way.” God, you just wanted to smack that smug grin right off his face. “I’d love to help you with that... but I’m just too busy…” It should’ve been illegal for intolerable people to be that gorgeous.

You blinked in complete confusion. “Ummm… excuse me?” 

“I’m… sorry… do… I… need… to … talk… slower…?”

You gingerly picked up the piece of paper, promptly getting up from your chair, glaring at him. You made sure your backpack was secure on your shoulder before dramatically lifting the note in front of his face to tear what he wrote to shreds, scattering the bits over his laptop’s keyboard. “Stick a motherfucking cactus up your ass.” 

You stormed out of that hall with your head high, not daring to look back despite your innate desire to see his response - you were sure it was priceless. 

‘I’ll just have to do this damn thing on my own.’

Oh, if it could only be that simple. 

The first thing that popped up on your laptop when you opened it from the safety of the library was an unexpected email. 

Since you ripped up my list - rather rudely I might add - I’ve attached the list of the books I require. I will be at the library at four PM sharp. Please plan accordingly. Hyunjin 

“Fuck.” 

‘Plan accordingly,’ your ass, according to you, your plan was to minimize the amount of time you had to spend dealing with Hyunjin, and you had been 100% sure he had the same sentiment… so much for that. 

Speaking of the devil, as soon as you decided to dismiss his outlandish request and settle in to get some of your research started, Hyunjin yanked your attention away from your laptop with merely his presence, almost as if your nerves were hypersensitive to his saccharine dipped aura, and most definitely not to the signature sway of his frame as he walked. 

You didn’t dare grant him the luxury of your direct gaze. Instead, you kept a close eye on him in your peripheral, hoping you’d blend in with the people around you… but there was still at least a 92% chance he’d see you.

“Did you get my sources?” and now he was right in front of you, nothing but a measly table in between. 

Your nostrils flared in an effort to not retort back at Hyunjin, eyes still fixed on your screen in a successful attempt to ignore him. 

Then he pushed your laptop closed, hand planted firmly on the device rather invasively. “Excuse me, I’m talking to you.”

You gritted your teeth, tilting your head up in a menacing stare, eyes narrowing, eyebrows furrowing. “What do you want?” 

God, you didn’t know his smile could get more fake than it already was. “I told you to get my sources for me,” his tone was exaggeratedly slow, “did you get my sources?” 

You shoved his hand away from your laptop. “Get your own sources.” 

Immediately his fake smile turned into a sincere snicker, rolling his eyes off to the side. “Uptight bitch.” 

His words sank in for a moment. “You wanna say that again?” 

He leaned over the table, face a mere six inches from yours. “Uptight,” you could feel your fists involuntarily clenching, digging into your palms what would soon be prominent crescents in a matter of seconds, “bitch.” 

You almost raised your palm to gratuitously slap him across the face but the simmering mellowness in you kept a tight grasp of your boiling anger. You leaned back in your seat in an effort to widen the physical gap (or the lack thereof) between you. “Fuck off.”

<><><><><><> 

“Hyunjin, y/n, can you both come down to the podium,” Dr. Zhang added at the end of his lecture, halting your plans to b-line straight to the library. 

As the aisles began to empty, you made your way down the steps to the front of the room, purposefully standing at the side opposite of Hyunjin, frankly paying no mind to him for all intents and purposes. 

Your professor glanced between you two, clearly noticing the oddity of the image but purposefully choosing to ignore it. 

“I noticed that both of you submitted first drafts for your paper, and at first I thought it was an accident, until I opened both files and realized you’re writing completely separate papers. Care to explain?” 

“Yeah y/n, care to explain?” What a fucking dicktard. 

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you wracked your brain for some feasible excuse. “Well,” but nothing came to mind… oh fuck it, “we’ve had issues working with each other.” 

Dr. Zhang raised an eyebrow cautiously. “Elaborate.”

“We really don’t get along.”

He sighed, crossing his arms. “Well you’re gonna have to try to find some middle ground. I’ll give you two a second chance to put a first draft together. If you can submit a collaborative piece by midnight, I’ll still give you full credit for that part. If not, it stays as a zero. Subsequently, you will keep getting zeroes for the following checkpoints if you submit them separately. Any questions?” 

“No, sir,” much to your surprise, that was the first moment thus far wherein both you and Hyunjin were on the same wavelength. 

“Good, that is all.” 

You felt like two negatively charged magnets as you walked side by side up the aisle to the exit. “I’m not getting a zero for this,” Hyunjin spoke up. 

You rolled your eyes. “At least we can agree on that.”

As the cold, crisp air of the outside refreshed your nerves, he lightly gripped your shoulder, swerving you to face him. “Look, I know we’re like oil and water, but I’m willing to at least try to get along for the grade.” His fingers trembled on your shoulder; his teeth lightly grazed his bottom lip, eyes searching yours for a sign of truce. 

Needless to say, the sentiment from him was unexpected. You exhaled deeply, brushing his hand from you. “Fine.”

<><><><><><><> 

But two hours spent alone in a library study room proved to be more difficult than originally anticipated. Trying to work together felt like pulling teeth - a true collaboration of absolute vexation.  

“What about this passage?” You pointed to some text in a book you were sifting through. 

He swiveled his chair around, only looking at your find for a solid half a second before, turning back around. “Nah, that’s not good enough to use as evidence.” 

“What the fuck, Hyunjin? You didn’t even read it.”

“I didn’t have to. I assumed whatever you found was as subpar as everything else you’ve ‘found.’”

You dropped the book on the table with a loud plonk, partially in shock at what he said and partially due to a natural tendency to want to irritate him. “Well let’s see what you ‘found,’” leaning over the table in a relaxed manner, carrying a dash of nonchalance as you scrolled through his writing. “You call this good evidence?”

“What on earth are you talking about?” You wanted to laugh at his defensive tone. 

“It’s obvious that you’re framing your own narrative by taking shit outta context. Not to mention all the ellipses and brackets are terrifically horrendous, visually. You’re taking literally all the credibility out.” 

“What do you know? I doubt you even read that article,” he dismissed your legitimate critique in a manner you unfortunately predicted. 

“As a matter of fact, I did… two. hours. ago. And you told me the article didn’t seem ‘reliable’ enough for you, but here you are… you must think I’m fucking stupid.” 

The side of his lips curved up in the slightest smirk. “Not true, I think you’re annoyingly absentminded.” 

You rolled your eyes for the umpteenth time in the past minute, whispering, “fucking cockmaggot,” under your breath, diverting your attention back to your screen. 

“What did you just say?” His tone suggested he wasn’t being rhetorical - he really didn’t hear you. There was something cute and innocent about his ignorance, the way his lips formed a subtle pout unintentionally, nose wrinkling in distaste. You mentally shook the image from your head, cursing yourself for thinking he was… ‘cute’ to begin with. 

“Nothing, My Liege, nothing at all,” mocking sarcasm spilled from your lips as you parted them to give them a disapproving smack. “This is complete shit; we can’t submit this.”

Hyunjin slammed his laptop closed, standing up abruptly. The action took you by surprise, making your neck shudder in a startle. “I can’t fucking do this anymore. Why do you have to be so fucking difficult?” Pent up rage was slathered all over his face, eyes twitching, eyebrows tightly knitting together, jaw unhinging from an excess of epinephrine. 

His anger diffused to you, violently charging your nerves. There was no way you were just gonna take his shit sitting down. “Why do you,” you stood up, chair rocking back from the velocity of your limbs, “have to be,” you turned around and gripped his collar with both hands, “such an insufferable asshole?” 

He was dumbfounded, wordless much to your satisfaction, but his eyes were unwavering, devoid of reaction. The time you spent stabbing each other with your unfaltering gazes felt like a goddamn eternity, tension coarse, sinfully tangible on your skin. 

It was fucking stifling. 

Before you even realized what was happening, your lips were latched together in a fervent frenzy, tension thickening for an entirely different reason now. 

There was something so breathtaking about the way his lips tightened against yours - literally. It felt like he was siphoning your soul from your body - any thought that dared to grace your mind oddly dissolved into nothingness as Hyunjin molded your lips into submission, tongue colonizing your oral cavity in an authoritative manner that was so in character for him. 

Not that you gave a fuck. 

His hands aggressively tugged at your waist; the impact of your body crashing onto his sent pangs up your spine, and in seconds, your back thudded against the wall, maintaining the momentum. You had to grip his shoulders purely for support, and definitely not because you were immersing in the moment.

You felt his grip loosen as his hands roamed downward, playfully drawing patterns on your skin with his fingers en route. And then they constricted around your thighs, lifting them up to his hips, and you hooked your ankles around his back as if it was the natural thing to do. 

The fabric of his pants became taut around the building frustration underneath, becoming oh so apparent to you when he started steady grinding against the thin fabric of your underwear - why did you have to wear a skirt today of all days?

You passed a reluctant whimper through his lips, wholly unable to deny the way your pulsing desire radiated heat through your core at the increasing friction. 

You broke away from the kiss, gasping. “Hyunjin…” you whispered almost breathlessly, desperation filling you as he continued his tantalizing test of your patience. 

“Hmmm?” There it was: that signature smug grin, but by this point, your senses were too preoccupied to even register it. 

“I can’t take this anymore.”

“Is that so?” He lifted you off the wall, pushing your laptops to either side so he could lay you on the table, spreading your legs to give him clear sight of your dampening sex. He snickered. “You look much better like this…” While ghosting one hand around your inner thighs, conveniently avoiding the place you needed him the most, he undid the button and zipper of his jeans with the other, sliding them down to his knees. 

You found yourself licking your lips at the silhouette of his bulge, now more prominent with less restricting fabric. Of course, he noticed; “so these are you true colors… I never would’ve thought you were such a dirty girl.” He brushed his fingers over the waistband of your underwear. “Where do you need me?” He pressed his thumb on your clit, “here?” 

Your teeth pressed down on your lips in an effort to stifle a moan. “Yes…” and even though you were successful the first time, there was no stopping the sounds from seeping through your lips when Hyunjin slammed his clothed erection on you once more, picking up exactly where he left off just moments ago. 

“Please, Hyunjin…” he pushed your thighs further apart, keeping them in place. 

“‘Please,’ what?” 

“I need you inside me, please.” 

His sinister laugh filled the small room. “I don’t know if you deserve it.” 

“Fucking asswipe.” 

“Now that doesn’t sound very convincing…” 

You groaned in pleasurable displeasure. “Hyunjin… please, I’m begging you. I really can’t take this.” 

“Don’t you care if someone tries to come in?” He raised an eyebrow, partially in curiosity, mostly in amusement. 

You glared right into his eyes. “No.” 

He shook his head, clicking his tongue as he stood back. “Get up.” Any urge you had to defy him before was long gone; you did as he asked and he harshly turned you around by your waist, pushing you toward one of the windows. 

While pushing you down against the glass with one hand, he reached in his front pocket with the other, grabbing a condom. He ripped the packaging with his teeth, skillfully sliding his boxers down to slip the vinyl over him. 

Not wanting to wait any longer, you aided him by pulling your panty down leaving yourself completely exposed for his taking, and you quickly pushed your hands on the glass, bracing yourself for the next few seconds, but nothing could’ve prepared you for that stretch that came. Your wrist slid down on the window pane to bite back a scream. 

“So tight.” 

 ><><><><><><><

A/N I’mma be honest: I had a fucking field day coming up with all those weird insults

[slasherholic]

Michael Myers x Doctor! Reader | The Check-Up

behold, a drabble that went on for 1500 words too long.

synopsis: you are a doctor at smith’s grove administering the patient’s monthly physical exams. your next patient is michael. sadly, there is no world where this ends pleasantly for you.

contains: gender-neutral reader, michael being a toying asshole and giving the reader a nasty scare.

The exam room is small and drab, too intimate a space for work to happen comfortably. Its walls are not thick enough to dampen the noise of shuffling feet and voices passing by outside, and occasionally, the strident yelling of an upset patient will cut above the murmur, making you drum your fingers against the steel countertop with a renewed fervor.

On your sheet, half way down the list, the name is printed innocuously there in blue ink:

M. Myers.

You take a deep breath in and let it out slowly; it does not calm your nerves. Since you relinquished your last patient, the unease has been twisting in your gut like you swallowed a whole eel. Now, it feels almost determined to come back up.

It’s only a physical, you reason. The guards will be right outside. He’ll be restrained.

And such things might have been a comfort, if only “M. Myers” was still just a name on a list with a gruesome reputation to precede him. You are not fortunate enough for that to be the case; you have worked with Myers before. You know what he is like.

Your eyes flit to the clock on the wall while your fingers tap tap tap away on the counter. The guards have been gone eight minutes now. Some patients make a fight out of it every time they are taken from their rooms, requiring transport around the sanitarium in wheelchairs fit with heavy leather straps. Not Myers. In all your time employed at Smith’s Grove Sanitarium, you have never heard of one such related incident involving Myers. He lets himself be escorted without a fuss.

The incidents only happen after he gets to where he’s going.

It is not another full minute before there is a knock at the door.

“I’m ready,” you say promptly. The handle twists to the side. The door opens.

Four guards bring him in, double the standard patient security detail.

They lead him to the exam table while you thumb through your drawer for his file. In the corner of your eye, you watch him sit. One guard produces a key ring. The guard squats. Shortly, you hear the resounding metal “click” of a lock turning into place.

“Alright,” the guard says, standing. “All’s good over here.” After some consideration, he adds, “Want us to stick around for this one?”

“No, but thank you,” you tell him, pulling out the file. “I trust you did your job.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

The guards leave the room, one by one.

“Holler if he gives you any trouble,” the last guard states, closing the door behind him.

The silence in their stead is woeful and everything within it altogether too loud. The clock on the wall ticks. Your stool squeaks sharply when you sit upright. The open drawer screeches as you push it shut.

And you can hear him breathing.

Your heart should not be racing already but it is. You suppose it isn’t too late to call the guards back in, but in the end, it wouldn’t matter much; if Myers is determined to toy with you, he will. Their presence will not deter him.

Clipboard in hand, you swivel on your stool, and face him.

Myers sits atop the paper-sheeted table with an attentive posture. He wears his usual white patient’s garb, canvas pants and a cotton shirt, the latter too tight around the breadth of his shoulders. Short metal cuffs link his wrists closely to his waist. His ankle has been chained to the chipping grey tile; and, despite the elevation of the table, his feet touch the floor with ease.

Alarmingly, he is staring right back at you.

Ice-blue eyes consider you steadily. No hint of emotion occupies his face. The look is somehow effortless, and you are reminded of how a housecat might regard a person of mild interest, intrigued enough by the happenings to observe, but caring not to involve itself further—yet.

Your throat tightens. There have been times during these check-ups where Myers feigns detachment, pretending wholly as if he doesn’t care. Not today. Already, he is casually toying with you.

Your eyes fall to your clipboard as you stand from your stool, eager for an excuse to cast your gaze away from him.

“I’ll be administering a quick check up today,“ you say, depositing your pen in your breast pocket. “Weight, heart rate, blood pressure, nothing invasive.” It is all you can manage if you are to maintain some air of professionalism. Your voice has already begun to thin.

The physician’s scale rests against the wall beside the exam table, wholly too close to Myers for your liking. You feel his eyes following you across the room as you go and stand next to it. Adrenaline surges in your veins at the proximity.

“Stand here, please,” you say, eyes fixed on your clipboard, as though very much involved in your work, and very much not falling prey to your patient’s lingering stare.

For a beat of time that stretches on into discomfort, nothing happens. Michael’s breathing fills the room. You do not look up from your sheet. He doesn’t budge an inch in your periphery. It is as if you had not spoken at all, only imagined it. Perhaps he didn’t hear you. Perhaps he’s decided not to cooperate.

The instructions are almost past your lips a second time when Michael stands. His weight shifts fluidly onto his feet, almost soundlessly, were it not for the clank of his ankle restraint hitting the floor. The scale creaks as he steps on—the length of chain allows it, barely. Your breathing is far from measured now. While you slide the weights along the top of the scale you grip your clipboard tremendously tight.

It is a strange and terrible thing, you think, to exist next to a body that has taken so many lives. Would you lose your job if you were to obey the way your feet seem to want to charge as fast as you are able out of this room? Why, the situation doesn’t seem ethical; your higher-ups, the doctors, the psychologists, all know what dreadful acts Michael is capable of; are you seriously expected to treat this man as though he’s just the next patient on your sheet?

A series of terrible things occur to you all at once; If Michael wanted to, even in his chains, he could hurt you very easily. It is by the mere fact of the building surrounding him that he has not.

Contained in this place, to harm you is to tighten his own restraints. Michael knows this. He knows the keys to the castle must be attained through docility, or at least an act of it, which he is very good at faking. Whether he believes the game is eligible for a second round, now, with so much fresh blood on his hands, he is going to play. In fewer words; only by the grace of brick and cement are you allowed to exist within an arm’s length of this man, and still keep breathing.

On your sheet, you scribble a barely legible 210 lbs in the blank white space next to “patient weight”. In a retreating voice you ask Myers to please sit back down on the table. He decides instead to linger next to you first, broadening his chest with a few more steady breaths; after that, he sits.

The stethoscopes are stored in the stainless steel cabinets above your desk. You set down your clipboard as you dig for one, trying all the while not to think the unthinkable—you have to touch your patient now. You have to touch Michael.

Stethoscope in hand, eyes fixed to a point on the floor for the sake of your own sanity, you drag your stool across the room, its one stuck wheel screeching across the linoleum.

You settle your stool inches away from Myers and put on your best mask of doctorly calm.

“Looking good so far,” you say, not believing that Michael is actually paying attention to your words, only speaking because it seems the comfortable thing to do. “I need to listen to your heart next, so please, don’t move.”

Michael’s towering body doesn’t budge a muscle in response to your new proximity. He continues to breathe in and out, chest expanding beneath his too-tight shirt, and you can see the individual muscles of his torso rising and contracting, ribs filling out, pectorals broadening, their outline obvious beneath his meager layer of clothing.

You install the buds of your stethoscope in both ears and reach out with your dominant hand toward his chest, pressing the circular tool just above his heart.

Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. The pounding echoes in your skull. You can feel it beating up through his coiled muscle, throbbing so adamantly beneath your touch that you can see his pulse lifting your fingers up and down, up, down, a power which you try to ignore by filling your thoughts with numbers, counting the beats as your task demands.

Touching Michael is nearly unbearable by the fiftieth second. You withhold your heavy swallow as you shove away from him, wheeling back to the safety of the counter where your sheet rests, jotting in his results, which are incredible, but nothing short of expected—Michael has the resting heart rate of a trained athlete.

As you ink in his results in the empty box, it occurs to you that he must be getting some sort of pleasure out of this. Some carnal need of his is gratified by the symptoms of your unease—the miserable tension in your voice, the fact you cannot look him in the eye. Michael is devouring all of it.

You feel suddenly very faint as you reach again above the counter, this time taking a hand light from the cabinets. Two more empty boxes remain unfilled on your sheet; two more tests to administer. Half way done. You suppose that fact should help settle your nerves, but it doesn’t. Instead, a different angle on the matter takes form in your head; a whole half way in, and Myers is still pretending as if he’s only going to sit there and watch.

You leave your clipboard on the counter this time, because it can’t save you. To perform this next part you are going to have to bite the bullet and look Myers in the face.

Distressingly, his expression has not budged a bit. His cold eyes are still upon you.

Keeping your concern off your face seems a losing battle now. You know Michael can detect it in the tightness of your features as you roll your stool across the room, and perhaps you imagined the oh-so-faint dilation of his functioning pupil as you approached, and perhaps you didn’t.

“I just need you to follow this light for me.” You tell Michael, brandishing the hand light in front of you.

His eyes, or you suppose the one good one, survey the thin silver tool in your hand. Nothing on his face changes. He looks back up at you within three beats of your racing heart, apparently ready to comply.

Your thumb meets the little button on the side of the light and it illuminates a harsh circle on his pale cheek. A flick of your wrist aligns it with your target. Michael’s pupil contracts to a pin-point. He obliges your instructions, tracking the light as you move it left, then right, his reflexes behaving beautifully, flawlessly, in fact…

...and you are still contemplating the flawlessness of Michael’s pupillary reflexes when it occurs to you that he is no longer following the light. Instead, he is staring at your face.

You remember seeing tigers hunting on a nature show. You remember that head down, fixed-eyed look, a predator’s unbreakable concentration. That is how Myers is staring at you.

Terror rolls through you, gripping your heart in a cold fist. It makes you smaller and smaller until you feel like turning on your heel and sprinting for the door, away from this ruthless predator, because Myers is so obviously that.

“Follow the light, please.” You barely squeeze the words past your constricting vocal chords. Michael does not follow the light. He looks at you with that same deadly gaze, the darkness spreading to overtake his whole face.

You recoil from him like you’ve been shot.

His cuffed hand shoots out. Chain links rattle as he seizes your elbow. A gasp leaves your throat at the horrible pressure of his fingers digging into bone.

Very quietly, you tell him to let you go.

Michael doesn’t. His hand continues to grip your arm as if cemented there. He meets your eyes with a piercing look that says you are about to die.

Suddenly, the fact of the sanitarium walls surrounding you no longer matter. Your world swings sickeningly sideways. You know only one thing; Michael is going to murder you on the spot.

Tears cascade freely down your face. His grip hurts but the fear hurts worse. You tell him you are going to call in the guards. Michael, unperturbed, holds you, just watching, perhaps even daring you to.

“Please let go.” You are pleading with him now. Pleading with a murderer. Pleading with the monster that has already decided your fate.

The very moment before you raise your voice to scream for the guards, Michael does let go. His hand comes free and you spill to the floor with a yelp, knocking over medical supplies on the counter which clatter loudly as they fall. The doors swing open. The four guards step in.

Michael sits innocuously on the exam table as you heave and tremble on the floor. By all accounts, it would appear as though you’ve fallen due to your own clumsiness.

One of the guards rushes to your side to help you to your feet. You insist in a tight, quivering voice that you are fine; that you only tripped. You spit out that you have everything you need from Myers, and if they would please take him away, and bring in the next patient, that would be excellent.

Michael is still watching you as the guards begin to unlock his ankle cuff. You cannot bear to return his stare. Bending down, you start to pluck a tray of spilled cotton swabs off the floor, trying to occupy your shaking hands, but even long after the guards have removed Myers from the room, your hands refuse to stop their trembling.

[nanowrimo]

5 Tips for Finishing Your Novel

April’s session of Camp NaNoWriMo is drawing to a close, and you might find yourself nearing the end of your novel. If you need some tips on writing and polishing the ending of your story, author Derek Murphy is here to share a few! Plus, you can check out the rest of our novel-finishing resources on our #NaNoFinMo page. 

You won NaNoWriMo and have a 50k collection of scenes and sentences, but how do you clean it up and get it done? How do you make sure it’s finished, satisfying and enjoyable? Here are 5 powerful strategies for finishing your novel and some helpful writing tips that will push you past the finish line.

1. Give it a satisfying resolution.

In order to have a powerful story, your book should probably focus on a main character’s change or transformation. There’s an inner war, a.k.a. the character’s emotional healing, and an outer war: the conflict that forced the reckoning. If it’s a purely symbolic internal realization, you can mirror that with actual conflict in the real scene: the breaking of a dish, a fit of rage, a sudden ray of sunlight (or a storm… this should not be pleasant; It’s a breaking point and spiritual death/rebirth).

You can clarify the moment of change by setting up an illustrative contrast, a before and after, that shows how those internal changes have resulted in real-world consequences or benefits. Each character’s unique challenge will match their personal weakness or fear. The price for victory is the one thing they have so far refused to do, or something they cannot give up or bear to lose.

Make sure your protagonist has gone through a transformative struggle to arrive at deep insights, knowledge or awareness. Find a way to deepen the incidental scenes so that they become instrumental to a deeper purpose, leading towards an identity-shifting event.

The plot is what happens, and it’s important. But you can make it more dramatic and meaningful by making sure you demonstrate how hard it was and what it cost. It matters, it is remarkable, because it forced your protagonist to change.

Your conclusion might include:

Physical tension as allies perform a tug-of-war battle against resistance, that shows how difficult this struggle is, and how much force is required.

The consideration phase, as characters are tempted last minute or the price for victory is revealed: the sweet memories that give them awareness that this fight is worth the cost or risk (you need to show them making the choice, knowing what they will lose).

The final flashback, as the full backstory is revealed so we can see exactly why this conflict is so difficult or meaningful for the main character.

2. Add (unresolved) conflict.

Your story is made up of the events and scenes, where something happens. Each new event will push the characters further into the plot. Slow scenes where nothing is really happening can be red flags, so the first thing to focus on is increasing conflict, drama, suspense and intrigue. This is what creates urgency. The full reveal, demonstrating why THIS challenge is so difficult and powerful, should happen just before the final battle or resolution.

You want to make sure every scene, especially in your conclusion, has enough conflict. I recommend these three:

Outer Conflict (threats): Challenges or obstacles that prevent the character from achieving goals.

Inner Conflict (doubts): Moral struggles, decisions, guilt or shame, anger.

Friendly Fire (betrayal): Strong disagreements between allies or supporting characters. 

You want to extend and deepen the potential conflict, without resolving it too easily. The biggest destroyer of conflict is conversation: when your characters just sit around and talk to each other. Most conflict involves a lack of information, and a desire for clarity. A lot of conflict is perceived or imagined.

The most important information needs to come last, and come at a great price. The information that has an emotional impact, and influences their actions and decisions, should be big reveals at dramatic peaks. A surprise or twist should be treated as an event: each scene is leading towards a change or new piece of information that provokes the protagonist to respond.

3. Fill plot holes with character motivation.

After you’ve made sure that “what actually happens” is intriguing (opening questions and raising tensions without resolving them) you can focus on making sure the plot holes are filled, and characters are properly motivated – these two things are usually adjacent.

You can find and fill plot holes by asking:

Why are the characters doing this?

Why does any of it matter?

Basically, readers need to respect the main characters enough to care what happens to them, so their choices and actions need to make sense within the given information. If there’s a simpler, easier solution, readers will get stuck up on “why didn’t they just…”? To fix plot holes and gaps in logic or continuity, or make the story go where you need it to, you can add urgency, fix the mood of the scene (bigger stakes require bigger justifications), show characters in a weakened mental state, or raise concerns but have them dismissed, with an excuse or justification.

You need rational characters to make plausible choices that lead to dire consequences. You need show why they don’t do something easier, or nothing at all, or why they face clear challenges, despite potential obstacles.

They’ll also require a deeper motivation, for why they’re willing to put themselves in identity-destroying conflict, rather than just giving up or running away. Why do they stay in THIS fight, when they’ve run from similar ones? If they weren’t ready at the beginning, why are the ready now – what changed in them, as a result of your story’s journey?

Your protagonist needs to have a strong, consistent internal compass, and it needs to be revealed through incidents that establish their character. This is who they are. Without this reliable core identity, we won’t be able to tell a story that forces them to change. 

4. Let readers picture your story with detailed description.

In the final stages of revision, you can begin improving the description with specific details.

It’s smart to start – or end – a chapter with a vivid, immediate scene. You want to leave readers with an image they can see in their minds, hopefully connected to the feeling you aim to evoke. You can close a chapter with a reference back to a motif or image, with a deeper or more reflective context; applying meaning to the metaphor. This will help readers feel engaged, be moved, and leave a lasting impact.

Vivid scenes are mostly a matter of detailed description, so add the specifics about the story environment. Be precise, not vague. Instead of “she put a plate of tea and snacks on the table” you can write “she gently placed an antique porcelain teapot on the table. I could smell it was Earl Grey from the scent of bergamot. The half-sleeve of Oreos and can of onion-flavored Pringles seemed incongruous with the fancy dishes, but I knew she was making an effort to welcome me.”

Focus on the sensations and feelings; but also zero-in on any potential sources of conflict or internal emotions or states of mind. In my example above, the host might be nervous or ashamed of her spread; or perhaps she has a degenerative brain disease and doesn’t notice the incongruity. Tensions are unspoken, potential sources of negative feelings. They hover in the background of your description.

Readers will remember the pictures you put in their heads, not the words on the page.

Description should serve and be bound to the story, not distract from it.

It should be squeezed into and around the scene action, when the protagonist is using or exploring.

Show what’s different, not what’s the same.

Leave space for readers to fill in the gaps, but get them started in the right direction so they aren’t surprised later.

Sidenote: be careful about your metaphors, analogies and similes. Each one will put a picture into readers’ minds, and it can quickly get overcrowded with imagery. You’re asking them to ignore your real scene and think of something else. Use them to confirm and amplify the scene you have, and limit distractions.

5. Prepare to publish.

Typos are bad, but perfectionism will ruin you. This section is about editing and proofreading, but I don’t have time for all that, and you don’t either. The real problem with a story is rarely the number of typos. A very clean book isn’t better if people stop reading.

You can solve a lot of common writing problems, with my big list of 25 common writing mistakes, and self-edit your manuscript to make it as good as possible. After that, a copyeditor or proofreader isn’t always the best investment (and it can also be the biggest publishing cost).

Instead, use an editing software (I like Grammarly) to root out obvious mistakes, but don’t dwell on the small stuff like perfecting every word or rearranging the commas. Spending a very long time wrestling a poorly-written manuscript in shape is less effective than getting something (actually) done to the point where you’re comfortable sharing it.

This may be difficult at first, but you can’t learn and improve without genuine reader feedback (from people who aren’t your mom or best friend; nor the short-sighted opinions of a self-proclaimed literature enthusiast). You need to find readers who enjoy your particular genre, and the sooner you find them, the more valuable feedback you can get.

Shorten the feedback loop: Get over the fear and focus on learning by getting feedback early and often. However, this doesn’t just mean joining a writer’s club: writers are brutal and might focus on trivial things. The safest bet is to make it public, on Wattpad at least. Or get a cheap cover and throw it up on Kindle, Draft2Digital or even your own blog.

Making it public is scary and vulnerable, but it’s better than letting the fear of messing up keep you from the brutal, necessary experience of allowing readers to tell you what they liked and disliked about your writing. Will some people be critical? Yes! But guess what, you’ll get negative reviews even if you’re a brilliant, famous writer. Those are inevitable. And the first negative reviews may teach you more about writing than 10 years attempting to self-edit, afraid of putting your book out into the world.

PS. You can use resources, like my 24-chapter plot outline, as a way to spot story gaps in your manuscript and improve the structure (especially if your book suffers from a “soggy middle.)

Derek Murphy has a PhD in Literature, writes urban fantasy and is the founder of the alliance of young adult authors. More recently, he’s started sharing writing tips on http://www.writethemagic.com

Top photo by Adegbenro Emmanuel Dipo on Unsplash.

[rent-a-bat]

Drabble #3

Promt: #1 “You don’t have to do this alone”

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader

Requested by: Anonymous

A/N: Aaaaaand it's done!! I really liked writing this one, it made me soft all over. I really hope you like it!! There was a dialog I really wanted to include but didn't really know how, let's see if you can find it. Enjoy!

Requests open

The first time it happened, it took you by surprise.

He arrived with a crash, falling from the ceiling, and getting straight into action. The way he moved, how he fought, everything he did was calculated, yet it flowed so easily like a second nature to him. If Batman was all brawl, Nightwing was all movement, he moved like he was giving a show, one you couldn't help but watch. Nothing like the clumsiness you moved with, relieved if only a little that your lack of any formal training could be helped by your abilities.

The warehouse you were in was one of the many you’ve been taking down for a while, a place where people gathered for illegal purposes, too small for the big guys to notice, which meant it was a job for you, nothing unusual, except for the number of people you were not ready for.

A job that should have been easy but escalated as more people started to come. He arrived just as a jab had you on the floor, not before you took out the one responsible, if he was surprised at the number of bodies already taken out, he didn't show it. The moment you realized who he was had you hiding as fast as you could, careful not to be seen and happy to let him finish with the rest.

You watched him fight until the last one fell unconscious. He lingered for a while after that, making a call to what you guessed was the GCPD, looking around as he did so, like waiting for you to come out and then, just as fast as he came, he was gone. You stayed hiding even after he left, you were sure he hadn't seen you, but one can never be too sure, so you waited, in case he wanted to come back. Minutes passed but he never came. Before you knew it the sounds of sirens surprised you, the police were getting closer, which meant you also had to go.

Gotham was your home, born and raised, and like many who did so, you were used to its antics but cared for the city nonetheless, even when this city was a danger to people like you, people with abilities that will have them either fighting for you or trying to kill you, if you were not with them you were against them, something they needed to get rid of.

You knew you were different from a young age. After your parents died you went into the system, a place that's not easy on those who've lost it all, where the first lesson you learned was that in order to survive, you had to fight for everything, literally. And the more you fought, the easier it was to see what made you different.

Your abilities were far from super, but where enough. Just fast enough to dodge a bullet, just strong enough to lift a car, just invulnerable enough to keep going, just enough to save a life, to help those who needed it, to keep the weak safe. And that's what you did.

It took you time to be ready, training yourself to control your power. Too much force might break them, too fast and you’d be doing more damage. Your suit was easier, something light so you could move freely, but strong enough not to break. All black to hide yourself at night, your hair neatly pinned down and a hood to cover yourself, attaching to mask that hid half of your face. It was a long way, but when you were finally ready, you took it to the streets.

While the big ones took out big organizations or fought against the ever-growing list of rouges, you helped the ones that thought were lost, that thought they weren’t important enough to be saved. A girl trying to get home safe, a student getting mugged, doing the little things, because you knew that helping the people of Gotham was the real change.

Trying to go unnoticed in the city where the greatest detective resided was a feat in itself, but you had managed to do it so far, until the little problems you were trying to fix got bigger.

The second time it happened you were expecting it, still, you couldn't hold your surprise when you saw him appear.

A growing number of disappearances and a little digging through the streets of Gotham had you at the docks. Turns out, the warehouses you had been taking down were part of a larger operation, still small, but if left alone it could grow into something much more troublesome, which explains why Nightwing appeared that night and how your chances of staying anonymous were closing to zero.

He arrived just like the first time, so when he landed on the floor and all eyes were on him, you took it as your queue to go, freeing the people your top priority.

The Intel you had was scarce, rumors here and there, bits of information you heard passing by, so you weren't sure how much you could trust it. Luckily for you, that information proved to be true. The area you were headed remained heavily guarded, even with all the commotion on the other side.

Deciding it was now or never, you charged. Taking advantage of your speed, you made your way to the farthest corner of the warehouse, to some merely a blur, a well-placed hit taking them down, but even then you weren't invisible, the moment they saw what was happening they began to shoot. Bullets grazing you as you made your way to the container where they kept them, the hits weren't strong enough to pierce but they still hurt, leaving bruises and scratches on your skin. Moving through the pain you kept going, until you took down each of them, clearing the area enough to check on the people while Nightwing continued fighting with the rest.

The container was chained close, nothing a good pull from you couldn't break, but before you could do anything else, a quick glance to the other side made you stop. Nightwing was a good fighter, you could tell that from the last time you almost met, but they were closing in on him, you could see he was getting tired, his body losing the previous easiness he had, there were more than last time, and he was fighting alone.

You had to make a choice, taking the chance, and freeing the people now, leaving him to his luck, or risk everything you've worked on remaining invisible and help him. Letting out a groan, you moved before you could regret it further, hurrying to meet him in the middle, knocking out a guy as you reached him. He paused for a moment to look at you, smiling a little before he went back to fighting.

You worked in tandem. He moved with you. Every open you had, he covered it, the ones you fought, he made sure they stayed down sending some your way so you could do the same. It felt like dancing.

The both of you working together managed to take them all in no time. You hurried to check on the people, making sure everyone was okay and no one was hurt, confirming they were the ones that'd been reported missing. Leaving the rest to him you quickly made your way out, before being stopped just as you crossed the door.

"Hey! Wait!" He grabbed you from the arm, his grip firm but soft. A little tug had you turning around to look at him, his face flushed from the fighting, smiling from ear to ear.

You looked down to the hand that was still holding you, following your gaze he let you go, holding up his hands as a sign of peace. You rubbed at the spot his hand left, it felt warm.

"What?" You said, not trying to hide how much you did not want to have this conversation. You had done enough showing yourself like that when you helped him, talking was another mistake you didn't want to add for tonight.

"I saw what you did back there. You handled yourself well." He kept smiling, ignoring the sharpness in your voice.

You remained silent, eyes locked on him. Seeing nothing else was coming from you at the moment, he kept talking.

"You're welcome, by the way" you laughed at that. His smile grew as he looked at you, making you do the same.

"Cocky much?" The question leaving your mouth before you could think

"Some might say that." He winked, getting another laugh from you.

“I could've handled it on my own.”

“I know you would.”

“I would! I ha- I had a plan.” Your emotions were getting the best of you. You took a deep breath to calm yourself. “I didn't need help.”

“I know.”

“Don't be condescending.” Now was his turn to laugh. You glared at him, his laugh making you feel things you were not in the mood to acknowledge.

“I'm not! You seem more than capable enough to me, but I can't help saving someone so clearly in distress.”

“I'm not some ‘lady in distress’ for you to come and save me or whatever it is that you do”

“Are you sure?” he was having fun, if the amusement and the ever-growing smile on his face were any indication, and you were in no shape, physically or mentally, to keep up with his games.

“Dick.” you huffed, no malice in your voice as you said it.

“At your service.” he said with a wink. Was it a habit of his?

"I'm Nightwing." He introduced himself as if he wasn't one the most famous vigilantes in Gotham, extending his hand towards you, expecting.

You looked at his hand for a moment, thinking what it would mean to take it.

"And I'm leaving." You finally said, turning around as you began to walk, leaving your speed for when you were further away from him, hurrying to leave before the GCPD could arrive.

"I didn't hear your name." His shout making you pause for a moment. "It'd be nice to have a name for the mask."

You thought about it for a moment, how fast were you to change your mind for someone you'd just met, but he had something that made you want to open up and break your own rules, something that made you want to reach out.

"I'm Nobody!" You shouted without turning back. Your name was a little play on words. If they say nobody is going to save you, you could at least give nobody a body to do so.

"See you around, Nobody!" You could hear the smile in his voice as he shouted back.

You walked a little more before breaking into a run. Your conversation leaving a warm feeling in your chest.

A third time became a fourth, and a fifth, and before you knew it you began to wait for him to come and vice versa, working together on the case and sometimes more. Keeping each other company on patrol in the nights where you could barely catch your breath and the ones where all you did was talk. He became your friend, someone you could rely on, who you could talk and tell things no one else would be able to understand. The life of a vigilante was lonely, you both knew that well, but the nights you spent together made you feel otherwise.

The night you finally decided to reveal your identity was one you'll never forget. After years of being almost invisible, of not daring to appear, fearing who might find you what they'd do if they knew about you, the time spent with him had you tossing all of them away. And when you finally did, taking down your hood and removing your mask, your heart roaring in your ears as you looked at him, waiting. The joy, the calm, everything you felt when his hand went to his own mask revealing his face, his permanent smile and his beautiful eyes for you to see, where nothing you'll ever be able to describe.

“I’m Dick.” he extended his hand to you, much like the first time he did so, only this time, you took it, no longer afraid of the meaning.

“And I’m y/n.”

The more involved you became with him, it was a matter of time before you finally met the big guy. Batman was imposing, but you could see why Dick respected him so much. He welcomed you, offered help, if you needed. The rest of the group was just as welcoming, chatting and joking with them. Dick was more than happy by your interaction, beaming as he looked at you. Here, with these people, you felt welcomed, safe, all thanks to him.

Today was one of the few nights where Gotham was calm, it wasn't like nothing happened, but it was slow enough that you could still rest and take your time. You were sitting with Dick on a rooftop, enjoying each other’s company in silence, you always felt comfortable with him, that's why you took it as a now or never.

“Hey, Dick?”

“What is it y/n.” the way he said your name leaving goosebumps all over.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.” You took a deep breath. You could do it.

“I wasn't the best with you at first, and you didn't know me, we were strangers. So why keep coming back?��� You finally asked the one question that’d been rounding your head from the beginning. He remained silent for a while before he could answer, his cheeks and ears getting redder with every second.

“We, uh, heard from you a long ago.” he started to say, visibly flustered. “Nothing specific, just that there was someone helping out in the streets.” he glanced at you as he rushed through his words.

“Batman let it pass because it wasn't anything dangerous and it was pretty on the low, we actually lost track of you a couple of times.” he smiled, “That was quite impressive, you were really good at that.”

“That was the point.” you blushed at his admission, not that you weren't as invisible as you thought, but that he was still impressed that you managed it, if even a few times. He left out a chuckle, low enough to for you to miss if you weren't by his side, his sight lost in the horizon like lost in thought.

“But then, we found each other that first night, you had taken out half of them already, I was impressed. I couldn't see you, but I knew you were there, that's why I stayed, I wanted to talk.” he looked at you once more, his sight fixed on you as he continued. “Then I thought that if you were trying so hard to cover your tracks then you'd show yourself when you were ready, so I left, but the feeling lingered.” you felt his hand on yours. Not daring to look down, you took it and held it firmly, relishing the warmth it gave you.

“I guess, what I wanted to say that night was that, you don't have to do this alone.” your heart clenched, tears threatening to come out as his words echoed in your head.

“That's why I kept showing up. I wanted to support you, let you know in a way that there are people you could count on. That you could count on me.” he was the first to look away, taking both your hands in his as he waited for you.

You knew words wouldn’t be enough to convey what you felt, not enough to thank him for what he did, of how he did that and more, the lump in your throat not helping either. He gave you a place to come back, someone to trust. So, you did the only thing close to that. You took your hands away from his, ignoring the question that flashed through his eyes, placing them on his face, holding it carefully as you pulled him down to you, hoping he could feel everything you did as your lips touched. He let out a surprised gasp, before he took your face and deepened the kiss, his mouth moving with yours like an answer, that he understood. Tears freely flowed down your face, not touching the ground as he wiped them away with his thumb, caressing your cheek. When you finally broke apart, foreheads touching while you caught your breath, you smiled, a laugh passing between the two. You held each other after that, holding closer as you enjoyed the night. The start of many to come.

[coeurdastronaute]

Essays in Existentialism: Plus One, Ch. 2

Previously on Plus One

It oscillated every other minute between being an amazing idea, but also being the worst idea of all time, and Lexa was mostly exhausted of bouncing back and forth. It might be easier, she decided, if she just got herself on board with it being a good idea, but a deep, gnawing hole seemed to manifest itself in her gut at the very thought of seeing her ex. 

As she went through the motions of finishing the day, of doing inventory because it was Wednesday, Lexa tried not to distract herself with the thoughts of her impending trip. In just forty-eight hours, she’d be face to face with Costia, who she hadn’t seen in months, who she avoided before occasionally running awkwardly into each other at mutual friends’ events. She’d come face to face with her ex who was getting married. 

And she was going to do it with a complete stranger on her arm. 

With a heavy sigh, Lexa tossed her clipboard on her tiny desk in the storage closet and plopped down in the squeaky chair, tipping it back with a wail. Her sister was the worst. 

It was quiet in the shop, closed for just a handful of hours, Lexa always took a day to inventory and repair the damage of the week. She enjoyed the late evening work, when her workers were gone, and the shop was empty and full of dreams. No one knew how the cabinets stayed so clean, or how the scratches on table tops got sanded and fixed, or how the wobbly table by the window was miraculous cured one day, or how the ceiling fans got dusted, just that it all happened, and Lexa was off, meaning she didn’t come in until at least ten, the following morning. 

But Lexa sat in the chair and let her brain do the same mental gymnastics it always seemed to do in the new quiet she found herself craving. She opened her laptop and ignored the awaiting spreadsheet, and instead opted to look over the answer Clarke had given her to the “Know your partner” quiz Clarke googled and made them both do. A mix of basic information and Newlywed Game style innuendos, Lexa filled hers out after a bottle of wine and anxiously waited for Clarke’s. 

That was what started the daydreaming. She scrolled through Clarke’s answers and furrowed, doing her best to memorizing all that she could, as if she’d be tested on it all, as if it’d be impossible to believe she could be happy with someone like Clarke. 

And when those thoughts started to seep into her brain, Lexa leaned back again and dug the tips of her fingers into her eyes. 

In a week it’d be over. 

And with that and a deep, heavy sigh, Lexa looked at the screen again and went about learning Clarke. 

She started professionally, of course, looking at her corporate page and resume, because this was, if not anything, simply a business transaction and Lexa thought it was easier to parse a person if she didn’t actually have to fall for her. 

A graphic designer at Anya’s firm, Clarke held accolades and a long list of references. The link to her work showed a wide range of commercial campaigns and a certain amount of talent evident by her list of upcoming projects. A graduate of a small, private, liberal arts university, her academics leaned heavily scientific, which was a surprise until Lexa read some of the answers in the survey about a degree in physics given up for art. 

Lexa promised that she wouldn’t have looked at Clarke’s Instagram if Clarke hadn’t requested her first. She wasn’t someone who lurked, or at least she thought she wasn’t. She didn’t want to be someone who snuck around, digging through someone’s past, analyzing every filter and caption like a private investigator. But then Clarke appeared. 

And there were pictures of Clarke with friends getting drinks on a rooftop. And then the one with her laughing and baking. Or the Christmas party where she was on a corporate Santa’s lap, smiling so wide her eyes were shut. Despite herself Lexa found herself smiling along with the girl in the pictures. The one who went hiking with a pack of dogs, and the one who seemed to always be eating something. The one who had a lot of friends and enjoyed making them smile and laugh. The girl who posted storie about her morning run, and the girl who seemed to have a healthy work life balance. 

Lexa closed the webpages and stared at her inventory for exactly two seconds before curiosity won again and Lexa started looking at Costia’s account. There were the standard pictures of her pre-wedding planning. There was Costia working out. There was her new bride-to-be, happy and smiling at a gift for her birthday. 

And then a throwback that made Lexa’s stomach drop as she stared at a familiar image of Costia smiling in a bikini on a beach. It was from the last trip they took. Lexa was the one behind the camera. 

Three weeks after that picture was taken, Lexa walked in on Costia and a girl in the middle of the afternoon. Right in their own bed. Only to then discover it’d been going on for months. And it wasn’t the first. And then, Lexa didn’t remember much except that she moved into the apartment above her coffee shop and woke up one morning alone on sheets that weren’t familiar, in a room full of boxes. 

It seemed even more difficult to start inventory after that shot to the gut. 

But her phone went off, and Lexa leaned back in her chair after shutting the laptop again, wondering if that sinking feeling ever went away when it came to someone you love, or loved, or once loved, even for a moment. She didn’t have anything to compare it to, and she didn’t have any idea what love really was. 

It felt like a deep wound was scratched open, the scab pulled back, and a burning numbness gnawing at the bottom of her spine. It felt like it would swallow her whole, and Lexa hated, more than anything, giving anyone the power to do anything as such over her. 

Hey! Do you think this will go with your outfit?

An image came next, of Clarke in a dressing room wearing a very pretty dress, with very messy hair with her tongue sticking out. Lexa didn’t notice the gnawing feeling disappear. 

We don’t have to match completely. 

We do! Don’t you know how to date?

Not really. 

Another picture of another dress came a moment later. Clarke was pretty. She was happy and silly and kind. It felt oddly normal, for as crazy as the whole scheme actually was. 

I like that one, Lexa wrote, making sure to add a heart-eyed emoji to emphasize her point. Maybe that was flirting. Maybe she was allowed. She definitely needed more rules. 

Good, I do too. It matches your tie, you know? And these heels will still leave you a little taller than me. 

Sounds good to me!

Kind of excited. I guess I’ll see you at the airport tomorrow. 

I’ll be the one at the bar. 

I’ve heard it’s possible to find your soulmate at the airport. Something about the crossing of paths and time and space. 

If my soulmate is a bottle of wine, then I reckon I might. 

A love story for the ages. 

Lexa smiled once more at her phone before tossing it to the side and letting her head drop to the desk. With a groan she growled into her hands and broke it down. She just needed to make it seventy-two hours. That was it. She could sleep for about twenty of those. She could drink for another twenty or more, if she really tried. 

But this was it. This was the end. 

And regardless of the weight of everything else, there was something satisfying about knowing it was almost over. 

XXXXXXXXXX

The airport was absolutely teaming with bodies and people, weaving their way through the swelling crowds, loading and unloading the terminals at a constant, steady thumping rate, so regular one could set a watch to the heartbeat of the building. 

Clarke adjusted her bag on her shoulder and tapped the ticket against her thigh as she moved through the security line. The nerves were coming for some reason. That was why she was at the airport three hours before the flight. She was anxious and needed a stiff drink and a few moments to catch her breath. She needed to escape the whirlwind she’d allowed herself to create. 

Carefully, she made her way through the airport, checking the boards and finding her way to a seat in the empty waiting room. Not even an attendant waited at the kiosk. 

Once again, she let herself awkwardly scroll on her phone, learning everything she could about her future date and weekend plans. 

Lexa was nearly non-existent online. She didn’t have any pictures of herself. She rarely posted anything on her personal account, and when she did, it was just a book or a coffee or from a trip. She wasn’t one to enjoy being the center of attention, but when it came to her shop, she made sure to post almost daily, highlighting her employees and their recommendations, she made share to highlight events, she made sure to be as active as possible. 

Anya had already warned Clarke that her sister was devoted to her work. She’d poured all of her effort into being successful and part of the community, and Clarke admired it, she just wished that there was more for her to see. 

And so, once more, she flipped back to the long line of questions they’d filled out before giving up and gazing out the window at the planes coming and going. 

For a moment, she allowed herself to think that she was doing something nice and good. It was an act of charity. It was the shake up Clarke needed and was selfishly trying to package as benevolent. 

“You beat me, and I’m usually the first one here for a flight,” Lexa observed, walking up to Clarke, stealing her from her reverie. 

“I like airports. Just waiting for true love to stroll up and introduce themselves.”

Lexa shoved her hands in her pockets, her bag balanced on her shoulder as she cautiously looked around, surveying the empty terminal slowly. Clarke watched her look around, smiled at the innocence of it. Enjoyed the way she ran her hand through her hair, mussing it up a bit and tossing it to another side. 

“No one likes airports,” Lexa shook her head before taking the seat beside her. 

“I do. They’re romantic.” 

“Romantic?” 

“You can get onto a plane, and a few hours later, you’re hundred of miles away, and it’s different weather, and it’s a different time zone. You can go to sleep in a different state. How can you not be romantic about that.”

“It’s a tin can filled with recycle air.” 

“But there are peanuts.” 

That did it. Lexa cracked a smile to herself and relaxed a little. 

“I was going to be the first one here. Surprise you with coffee, but you beat me to it.” 

“You are quite a good girlfriend. Someone clearly trained you well.” 

Lexa shook her head, somewhat bashful, somewhat reserved. There was always something right there, just below the surface, obfuscated by a kind of resolve to never give anything away, not at any price. Clarke read it between words in their texts and emails, a glaring finality in the simple pixel of a period. 

“Can I get you a coffee? Two creams, two sugar right?”

“You don’t have to--”

“It’s early and I’m trying to be charming. Allow me to somewhat repay you for this whole endeavour.”

“Sounds good. Thanks, darling.” 

With the term of endearment, Lexa nodded, grinning into her chest as she stood and made her way across the terminal in search of sustenance. Clarke watched her take out her phone, texting her sister no doubt. 

Once more, Clarke resumed the digging on her own, scrolling on her own phone at old pictures on Lexa’s profile. She was ready for fun, and she was ready to crack at that facade. 

“I don’t know if this will help,” Lexa sighed as she sat down. “I didn’t sleep a wink last night.” 

“Oh this won’t be good for me either,” Clarke said as she took a sip. “I’m a fairly nervous flyer.”

“And yet you let me get us both coffee.” 

“You made a good point, and I’m prepared to be paid back all weekend.” 

With another grin, Lexa leaned back, her arm going on the back of the chair that Clarke inhabited, naturally, with ease, with a level of comfort. 

“Are you ready to tell me the story?” 

“Which one is that?” Clarke turned to look at her date, returned from an absent moment. 

“How we met.” 

“How we met,” she nodded, her smile bordering on mischievous. “That’s simple. Don’t you remember? It was a very blustery Tuesday, and I was trying to escape the wind and rain. I almost tripped coming into your coffee shop, but you happened to be sweeping, and were kind enough to catch me.”

“You’re severely overestimating my reflexes.” 

“Fine. I ran you over and we both ended up on our asses in the middle of the coffee shop. Coffee everywhere.” 

“Sounds pretty likely.” 

“And I knew right there, I was hooked. Those eyes, all angry and annoyed at me for not looking where I was going, despite my persistent defense that I’d been assaulted by the weather.” 

“Why do I have to be the angry one?” 

“Wouldn’t you be though?” Clarke returned, daring her to be contradicted.

“Maybe,” Lexa agreed over the lid of her cup, fretting with it nervously. 

“So I crashed into you, and you bought be a coffee. I turned up every day after that until I finally asked you out. You took longer than I would have liked to answer me, but I accepted it anyway, and we’ve been madly in love ever since.” 

“And when was this?” 

“About eight months ago.” 

“How’s it going so far?” 

“Splendidly. I’ve already met your sister, who it happens that I work with, which is super convenient for everyone.” 

Quietly, Lexa sat there, going over the story, going over all of the past eight months of apparent bliss in her head. Clarke watched her furrow before softening, her eyes not seeing, but rather looking through the window as a plane took off and another landed. The softening of her features was soon met with a perplexion, a slight, gentle contortion of the brow and the lips, a tightening as a kind of confusion overtook the ease of the entire story. 

“Is it that easy?” Lexa asked quietly, turning her head toward her date. Clarke cocked her head, waiting for more. “Is all of it… just… a wind? Waiting for someone to just ask you out? Is it that easy? Does that happen to people?” 

“It can. How does anything happen in the world? It just… does. The universe is just a series of things happening, all of the time, right?”

“But is it that easy?”

To her credit, Clarke thought about it. She flexed her jaw and took a deep breath before slowing letting it go as she wondered if it really was. 

“I don’t know. Maybe it can be.” 

“How?”

“I guess there has to be a balance to making things happen and letting things happen.” 

“I don’t know if I’m good at either of those things,” Lexa confessed. She sat up straighter a moment later, afraid of her honesty, and surprised more by how easily it came out. 

“I think you can be.”

“That’s probably too kind.” 

“We’ll see.” 

Clarke rubbed Lexa’s shoulder, rubbed the middle of her back between her shoulder blades until she reached the collar of her shirt, where she massaged her neck. She tensed before relaxing, and Clarke didn’t stop, just rubbed there gently, slowly until she knew it was enough and she trailed her palm back toward the seat. 

It was right there, they just didn’t know it.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hey steph!! This might be a specific ask but could u like recommend me some fic thats like slow burn, unresolved sexual tension, and some bottomlock. And please please please let it be long so that it hits the sweet spot of satisfying your fic needs but also not stupidly long. Also I love your blog

Hi Lovely!!

AHHHH I’m glad you enjoy!! I try my best, LOL. 

AHH I’ve SO MANY slow burn fics, it’s ridiculous, and I do have separate lists for bottomlock, so I can direct you to those.... BUT I DON’T HAVE A LIST FOR MY U.S.T. FICS YES. So can I do that??? Please??? ANY EXCUSE TO START A NEW LIST :| Hee hee. Forgive me??? 

AND as per usual, all my fics are in word-count order, so you can start at the bottom and work your way up, hee hee. CHEERS!

As usual, add your own, friends!!

First, here’s the lists you asked for:

Love Confessions / Slow Burn / Dev. Rel. (Fluff Version)

Falling In Love / Slow Burn / Dev. Rel. || [MOBILE POST] (April 2019)

Platonics & Domestics Pt 2 / Hugs, Cuddles & Kisses Pt. 3 / Tooth-Rotting Fluff Pt. 5 / Love Confessions, Slow Burn & Dev. Rel. Pt. 2 / Established Relationship Pt. 3

Slow Burn / Dev. Rel. / Falling in Love Pt. 3 (Nov. 2019) 

Slow Burn / Dev Rel. Pt. 4 (Apr 2020)

Bottomlock (April 2019)

Bottomlock Pt 2

And now, check out my UST/URT list :)

UNRESOLVED SEXUAL / ROMANTIC TENSION

The Other Shoe by thewaitwasworthitlove - (NR, 1,053 w., 1 Ch. || Pining Sherlock, Angst, URT, Post-TSo3) - Sherlock realizes how deep in love he has fallen for John. Only Sherlock Holmes would manage to be more shattered than crystal dropped on concrete.

Clarity by socomessnow (thoughtfulwishing) (NR, 1,283 w., 1 Ch. || Post-HLV, POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Tarmac Scene, Stream of Consciousness, URT, First Person Present Tense, Implied/Referenced Drug Use) - During-and-post-HLV piece tracking Sherlock’s thought process from his phone call with Mycroft to his return to the airfield. Part 1 of Rifts

Untouchable by greengrapegaze (T, 1,368 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-S3, UST/URT, Oblivious John, Lonely Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Emotional Sherlock, POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock) – “He never would. Petty, childish, immature-bitter. Jealous. She had all that he wanted. All he could never have.” Part 1 of Steps to a Bittersweet Symphony

Love Hurts by Grac3 (T, 2,215 w., 1 Ch. || Magical Realism, Pining Sherlock, One-Sided Pining / URT, Sherlock / John Whump, Angst, Ambiguous Ending) – In a world where someone's physical injuries manifest themselves on the person who is in love with them, John didn't think that there would ever be anyone who was willing to risk falling in love with him - until he got shot on a case, and it didn't hurt. Unrequited Johnlock.

The Dance Lesson by bittergreens (G, 4,596 w., 1 Ch. || TSo3 Missing Scene, Dancing, Pining Sherlock, URT/UST, Romance, Angst, POV John) – Sherlock teaches John to dip. Part 1 of Goodnight, Vienna

There's Something Living in These Lines by teahigh (orphan_account) (M, 4,676 w., 1 Ch. || Mutual Pining, Love Letters, Angst, Mutual Pining, UST / URT, Dirty Talk) – Two men, complete opposites in almost every way, who speak only in letters and pages torn from books.

You Can't Always Get What You Want by hubblegleeflower (E, 4,804 w., 1 Ch. || Pining, Sexual Tension, UST / RST, First Time) – John wants. He always has, but now that he's living with Sherlock again, it's all he can do to hold it back. And Sherlock isn't helping...

Wasted Hours by songlin (E, 4,973 w., 1 Ch. || Omegaverse || O!John/A!Sherlock, Pining, UST, Angst & Porn) – John is respectful. John keeps his distance. He doesn’t look at Sherlock when Sherlock decides trousers are for dull people. He doesn’t breathe in and savor it when Sherlock flings himself onto the couch first thing in the morning, wafting alpha scent, dressing gown settling around him in a cloud of blue silk. He doesn’t linger when he’s piecing Sherlock back together after a fight, even though he’s half-dressed and beautiful and right there. He can ignore it. He can control it.

Captain John Watson, Genetics, and Other Crazy Things by cyerus (M, 5,581 w., 1 Ch. || Torchwood Crossover ||  Humour / Crack, Jealous Sherlock, Sexual Magnet John, Captain John, UST / RST, Three Continents Watson) – The explanation for John "Three Continents" Watson? Jack Harkness is his father. Sherlock doesn't know whether he's going to die from jealousy or sexual frustration first.

No Light, No Light (in your bright blue eyes) by orphan_account (G, 5,915 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Pining, Songfic, Mutual Unrequited Love, Unresolved Tension, UST/URT) – Relates to both Sherlock's and John's feelings for each other and highlights select moments of hurt and inner turmoil starting from right before the fall all the way to HLV.

Drawstring by May_Shepard (E, 7,412 w., 1 Ch. || Post S3/TAB, Friends to Lovers, UST/RST, Fluff and Smut, Post-TAB, John POV, Sherlock’s Pyjamas, Rimming, Wanking) – John is bothered by Sherlock’s slowly-falling jim-jams… as in hot and bothered and he is trying to deal with a sexy dishevelled Sherlock while also keeping his pining in check.

High and Tight, Soft and Loose by cwb (E, 7,429 w., 1 Ch. || Jealous John, Miscommunications / Misunderstandings, First Kiss / Time, BAMF John, Insecure Sherlock, Clueless Sherlock, POV John, Embarrassed John, Adorable Sherlock, Junk Size, UST / RST) – John pressed the knuckle of his index finger against his mouth and sighed. “So, you're coiled like a spring and ready to be ... sprung?” “If you want to be pedestrian about it, yes.” “Like I said, you should do something about that.” “And like I said, pedestrian. What would you have me do? Take up jogging? Yoga? Oh! Unless you mean –” “I don't mean anything. Let’s drop it.”

Alone On the Water by Mad_Lori (G, 7,725 w., 1 Ch. || MCD, UST/URT, Angst, Euthanasia, Love Confessions) – Sherlock Holmes never expected to live a long life, but he never imagined that it would end like this.

All the Times Something ALMOST Happened by allonsys_girl (T, 9,049 w., 6 Ch. || POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Canon Compliant, Angst, Friendship/Love, UST) – John and Sherlock dancing around what they dance around in canon.

Someone I Love by hudders-and-hiddles (M, 10,002 w., 2 Ch. || Canon Compliant, HLV-Filler Fic, Pre-Slash, Jealous John, PIning Sherlock, Angst & Fluff, UST/URT, Dog Tags) – John gets married and Sherlock finds comfort in wearing John's identity tags around his wrist.

Ravish Me by amalnahurriyeh (E, 10,025 w., 1 Ch. || UST / RST, Makeup / Lipstick, Sympathetic Sally, Experiments, Pining John, First Kiss, Face Fucking / BJ’s, Cuddling) – Sherlock is experimenting with patterns of wear on lipstick in daily encounters. John is going to go insane.

Their Great Reward by BeautifulFiction (T, 10,095 w., 1 Ch. || UST, First Kiss, Fluff) – Boxing day, in John's opinions, is the worst day of the year. Christmas is over, the tree is wilting and stripped of gifts, and there's a week of dead-time until the clean slate of the new year. However the combination of a blizzard, a power-cut and Sherlock might just make it a day to remember.

The Five Stages of Mourning, Plus One by SunnyRea (T, 10,557 w., 1 Ch. || MCD, Pining / Grieving Sherlock, URT, Heavy Angst, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Drug Use, Graphic Death, Depression, Unhappy Ending) – Sherlock did not want this, did not want another stalemate with John in the middle, a gun in Jim's hand. This cannot have happened without a sign. There has to be something he missed anything which said today is the day I kill for real.

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder by cypress_tree (E, 10,669 w., 1 Ch. || UST/RST, For an Experiment) – John helps Sherlock with an experiment: for an entire month, they are not allowed to touch each other and must remain at least one metre apart at all times.

I'm content as we are (but) by inqui (The_Circus) (E, 13,086 w., 1 Ch. || Jealous John, UST/RST, Pining, Victor Trevor, Minor Whump, First Kiss / Time, Misunderstandings) – In which John Watson sees something unusual, becomes jealous, and makes too much of a small thing as an old friend of Sherlock's shows up in the middle of a case.

Say For Me, Love by MirabileLectu (T, 13,147 w., 1 Ch. || UST, First Kiss, Drama, Pining John, Victor Trevor) – If you had asked John this morning what the result of his quiet afternoon at home would be, discovering a truth about Sherlock's past startling enough to shift the foundations of their friendship would not have been his first guess. So naturally, that was what was bound to happen.

Barricade by stitchy (M, 14,127 w., 1 Ch. || HLV Fix It, Friends to Lovers, Angst, Happy Ending, UST, Mary’s Not Nice, First Time, Pining Sherlock, Time Skip Filler, Drunkenness) – Sherlock has been struggling to keep his feelings at bay for everyone's sake. Part 1 of Barricade

Second Chance by SilentAuror (E, 15,816 w., 1 Ch. || Post-HLV, Post-Divorce, Friends to Lovers, UST, Romance) – Now that John's divorce has gone through and the dust is settling, Sherlock thinks that he would very much like to see if there is any possibility of moving their friendship in another direction. The only thing is, he has no idea how to go about doing that...

Anytime by SilentAuror (E, 17,995 w., 1 Ch. || UST, Porn With Feels, POV Sherlock, Romance, UST/URT, Happy Ending, Drunken Endeavours) – Sherlock blinks and attempts to focus. There is a little too much vodka in his veins at the moment and it’s having an unfortunate effect on his brain and retinas both. There are two Johns sitting across from him, and both of them are frowning at him. “You’re drunk,” the Johns tell him. Sherlock blinks some more. “Says the man with Mrs Hudson’s doily on his head.”

John Watson doesn't have a Boyfriend by naughtyspirit (E, 18,932 w., 7 Ch. || UST / URT, Fluff & Smut, Voyeurism, Masturbation) – John's date has gone very well. Sherlock requires tea. John wishes he hadn't resolved that their relationship was strictly hands off and isn't about to address it. Unless he has to. Smut, fluff and shower time for a naked John Watson.

For you, there's only me by shock_blanket (E, 19,557 w., 7 Ch. || Jealous Idiots, Virgin Sherlock, UST/RST, Pining, Miscommunication, First Kiss / Time, Insecure Sherlock, Masturbation) – Sherlock realizes he has fallen in love with John, but believes he is unlovable. Cue lots of pining and jealousy on Sherlock's part, followed by our favorite cuddly marksman making it all better. Because for Sherlock, there's only John.

Love Is by SilentAuror (E, 21,508 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, UST / URT, Post HLV, Romance) – At Mrs Hudson’s urging, Sherlock finally decides to tell John how he feels about him. Part 1 of Love Is

Brief Conversations with the Woman by May_Shepard (E, 21,906 w., 20 Ch. || Pining, Love Fairy Irene, Filler Fic, UST/URT, Drug Use, Clueless Sherlock, Relationship Advice, Angst w/ Happy Ending) – Sherlock has a puzzle to solve, and his name is John Watson.

Sonatina in G Minor by SilentAuror (E, 22,574 w., 1 Ch. || Case Fic, POV Sherlock, Angst, UST, Sherlock’s Violin, Post-S3, Romance) – John has come back to Baker Street, but Sherlock doesn't understand the strange tension between them, even after he begins teaching John to play the violin at John's request.

Knotted by naughtyspirit (E, 23,166 w., 4 Ch. || UST/URT, Cuddling, Sharing Body Heat, Confessions, Kissing, Masturbation, Frustration, BAMF!John) – John has to cancel a date because of Sherlock's case, which leads them to be tied up in a basement from which they have to escape. They get wet, get tied up close and John has to step up and save them. Because he's pretty. And hot. And just a little bit of a BAMF.

Hellfire by testosterone_tea (E, 28,596 w., 9 Ch. || Fantasy / Magic / Mages / Elementals AU || Mage Sherlock, Elemental John, Developing Relationship, Torture, Powerful / BAMF John, POV Alternating, Dark / Blood Magic, UST, First Kiss) – Sherlock is a Mage that gets involved with a case involving Dark Summoning rituals, leading him to John Watson, a man with Berserker blood. The only thing is, Berserkers have been extinct for centuries. And of course, nothing involving Mycroft and his interfering ways is ever simple. This time, even Sherlock may have bitten off more than he can chew.

That Partitioning of the Things of Youth by wearitcounts (E, 35,353 w., 7 Ch. || Humour and Angst, Post-TRF, Fake Relationship, UST / RST, Friends to Lovers, Jealous John) – Victor Trevor is in town, and nobody's happy.

The Case of the Vanishing Pants by SwissMiss (E, 44,025 w., 6 Ch. || Five and Ones, Post-TRF, Case Fic, UST, Homophobia, Friends to Lovers, Pining John, Showering Together, Couple for a Case, Sherlock’s Bum, Fantasies, Jealous Sherlock) – Five times John and Sherlock lost their pants in the course of a case.

Wars We Fought, Things We're Not by blueink3 (M, 55,204 w., 10 Ch. || Post S3 / Post TAB, Parentlock, Fluff & Angst, Kidnapping, Whump, Post-TAB, UST/URT, 3G, Mild Peril, Slow Burn, Couple for a Case, Protective Mycroft, Infant Death Pre-Story, Friends to Lovers) –  Five months after John's world has fallen apart, Mycroft sends the consulting detective and his doctor on a case that neither is prepared for.

A Hundred Crimson Sols by elldotsee (E, 55,536 w., 16 Ch. || Astronauts AU || Mars Exploration / Space Travel, Slow Burn, Shy Sherlock, Scientist Sherlock / Biomed Engineer John, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, UST, Angst with Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Suicidal Ideation, Zero-G Sex) – Will Holmes is a chemical researcher recognized widely for his contributions to the new Mars exploration program. Thanks to his ground-breaking developments, the IMMC (International Mars Mission Corporation) is one step closer to Martian colonization. Will and his team of scientists are headed out on the first of three manned missions before the first group of settlers arrive. Three days before launch, one of the crew has to be replaced. Will panics because...new people. The replacement is of course one John Watson, biomedical engineer and space hottie who was pretty sure he had retired from actual space exploration and was now content to work in the nice, quiet research lab. Can the crew survive this TOTALLY ROUTINE trip? Will they be able to endure each other for the looooooong trip in close quarters? Gonna be a wild ride... prepare for blast off. Part 1 of SpaceBois go to Space

The Baker Street Nativity by SwissMiss (E, 99,662 w., 23 Ch. || Nativity! AU || Teacher Sherlock / TA John, Pining, Sherlock POV, UST, Angst, Christmas, Music/Song Fic, Anal / BJ’s, First Kiss / Time) – Fusion between Sherlock (BBC) and Nativity! (2009 movie starring Martin Freeman). Sherlock is a primary school teacher and John is assigned to be his classroom assistant. Together, they are charged with putting on the school's Nativity play. What could possibly go wrong? Part 1 of The Baker Street Nativity Verse

A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w., 23 Ch. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Hand / Blow Jobs, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Facial Shaving, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship's surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there's more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin' the eye, he has to choose... is it a pirate's life for him?

The Adventure of the Silver Scars by tangledblue (NR [M], 142,458 w., 41 Ch. || S3 Fix-It, Post-HLV/ Post-TAB / Canon Compliant, Case Fic, No Baby, Angst, Humour, UST, Slow Burn, Angry John, Reconciliation, Not Nice Mary / Leaving Mary, Dependent Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Caretaker John, Fist Fights, It’s An Experiment, Virgin Sherlock, Dancing, Drugging, John Whump, Pet Names, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Scars) – It’s been thirteen months since Mary shot Sherlock and John finds he’s still pissed off about it. Sherlock had thought everything was settled: John and Mary, domestic bliss. But when John turns up at Baker Street with suitcases, the world’s only consulting detective might not be prepared for the consequences. A new case. Some old scores to settle. Certain danger. Concertos, waltzes, and whisky.

Midnight Blue Serenity by BeautifulFiction (E, 151,907 w., 19 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, Gay Bar / For a Case, Drugs, Pining, Case Fic, UST) – When Sherlock infiltrates a club in order to track down a serial killer, his altered appearance is enough to make John question his assumption that Sherlock is beyond his reach. However, is he the only one who appreciates his flatmate's charms, or is Sherlock at risk of becoming the next victim?