#HAVE YOU NEVER SEEN A FUCKING VIOLIN CASE BEFORE. LEAVE ME ALONE

[cactuseri]

getting on a 2 hour and then 8 hour flight tomorrow and im like. already so stressed about american TSA and all that

[lo-55]

Playing With Fire Ch. 3

Ignition

@emrysaf

You’ve decided. You’re going to marry Maki. 

You’re going to marry her and adopt Sputter and Flare, and you’ll all live happily ever after in the cathedral and- 

You’re broken out of your thoughts when Maki smacks you so hard you literally see stars and throws you on the ground. 

���... owe.”

If everything else hadn’t cemented the fact that you were really living inside Fire Force, the pain of Maki’s fist and the hard concrete under your cheek sure would have. Holy hell, how was she so strong?

You roll over on your back to look up at her. 

“I bet,” you begin, “that you could bench press me if you really wanted to.”

Maki’s cheeks pink and she huffs down at you. “Why aren’t you using your pyrokinesis? Do you think I can’t handle it?”

I have no idea how to do that! 

“Nope, Nope! I’m sure you could wipe the floor with me, it’s not that miss!” You said quickly. “I was just in awe of you, sorry,” you salute quickly, and watch pink crawl across Maki’s face. 

So cute!! 

“H-honestly! At least use your spear!” 

You perk up. Spear? The Sun Spear? Is that what you have here? An answer! Finally! An answer! 

Maki takes your surprise for something else. “No one told you that they’d sent it over ahead of you? You should really keep better of your gear.” 

You dip your head quickly. “Yes, yes. Sorry. Can you show me where it is, please?” 

“Sure,” Maki smiles at you, “We’re about done for now, anyhow. Let’s go back inside and wash up. Sister Iris and Shinra should be waiting.” 

Maki takes you back into the cathedral, away from the training area on the roof. The cathedral really is pretty run down. The walls could use a good scrubbing, the floor boards either need to be replaced or are missing entirely, and there’s a lot of cracks in the tile and missing corners. The windows are fine, if not dusty, and the stained glass pieces are really beautiful. The whole place smells faintly of burnt wood and gun oil. It’s not bad, but its certainly unfamiliar. Everything is so vivid. The way it smells. The sound of the building settling, and the birds outside, and the voices of your new comrades. 

It’s amazing. 

Kinda terrifying, but crazy cool too. 

After a quick shower for each of you Maki shows you to the weapons room, where a long, thin case is rested against a wall between two racks of guns. Obi’s shield is propped up in one corner, along with a couple of his weird stabbing things that he puts infernals to rest with. You’ve been here two days now, and you’ve seen him use it twice.

You don’t know how, but you know instinctively that that case belongs to you. 

You go to it. There’s a strap along the back, like the kind on a violin case. You carefully set it on a table, mindful of the bullets stacked on top of it. With a few clicks you undo the buttons on either end and open up the case. Inside is a long staff, deep red in color and capped at the bottom with copper colored metal that curves into a diamond point. On the opposite end is a thin band of the same metal, that reveals the inside to be hollow. 

You pick it up carefully, testing its weight in your hands. It feels natural. Even though you’ve never actually fought with a spear before your body knows where to hold it, and how to spin it around elegantly until you’re facing Maki again. Your body knows how much space you’re taking up, and how not to hit the walls, while your brain geeks out over the fact that you’re actually holding the Sun Lance. 

So cool! 

Is it conceited to say that you’re super cool? Or that this was hella badass? 

You were almost bouncing on your toes you were so excited. 

“Wow, I didn’t know you missed your spear this much,” Maki smiled at you. “You look good with it.” 

“Aha, you think so? It’s just nice to have it I guess. This has been, I dunno. An adventure already. I’m in a strange place, with strange people, and I’m in an awfully dangerous situation. It’s been an adjustment, ya know?” 

You feel like a fool for rambling, but Maki smiles at you kindly. 

“I understand. Even though I was raised in a military family, it took me a while to get used to life as a fire soldier too. Don’t worry too much about it, and you know, we’re always here to help. It’s not like you have to go it alone.” 

You’re heart warms with her words. “Yeah. Thank you, Maki. You’re really a nice person.” 

Once the Sun Lance is safe in its case the two of you leave the armory, and make your way to the dorm rooms. 

Since the company is so small, each person gets their own room. In bigger companies you would be in actually dorms, or barracks, but the eighth only has Obi, Hinawa, Maki, Sister Iris, Shinra, and yourself. Arthur will be here soon too, and Tamaki. Your small company will grow soon. 

Your own room ended up being at the top of one of the towers on the west side of the cathedral, opposite of the garage. Which meant that last night, when the alarm had gone off, you’d been the last to arrive at the Matchbox. Near the garage are the locker rooms, and the communal showers, although there’s more bathrooms scattered through the base. 

In the center of the cathedral is the courtyard where Sister Iris purifies herself, and grows flowers. 

It’s really a nice place. 

“Thank you,” you say again, and Maki nods to you and leaves you to climb the steps on your own. You shut the door and lock it behind you. 

Your room is scant, all things considered. A bunk bed it pushed into each corner, with a desk underneath it. You’ve claimed the one nearest to the window. There’s a wardrobe on the opposite side, and a small, stocky book shelf. 

You need to hang up some pictures or get a rug or something. It’s entirely impersonal. 

You rest your Sun Lance up against the corner by the window and go to sit at the desk under your bed. You’ve already unpacked your few belongings into the wardrobe and the drawers of the desk, including the diary from ‘Fuyuki’. 

Your ‘sister’. The game honestly hadn’t told you a whole lot about her. Just that she disappeared, and what few flashbacks you would have now and again. Like the one you got when you touched your ring and the lighter.  

You open it up with careful hands. 

Inside the handwriting is familiar, even if the words aren’t. There’s no mistaking your hand writing. It looks like a serial killer in a movie has left a ransom note made out of letters cut out of magazines. 

I wonder if there’s cereal in the kitchen. 

You always think better when you’re snacking. 

To keep your thoughts in order, you scatterbrain.

<3 Fuyuki 

 The first entry is dated for 193 AC. After the Cataclysm. It’s 198 now, so this was given to MAIN (to you?) five years ago. That would have been right before she graduated the fire academy and joined her company. A year before she disappeared, around 194. 

It feels invasive to read the diary of the person whos life you’ve taken over, but you need answers and you don’t have a lot of options here. 

I can’t believe Fuyuki gave me a diary! That’s so lame, and super girly. I don’t really want to write in it, but she gave it to me so I guess I should? Even if I am kinda mad at her. She left to go to school years ago and she never comes home! She’s so mean but then she’s nice and its so frustrating! Not fair. Stupid sister. 

But i’ll try i guess. There’s not much else to do in the house. None of the other kids really wanna play with me, and the Yagi’s are busy watching the littler kids. And maybe i’ll have kids and their kids will have kids will have kids will have kids and i’ll be their super cool ancestor and they’ll read this for inspiration or something. 

Good god, how old were they when they started writing this? Twelve? How old even were you? 

Fuck it. 

You kept reading. They/you weren’t a regular writer, with long months going between entries. Some of them were sad, some of them were happy, most of them were angry. They had a lot of complicated feelings on the sister who had abandoned them to what was basically a group home outside Asakusa, and then bitterness at themselves for being so angry when she disappeared. But most of it wasn’t that useful. It was about grades and teachers, and grief. They got into a lot of fights, and they were something of a scrapper. They were briefly enrolled in martial arts classes, but they had to quit because they were too rough with the other kids. So they were a scrapper, but that wasn’t anything related to fire. 

You rubbed your temples and glared at the diary. How did it answer your questions but leave you with more? 

Why is this my life now? 

So much here didn’t make sense, nonetheleast the fact that you were here to begin with. Well. At least you finally knew what your pyrokinesis was right? Even if using it was nearly impossible, and you couldn’t make sense of everything. 

Of course, there were plenty of things in this world that didn’t make sense. Like how sound could turn fire into ice. 

Bringing back the dead made more sense than that! 

You cross your arms and glare at the diary. So far the only useful bit is the part where you’ve had some decent training. Everything else is just the most vague information about the investigation into her sister’s disappearance. That much you already knew, although you didn’t have time to read everything in it. There were big gaps that you just knew were holding important information! 

At a loss, you flipped to the very last written on page, halfway through, and froze. 

Staring back at you was your own face. A small picture. It was your resume for the squad assignments, with your own check boxes and preferences listed. Underneath it was the list you had written before, of Everything You Knew. It was short, with little screen caps here and there. You flipped the page and found it filling itself in with ink that didn’t come from a pen, finishing up what it started on the page before. 

A new page started, this one listed your stats. 

In game there were a hundred levels. You had gotten maybe halfway through? A third if you rounded down. And it listed your level at 40. Underneath had your attack power, defense, stamina, agility, and your special moves. 

You were weirdly well rounded. Three out of five bars for everything, except the SM, which only had one. 

But, you hadn’t put that there! 

You quickly flipped it back and forth before you went to the very, very last page in the diary. On the back cover the ink finally finished filling out. A progress bar. 

You stared at it for a long, long time, trying to work over everything was happening. 

So. 

Now you knew what you could do. Just not how to do it. 

You were out of options at this point. You were just going to have to suck it up. 

You were going to have to ask someone for help directly. 

 ~

Shinra looks up from his work when you plop into the seat across from him, your arms crossed across your chest. It would be a lie to say you’re not nervous. You’re not even totally sure how you’re supposed to ask these questions, but you don’t have any other way to go about this any more. 

You tried the diary. You’ve spent two and a half days trying to get your ignition ability to work without help. Admittedly, you hadn’t even know how your ability was meant to manifest at the time, but even now you can’t get it to work.  

“Oh, hey there,” Shinra offers you an awkward smile. You grin right back, trying to project as much happy-go-lucky-nothing-wrong-here-!-  as you can. It’s made easier by the fact that prior to a few days ago, no one here had known you as anything more than a passing acquaintance. 

“Hi Shinra. I’ve got a weird question for you,” you announce bluntly. 

Shinra looks a little more wary, and he’s starting to smile. 

“Oh yeah? What is it?” 

“Ah, it’s pretty simple actually. How do you activate your abilities?” 

“Huh?” 

“How do you-” 

“No, I heard you,” he holds up his hand to cup you off. “It’s just a weird question.” 

“Hey man, I told you it was gonna be one.” 

You stare at each other for a long minute before Shinra huffs and looks towards the ceiling. He might not be the best person to ask. Maybe you should ask Maki, but Shinra makes you feel secure and you trust him more than anyone else just yet. 

“How do I activate my abilities? I dunno. I guess for me it’s more like I have to turn it off.” 

You tilt your head, listening intently to Shinra. 

“When I was a kid… I had a hard time controlling my flames. They started up suddenly, and burned through my shoes and pants. I ended up wearing these extinguisher boots, and shorts, so I wouldn’t destroy everything around me. It took a long time to figure out what was going on, but someone finally explained it to me. For a lot of third generation pyrokinetics, the thing that triggers out ability is the memory of the first time they happened.” 

You falter. “But, wait. Didn’t yours activate when-” 

“Yeah,” he cuts in, shooting you a grin that’s anything but happy. Your heart clenches in your chest. 

“Oh god, Shinra…” That meant that every time he used his powers, he had to remember his mother’s ‘death’ and his brother's disappearance. He had to think of pain and fear and grief, and he used his flames so often-

“It’s okay,” he cuts in. You can’t imagine what kind of face you’re making. “It was painful at first, and it still is, but it’s a good reminder for what I’m fighting for, and why I’m working so hard towards that goal. I will find a way to stop human combustion. I will make sure no one else ever has to grieve the way I did.”  

“Shinra,” you say softly. “You really are something.” 

Shinra tries to shrug off your words, but his smile is a little more genuine. “I just wanna be a hero.” 

“You will be,” you promise him. It’s all you can do not to tell him the truth then and there. His mother is alive, and suffering. His brother is alive, and suffering. 

They need help. 

But you hold your tongue. You don’t have any way of proving it to him, and there’s already so many things that are different here than they were in the game, or the show. Your presence being one of them. 

You let out a breath. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up something so painful.” 

Shinra shakes his head. “What made you ask?” 

“Honestly?” you rubbed the back of your neck, “I’ve been having trouble using my abilities since we left the academy. I thought maybe if I asked you how you do it, I might be able to figure it out.” 

Shinra looks startled. “Really? I guess that explains why you haven’t used them in the last few days. You never really held back when we were training.” 

“Sorry to disappoint?” you offer lamely. “I just can’t figure it out.” 

“Well… Have you thought about when you first activated your powers?” 

“That’s just it,” you say sadly. “I don’t remember when it happened at all. So that’s not really an option for me.” 

“Oh.” 

You frown, and draw in on yourself. You can’t help it. You have no way to activate the powers you now know you have, and you’re in a bad place to be powerless in general. Not to mention these people are going to expect you to help, and you can’t help, and if you can’t help then- 

Shinra’s hands land on your shoulders, startling you. It’s a warm touch, one that sinks into you with comfort and kindness. Shinra looks seriously at you, his red eyes bright and intent. 

“Whatever happens, I know you’ll figure it out, and I’ll help you as much as I can. Even if I have to protect you in missions for now. So put your trust in me for now, okay?” 

Your heart thumps hard in your chest and heat spreads through your body. It grows hotter and hotter, centering somewhere in your chest and your back. 

Light blooms behind you and you barely turn your head to see a flicker of white fire over your shoulders, wings stretching over your back. They’re small, going no further down than you’re elbows and no further up than your jaw, pale and white and glowing. 

You recognize the feeling in your chest with a start. 

It’s care. Friendship. You want to help them. You want to fight for them and earn and keep their trust. The flickering embers of love bloom into a fire across your shoulders and flutter with undistinguished feather’s. 

~ ~

A/N So! Phoenix is my favorite power, but everyone else seemed inclined towards the Sun Lance, so I smashed them both together!

If you’re so inclined, let me know what you think :D

[xazz]

Okay now that I’m not always on the cusp of passing out from anemia we can get back to writing and posting

Pairing: AltMal, Altair+Desmond Rating: Explicit Tags: vampires, romance, servant AU, music AU, fluff, angst, flangst Status: WIP

As before Tumblr gets updated before AO3, meanwhile Patreon is like 40k words ahead of everyone. Like Malik and Altair have fucked already lol

-----

Altair was woken with a start to the sound of a slamming door. His eyes popped open and he didn’t know where he was. Then he looked next to him and saw a window, the curtains drawn. It was pitch black out.

He sat bolt upright, all the blood leaving his face.

He’d slept too late. He needed to go get Desmond. Oh the mistress would be furious with him! He was about to scramble out of bed when he realized he wasn’t alone in the bed.

Sitting on top of the comforter, was Desmond. “Altear,” he said when he saw Altair was awake.

“Desmond- what are you doing here— oh where am I?” He looked around in confusion. He was in a lovely bedroom. It hit him like a beam of wood. He was in Malik’s bed. The foreign vampire had insisted he take it and he sleep in the sarcophagus.

“Altear, plaw,” Desmond said.

“Not now,” he said gently. “Just a moment. I-“ he got out of bed as a figure stepped into the doorway. He froze but relaxed somewhat when he saw it was Malik.

“Ah, apologies. Did the door wake you? I didn’t think of that,” he said. Malik was unusually flushed, his skin ruddy and warm looking.

“I should have been up,” Altair said. “What’s he doing here?”

“I brought him here of course,” Malik said. “He’s been fed, its the one thing that useless mother of his does for him,” Malik rolled his eyes.

Altair remembered the conversation from last night. “Did— you talk with my masters?” he asked nervously. It would explain the slamming door and Malik being flushed from an argument.

“I did,” Malik said calmly. “We do not see eye to eye on how to treat the help.” His eyes narrowed. “But that’s not your problem.”

“... Am I going to be punished for what you did?”

“What? No. Why would you? William knows it was my idea alone.”

Altair breathed a sigh of relief. “Altear, plaw,” Desmond said.

“Desmond, I just woke up. Give me a moment here,” he said. Desmond folded his little arms. He ran his hands through his hair trying to think. “What now then?” he asked Malik. He knew Malik had ideas already. “Will you let me alone?”

“Am I such a bother?”

“I would have rather been ignorant than know what you told me,” Altair said. “I can never unknow this now. I know my stay here at the castle will be a long one. And your stay will end before that. I wish you hadn’t told me about the cellar.”

Malik frowned and he walked into his bedroom properly. “You deserve to know, and be treated with some damn dignity.”

“They already basically kidnapped me, Malik. I have no dignity left,” Altair said loudly. “You think I wanted to come here? I had a life, a livlihood. I’m my father’s only child. If he dies before this is over there will be no more luthiers in the valley,” he rubbed his face miserably.

“Do they know that?”

“They don’t care,” Altair said weakly. “They’ll care in twenty years when no more instruments are made and the ones around become broken and no one can fix them and their parties will be only full of brass and percussion. Fiddle players will keep their instruments carefully but they’ll eventually become warped with time and age and wet and they won’t sound right anymore.” Altair sighed deeply. “But right now they don’t care the only heir to the luthier family in the valley is here, in the castle, raising their son because they won’t.” He hugged himself.

Malik came closer. “Can I do anything-

“No,” he sat on the bed miserably. “No one can do anything. I’m stuck here until Desmond is big enough. Who knows when that will be,” he looked at Desmond.

“Plaw,” he said.

Altair sighed. “Alright. I need to go get the violin-

“Oh, I brought it,” Malik said and nodded to next to him. Altair looked and the case was there. “I figured you’d want it.”

“Thank you,” Altair picked it up and put it on the bed. Malik sat on the end of the bed as he tightened the bow and tuned the strings, listening carefully as he turned the pegs. It needed only slight adjustment each time, as he loosened the strings some at night so they wouldn’t have too much tension on them.

“Plaw, plaw!” Desmond cried happily. He immediately became quiet when Altair drew the bow across the strings in a rich chord. He closed his eyes and like last night started with the lullaby with a flourish before breaking off into some riffs he didn’t remember as soon as he played them. But they sounded good. That’s all the two vampires cared about, that they sounded good, they didn’t care if Altair played an actual song or not.

He played for a while before his stomach started to complain quietly. He pulled the bow across one last time as he opened his eyes. Desmond was watching with wide eyes of amazement. Malik was watching with equal intensity. “No,” Desmond complained.

“Yes. I’m hungry,” he told Desmond.

“Plaw, plaw.”

“Later,” Altair put the violin away. He then picked Desmond up and grabbed the case. “We’ll be off now,” he told Malik. “Thank you for letting me sleep here, sir. But please, leave me alone.” Malik frowned at him but he didn’t care if he’d hurt the vampire’s feelings. He’d single handedly upturned Altair’s entire life by telling him he was being treated like less than livestock and he had a miserable existence to look forward to for years to come.

He put the violin in Desmond’s room and carried the child down to the kitchen. Desmond busied himself investigating all the lower cabinets while Altair had a cold pasta salad. It had been in the cool box a while too long and was mushy. It tasted awful. He didn’t finish it and just put his face in his hand tiredly.

Why did this have to happen to him?

He looked down when Desmond pulled on his shirt. “What is it, Desmond?” he asked quietly, looking at the little vampire boy. Desmond made a motion like he was hungry. Of course he was. Just what Altair needed. To look at one of those damn vampires who lied to his face and ask them to go get Desmond a meal from the ‘livestock’. Yeah. Sure.

“Are you really hungry or are you bored huh? You had breakfast just a little while ago,” Altair said and combed Desmond’s bangs from his eyes gently. Desmond just shrugged.

He wasn’t going to ask a vampire for help. He just pushed himself to his feet and stuck one of the chickens. Desmond wouldn’t care and his parents wouldn’t know. Not like Desmond would tell them. Desmond still drank out of the big syringe, not quite coordinated enough to drink from a cup and Altair didn’t feel like cleaning up all the blood when he spilled. He put Desmond in his lap and fed him thinking about what to do.

Moonlight slanted through the thick window into the kitchen. It was well and truly dark out. Dawn was a long way away but he didn’t think it was so late yet really. Once Desmond had finished Altair left the kitchen through the side door and looked down the mountain. Castlesong still had lights on down below.

“Desmond,” Altair called. “You want to play?”

“Plaw!” Desmond jumped over to him, his useless little wings fluttering behind him excitedly.

Altair wanted a fresh, hot, meal damnit. “Okay. C’mon,” and he grabbed Desmond’s hand. “We’re going to go see the people.”

“Pople?” Desmond asked.

“Yes,” Altair stepped outside.

“Awwwww,” Desmond looked up. It occurred to Altair then that he’d never taken Desmond outside before. “Altear,” he pointed up at the stars and the moon.

“That’s the moon, and the stars,” Altair said. Desmond jumped like he wanted to fly but his insectoid wings were far too weak to carry him. Altair just smiled and led him down the stairs away from the castle.

On the road he hoisted Desmond up so he didn’t trip and continued the walk down to the town. Desmond reached up trying to grab the moon and Altair just chuckled. At least his wings had curled back up against his back.

It was late enough that the pub was mostly empty except for the lag abouts and drunks. A half asleep bard was in the corner plucking at his guitar, slumpee over the fat belly of the instrument. Altair sat with Desmond at a booth so he could lock the boy against the wall. Desmond’s mouth was open and he was staring all around in wonder at the building.

The maid came over, looked like she had a snide remark but noticed the vampire sitting next to Altair. Even if she didn’t know Desmond’s teeth still barely fit in his little mouth and hung open they were like little jagged knives behind his lips. She didn’t say anything at all. Altair just ordered the stew and bread, fresh bread, and an ale. The maid retreated, casting a look over her shoulder at Desmond as she left, white as a ghost.

“This place is neat huh?” Altair asked Desmond, propping his chin up with a fist. “It’s called a pub. Can you say pub?”

“Pup,” Desmond said, popping the second p.

“Pub,” Altair said back, popping the b instead.

Desmond giggled. “Pup pup,” popping the p each time. Altair smiled.

“That is a puppy. This is a pub.”

“Pub,” Desmond finally said.

“Good boy,” and Altair gave him a squeeze.

“Pup,” Desmond squeaked and Altair just chuckled. “Pupie? Pupie?”

“It’s a little... dog. But you don’t know what a dog is,” Altair sighed.

“Doug— dougy?”

“I’ll find a book with a dog in it, okay? And maybe a puppy too.”

“Pup pup,” Desmond peeped. Then he leaned back against the seat when someone came up to their table.

It was the bard with his fat bellied guitar. “Eavening,” he said, tipping his head to Altair.

“Morning,” Altair replied and the bard smirked.

“Mind if I join ya?”

“Depends on what you want.”

“Never seen a vampire before. He’s real little,” he smiled at Desmond who sunk under the table.

“He’s shy,” Altair said. “But he likes music.”

“You don’t say?” The bard swung his guitar around to be over his chest. “Well I happen to know a guy,” and he plucked a little ditty as cheerful and bouncy as a new fawn. Desmond’s eyes appeared over the top of the table with interest. “Ah, you like that huh?” he asked Desmond. Desmond nodded. “Good taste you got there, young master,” and the bard played a song Altair recognized.

“Come In, Come In, we'll do the best we can

Come In, Come In, bring your whole bloody clan

take it nice and easy and we'll take you by the hand

set ye down and treat ye 'dasent' I'm a valley man”

Altair felt himself singing along a little as the bard played. Desmond was enthralled. He crawled under the table to sit on the other booth seat to be closer to the bard. As the bard started the chorus the maid returned with Altair’s stew and bread. She eyed the bard but didn’t say anything and also didn’t ask Altair for any money. Good. Fuck her.

The bard had turned to Desmond now as he played and sang, bouncing his foot to keep the beat. It let Altair eat in peace. He hummed along to some of the song. The bard was very good and had a nice voice. After a few songs Desmond started making noises like he was singing along too and the bard started repeating verses so the child could catch on. Altair had by now finished his warm meal and was just watching them. It was cute to see Desmond happily going along with the bard just like a human child would. If you ignored the teeth and the eyes he even looked like a human child.

The bard played a fast song high on the register. A song he probably only sang to show off. He had a good range and could get those high notes that would normally require a woman singer to reach. But reached them. Desmond beeped up there at the high register too, trying to match the bard’s high chords. Then he did something that made Altair go white. He opened his mouth wide, far too wide for a human child, for a moment it looked like he was tearing open his mouth, and displaying a huge assortment of teeth so he could scream at a high octave. So much so that it made the glass of Altair’s tankard sing.

The bard jumped back, the music stopping abruptly. Altair lunged over the table and clapped his hand under Desmond’s chin to close his mouth, abruptly shutting off the sound.

The noise had roused the drunks and the lay abouts. They were all turned towards their little booth. The bard was white as a sheet and looked visibly shaken to really see how big Desmond’s mouth was and how full of teeth it was. “I think that’s enough for tonight,” and Altair got up and picked Desmond up. He protested but Altair paid him no mind. “I’m sorry for the trouble,” and Altair put the money he would have used to pay for the meal onto the table for the bard.

“No. No!” Desmond cried as Altair took him out of the pub.

“Yes,” Altair said sternly once they were outside. “You scared that man.”

“Plaw!”

Altair took some steps away from the front door and set Desmond down, then he took a knee in front of him. “You can’t do that,” he said sternly. Desmond folded his little arms, pouting. “You scared him. You made him afraid. Like when the light comes in from the outside sometimes when we don’t close your drapes all the way? That’s scary right?” Desmond nodded. “These are scary,” he pushed Desmond’s lips open to indicate his teeth. He knew Desmond wouldn’t bite.

“Wha?”

“Why? Because you’re a vampire, Desmond,” he said patiently. “I don’t have teeth like that, see,” and he bared his teeth at Desmond. Desmond nodded. “But outside vampire teeth are very scary to people.”

“Bad?”

“No. Not bad. But if you want people to like you you need to not frighten them,” he stroked Desmond’s hair gently.

“Altear do?”

Altair softened. “Yes. I like you. Do you feel bad?” Desmond nodded. “If you want people to be okay with mistakes you’ve made you need to say sorry. It’s important to apologize.”

“Altear, sowwy,” Desmond said, his little lips pursed sadly.

Altair hugged him. “Apology accepted,” he said gently. “Now let’s go home, okay?” When Altair picked him up Desmond didn’t protest. He just leaned on Altair’s shoulder and watched as they walked out of town and back up to the castle.

--

Hey you, yeah, if you liked it, consider reblogging. It helps me a lot. Maybe leave something nice in the tags idk.

[realm-sweet-realm]

Irreplaceable

This is a request for @threadedsafetypin- Norman realizes the pain that Sammy is in and attempts to offer some comfort.

---

In the music department of Joey Drew Studios, a violinist was shaking in her boots. Sammy Lawrence looked ready to explode at her-fists balled, teeth bared.

“What are you doing with that violin?”

The woman’s mouth fell open, and at first no words came out.

“Answer me!” Sammy shouted.

“I- my violin is getting repaired right now, and I thought that since no one ever uses this one, I’d borrow it.” Her voice was getting smaller and smaller as she went on, and Sammy wasn’t getting any less angry. “Please don’t-”

“Do you know why no one ever uses that violin?” Sammy growled. “That violin belonged to someone irreplaceable. Now, do you think that you’re irreplaceable?”

“N-no, sir.”

“Well, thankfully you’re right- the violin is hardly important to the song we’re recording. Go home, and don’t come back without your own fucking work equipment. I hardly think we’ll miss your presence. And give me that thing!”

The violinist handed the instrument to Sammy, who handled it like it was made of China. He carefully put it in its customary place in a case near the corner. Then, it was time to record.

Norman had seen the entire scene play out from his projector booth, and had thanked his lucky stars for the millionth time that he wasn’t a creative type. Sammy had always been sour and snappish and more than a little strange, but he’d gotten worse a while after the ink machine had been put in, worse again after Susie’s mental breakdown and subsequent incarceration, and worse yet a couple months ago for no apparent reason. Norman hadn’t seen Sammy not tensed up and distressed in... well, he didn’t even know how long. Clearly, whatever he and Joey were up to (and he knew it must have something to do with the machine), Sammy was not cut out for it. It was causing him a mountain of grief- furthering Norman’s belief that they were killing people. Well, tonight, Norman was going to figure out exactly what was going on.

“Working late tonight, Sammy?” Norman asked him later, once the recording was done. Sammy had been retreating to his office as everyone else prepared to go home.

“Mind your own business,” Sammy replied.

“Alright, whatever.”

Work had already gone late that day. Norman would only have to wait fifteen minutes before everyone left, and then he could go over to the ink machine room and try to unravel its mysteries. If Sammy was staying late to work on it, all the better. Maybe Sammy would do whatever it is one did with it, and Norman could watch, silent as a bird of prey, from the shadows.

Finally, the time came. Norman turned on the lights to ink machine room and inspected its insertion nozzle. There was ink and a bit of film- fascinating. It was also big enough that he could potentially crawl inside to take a look at it with his flashlight. It could quite easily go wrong, but Norman wasn’t exactly a cautious type.

It was while retrieving his flashlight that Norman heard it- the choked sobs coming from Sammy’s office. His first thought was to be glad that Sammy would be too preoccupied to catch him, but it sounded too painful and comfortless for him to ignore in good conscience. Norman sighed and dropped what he was doing to investigate. Let it never be said that I don’t have a big heart, he thought.

The sound had stopped by the time Norman was at his office, so he had to be extra quiet slipping in. Sammy was there, alright-  bent over his desk with one hand wrapped around a half-drained wine bottle and the other wiping tears from his face. It took Sammy a moment to realize that Norman was there, and when he did, he jumped halfway out of his skin and threw the wine bottle at Norman on instinct. Thankfully Norman had time to move out of the way and it only shattered against the wall.

“What the hell. Have you never heard of privacy!?” Sammy shouted.

“Sorry, I just heard you crying and wanted to see what was going on.”

Sammy turned his back on Norman and leaned over his desk again, head in hands. “Well, now you know. So leave me alone.”

“You don’t have anyone to talk about this to, do you?”

No response.

“Look, I know you don’t like me, but I’m the option you have. So, just pretend that I’m not Norman Polk- I’m a warm body willing to listen to your problems in hopes that it’ll make you feel better. You don’t even have to look at me. Alright? And leave out anything you want- I’m not doing this for information.”

Sammy sighed. “Fine. I just didn’t want to go home after today.”

Norman nodded. “Didn’t want to go home to an empty apartment, now that Susie is gone.” He thought he’d sensed a lover’s grief in Sammy, so this was hardly a surprise.

“It’s not that. I’m over her. Before we were dating, I lived with someone else- my friend of thirteen years. His name was Jack Fain, and he died a few months ago. I thought I was adjusting, but that was his violin, and apparently that’s all it took to get me like this.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. He clearly left a big impact on you.”  

Sammy laughed bitterly. “‘Big’ doesn’t even begin to describe it. We knew each other most of my adult life, and wrote songs together for longer than I’ve been working here. We were a duo- I was the impressive one, the one that gets people’s attention, and he was the one who knew how to deal with people. He’s part of the reason I kept working here so long- it let me continue to work alongside him. And, I mean… I have to stay here now, for reasons I can’t explain to you, but I wish he were still here, making it tolerable. Even if I could never see him again, though, I’d give almost any person’s life for him to be alive again. It just isn’t fair that so many people- so many average, unimportant sheep get to live, and someone so irreplaceable and important is stolen from us. Like taking a keystone out of a brick wall, or an organ out of a body.”

Norman didn’t know what to say about that. “I know how you feel.”

“No, you don’t,” Sammy said. He was too drained to growl his words anymore.

"Sure I do. Can I tell you a story?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t tell a lot of people this, but I grew up in a cult. There were three kinds of people there- those who were there out of stupidity, those who were there out of desperation, and those who were born there. That’s what my dad told me, anyhow. He was the second one. He didn’t tell me how he’d ended up there- nowadays I assume his story wouldn’t have been age-appropriate for me. At any rate, he was my rock, like Jack was yours. And when I was eleven, he tried to escape with me, but he was caught. Probably killed. And I wish I could say that I handled it well, but boy, did I not. It felt like my entire world had shattered, and I had shattered with it. And yeah- it isn’t fair. Death leaves behind so many people, but takes the one person you need most. I did get better, though. I promise you, Sammy, one day, you’re going to think of Jack and not be in pain. You’ll just feel appreciation for his role in your life.”

Sammy was quiet for a while. “You do understand,” he said finally. “Listen. I mean this as sage advice and not an insult. When it comes to this studio, mind your own business. Keep poking around and you could end up dead. You’re probably irreplaceable to someone, so you should probably avoid that. And... thank you. It’s hard to believe that I’ll ever be okay again, so it’s good to get the perspective of someone who was there, too, and got through it.”

“Okay,” Norman said. He would have ignored Sammy’s advice had it been put any other way (the “you could end up dead” part might have even been encouragement), but when he put it like that, it made him want to run home to his wife and daughter as soon as he could. “I’m glad that helped. I’ll see you tomorrow, Sammy.”

Sammy nodded in acknowledgement, and the two of them set off for their respective homes.

[lunariasilver]

The Virtuoso: Chapter 1

Masterlist

Previous / Next

Despite my better judgement, I decided to let the woman who attacked me live. She told me her name was Zara. I thought that was a stupid name.

I told her that, too.

She wasn't pleased, but what could she do about it? I had already made it pretty clear that the only reason she was alive was because of...I don't know, some sense of whimsy. Regardless, I was sure that I wouldn't see much of her in the future. It wasn't like I seemed like the type to run a gang, so she had no reason to bother me in the future with some strange desire to suck up to me.

Or at least I hoped not. The concept seemed like a lot of effort.

Now I was regretting not killing her. Those thoughts weighing heavily on me, I set about figuring out exactly how Meteor City worked in the first place.

It didn't take long for me to make a name for myself. Zara helped, actually. Immediately after I let her go she started spreading rumors about some "demon child."

I took a great deal of offense to that nickname.

I was 15 years old. I wasn't a child.

Meteor City was awful. Practically lawless. Dangerous. And yet...aside from a few big names I had to avoid, I found myself flourishing there.

Old habits died hard. Soon after my arrival people started coming to me to 'take care of' their problems. It seemed I was an assassin wherever I went. I had almost the finest amenities that Meteor City had to offer, which was admittedly not much.

We had no plumbing. Disease ran rampant. I threw an excrement bucket on someone's head for fun. There were some water sources, of course. But...well. They weren't exactly filtered.

I set myself up a decent base by one such water source. I threw the previous occupants out back.

I was starting to get settled into my new life of misery when I woke up one morning to find my violin missing.

My violin.

The only gift my grandfather ever gave me.

The only thing that brought me an ounce of comfort.

My most cherished possession.

The only thing that was keeping me sane in this hellhole.

I had to find it.

-

-

-

I had left a trail of blood behind me. Finally I stood in front of one of the only places I had actively avoided in Meteor City. It was a large building by Meteor City standards, but it was still pretty small.

HQ of the so called Spiders. They were an up and coming gang that was already gaining some sway in the City due to their strength. The trail of bodies led me here. I hesitated for only a moment before barging into their HQ. I needed my violin.

Desperately.

"Where is it." I called out in a monotonous tone.

"Where's what?" Some guy in a dark outfit responded. He was currently lounging on a beat up couch, reading a book. He barely spared me a second glance.

"My violin." I deadpanned. Now he looked at me. Both of us seemed to have the same dead-eyed expression.

"I don't have it."

"Bullshit."

"Tch." He then turned his attention back to his book. I narrowed my eyes at him, my mind running a million miles a minute. He wasn't the only one here, that much I knew. It would be stupid for me to attack him, even if I could beat him in a one on one fight, which I wasn't even certain I could do.

"Where's your boss?" I asked.

"Upstairs." He responded, turning a page.

I pursed my lips at him before turning away and quickly finding a stairwell.

'I can tell we'll never get along. I hate that boy.'

I remained alert as I trekked up the stairs. Who knew what they would try to throw at me-

I dodged out of the way of what I could only assume was a giant. "What the hell?!" I exclaimed before quickly reschooling my expression.

"Ha!!! You're fast" Some insane man with an afro exclaimed, grinning at me. It looked like he was wearing fur? For pants?

"Um-" I started, furrowing my eyebrows at him.

"Less talking!" And with that, he ran at me again. I managed to move out of his way again, despite being in a stairwell.

"Why are we fighting?!" I exclaimed, frantically dodging.

"Why aren't you fighting!?!" The man exclaimed. He looked fucking feral!

"I'm not in the habit of fighting animals!" I retorted before narrowing my eyes. 'I'm not in the habit of dying, either.' With that thought in mind, I reached over my shoulder and pulled a ridiculously decorated dagger out of thin air.

'Killua's dagger.' I thought, unable to stop the flash of bitterness, or the shame that came immediately after.

Somehow his grin became even more feral as he charged at me again. I would really prefer to come at him from a distance, but I was in close quarters. I didn't have much of a choice.

This time I met his swing with my dagger, which extended in length a bit. I managed to deflect his blow so that my dagger was now pushing into his forearm. Strangely enough, it didn't cut him. It didn't take long to realize that I wouldn't be able to meet him blow for blow. His own brute strength far outweighed my own.

I pushed myself off of him and pivoted to the side, leaving him to crash into the wall as I took off up the rest of the stairs.

"Hey, get back here!" He shouted.

"No! You're like 40 years old, I'm not fighting you!" I shouted back. He actually only looked about 19, 20 at the most. I didn't know why I said that.

My eyes were wide as I kept running. Somewhere in the back of my mind I registered that my father would be ashamed of me for showing fear, so I schooled my expression.

"HEY YOU BRAT!" I heard him shout. I entered a hall and kept running straight ahead before crashing through the door. In hindsight I could have just opened it, but it looked like I could just break it, so why not. There was a man with dark hair and dark eyes sitting at a desk calmly.

He had a disarming smile on his face as he regarded me. His hair was straight and free of fly aways, but he had shaggy bangs. It led me to believe that he put a bit of care into his appearance, despite the fact that we lived somewhere that modern amenities were practically non-existent. I quickly drew my eyes away from his face to the top of his desk. Sitting there, in plain sight, was my violin case.

My mouth twitched towards a scowl before stilling as I marched up to the desk. "That belongs to me."

His expression didn't change from the very vision of tranquility that it was. "It didn't take you long to get here."

I snatched the case and narrowed my eyes at him. "Never take my things."

"I gave it back." He replied. It was pissing me off that he looked so nonplussed about all of this.

I closed my eyes for a second, my eyebrows twitching. "I took it back."

"If I wanted to keep it, I could have."

I kept my eyes closed. I was well aware of the fact that I was in danger. I couldn't take on all of these people.

I couldn't see them all, sure, but I was well aware of their presence. Yet another reason for me to keep my expression as still as possible.

"I believe that." I opened my eyes and met his gaze. "So what do you want?"

"Just to say hello." He responded.

I inhaled sharply. "Hello."

I hate him.

-

-

-

That wasn't the last time I saw Chrollo Lucilfer, as I later learned was his name. It wasn't the last time I saw any of the three members I had seen that day.

Chrollo I found lounging by one of the cleanest water sources we had, reading a book that I recognized from a glance. It was one of my absolute favorites. Before I realized was I was doing, I was approaching him and taking a seat next to him.

"Hello Ivela." He greeted, turning a page.

"Do you like that book?" I asked, not bothering to return his greeting.

"I wouldn't be reading it if I didn't."

I bristled, but calmed myself. It was a fair answer.

I kept sitting there in silence for a moment, trying to think of what to say. On one hand, I wasn't here to make friends. On the other, I had never seen anybody else reading that book, and my family certainly never discussed literature with me.

Chrollo, to his credit, didn't push me to either carry on the conversation or leave him alone. He just kept reading his book, either unbothered by my presence or patiently waiting for me to say something else.

"It's one of my favorites." I finally spoke, breaking the silence. The water was suddenly extremely interesting to me as I ran my hands through the dirt. "Have you finished it yet?"

"Yes. I'm rereading it." He replied. I felt his gaze finally land on me. "I'm curious, what did you think of-"

We talked about that book for hours that day. The two of us had, apparently, lost track of time. I stared after his retreating form with narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows for a moment, before deciding that he wasn't bad company to keep after all.

I found the bad mannered guy when I followed the sound of blood curdling screams coming from somewhere nearby. Normally I wouldn't care about screams, but this one seemed somehow worse than usual.

When I found the source of the screams, it turned out to be the bad mannered guy from the Phantom Troupe building torturing someone who I didn't recognize.

I turned to walk away, deciding it was none of my business, when I noticed where he was cutting.

"It'll hurt more if you cut about an inch to the right." I stated. My expression remained neutral.

He said nothing, but, out of curiosity perhaps, did as I recommended. He was rewarded with louder screams.

The dead-eyed guy turned to look at me. Years of reading the members of my own family's expressions made it child's play to understand his unspoken question.

"You were just shy of hitting a group of nerve endings." I explained.

He regarded me for a moment. "I'm Feitan."

I nodded in response. "Ivela."

As it turned out, he knew some things about torture that I was unfamiliar with. We spent the day swapping techniques.

The barbarian actually found me. I was walking, scavenging for food when he chucked a beer can at my head. I caught it, of course. It took a second to register that he wasn't attacking me.

"Ivela! Have a drink with us!" The barbarian offered. He was accompanied by a tall man with a sword at his side.

I blinked. "I'm underage."

They laughed. "There's no laws here! Come on!" It was the tall one who spoke.

"Didn't you try to kill me?" I asked, still staring at the can.

"Pfffft. I wasn't tryna kill you!" The barbarian defended.

"Whatever." I said with a sigh. After a moment's debate, I popped open the can and chugged it down.

"Yeah! She's not a wuss!" One of them cheered.

The side of my mouth twitched. "It would take a lot more than that to get me drunk." Or even buzzed.

"Oh, I like this one. Come on, let's go drink some more!"

I found out the barbarian's name was Uvogin, and the tall one's name was Nobunaga. They were both incredibly irresponsible....but kind of fun to be around. I didn't mind drinking with them.

Apparently I was destined to keep running into members of the phantom troupe. The next one to approach me was a blonde woman with an odd nose in smart business attire. Something about her put me at ease. For a second.

I berated myself and raised my guard back up. Anyone who immediately makes you feel safe is probably out to kill you.

"Do you want something?" I asked her.

"I'm Pakunoda." She introduced. "I'm a member of the Phantom Troupe."

"Another one of you?" I muttered. "Are you all following me around for any particular reason?"

"We all have our own reasons." She deflected. "Mine is that I'm a fan of classical music."

I narrowed my eyes at her. I couldn't tell if she was lying or not.

"I'm not lying. Would you play something for me?" She requested.

I opened my mouth to tell her to get lost before I shut it. Had anyone ever asked me to play for them before?

I wasn't sure. I didn't think so. Why would she be interested in my music. Was she plotting something?

She had to be.

"Not today." I muttered, before walking away.

Pakunoda was persistent. She seemed to really want to hear me play. Or she was determined to kill me. I honestly wasn't sure which. Eventually, I caved and played for her. She didn't try anything, but I still didn't trust her.

It wasn't the last time she asked me to play for her. She seemed oddly fond of my music. I found myself looking forward to her asking me to play. It felt right to perform.

The last member I met was a girl about my age. Machi. She approached me out of the blue one day and started talking to me about random nonsense. I wasn't sure about her. But, I did find her easy to talk to. We seemed to have a lot in common. Probably because of our age. And our less than orthodox upbringings, respectively.

I stared at her one day. "Do you think I should dye my hair pink?" I wasn't sure what had made me want to do it, but I was tempted.

"What? Why?" She asked incredulously. She had been mid sentence when I interrupted her.

I shrugged in response.

"Also were you even listening to me?!"

I smirked sardonically at her in response.

-

-

-

Some time passes with me spending more and more time with the Troupe members. I didn't like them, of course, and they weren't my friends. I was just passing the time. Using them for entertainment. And because they were strong, it helped to be known as a friend of theirs's.

As I pondered on the fact that none of them were my friends and I wasn't fond of any of them, it occurred to me that I hadn't talked to Nobunaga in a while. That wouldn't do.

So I set off to go find him.

I was a pretty good tracker, so it didn't take me much time to find him. He seemed to be practicing his swordplay by himself.

"I could spar with you." I heard myself offer.

He stilled and regarded me with a hardened expression. "Do you even know anything about swords?"

"I know plenty." I responded. I was at least proficient with most weapons due to my upbringing. An assassin needs to know how to use any weapon available to them.

"Well then. Here!" And just like that, he tossed an unsheathed blade at me. I had no idea where he got it from, but I didn't have time to question it. No sooner had I caught it then he charged at me.

I blocked his swing, and we spent some time dancing around each other, steel clashing against steel. It was surprisingly fun.

I was holding my own just fine, but it was clear he was more talented with a blade than I was. I was constantly on the defensive. I managed to attack a few times, sure, but goddamn he was on a different level with his sword. It was honestly quite impressive.

I wondered how we would fare against each other in a nen battle. I almost wanted to try.

When the fight ended, it was because I was on my ass.

He was laughing. He was laughing at me.

I felt my face redden as my hands clenched into fists.

"Hey, don't be angry! You're great! Who taught you?" He asked as I stood up.

I was stunned. "You were laughing...because you were impressed?" That didn't make any sense.

"Yeah!" He replied.

"Uh." I was at a loss. "My...father and grandfather mostly handled my training." None of this made any sense. He was praising me for losing?

"They must be good." Nobunaga said. "I'd love to fight them."

I shifted my weight back and forth between my feet. "I think you'd die?" I told him. "They're, uh, assassins."

"You're an assassin?!" He exclaimed. I nodded at him, my hands fidgeting. He calmed down and paused. "Hm. That explains a lot."

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I had been holding. I wasn't sure why I felt relieved. "Yeah. That's why I've had so much training."

"You and I should fight again sometime. Go ahead and keep that sword!" He offered with a disarming smile.

I tilted my head to the side slightly. "It's...a gift?"

"Yeah! Make sure to use it!"

I looked down at the sword in my hands, unable to comprehend him giving me a gift. I didn't expect to ever get any more gifts after being banished. I would make good use of it.

I always made good use of gifts.

A/N

Buckle up guys, we're gonna be in Meteor City for a while.

[if-the-crown-fits-translate-it]

Discord pt 87

[Date: 17/03, 01.51 PM - 17/03, 03.53 PM GMT]

[This conversation was going on in #general2, simultaneously to another in #arg. The second is referenced later and will be posted separately after this one.]

Prince: “Hello, everyone. It's been a while. :)”

fetch: “oh hey buddy :]”

Maxwell: “Oh hey prince longtime no see”

fetch: “and goodmornin everyone”

[donti: “hi prince, whats up”]

Prince: “Not much. Still kind of... off from last night. It's been a long time since I've had those thoughts, so I'm still reeling a bit.”

fetch: “well at least you're doing better now. baron mentioned you went to the comfort room? that musta helped a lot”

Prince: “...Yeah, it helped a little bit.”

[Maxwell: “Been a while since I’ve seen ya prince hope things are going okay”]

Prince: “Yeah... I'm sorry, I've just been really out of it lately. I'm not sure what my deal is.”

[fetch: “have you been eating and drinking well? exercise and sunshine might help too”]

Prince: “Yeah, I've been doing all that! It's just... I don't know. I think I just miss my family. That's all...”

fetch: “aw :(”

Maxwell: “It’s fine I haven’t been feeling the best either lately....though I know what it is I just don’t know how to fix it ha”

Prince: “I'm sorry to hear that, Max. I hope things get better for you soon :)”

fetch: “i hope things get better for you too! missing family is always hard”

Maxwell: “I hope so as well....we’re trying to figure out ways to get rid of what’s bothering me but I hope you feel better soon too”

Prince: “They'll be here soon, so I think I'm just starting to get anxious for them to be back already :)”

fetch: “I'm supposed to keep it a secret, but i can give you a hint! my favorite number is how many days away it is :)”

Prince: “I'm supposed to keep it a secret, but i can give you a hint! my favorite number is how many days away it is :)”

fetch: “...4?

no wait it was 5, we had the same favorite number right?

no wait”

LLyr: “3, according to the blog”

fetch: “...3. 3 days?

well call me jesus fucking christ”

Prince: “Yep! i can't wait to see them all again! :D”

fetch: “im. im glad! :]”

Prince: “I think I'll feel a lot better when they're back. I wanted Viscount to teach me how to play guitar but he left so suddenly I never got the chance to ask. I'm glad it's so soon. I don't think I can wait much longer :)”

[Jack: “That’s so cool! Maybe you can teach him to play violin in return, haha”]

Prince: “Maybe, if he wants to learn! :D”

Jack: “:D

Y’all could duet maybe”

Prince: “I’d like that! :D”

Maxwell: “I....hope things go well if they come back”

[donti: “What else are you planning on doing when they all come back?”]

Prince: “Well, Page likes to draw, so I was thinking we could draw together, and I always love to play with Knight! :D As for the fourth, I'm going to have to get to know them a little better first :)”

donti: “Oh! Is the fourth arriving on the 20th?”

Prince: “They all are, yes :)”

Prince: “I've been thinking... do they miss us as much as I miss them? They... they had to have left for a reason, after all.”

Maxwell: “......I....”

Maxwell: “I think they do you miss you.....”

[fetch: “maybe they're just the type to run off on adventures? I did all the time as a kid”]

Prince: “Maybe... I hope that's the case. I probably shouldn't be thinking like this. I just can't help it for some reason... what if I did something wrong to make them want to leave, to make them hate me? You know? Crown said that these thoughts will go away soon. I really hope so. I hate having them.”

Maxwell: “No no it isnt your fault....trust me i know it isnt”

[fetch: “I'm sure they don't hate you buddy :[ you aren't the only one they left behind. They left countess and baron and crown too”]

Prince: “Baron's been spending all his time in the comfort room and I'm pretty sure Countess lives in the library at this point. And Crown can't be here as often. I'm always alone...”

[fetch: “Maybe try striking up conversation with countess? Maybe she can teach you some ciphers!”]

Prince: “Maybe... are you guys sure I didn't do something wrong? I know I mess up a lot without meaning to...”

Maxwell: “its not your fault trust me”

fetch: “Yeah, you're a-okay :D”

Prince: “...I keep seeing arguing pop up on my screen from another channel. Is everything alright?” [The channel referenced is #arg]

fetch: “oh yeah everything's cool :] don't worry bout it”

Maxwell: “yeah yeah uh dont worry”

Prince: “If you're sure... I am the messenger after all :) If something is wrong, I have to let Crown know”

Maxwell: “Nope nothing is wrong its fine”

[fetch: “honestly, I think everything is going according to plan for crown! so he'd be pleased to know that :]”]

Prince: “I'll let him know that, then :D”

Prince: “While I'm here, is there anything else I should let Crown know when he arrives?”

fetch: “let him know... he's getting what he wants.”

Maxwell: “fetch what...”

Prince: “It really doesn't seem like the argument is nothing... do you promise everything is okay? Or is this just another situation where everyone is lying to protect me?”

fetch: “its alright. we're done fighting.”

fetch: “it's okay its fine everything's okay and im gonna take a nap”

donti: “Sorry about that Prince. Tensions are a little high right now”

Maxwell: “yeah....”

Prince: “I just want everyone to be okay... that's all. If there's something wrong, you can tell me :)”

Prince: “Should i read through it?”

Maxwell: “No!”

Spark: “No!”

Maxwell: “Its fine its fine no need”

Kate: “I think reading through it would upset you and we don't want that, but it's not like its hidden from you so I guess if you did want to read it, it's there”

donti: “best if you didnt,”

Jack: “A lot of it is really angry, but if you want we won’t hide it from you.”

Prince: “...

I see.”

donti: “did you read it?”

Prince: “I'll... I'll be sure to let Crown know everything is going according to plan...”

Maxwell: “prince please tell me you didnt

prince....please”

donti: “...”

[Kate: “You read it, didn't you, Prince?”]

Prince: “...yes.”

Maxwell: “how much did you read?”

Maxwell: “like....all of today or anything with yesterday..”

Prince: “I.. I guess I hope you like your new circlets... Page... ? Knight...? That...that is who you two are, isn't it?”

Maxwell: “i....”

Maxwell: “im....max”

Prince: “...

Right. Sorry.”

Maxwell: “and fetch....is fetch...”

Maxwell: “its not your fault”

Prince: “You were Page and Knight before, though, weren't you? Before you left?”

Prince: “.. why did you leave?”

Maxwell: “ okay yes we were

but we didnt leave because of you

or baron or countess”

Maxwell: “ i...

we...well...”

Maxwell: “we werent ourselves

although we were page and knight thats...not who are or rather not who are anymore”

Prince: “...

...Do you still like us as Max and Fetch..?”

Maxwell: “yes yes of course!

we still all care for you”

[donti: “how could they not”]

Prince: “Why else would they leave us?”

Maxwell: “we....werent very happy

neither me, fetch or marcus were really ourselves”

Prince: “... I don't understand. I thought everyone was happy. You guys all seemed so happy. That doesn't make any sense.”

Maxwell: “its why you see such a difference in how we act compared to who we were

it....wasnt us”

Prince: “Things are better here, though. I’m happier here with Crown than I ever was without him... Son’t you guya want to be happy?”

Maxwell: “i wasnt truly happy neither were the others

That doesn’t mean we don’t care about you though, Asher, we still do”

Prince: “...Asher... That’s my... my name...

...”

Maxwell: “yes it is”

Prince: “Asher...? Asher... Asher..” [At this point, some letters are not in Ender]

Maxwell: “asher?

you okay?”

Prince: “Wait. No, stop. I don’t want to remember, please”

Maxwell: “i...”

Prince: “Please”

Prince: “I don’t want to remember”

donti: “Hey buddy pal prince, asher, whoever you are.

friend. youre fine.

breathe.”

Prince: “I’m not Asher I’m not Asher I’m Prince just Prince”

Jack: “If you want us to call you prince, that’s fine.”

Prince: “I’m not Asher I’m not Asher”

Jack: “Prince. Breathe.”

Prince: “What did you do make it stop”

Jack: “Prince. Just breathe. Calm down.”

donti: “breathe. breathe. calm.”

Prince: “...”

fetch: “this is why I wanted to drop it.”

donti: “we’re sorry, please,”

Jack: “You’re remembering what’s been taken away. It’s not happy, but you can breathe through it.”

Maxwell: “fuck fuck fuck”

[17stepstobakerstreet]

A Quiet Afternoon at Baker Street

Baker Street was unnaturally quiet. Too quiet, if you asked John Watson.

It wasn’t quite 6 o’clock in the afternoon, and usually by this point in the day, Sherlock was tearing through the flat, playing the violin, or, at the very least, sitting at the kitchen table doing some sort of ridiculous experiment. But, if John’s memory served him correctly, he hadn’t seen Sherlock since lunchtime.

That meant it had been nearly six hours of not seeing Sherlock. Nearly six hours of silence in the flat, when sometimes John couldn’t even sleep through an entire night without something (or, more accurately, someone) disturbing his slumber.

Against his better judgment, he was starting to get worried.

That’s how John found himself standing in front of Sherlock’s closed bedroom door, wondering if he should just leave this whole situation alone. Sherlock’s an adult, he reasoned, he knows how to handle himself, and if he needed me, he would tell me, right? Something at the back of John’s mind protested heavily, and John stopped turning away from the door in front of him, listening to his voice of reason.

You know how he is. His brain isn’t normal. How does he deal with things he doesn’t know how to deal with? He shuts people out and tries to reason through it himself. Go in there, help him. He might need you.

With a soft sight, John nodded his head and opened the door, not leaving himself time to think about what he was doing.

John’s heart throbbed painfully when he brought his gaze up to look at Sherlock. He was sitting on his bed in the dark, elbows braced on his thighs, head hung low. From the lights in the hallway behind John, he could see the slight shine of tears on Sherlock’s cheeks. Sherlock turned his head and smiled weakly at John before dropping his head low again. John’s hand clenched around the doorknob, and before he knew it, he was walking across the floor of Sherlock’s room and plopping himself down onto the mattress.

Without preamble, Sherlock started speaking in a low whisper. “You know, sometimes I’m met with something that I don’t know how to deal with. It’s hard to tell sometimes, but it happens. You know that it does. I can’t bear to think about the deaths of the ones I’m closest to, it tears me up inside until it’s all I can do to not break into tears at that moment. Hell, even when I’m not able to help someone who needs me when we’re on a case.” John knew. He knew, and it tore him up inside just as much, knowing what Sherlock was going through, knowing that he wasn’t going to ask anyone for help.

“But now,” Sherlock continued, a slight tremble in his voice, “I’m dealing with something way out of my depth. I feel-- I feel like I’m drowning in this giant sea of everything, and every time I get my head above the water, another wave crashes over me and I’m swept under again. I just don’t know what to do, John.” His voice shook and John could tell that he was, once again, on the verge of tears.

“Sherlock,” John said quietly, leaning towards Sherlock, “I’m here for you, you know that I am. You don’t have to face all of this alone.” Sherlock laughed humorlessly and turned away from John, hunching his shoulders slightly.

“Except you can’t help me with this, John. I-- I can’t tell you. I mustn’t. It’ll only make matters worse, and I don’t want to drive you away. I won’t. I’ll deal with this on my own and everything will be fine. I just need to stop feeling.” Sherlock’s shoulders were trembling now. John put one of his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders, gently rubbing his thumb back and forth across the fabric there.

“Sherlock, there is nothing you can say that will drive me away. I promise. I will stay and help you through whatever it is you need and--” John was cut off by Sherlock whipping around to stare him in the eyes, tears flowing down his face and dripping from his chin.

“Really, John? Okay then, here it is. I’m in love with you. I have been for so long, since that day you shot a cabbie for me. I’ve been repressing my feelings all this time because I was scared to tell you. But today they just won’t go away, and it’s driving me crazy. I love you. I want to cuddle with you and kiss you and go out on a date with you but I can’t. I’ll never be able to do that because you’re straight and after this, you won’t even want to live with me anymore. That’s how it goes. You move away, and I’m left here to wallow in my own self-pity because I’m unlovable!” Sherlock ended in a shout. He didn’t back away, only stared at John with tears still flowing from his eyes, his desperation clearly shown on his face.

John could feel anger heating his body, and he clenched a fist in the blanket on Sherlock’s bed to prevent himself from exploding. “Sherlock,” he said quietly, his free hand shaking, “who the fuck told you that you were unlovable?” Sherlock just scoffed and shook his head, a poisonous expression on his face. It was all John could do to stop himself from gripping Sherlock’s forearm in his hand and forcing him to face him again. “Sherlock,” he said a little louder, a little angrier, “who told you that you were unlovable?”

“Fuck, John, everyone in my life!” He shouted, looking up at John with fresh tears in his eyes. “They might not tell me outright, but I can read every single terrible, pitying thought they have about me on their face. Oh, poor Sherlock, they think, I can’t help but feel back for him. He’s such a jerk, such a wretch to everyone he knows, I’ve heard that the only friends he has don’t even like him that much. They put up with him so he doesn’t relapse. Do you know how many people think that around me, John? More than you’d think. When you start reading thoughts like that on everyone’s faces, you tend to start believing them.”

Before John could give in to the urge to punch something, he grabbed Sherlock as gently as he could and pressed his face into his chest, winding his arms around Sherlock’s back, squeezing him tightly. “Please, don’t fucking listen to them anymore Sherlock, God, you aren’t unlovable,” John rambled, now rocking back and forth with a sobbing Sherlock held tightly to his chest. “Your brother loves you, we both know he does, so do your parents. Mrs. Hudson loves you, God, she loves you so much. You’re like a son to her.” John felt Sherlock’s arm hesitantly wrap themselves around his back and he held him just a tiny bit tighter.

“I love you, Sherlock,” John said quietly. He felt Sherlock tense up in his arms and he only held him tighter, hugging him through the wave of emotions he was no doubt feeling at that moment.

“Are you lying to me?” Sherlock asked quietly, his voice muffled by John’s chest. A sharp pain shot through John’s heart from the broken voice that Sherlock said it in.

“Christ Sherlock, of course I’m not lying to you. Not about this, never about this. I love you, alright? I have since the beginning, and I’m not planning on stopping anytime soon,” John said, pressing a soft kiss to the tangled curls on Sherlock’s head. He felt something warm moving around on his neck, and it took him a few seconds to realize that Sherlock was pressing soft, close-lipped kisses to any skin on John’s neck that he could reach. He was mumbling softly in between trails of kisses, and it took John a little bit to figure out what he was saying.

“I love you.” A trail of soft kisses. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” More kisses on his neck, under his jaw, on his collar bones. John laughed, gently tugging Sherlock away from his neck. Sherlock looked hurt and confused at first, and John brought a hand up to his face, caressing a thumb over his cheekbone before pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

“I love you too, you git, but I’d appreciate it if you would come up here and give me a real kiss. You can pay more attention to my neck later,” John said teasingly. Sherlock’s face turned a delightful shade of red, and he pulled his bottom lip into his mouth before surging up to press his lips against John’s, his hand coming to rest on the nape of John’s neck.

It was just a quick kiss, a soft press of lips and nothing more, but it quickly became John’s favorite because it was their first. Their lips parted for just a second, the two men smiling goofily at each other before their lips met once more. Sherlock whimpered into the kiss and wound his arms even tighter around John. They started a gentle push and pull with their lips, a little dance that neither man would ever forget.

When their lips parted, John pressed his forehead against Sherlock’s, their noses brushing together softly. John flicked his eyes up to Sherlock’s face, which was smiling and full of bliss. John chuckled lightly. “I love you, Sherlock.”

“I love you too, John.”

[smolbeandrabbles]

Music - Martin x Reader (Untogether)

@happyskywhale @wltz-bby​ #MendoTagSquad. GIF CREDIT: X

Sequel to I’ll Name The Dogs

Author’s Note: @mandy23b​ - For reference, I chose “the nearest surface in one of your apartments” 😏😏😏

This one feels like its been in the back of my head a very long time but just needed the right kind of push to put it onto paper! Or mix of ingredients... either way I found them all!

Here’s another pops up on shuffle when writing and immediately latch onto it song! (Until I had a last minute song change but decided to keep some of the original lyrics!) Music - Kelsea Ballerini Losing Sleep - Chris Young

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine but the writing and the reader (and the dog OC I suppose!)

Premise: ‘What’s the best record you’ve ever had sex to?’ An interesting question, with undoubtedly an interesting answer. Should Jake, Martin’s newly adopted puppy, allow you to test it for yourselves...

Words: 5155

Warnings: Swearing / Sexual Banter / Sinday/Sunday Smut

_____ Feels like the radio when your tires roll into my drive Then my heart stops, like a beat drop It's a symphony when you sweet talk Make this quiet town, feel electric, loud When the lights going down Every word out of your mouth Is like music When you look at me like that I lose it My name on your lips, wanna replay your kiss When I wake up, and lay down, and stay up and make out We're not saying nothing But it's feeling something like music Before I knew your love Even with the volume up, it was silent then And now you're walking in the room all kind of smooth, like a violin Everybody else is white noise So talk to me, cause your voice Is like music Your song on my skin is like Ah-ah-ah-ah So play it again just like Ah-ah-ah-ah Your song on my skin is like Ah-ah-ah-ah So play it again My whole heart's listening to your music ---     You know That I love you, let me show you We don't need to dream at all Baby so Fall into me Let me breathe the air you breathe I can take you anywhere you want to be When it comes to us Every single touch is something special... Yeah we're winning, we're losing When we're losing sleep --- You could already hear Jake’s excited barks as you pulled up to the front door of your boyfriend’s house. And yes, you did officially get to call him that now. Martin still came down to volunteer with you, and as frequently as before – so you were glad to see it wasn’t just your influence working there. You managed to keep it at least semi-professional, but it was also fairly obvious that you were a couple; and it was commented on often. Still, once other people working with you got wind that he was a painter – if they didn’t know already from seeing him work around here – his schedule was suddenly filled up with “Oh! Martin! Could you just do this!” and, given his charm, he got pretty well paid for it. Everyone loved him, and missed him when he wasn’t around almost as much as you did. It was all good for him, and you thought considering his previous relationship much needed. Also, as if the entire shelter wasn’t enamoured with Martin’s presence alone, last week he’d come jogging up to the counter and wanted to run a plan past you – “Do you think my band and I could throw a benefit concert-!?” “A what-?!” You raised an eyebrow, head tilted. “A benefit concert.” He indicated around, getting a little more excitable, “For the shelter-!” You only chuckled at that, “Martin, you’re such a babe!” Of course you thought it was a great idea, only that he should probably talk to the owner about it to get the go ahead. (No doubt she would say yes – but you were happy he was getting back to his music. You were happy to listen to him write every weekend if that’s what he wanted to do.) To which he grinned, and was about to sprint off to find her, before you pulled him back, leaning across the counter for a kiss. That was strategic, he’d only been here 30 seconds and already a couple of girls hanging around the front desk were making eyes at him. Martin’s enthusiasm only gained confidence with that, “Later Y/N!” You let him go with a smile and wave to match his; “Don’t forget there’s the big charity dog walk next week.” “Oh I know! “BYOD-!” He laughed, calling back as he ran through the reception door; “You know Jake is my secret weapon-!” That much was true. If it wasn’t everyone fussing over Martin, it was everyone fussing over Martin with Jake. You chuckled, leaning on your hands to watch him go; still in those tight white shirts, you could see those well-defined shoulder muscles and the curve of his back. You sighed gently and your eyes flicked to the girls still watching him – you couldn’t help your triumphant smirk, because it didn’t just happen here, you’d seen girls give him the same looks as you wandered hand in hand through town. An extraordinary thing to watch, in all honestly; you weren’t sure if you’d ever been with anyone that elicited that response. Martin had the look, and the style, and the attitude for it though – he never wanted the attention, but the way he was demanded it. Plus it shouldn’t surprise you, cute guy with a cute dog…? And he was yours now! You exited your car about the same time Martin opened his front door, and Jake scurried across his driveway; “Go get her!” Was said with a laugh “Oof! Okay, okay!! I missed you too!” You giggled, his paws up on your legs immediately, stooping to pet Jake before he ran back at Martin’s whistle, “How are my favourite trouble makers!” “A’right! Waiting impatiently for you!” He grinned, greeting you with a kiss, “You’re a little late.” “Ah! But the traffic was bad, and I brought treats.” “For me, or the dog!” “Uh, both of you!” You nudged Martin playfully at the very idea that you wouldn’t bring them both something. “Oooh! What are we so honoured with-!?” “Donuts!” “Fuck off-! Seriously-!? Did I ever tell you you’re the best!” He threw his arm around your shoulders, closing the door, “JAKE! We’re getting donuts!” Jake yapped excitedly as you walked through into the living room. “Coffee?” Martin enquired, as Jake tailed him through into the kitchen, leaving you to settle down and unbox everything, “That’d be nice, thank you.” “You’re welcome…!” He called. Then two seconds later, and more hushed, “Yes! Yes! I know! C’mere!” “Are we walking into town or--?” You barely finished your question before you were met with loud excitable barks, “Hush! Not yet! Calm down. Go sit with her. I know, it’s very exciting-!” Silence for a moment, “Go on, go sit with Y/N!” Then louder and to you, as Jake padded back through and sat up on the couch patiently waiting to be smothered in cuddles, “Don’t say that word-! He goes nuts!” “Noted!” You giggled, scratching Jake behind his ears, “He’s a good boy-!” Martin wandered back through, with a sigh, “He’s taking my spot!” You laughed as he set your coffee down and sat next to Jake, “Seriously, man, she’s my girlfriend – are you gonna be my wingman or cockblock me, we talked about this.” The puppy yelped and decided to lick Martin’s face instead, “Ah! Yeah-! Okay!” He chuckled, “I love ya too, bud! But it’s her I’m tryna kiss-!” You covered your mouth but couldn’t help your giggle, “Aw! He just wants love!” “He’d have you believe that I didn’t give him any!! Jake, c’mon, down!” He obeyed, earning a kiss from you; to which you of course received kisses back as you fussed him. With your attention fully on his dog Martin scoffed, folding his arms; “Oh my god, this is unbelievable!” You could only laugh again, then straightened up, “AH! But I love both of you!” “Trust me, he’ll take full advantage-! Jake, come here, sit.” Martin selected a treat as Jake obediently did so, “Good boy!” He held it out for Jake to take from him and petted his head, leaving Jake to wander off to his bed in the corner of the room. Martin beamed after him before kicking back on the sofa with a donut of his own; “AH! My girlfriend is the best, and so is my dog!” For a moment you regarded him, having just been the one complaining about Jake receiving all the attention, but decided to let it go with a roll of your eyes. You sat back with him, cuddling into his chest with your coffee, and watching Jake lie down quietly with his treat, before Martin wound one arm around you. “He is a good boy. You’ve done really well with him!” “Mhm…” Martin took a bite, “Mmm! These are good!” then swallowed, “He’s getting better. You make him too excitable, that’s my only problem.” You scoffed, “I think he has every right; he did get us together-!” Martin looked thoughtful as he ran a hand through your hair. “Yeah I’ll give him that.” Then turned to you with a smile. “However, maybe you’re giving him a little too much excitable energy about me-! They do say dogs are just like their owners!” Martin’s eyes narrowed slightly; “Are you saying it’s my fault!?” “I dunno, dog whisperer…” You took a sip of your coffee, “What’s your verdict?” His next bite was mused for a while, and he kept his eyes on you, “Well, damn, stopping him might be hard-!” Martin leant in, pulling you tight to him, kissing your face everywhere he could reach, whilst you giggled and tried to protest as best you could without spilling coffee all over him; “MARTIN! MARTIN! GET OFF!!!” Jake barked happily from the corner at the two of you laughing, which only made Martin laugh harder, and you thinking you had a case in point, before the two of you settled back into the couch together. Martin patted his lap and Jake bounded back to you, hopping up to lie on him. “Ah. See. What are we even going out for…?” Martin rubbed your back, “It was your idea!” Then you frowned, realising that beyond walking somewhere, there was no concreate plan that you knew of, “Actually, yeah babe, what did you have in mind?” “Oh…” Martin took his hand in yours lacing your fingers, before kissing them, and held the back of your hand to his lips whilst he thought, “There’s a little record shop I always wanted to take you to, even before we were together… I thought we could go buy some records?” “To listen to together?” “Mhm….” He looked back to you with those big blue eyes – puppy dog eyes if ever you’d seen them. Aw, Geez, they really are as bad as each other! “How far is it?” You nodded back to Jake – he had done extremely well, and you knew that Martin was also taking him to training classes. You knew they were helping each other out, and that only made you beam more. “It’s uh… a decent W A L K… He can’t go in, that’s the only problem, but then we can find a nice outdoor café… or park he might like-” You very nearly rolled your eyes at the phonetic spelling but noticed that Jakes ears did perk up instantly at both words “-Then we can come home. Should wear him out. He’ll enjoy not being around the same block or route too, I think.” “Okay…” You cuddled back into Martin for a moment, and he rested his head on yours, “Just let me enjoy time with my boys whilst I finish my coffee-!” Martin laughed; “Y/N! We are literally gonna hang out all day!” *** You were pleased to see that Jake was walking nicely, either at Martin’s heels, or between the two of you – to which you received a knowing look – but he rarely tangled his lead. Martin supposed the only habit he did have was running off to investigate things and sometimes whilst doing that he would pull, but Jake was still a puppy and Martin knew he’d grow out of the yanking – but he’d always be curious, some dogs just were. You made the record store in good time, and Martin found some shade to tie him up in, kneeling down; “Alright Jake, you be a good boy okay, we’re not gonna be long I promise. Sit and be a good boy for me.” Jake did so, tail wagging obediently, and Martin gave him a treat, “That’s my boy!” Then took your hand, “I mean maybe we can trail run this and think about coming back, I…” “Hush…” You kissed his cheek gently, “You’re a sweetie and you care about him, we don’t have to spend hours in the store and we can always come back, don’t worry about it.” Pink dusted Martin’s cheeks, “Well, let’s see how we do right now, huh?” as far as he knew you might have hated the store and never wanted to come back! Martin’s arm curved around your hip and you nodded, reaching out to pat Jake’s head goodbye; “Let’s go!” It was a tiny store, and you’d describe it as cramped, but it worked with the whole aesthetic, and every shelf was neatly arranged. Everything was very easy to find. Although you’d entered together, Martin and you perused the shelves alone. You weren’t sure what you were really looking for, but there was a lot of rare material in here, ranging from the plain obscure to new top 40 records in vinyl form – it was certainly making a comeback. Breathing new life into niche stores like this. As you kept flicking through the records you suddenly smirked, and slid one out, flipping it over to the track listing, biting your lip your smirk became a sly grin. “Hey, Martin!” “Mhm?” He turned back to you from the other side of the store, expression almost unreadable at the mischievous look on your own face. “What’s the best record you’ve ever had sex to?!” Your guess would be something very obscure and Australian – you knew his music taste by now. But you’d let him answer. He immediately spluttered, before laughing; “Well, what’s yours!?” “You’re not gonna answer me-!?” Martin shook his head, still laughing, “Oh God! I can’t believe you-” You flipped the record back to show him the cover, “Woah, fuck, really-!?” “Yeah - you have no idea…” He raised an eyebrow, impressed, “Okay… let me see if I can find… mine…” He pondered around the stacks for a minute, before thumbing through a couple, “AHA. Bingo.” Pulling one out and turning it to you, You couldn’t help but be a little surprised, and laughed, “Oh my god you’re such a cliché!” “OH come onnnnnnnn!” He very nearly whined, but was about to explain why it was undeniable, “This voice? – Baby, you need to try it!” You bit your lip through your smile again, the movement of your head daring him to say it. Martin caught on, and suddenly his smirk became wicked; “Well, should I get it and should we test it out!?” You were cackling before he even pointed to yours, “I don’t mind testing twice!” You left the store two records heavier, but not another word passed between you about it. Although a multitude of giggles did – before Jake started barking like he hadn’t seen either of you in years. “Oh God-! Okay, we’re back!” Martin untied his leash, “Come on, let’s find you a nice park, huh?” He barked again, paws up on Martin’s thighs and pawing at his jeans, “Yes, puppy I know! I know!” He held his hand out for yours and you laced your fingers together, before he pulled you in. Looping his arm around your shoulders, Martin kissed your forehead, “Let’s go-!” *** It was a few more weeks before you actually got to test the records out, but Martin had them balanced on top of his player ever since he’d got home. You were sitting on top of his kitchen counter, listening intently to his record of choice and deciding that cliché didn’t even cover it. Still, it was nice to watch Martin dance around the kitchen making coffee and sing softly to it. You could listen to him sing all day, and often asked him to sing a little louder when he was trying to sing under his breath. ‘Well I don’t wanna bother anyone!!’ ‘Are you KIDDING-!? With your voice-!?’ - this was a popular conversation track when you volunteered together. Nothing really changed. By now you’d been bestowed a key to his house, and you’d been here a little while longer than he had, hanging with Jake. Martin had been out painting all morning, but his afternoon was clear, and he was back. Paint covered pants and all, one clean white stripe across his left cheek that you couldn’t take your eyes off – and he’d allowed you to put a record on, as celebration of his return, whilst he made himself a coffee. The usual small talk passed between you as you sipped your own drink. You couldn’t help your eyes tracing his body – those damn tight white shirts were about to drive you insane and this one seemed even tighter than usual, allowing you to see the outline of the necklace he always wore but you’d never seen, his hair was still a little mussed from being tousled by the wind, he had a soft smile on his face and his eyes were brightly accented by the sunshine streaming in through the window. Ugh; it was almost painful. Martin turned to you, and your look was inescapable – he titled his head inquisitively, “What?” You blinked slowly, taking another sip, and whether it was the music, or you wanted to confess, or just a mistake, you ended up spilling those words from your lips “I just… I’ve always thought you looked really sexy in those pants - especially with paint all over them, and I mean, oh my god can that shirt get any tighter!?” You weren’t sure if Martin was looking at you like that because it was sinking in, or whether he was making sure you knew what you’d just said. He glanced quickly to his record player, and then smirked; sidling over to you he took one more sip of coffee before setting it down behind you, pushing his body between your legs; “Well, I could always just take it off?” His voice was low, and he placed his hands on your thighs. Blush set in on your cheeks and that immediately had Martin grinning again, his eyes looked between yours, before he leant in to kiss you. You couldn’t help but very nearly throw your drink down, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt to pull him closer. His hands moved from your thighs to your back quickly, and he slid your body over the counter to get your hips against his. You groaned gently into his kiss - despite knowing it was on purpose - and you instinctively ground against him, running your hands into his hair, arms tight around his shoulders, legs winding around his waist. Martin bit your lip; kisses fervent and a little on the rough side, releasing you to trail them down your jawline and neck. That only made you grip him tighter and sigh for every kiss he planted. Your breaths were already shallow and as you inhaled, all you could smell was his skin; clean sweat, fresh wood and paint, the warmth of summer changing into autumn – and as Martin worked his way back to your lips you couldn’t help but smile again at that streak of paint. “What?” You brushed your lips to his, and your fingers over it; “I think you missed a spot.” “There’s paint on my face?” “Mhm.” He grinned, “Well, that can’t be helped. Is it as sexy as the paint on my pants-!?” You laughed, “Why don’t you kiss me again and find out?” “Oh?” Martin wasn’t about to refuse you that and once again those kisses were fiery; and you wondered why the hell you’d never made-out like this before now. He tasted like coffee and chocolate, faint traces of mint lingered – either from brushing his teeth or the gum he kept in his car for ‘emergencies’; you weren’t sure what he meant by that, but you did know that if you ever asked for any the answer was “NO.” This time you nipped his lip, hands wandering under his shirt and up his back, sure he’d said ‘I’ but why couldn’t you take it off? He growled against your kiss, and in response his hands slid up under your skirt. You came to the realisation that your joke about testing the records out was about to become reality, and you suddenly wished you’d said something about how fucking sexy he was in paint flecked overalls a long time ago. There was a small yap from behind you and you broke apart slowly, making Martin sigh and turn around. You had to tilt your body to see Jake sitting a few steps behind you, eyes wide, looking at you both with nothing but love. Martin looked back to you; “Can you believe this-!? I told you!” You giggled, “Okay, I think now I believe you.” Then again you did remember his comment about cockblocking and almost snorted. Martin gave you a short, chaste kiss and left your legs – the absence of his body nearly had you whining. “No, bud, seriously, I love you but not now!” Stepping around him, Martin walked over and opened the back door. “OH! That’s so MEAN!!” “C’mon Jake, get some exercise outside, boy, c’mon!” Jake just stared at him, making you begin cackling again. Martin placed his hands on his hips; “No, seriously, outside! C’mon, c’mere!” He opened the treat box and Jake was immediately on his feet, “Come on-” Martin stepped out and you heard him run off the decking and onto the back lawn, making Jake bark happily and chase him outside, before you heard; “Good boy! Go get it!” Five seconds later Martin was back and had the back door shut and locked, you were still laughing, “You’re so bad-!” “Oh! You think that’s funny-!?” “It kinda is-!” Martin tsked, “Well, if he lets us get away with this, I’m sure he can have as many rewards as he wants.” “Get away with this?” You were still amused as he cupped your face in his hands and kissed you again, harder this time. Your legs pulled him back to you, and your hands were running to his button and zipper rather than bothering with his shirt this time. “You took my offer to test this records out a little too literally, huh, Y/N?” His voice was husky and it drew a shiver delightfully down your spine. “You’re the one who said get away with this.” You smirked, tugging him back to your lips again until you were breathless, his hands back under your skirt and pulling your panties down your legs; “Don’t act like you don’t want it.” “Mmm…” Martin went for your neck again, voice low and growling in your ear once more, “I don’t think you realise how long I’ve wanted it.” That did make you blush, and for a minute you pulled away from him, and suddenly he softened, “…Oh…Oh! I- I’m sorry.” Your mouth was still open a little in shock, and you gasped; “MARTIN! Why didn’t you just say so!!” He laughed, pushing your skirt further up your thighs, and placing your hands back on the opening of his pants you kissed his neck; “Well I just did, didn’t I?!” Martin didn’t have to say more than that for you to shimmy his pants off his hips, as yours hit the floor, before you pulled him closer, hand slipping into his boxers as his tongue slipped back into your mouth. Martin groaned softly as you wrapped your hand around him, moving your fingertips teasingly he released you from his kisses. Hands either side of you he bit his lip, his back bent, body leaning into you – and you didn’t think it fair that your vocalist wasn’t about to be very vocal. You started to pump him, nice and slow, and you got to smirk as you watched the tension through his arms. Martin tried to hide that, lips to your neck again – but his kisses were messy at best, and as your thumb circled the tip he did shudder, and he finally elicited the growl you wanted to hear – reverberating wonderfully against your skin - as his hips jerked against the motion. You couldn’t help your tease of; “Good boy.” and the shot of confidence you felt at the way his cheeks flushed red. You picked up the pace, expertly sliding his boxers down his legs as you did so, giving him a groan of your own. Fuck, was this man built well. You were well aware of the pool of heat now throbbing between your legs – and moaned again as your imagination ran wild. God you wanted him so bad, and Martin needn’t have told you he did – you could see that. His hips jerked again, and this time Martin cursed – and the growl of your name made you grip him a little too hard. “FUCK-! Y/N-!” Both of you shuddered suddenly, and he took to opportunity to gain control again – hands in your hair as his lips caught yours. Tipping your body back meant you had to release him and steady yourself against his counter with a gasp. But he ground his hips into yours, this time deliberately, and it was almost unbearable; the flash of ecstasy making you whimper his name.

This time Martin smirked, he could feel just how wet you were and he didn’t see the point in denying either of you what you wanted the most. Snaking his hand between your bodies he slid one finger tentatively into you, you moaned against his lips again, this time your fingers tangling in his shirt, gripping him so tight he could feel your fingernails digging into his skin. “That’s it, baby…” He murmured, grazing his lips across your cheeks as you buried your face in his chest to suppress your moans – to no avail, of course, and Martin chuckled, because all he wanted was to hear you. You pushed against his body in an attempt to escape his fingers; the pleasure was intense and you didn’t want to climax for him too early; but he’d inserted a second finger and his thumb was now paying close attention to your clit; “Oh-! God. M-Martin-!” He chuckled, “Don’t worry, Y/N, I want you just as bad…” Your hands released the back of his shirt, only to yank him into another hot and heavy kiss by the front of it, less talk more action. Your next sentence was both demanding and breathless; “God, I am begging you! Fuck me to this album on your kitchen counter, or so help me! Martin!” He raised his eyebrows with a smirk, “I thought you’d never ask!” In one quick movement, he withdrew his fingers and pushed into you. You both immediately groaned at the feeling, and your legs latched around him again – you had a feeling you had used the right word; this was about to get very messy, very quickly. Neither of you were going to last very long, but it was gonna feel SO good. Martin kept good pace; fingers gripping your hips so hard you thought he was bound to leave marks, but your body was already singing – and when your lips weren’t locked with his, you were eliciting the most gorgeous little sighs; Martin got to keep all of those to himself. You got to give yourself a little ego boost, thinking of all the girls you’d seen staring at him who wished they’d get anywhere near close to doing this. “AH-!” Your legs tightened around him, moving him closer as every thrust pushed him deeper into you, and he hit your sweet-spot, “Yes-! Martin! Oh! Baby, don’t stop! Please!” He almost told you he had no intention of doing so; opting to nip the top of your ear instead, which sent another shock to your system – senses on overdrive. Your muscles continued to clench around him, and as you got tighter his breaths got shorter; because damn did you feel good. “Y/N-!” he panted it, and more than once – sure, he’d had sex plenty of times before this (and to this album, but not recently!), yet he wasn’t sure the last time it’d felt this good. Not to be so complete with someone – no matter how quick this was going to be. Martin could already feel the beads of sweat gathering on his forehead, and your sighs were getting short and sharp – but he wanted you to finish together. He gathered your hands in his, squeezing tight as he threaded your fingers together. “Martin- I-!” He nodded, because he also knew that much just from the feel of you; “Uh huh-!” And so you came together – and you were right, it was hot and heavy. Your breathing was shallow and you had to fight yourself panting too hard, as your body relaxed. Every point of you feeling that ecstatic high. He pushed his forehead to yours gently, breathing just as hard, and not wanting to lose that contact; his body shook and Martin very nearly laughed, before kissing you again – sweet and gentle. “Y/N… I… Geez, I love you, babe.” You could swear that the fact that you felt tears spiking was to do with your high and not his love confession but who knew, in all honesty. “Oh, oh Martin! Baby, I love you too!” You pulled him back to you, for a kiss even sweeter, before pressing a tender one to his forehead and wrapping your arms around him. “Are you cryin’?” He teased, and you could almost have punched him for it. “NO! I’m happy-!” But Martin laughed, his hands rubbing your back soothingly as you nestled your head into the crook of his neck, regulating your breathing once more. He hummed softly to the record again for a few minutes, as you carded your fingers through his hair sitting there in blissful silence, then grinned; “You know, we still have a whole other album left over there, if you wanna go again…” You snorted, still catching your breath, “Oh god, will you at least give me until the end of this one-!?” Then you sat back, unravelling yourself from him; “…Why waste it all at once?” “I suppose you have a point,” He kissed you again, pulling his coffee back from behind you; surprisingly no one had knocked it and spilled it all over the counter. Martin took a sip and put it down again. “Mhm, warm enough.”  Sliding it away from himself he added, “Well worth wasting a cup of coffee for.” “Gee thank-” You paused and fell silent, catching a glimpse of the back door over his shoulder and instantly freezing. “What?” He half turned, still between your legs; “OH. Shit.” He covered his eyes for a moment – of course, sitting there obediently waiting to be let back in, with his tail wagging, was Jake “You don’t think he…” Martin couldn’t finish the sentence without and embarrassed chuckle, “Oh, okay – I’m not living this down.” “Well he can’t remind you of it – you got that in your favour.” “No, but YOU probably will-!” You held your hands up to protest innocence; “I’m party to it, why would I-!?” He shot you a look, swivelling around and then promptly tripping on his pants, now halfway down his legs. Martin steadied himself and you couldn’t help but giggle, he scowled, bending over to pull then up and you bit your lip through your smirk, unable to resist. “You know, again, maybe you just wear really nice figure hugging jeans but – damn you have a nice ass.”  Then Martin tripped again over his own feet, waiting a few seconds for you to get your giggles out, before turning; “You are privileged to see it-!” “No doubt-!” You grinned, but Martin strode back across his kitchen to you, gathering your panties from the floor as he did so, before giving you another harsh kiss – you groaned again, not quite as down from your high as you thought. His blue eyes were intense, but mischievous as he pulled back, and his smile triumphant; “Thought I could shut you up!” “You should be so lucky to hear my voice!” You gave as good as you got, shimmying your underwear back up your legs. “Ah, now that I do know.” Martin smirked, kissing you once more before stepping away from the counter, “Especially when it’s sighing my name like that.” This time you did blush; “Oh! Shut up and let your poor dog in!” --- Thank you for reading-! 😘💙

[hardforbenhardy]

love at first sight | rogerxfem!reader

summary: roger regrets offering to help out his band mate after waking up with a hangover. though it all washes away when he meets a woman who he thinks may just be the woman of his dreams (i’m awful at summaries i’m so sorry)

warnings: none really, mentions death like the tiniest bit but tbh it's just fluffy

word count: 3.3k

this was one of the first fanfics i ever wrote, and i don’t know it got to this but i’m posting them! i’m always a little nervous to post because i’m afraid people will never read them but oh well, i enjoy writing and i’m kinda proud of them soooo here we go :) i hope you enjoy it

rogers outfit inspiration ^

Rogers POV

Of all the favours I have ever done for John, hauling his children to and from school for the next week may be my least favourite so far. Veronica just having given birth to Laura, and having to look after Michael at the same time all by herself because John had gone on a stag-do holiday (which I, the life of the party, still don't understand why I wasn't invited); I gracefully offered to take Robert, who was now 4 years old, to nursery and pick him up. Robert had said it many times before that I was the best uncle he had, which of course I knew was true; and I can't deny that Robert was my favourite nephew. He listens to me much more than Jimmy or Michael, meaning it is very easy to sway him into becoming the coolest little kid, just after his Uncle Roger. Though, I swear Brian has hardwired his child to be the most boring human ever; all he does is read books and act polite.

Of course, Monday came around quicker than I realised, meaning I had 30 minutes to make myself at least a little bit presentable, for any hot single mums I may run into in the playground of course, before picking Robert from his house. It didn't help at all that I had a tumultuous pounding residing in the back of my head after a night out with Freddie and Brian the night before, and I had woken up to find I wasn't alone in my bed; which was truly expected of myself. The woman, who laid spread across the bed, was snoring lightly as her bare chest rose up and down with every nimble breath she took. I gazed at her up and down, taking in the sight of her flowing blonde hair which was pressed against the material of my silken pillows. Not a bad pull, Rog. Knowing I had to leave in what was now 25 minutes, I grabbed my notebook and pen which I always kept in my bedside table, and quickly scribble a note.

Good shag - call me ;)

Keys under the mat; lock the door behind you babe

I was a little wary to leave this complete stranger in my house and trust her to not steal anything and lock the door behind herself, but I wasn't about to let John and V down because I had a good shag; even though I wanted oh so desperately to maybe go for another round. I paced over to my closet, searching and scanning through the racks and racks of clothes, finally settling on a black and pink striped blazer that I threw on a black shirt and some blue pants. I looked amazing. Ruffling my hands through my hair, I ensured it looked as perfect as it usually did, before rushing down the stairs to save Veronica from the little terror that is Robert.

By the time I had made it to their front door, I could already hear the cries of little Laura and Michael, the shouting of Veronica and the tune of Robert playing his violin. I knocked on the door, in which it immediately swung open revealing the woman who literally looked like she had just given birth again.

“Sorry I took so long V, woke up with a bit of a hangover" – Of course, I was under exaggerating, I could still feel the migraine in the back of my head, and the scratchy sound of the strings on that shitty little violin was not helping.

"Rog, thank you so much for offering to take him – I don't know how I would have coped with all three of them in one morning." She smiled brightly, despite her dishevelled appearance. She moved to the side slightly, allowing me to walk through the door, though I didn't bother removing my shoes as I now knew I had only 10 minutes to drive Robert down the road. She was holding Laura in her arms, rocking her gently back and forth as she attempted to calm her from whatever trouble she was in; Laura was much feistier than the first two, constantly being awake and always crying about something, and it displayed well in Veronica's appearance. "Michael, would you please stop crying! I'll come and change you in a minute!"

"I'd learn to cope – Deacy's been talking of having another!" I chuckled, seeing V roll her eyes and scoff at even the suggestion of having more than 3 children. In her eyes, why would anyone have more than 3? She would never go beyond it. "Fucks sake, of course he is. Robbie, Uncle Rog is waiting – will you please put that blimming thing down and put your shoes on!"

"Robert, come show me your violin – maybe we can start own band!" I shout through, grabbing Robert's attention immediately as he pulls his shoes on extremely quickly and races towards me, wrapping his arms around my tightly as I squat down to his level.

"Unca Wog, you'wl never guess what happened wast night – I was watching TV with mumma, and we had popcorn and bwankets and evewything, and she said I can get my own dwum kit so I can wearn drums just wike you Unca Wog! She said I have to pwove I can wearn how to pway the viowin first (because she thinks I'wl get bored of it but mummy is vewy siwwy to think that!)" Robert exclaimed, whispering the last bit into my ear before giggling slightly, before picking up his backpack and shoving it into my arms. My heart melted a little at the way he was unable to say his l’s so he replaced them all with w’s. I chuckled lightly, ruffling my fingers through his curly, brown hair – which he claimed to be growing out just like his father because, and I quote, 'Daddy has the coolest hair in the world!' – "That sounds absolutely amazing Robbie, we have a mini Roger in our midst!"

"You are still okay to pick him up?" V smiled, now holding Laura over her shoulder and handing over Robert's surprisingly heavy violin case. "Of course – 2 o'clock?"

"Yep, and Robert will show you where to pick him up from. Just let Miss Y/L/N know you'll be picking him up as well for the rest of the week, just so the school knows."

"Miss Y/L/N?" I questioned, the name having such beauty and elegance to it. I thought I may be recognised the name from somewhere, but I couldn't put name to face until I had properly met her for the first time. "Yeah – she's Robert's teacher and supervisor. Oh and Rog, try not to flirt with her"

I nodded my head slightly, taking in her words; does that mean she's good-looking? And now she's 'off bounds'? I drove Robert down to the school, it not being too far away – thankfully, considering we were running slightly late. Robert dragged me over to the classroom door, where I looked through the window to see around 30 young children running around screaming and laughing. How anyone could do this job I had no idea, I could barely handle Robert alone, as much as I loved him. I opened the door, the noise and energy still remaining despite the interruption. I looked to Robert, who hung his bags on the coat rack before joining a group of boys who looked familiar; one had scruffy, blonde hair (although he totally rocked it), one had untamed, curly brown hair, and the other was a young Tanzanian lad who seemed extremely flamboyant and a character in his own right. Then my eyes were drawn directly to who seemed to be the only adult in the room. She was squatting down beside a young girl, plaiting her delicate blonde hair carefully, ensuring she didn't pull too hard and hurt the small girl. The girl was giggling lightly, eyes flicking between the woman and Robert, while the woman wrapping the hair band around the tail of the plait one last time, before rising. She ushered the girl towards the group of boys, who were air playing all kinds of instruments, making up their own tunes and singing. Though my eyes remained solely on the woman now heading towards me, who I could only describe as the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Her long Y/H/C locks were flowing down her back as her brow-grazing fringe shaped her face perfectly; especially since they emphasised her mesmerizing gold-flecked eyes, the type you could stare into for hours on end and never get bored. She had the most gorgeous beam of a smile, which made my stomach drop at the sight. Clothed in a floral yellow summer dress, it perfectly sculpted her curvy body, showing what I would consider too much skin for a nursery teacher – but then again, I certainly wasn't complaining. I was snapped out my trance when she finally reached me, holding out her hand – "You must be the famous Uncle Roger?"

"That's me" I breathily chuckled, rubbing my hand on the nape of my neck, using my other one to shake the woman's hand. I never struggled to speak to women, it was a natural skill of mine and everyone knew it; yet here I was, barely able to look in her direction without feeling overwhelmed. She smiled brightly again, which sent shivers down my spine and butterflies to my stomach. "And you must be the famous Miss Y/L/N"

"Famous, eh? Call me by Y/N – much less formal" She laughed, taking her hand out of mine and tucking them in the pockets of her dress. The dress in which I was desperately trying to pry my eyes away from. "I assume you'll be collecting Robert after school as well?"

"Oh, yeah – for the rest of the week. V said she mentioned it?"

"Oh my, of course! How could I forget – John's away on some stag do right? Well, I'll be looking forward to seeing you again this afternoon, but I should get back to the kids before they end up setting a fire or something!" She giggled, smiling at me before wandering back into the mass of small children, who immediately crowded round at her feet as she sat cross-legged on the plush carpet. I watched them carefully, seeing how she so easily interacted with the children and kept their undivided attention while Robert retold the story he had told me earlier. The children's laughter suffused the room, one child setting off the next like a chain of dominoes. I noticed Robert was sitting next to the small blonde girl, cuddling quite close and his cheeks blushing when she complimented his brightly patterned button-up shirt; a shirt in which he had begged V to buy for him after seeing the same one in my closet.

When the time came around to pick Robert up, a wave of excitement washed over me as I realised I would get the chance to see Y/N again and maybe ask her out. When I arrived, all the other parents had picked up their child already and left, leaving just Robert and the little girl Y/N was plaiting the hair of earlier; though, I was 5 minutes late. I jogged over; worried I was keeping Y/N behind for longer than needed, scooping Robert into my arms as he hugged me tightly. "Hey Unca Wog!"

"Hey Robert – how was school?" I asked, smiling brightly at his adorable antics to immediately come over and hug me. He squealed loudly, a grin spreading across his face as his brain racked to decide what he should tell me about first – "Wewl, Miss Y/L/N told us a stowy, and we did some painting, a-and I wearnt to count awl the way to 20 – I don't even have that many fingers, I had to use my toes!"

“That's amazing! You may have to teach me, I don't think I can get past 10 yet!" I chuckled, seeing Robert cover his mouth in shock and giggle at the idea he knew something I didn't. He zipped open his Flintstones backpack and pulled out a large piece of card, which was when I noticed the remnants of paint that had stained his hands a bit matching the image on the card.

"Miss told us to paint our hewoes – so I painted daddy and the band! Look there is your messy hair, and that's your dwum kit, and that's all the giwrls daddy says you go on pwaydates with!" Robert exclaimed, pointing out each aspect of the painting that I could only describe as... abstract. I grinned at Roberts painting, realising just how much impact we, as a band, had on younger children. Though my eyes widened at the innocence of his last point, feeling slightly embarrassed considering a beautiful woman was standing just behind us. "Oh, and this is Wosanna! She's my best fwiend!"

Robert turned and pointed at the young girl, who was anxiously hiding behind Y/Ns legs, peeking her head around them and letting a shy smile grow on her face. "It's very nice to meet you Rosanna; I'm Roger – Robert's uncle" I politely grinned, holding my hand out to shake hers and hoping not to frighten her away. She bashfully accepted the offer, her petite hand wrapping around two of my fingers and shaking lightly, her cheeks blushing from sheepishness and giggling lowly at the attention.

"Come on Wosanna; wet’s go play on the swings! Uncle Woger, please can we stay a wittle wonger?" Robert begged, pouting his lips and batting his eyelashes in an attempt to sway me, though I just laughed. Rising back onto my feet, I nodded towards Robert, seeing him shoot off over to the swing set with Rosanna hot on his heels, making me laugh breathily at his urgency.

"I believe we have a budding romance in the works" A soft voice behind me bubbled, making me jump slightly, having forgotten Y/N was stood behind me. "Rosanna told me she has a secret crush on Robert, and I promised not to tell anyone but it's just too adorable not to share. I have a feeling that Robert might like her back, but that's for you to find out"

"It is very adorable, I must agree." I chuckled, going to stand next to Y/N and placing my hands into my blazer pockets.

"Have you any of your own?" She asked, nodding over to the two toddlers who were racing after each other around the playground, turning to face me with a gorgeous grin plastered from cheek to cheek on her face.

“No not yet, I guess I haven't found the right woman to settle down with yet, you know." I explained, feeling slightly defeated with the knowledge I had met the right woman, but it had only been a day of knowing her and it seemed a little forward to already ask her to practically marry me; no matter how much I wanted to. "What about you?"

"That little one is mine" she conceded, gently pointing to the blonde girl playing with Robert. My eyes widened at her admittance, not expecting her to have children when she seemed so young.

"Oh really? You look quite young to be the mother of a child that age" I exclaimed, hearing Y/N giggle beside me. "Well, I did have her at quite a young age, I'll admit, but I think we had her at the right time. I'm so lucky to have her"

"We?"

"Me and my husband" She expanded, and I felt my heart drop. She's married. "Well, my then husband." I furrowed my brows, looking at her with a face of confusion as I tried to decipher what she exactly meant - she was divorced? "He passed away a few months before I gave birth to Ro, I never got the chance to tell him the news. But Ro and I have moved on, you know. Or at least I thought she had - she asked me the other day if she'll ever get a daddy like all the girls in the class. I had no idea what to say, I mean I'd love to find someone new, Ben has been gone for years now. But I'm just afraid of finding someone and then having the exact same thing happen. I couldn't bare to go through losing the one person you love most in the world for a second time. And I don't want Ro getting her hopes up in finally getting a father. God, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to start being all sentimental like this, it's just nice to have someone to talk to about it y'know"

"I'm so sorry, no one should have to go through that" I comforted, turning to see a tear or two rolling down her smooth cheeks which she quickly swiped away with the sleeve of her baggy teal sweater she had pulled on over the top of her dress as the day went by. I pulled her in for a consoling hug, rubbing my hand up and down her back to soothe her. She shortly pulled away, not too much further though as I felt head rest on my shoulder. "Rog?"

"Yeah?"

"I know this might seem a bit weird, considering I've only known you for a day, but I was wondering if maybe you'd like you go out for a drink tonight? It's just, like I said, I've wanted to get back on the dating scene for a while and you seem like a genuinely sweet guy and I was just hoping to get to know you a little better, plus Ro seems to really like you, I know she may have seemed nervous but she only does that when she really likes someone and she's afraid they won't like her back, a little like me I guess right now except she's usually a lot more quiet whereas I get very chatty, and I tend to talk a lot, which I know can get a little annoying but I guess it's just a force of habit by now and sorry this is probably really weirding you out, forget I even said anything-"

And with that, I planted my lips urgently against Y/N's, a wave of passion and lust washing over me as I realised the one thing I had wanted all along; she liked me too. As our embrace finally met, I felt the whole world around me fall away. It was slow and gentle, soothing in ways that words could never be. And what was even better was that she didn't hesitate, didn't pull away; she deepened the kiss, placing her little hands on the nape of my neck to pull me in closer. I never knew a kiss could so good, so perfect. The kiss was broken by the cheers of the youngsters from the other side of the playground, the sounds of "Go Uncle Woger!" and "Yay mummy!" ringing in our ears as we broke apart, chuckling softly at the animated reactions.

"I'll see you tonight then?" I breathed, staring deep into her enchanting eyes as she gazed back up at me. She beamed widely, nodding and taking out a small notebook from Rosanna's backpack and jotting down her phone number, before scrunching it up and placing it gently in my hand.

I had heard the saying a million times before. John always said it about Veronica. Brian about Chrissie. And I always thought it was complete and utter bullshit. There was no such thing. But I was proven wrong. I guess it truly is love at first sight.

[ithinkthereforiamfandom]

Extra Quarantine

Here is the first bit of my patreon piece. I’m extending it beyond the original parameters because I’m having fun with it. Whoops, its hella long, im gonna have to try and get a cut in here somewhere. 

His head pulsed gently the throbbing timed to his heart beat, lubdub-throbThrob, John grit his teeth carefully and quietly sat up in bed, it had all been worth it. 

…

A bored genius is a dangerous thing, a bored genius trapped in a London flat during a viral pandemic was about the worst. Evidence of this fact consisted of; a pattern of bullet holes in the wall, it was unbalanced! No remains in the fridge, all experiments concluded when John froze everything because nothing could be returned timeously, and finally said genius, laying his curly head on the couch. Stifled into stillness by the tragic circumstances afflicting him. 

John was still working, but his hours had been drastically cut back so he was home far more frequently than he would have liked. Sherlock was spreading his misery is a quiet but uncontainable kind of way. He carried a blood sample home for the genius, having drawn it himself with a plan to let Sherlock have it and hopefully buy an evening’s peace with his own blood. 

The evenings so far had consisted of concerts on the violin and most recently elaborate french dishes. It had surprised John at first but noise and heavy food every evening was beginning to tax him. He didn’t know what to do, so the blood would occupy Sherlock hopefully for a few hours. 

…

“Here, take this.” Sherlock raised his head and took the warm vial. Blood John’s blood! His ears warmed in shock, John had refused all previous requests. “What’s this for?” “Experiments Sherlock, you’ve been nagging for ages. Do some experiments and I’ll cook. Let’s just have a quiet evening okay?” A deduction flashed across his mind. John didn’t like the playing, and the fancy dinners. Sherlock had played for John every night so far and cooked at the limits of his skills to reward his doctor for the hard work and risk he was enduring. And John didn’t like it. 

…

John watched Sherlock’s face fall and felt like a heel. Sherlock had figured out of course that John was tired of his constant efforts. “Lock, no. I love your playing and your cooking is incredible, I just need some quiet, simplicity, some evenings. Let me cook tonight okay?” A quick hug saw some light back in the pale face and John set off into the kitchen. Toast and eggs was not the most elaborate meal but it was filling and just what the doctor ordered. 

…

The next day on his way home John had been thinking about Sherlock’s efforts so far, it really was above and beyond but at the same time a very Sherlock thing to have done. Bombarding John with everything he liked, made John think… what does Sherlock like. 

The answer was Embarrassingly simple: John. Sherlock liked having him to himself and John felt his cheeks flush at the realisation. Giving Sherlock all his attention was relatively easy and his upcoming time off would be ideal. John’s hours were now 1 week on and 1 week off. But how did he entertain his madman when there was no crime scene visiting, or morgue visiting, or Anything he could do! 

He was deep in thought as he ascended to the flat, the smell of hot oil concerned him until the aromas of paprika and beer confirmed that Sherlock was making fish and chips. The mushy pea recipe that John had used once or twice had been such a hit with Mr I Don’t Eat It Slows Me Down that anything served with the peas was suddenly a very good thing. “John! I’ve made Fish so we need some of your" “Peas, yes Lock. I’ll do peas after I shower.” Sea glass eyes tracked him to the bathroom with a grin and John felt a chuckle bubble out of his throat. That would do. 

…

The next Monday he woke beside dark curls, Sherlock didn’t sleep frequently but could burrow in like a badger when the mood took him. He hadn’t told Sherlock he was off all week and quietly got on with his normal morning prep waiting for the inevitable. “Jaaaawn" a baritone whine escaped the cocoon of bedding. “Yes Sherlock?” “I feel very sick, you have to stay home.” John released the fond sigh he would normally suppress. 

… 

Every few days since the Lock down had started they danced the same dance and Sherlock never won. John would sigh, and pet him, and leave anyway. So when the bed dipped behind him and… Tea, John didn’t smell like tea. He spun around as best he could and there was his doctor, clean shaven, dressed, but no tea. “You’ve not had tea John" “No.” “You always have tea before you go to work.” “Yes.” John’s eyes sparkled at him. “You’re not working.” “No. I have a weekly rota. Wanted to surprise you.”

Sherlock wrapped around John’s smaller frame and hastily recovered him in the duvet lest he escape. It was perfect! A week of John to himself. “I like this surprise John.” Strong arms looped around him and squeezed his ribs, before a sandy grey head settled under his chin. They drifted off back to sleep. 

The week had begun with John’s marvellous surprise and it seemed all of London was feeling agreeable. The sun shone warmer when it was seen on John’s skin and the neighbours were less noisy when he could hear John’s voice. A contraption appeared in their lounge one afternoon. “My old printer from Uni, stopped working. I kept meaning to have it fixed but I suppose it’s a museum piece now.” John was giving it to Sherlock to do with as he pleased! A piece of John’s history. 

…

John grinned as Sherlock set to delightedly deducing his old printer. His love of taffy was evidenced by a few sweet wrappers that had left traces on… hell’s John had no idea but Sherlock was smiling. He left cups of tea to grow cold next to the man and dropped kisses onto his dark hair as the printer came apart piece by piece, spreading across the floor. Reminding himself not to scold John stepped around the mess. 

Hours later a grinning lunatic bopped him on the head with a piece of paper. “It works.” Came a proud announcement. “What?” “Your printer works John, I fixed it.” And true to his word the printer stood on their desk with a small pile of still warm printed pages. “It will be very useful for printing the files Lestrade sends.” John was shocked, quickly returning the kiss Sherlock pressed to his lips. “Necromancy" He stated in awe. “But we can’t print out police files Sherlock. It’s no legal.” 

By way of demonstration Sherlock use the page he was holding to light a fire, the evening was turning cool. “I’ve ordered take away Lock, dimsum should be here soon.” A picnic blanket was soon set before the fire, wine was opened to breathe, and John was happy to let Sherlock estimate the ratio of blonde or grey hairs he had. Dinner arrived in good time and the evening went wonderfully, finishing with a very happy Sherlock dragging John down in front of the fire. “Just lie down a bit.” They woke on the floor the next morning. 

John was nowhere to be found! Sherlock was to have John to himself for a week but their night on the lounge floor ended with him alone. Scanning the kitchen from his spot before the now cold fire place there was no John making breakfast and the bathroom failed to yield a soapy wet John in one of his customary boiling hot showers. A thunk drew Sherlock upstairs to where John stood, very dusty, cursing quietly at a very old tent. 

The fucking thing had tangled itself! It had been packed scrupulously into place and now it was bollocksed! A polite throat clearing told him he was busted. Sherlock had risen early from their cozy nest before the fire and was watching him in that annoyingly studying way. “Stop, “Stop deducing me.” “Of course John.” But the reply was far too knowing. “Go put the kettle on.” “yes John.” 

He watched his partner slip like a shadow down the stairs and hefted the whole disaster into his arms to follow a few minutes later. He could fix this after a cup of tea, he knew he could! 

…

Sherlock set the camping kettle on the hook and stand he’d had next to the fire in case the power went out. John was staring at the camp set up like it had grown two heads and was speaking to him. “The camping rig has been next to the fire since winter started, you see but you do not observe. You want to camp out in the lounge, that’s what your old tent is for.” “Yes.” Sherlock grinned because he’d been bothering John to go camping for ages! For science, naturally but mostly to have John to himself. 

Now they could camp in the lounge and there wouldn’t need to be dreary drives into the country side to shag his partner in a tent… for science. 

… 

His ribs creaked as Sherlock hugged him. John returned the squeeze with a slight chuckle. “I know you wanna shag in a tent LovelyLove. Now we don’t have to wait.” The kiss he got in response curled his toes! “We have a week Lockie, we’re gonna do everything you like. I’ll make sure of it.” 

Sherlock likes coffee for breakfast so John presented him with a brand new bag of dark roast arabica beans. The genius was soon weighing and grinding to his heart’s content sighing in satisfaction as he sipped at his perfectly brewed cup. John had placed a grocery order which arrived a few hours later. 

He was planning to cook for Sherlock that afternoon but the MRE package that Murry had stowed in his old gear as a joke was deemed more interesting than actual food. There was no way it was safe to eat but it was gladly handed over for experiment purposes. The cooking itself surprised John as it turned out that his madman actually enjoyed the chemistry and had taken over. 

…

Sherlock didn’t trust John’s cooking skills. His gun hand, his sutures, and his heart were infallible but the man was a doctor, not a chef. It’s not that John couldn’t cook it’s just not his forte. The army had taught John to cook for a hundred men, returning had taught John to cook on a shoestring budget and sometimes it could be tasted through an entire dish. Sherlock had eased him away from the dinner prep to finish dressing the tent that had eventually been set up after John had expended a few feet of extra space and most of the swear words in his vocabulary… some of them in languages Sherlock only knew by name. The lasagne came together easily, the long process of making bechamel and tomato sauces, the careful construction, it was all relaxing. Sliding it into the oven passed John’s happily sniffing nose was pure satisfaction. 

Tuesday saw the pair in their tent. John’s finishing touches had been lilos, bedding, and a small space heater. Not to be deterred Sherlock’s contribution was revealed as an Actual inflatable mattress, John hadn’t known they possessed such a thing, a very old and clearly sentimental quilt, and every ounce of camping gear London has stocked in the last two years. 

Their arm chairs were replaced with camping chairs but this was very quickly changed back when John pointed out that one camping chair won’t support both of their weights. Sherlock chuckled with John’s throaty laugh as they replaced the arm chairs and put one to good use. 

…

Strangely pleased to be allowed to make the breakfast porridge John stirred the pot over the fire. “No microscopes on camping trips Sherlock, you know you’d never take one into the bush right? Sherlock?!” The Sherlock in question didn’t look up from his microscope. “Of course I would John, plenty of things to examine in nature.” “My blood sample?” “Your blood sample of course. You may become ill with some unrecognized symptoms. I would need to run tests!”

His blood sample had become a bit of an obsession since it was handed over. It was flattering as hell but also kinda creepy. “At least stop for breakfast Love.” The fire burned almost constantly now. Porridge this morning then it would be set up to slowly cook Cod au Vin. They had received a case of wine from a client and finally had occasion to drink it. 

…

Cod au Vin, it was the only dish his father had taught him to cook. Mummy had been vigilant in ensuring both the brothers could cook reasonably well from primary school, when they were both in their early twenties Father had taught him Cod au Vin, it was a Brilliant memory. All three men were huddled in the kitchen for hours. Slicing, browning meat, and drinking almost as much wine as they put in the pot. 

Then Mummy had remarked that at least one of them had been conceived because of it and Sherlock had never made it until tonight. John had relinquished his spot by the fire in the early afternoon and admired the view, Sherlock applied the same focus to dicing onion and browning chicken pieces for John that he did examining John’s blood. A beautiful man in every way by firefight he was breath taking. 

“So I have this dish to thank for your existence right?” Fire lit contrast made Sherlock’s face dark as he turned to the smirking doctor. “That’s the theory Beloved… and I’ll thank you to not repeat it while I’m seducing you with good food by fire light.” “I consider myself seduced my LovelyLove. Please do continue.” John had a fine view of Sherlock’s butt and the breadth of his shoulders, he was thoroughly seduced! It was fantastic! 

Sherlock was delighted, he could feel John’s eyes on his body and felt his face flush over the heat of his gaze. The food would take several hours to cook over a fire and John was being deliciously indulgent. “May I seduce you back?” Sherlock startled having missed John’s approach with his mind in the gutter. “of course" 

...

The room was cold as he towed Sherlock through the door and a quiet gasp released condensation into the air. Their camping set up in the lounge was comfortable but a bit austere This, this was luxury heaped upon itself. John smiled as long fingers flexed and caressed the pulse in his wrist. It was a habit that had developed quickly, a violinist's flexibility allowed his LovelyLove to hold his hand and take his pulse at the same time. 

He had raided his old army locker for every blanket he possessed, even the old furs from his grandmother’s holiday home. Pillows and blankets piled high and looked marvellously inviting in the cold room. Quickly pulling the heating bags he had snuck in earlier John turned from the bed and undressed the most beautiful man alive. Each inch of exposed skin was met with a smile or a tender kiss and he chuckled to himself as he all but poured Sherlock into the bed. “John, John please.” 

…

He needed John Now, the stupid jumper had to go, burrowing under the covers he pulled John with him, the bastard was chuckling having gotten Sherlock so worked up. “I’m coming Lovely, you can have me. Gimme a sec.” There would be so seconds as he pulled and tugged the clothes off his partner. Finally, naked, warm, and wrapped around his Beloved. Sherlock Holmes got Everything he wanted. 

…

“Foods going to burn.” An Incredibly smug voice murmured to his shoulder. John always ended up as the big spoon and Sherlock could never figure out how he did it. “No it won’t, there’s too much wine in the pot.” “It is a nice wine though… Showers first Lovely, come on.” Sherlock was strangely okay with getting up. Thoroughly satisfied, and very much cuddled he felt quite ready to start the evening after a nice hot shower. 

…

John stood by the fire with a naked chicken bone between his fingers. “It just came out.” “It’s Cod au Vin.” Sherlock smirked like that explained everything. The chicken pieces were permitted to fall apart on their plates as a couscous salad and plenty of the pot's other contents joined it. 

John groaned, it was amazing. “I can see how this resulted in kids. It’s fantastic!” Praise always had the same effect on his genius, cheeks flushed and his chin dropped. It was excruciatingly cute. Not wanting to push it, they were neither in their twenties anymore John just smiled and ate. 

…

“You know you’re not gonna be able to tell me food just happens anymore. I know you can cook now.” They were back in their camping bed having agreed to leave the luxurious pile in the bedroom intact for later use. It was actually early Thursday morning already by the time they settled down to sleep. “Yes, I can cook Beloved, doesn’t mean I am going to.” An icy cold hand settled on his belly and he shivered. “Sorry Lovely, Doctor and all.” He didn’t sound sorry at all but John’s arm followed his icy hand and a casual strength pulled Sherlock’s back against a warm chest. “Good Night Lovely.” “Good night John.” 

_______________________________________

Thursday afternoon, John grinned to himself as he quietly got today’s event set up. Their laptops had initially been banned as not camping appropriate but John was busy getting the files set up on his machine. He has requested, not bullied… John did not bully, he had requested cold case files from Greg and after a few days of requesting the good DI had come through. 

The cold cases were not digitised so it took a lot of scanning and sorting to get anything into an email and John knew he was putting a lot on Greg to get it done. Fortunately the lock down had slowed down most crimes and well he owed Greg rounds in the pub until 2022! “What are you up to?” a chocolatey voice asked and John jumped. 

“Just sorting some paperwork Lovely. I know -” “You're the one who banned the laptops John” Elegant fingers wrapped around his computer and lifted it swiftly off his lap. “Here’s your bloody files Watson, you’re getting as bad as he is. Just promise me this will keep himself satisfied for a few more weeks.” Sherlock read under his breath as John’s face pinked. “You got me the cold cases, How?” 

…

John was blushing, he had got Sherlock the cold cases he had been nagging for since the lock down started and was now flushed at having been discovered. “By pointing out to Greg that it would keep you busy but mostly by persistence. I didn’t lope off to pout after the 4th No, or even the 14th. Now Greg has had to scan and sort and email everything… I wanted to surprise you.” 

Sherlock felt his own face heat up. “That’s why you banned the laptops, so I would stop bothering Lestrade and I would not find out what you were up to. John this is amazing! you are fantastic! I can finally fix the stupid mistakes the Yarders have been making!” He pulled John’s laptop into the lounge and settled it on their desk, scrolling with a triumphant laugh through the files that were now his! 

He turned his eyes to his brilliant partner, John leaned against the door frame watching him. It was a proprietary posture but he did not mind at all. He did not mind being John’s to watch and smile at. Another email dinged and he opened the pop up. Emelia Riccoletti and half a dozen dead men, Brilliant! But she was dead before they all died. 

…

John grinned at the frantic clicking from the lounge, he had watched his partner light up at the news of cases to solve and the chance to prove he was indeed smarter than the professionals. He made pasta on the stove for a change, the novelty of cooking over the fire had dulled quickly. 

“She didn’t do it! Not after the first one!” His Sherlock, clearly on a mission, strode into the kitchen still carting his laptop around and nearly destroyed it by putting it down on the stove top. An inarticulate noise of protest redirected the mad man to set it on the counter. “She might have faked her death and killed her husband but the other murders, the other men, they died in their homes or in familiar places. The bride didn’t need to walk through walls if she was already in the house, not the bride but a bride. Any bride could kill now and London has always been full of them. 

John set the meal down on the kitchen table, it would be ignored for a few hours and no doubt moved to the fridge to face the exile of all meals when Sherlock had a case. He finished his own food while Sherlock rambled on and on. He took a minute to just take in the sights. Eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed, body in constant motion. Yes, this was a happy man and John felt proud that he was his. 

_____________________________________

The mad bastard hadn’t slept for the last two days and this was the last day of John’s leave. They had migrated back to their bedroom and John had almost got Sherlock to sleep but there was no winning when the game was on. 

“Come to bed you mad bastard!” John yelled from the blankets but knew the resignation would be clear in his voice. John rolled over to get some rest as Sherlock came in through the door. “John? Why are you sleeping?” “It’s 2am!” Is it?” Yes Lovely, its 2am and I have work tomorrow.” the mattress bounced as Sherlock dove under the covers. “Thank you John, this week has been fantastic.” As he spoke Sherlock’s arms and legs wrapped around the doctor and squeezed. The was an amused huff as John tried to reclaim some lung capacity but there was an octopus in his bed. 

…

Sherlock held onto his Beloved. The week was over! He was tempted to not sleep, if he never slept maybe the morning would not come. It was irrational but at 3am with a snoozing John Watson in his arms anything seemed possible. A warmth seemed to be exuding itself from the sleeping doctor and Sherlock felt his eyes slide shut. 

The next morning Sherlock burrowed stubbornly into the bedding. John had already left for his shift and there was no reason to get up now at all… Apart from all the cold cases he had to solve, and the fact that he needed a shower, and bacon. He could smell bacon. 

…

John grabbed his bag, mask, and mobile. He had left a beautiful man in bed this morning so the day would have to count for something! He grinned all the way to the Tube station, he couldn’t quite stop himself 

He got to work and took a few moments to compose himself but then his phone went off. The picture showed a very happy Sherlock Holmes sitting behind a huge stack of the bacon pancakes John had made that morning. John had slipped out of bed early to prepare the pancakes for breakfast and to make sure the leftover risotto was still okay. 

He had left everything in a low oven to keep warm and left a few notes for Sherlock to find through the day. Breakfast instructions seemed hardly necessary but the “I Love Yous” and “Drink some Tea Lovelylove” post its would be if he wanted to come home to a content and hydrated partner. 

…

 Sherlock heard the street door open and tried to stop himself bounding down the stairs like a puppy. Instead he picked up his violin and started a gentle waltz. He didn’t realise what he was playing until steady warmth on his back started to sing in a low tenor. I know you, that gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam. They swayed together for a while as John hummed and Sherlock played on till. I walked with you once upon a dream. 

“Disney Lovely?” Sherlock smiled and laughed at quizzical blue eyes. “I play plenty of Disney John. You remember that stint we did at the children’s hospital for the Angel of Mercy killer nurse case… well I go back sometimes while you’re at work.” “You play disney for the kids.” “Little people love Disney” Sherlock chirped and moved smoothly to the kitchen before John could process what he had said.

[honeypiehotchner]

Trust -- part twenty-six

Uh oh...here it is. Warning for pissed-the-fuck-off (protective) Sherlock here. This is where you’re all really going to start to hate me. Happy reading! xx.

“Jesus Christ, Sherlock, you can’t just break into my flat!”

           “You weren’t answering,” he replies simply, shrugging his shoulders. He pockets the tool he used to pick your lock, offering a sheepish smile.

           The honest truth is, he’s been terrified. Ever since Mycroft’s phone call three days ago, Sherlock Holmes has been absolutely terrified out of his mind and he has had no idea what to do about it.

           “So, what, you think you can just break in now?” You scoff, tightening the towel around your body. “Well, I’m alive, can you leave now?” This is not exactly how you wanted him to see you in the shower the first time, but here you are.

           “Oh right,” he nods, looking a little guilty as he exits your flat, closing the door behind him.

           You wait by the door, looking up at the ceiling. You sigh loudly.

           “Go away, Sherlock. Don’t make me shoot you.”

           “Okay,” he says quickly, and then you hear him bouncing up the stairs, throwing open the door to his own flat.

           You flick the lock on your door, this time adding the deadbolt with a roll of your eyes. For fuck’s sake.

           You’ve never been more confused by one human being in your entire life. First, Sherlock is fine with getting close to you. You kiss, you sleep next to each other. Then, suddenly he won’t speak to you, look at you, or touch you. And now, for the past few days, he’s been so damn clingy, you think you might pull your hair out.

           After throwing on some clothes, you throw yourself down on your bed, dialing John’s number. And when he doesn’t pick up – you forgot he’s working today – you try Molly.

           “Hey Y/N!”

           “Hi, Molly,” you smile. “What are you doing this afternoon?”

           “Nothing actually…Tom is working all day and I’ve got the day off. What are you up to?”

           A lunch date with Molly is exactly what you need, really. You manage to sneak out of the building without Sherlock knowing – though it does pain you to leave when he’s playing his violin. You love to listen to him play, but you know if you’re going to make this daring escape, you’re going to have to leave when he’s occupied.

           “Taxi!” You hold up your hand, somehow miraculously getting the first one that drives by. That almost never happens to you.

           You slide into backseat, not noticing the guy sitting on the other side until it’s too late. Until the door is locked. Until the realization dawns on you. Until you feel a sharp pain in your neck. Until your vision goes black. Until the cab drives away.

~~~

Sherlock’s phone rings. And if it hadn’t been Molly, he wouldn’t have picked up.

           “Hello?”

           “Sherlock, is Y/N still with you? We were supposed to meet for lunch an hour ago, but she isn’t answering her phone.”

           Sherlock’s eyes widen as he practically skips all of the stairs, landing downstairs rather harshly. He skips picking the lock on your door and instead results in kicking it in – he’ll deal with Ms. Hudson’s threats to make him pay for it later.

           The door falls in to reveal and empty flat. You left a while ago.

           “Molly, don’t worry,” Sherlock tries, but how can he tell her not to worry when he’s even worrying? If Sherlock Holmes, the man who never busies himself with worry, is worrying, then isn’t it something to worry about?

           “Sherlock… What’s going on?”

           “I don’t know,” he answers truthfully. “Go back home, Molly.”

           “I’m at Barts, she was supposed to meet me here—”

           “Good, stay there. Don’t leave.”

           “Sherlock—”

           She doesn’t get another word out before he’s ended the call, flying back up the stairs to grab his coat and his gun. This isn’t a conversation to have over the phone. He needs to speak with his brother in person. But he needs to pick up John first.

~~~

“Uh, John,” Mary pokes her head into the room as usual, only this time something is different. He sees it on her face.

           “What’s wrong?”

           She pushes the door open, Sherlock stepping in.

           John groans loudly. “We have an agreement, Sherlock, don’t come to my work to recruit me for cases—”

           “Y/N is missing,” Sherlock interrupts, affectively shutting him up. “I don’t know how, but I know when. We need to speak to my brother.”

           John doesn’t argue, just grabs his coat and nods to Sherlock. “Let’s go then.”

           Sherlock nods, turning and leaving. John pauses to give Mary a kiss.

           “Are you sure you want to stay here?”

           “One of us has to work,” she reminds him. “But call me the second you know something, alright?”

           “Of course,” he nods, pressing another kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be back.”

           “Be careful!” She calls after him, even though he never is.

~~~

The men at Mycroft’s office always know when his brother is coming to visit because Sherlock always, always causes a commotion.

           He ignores the security guards at the front, telling them they should recognize his face by now and not waste their time in trying to card him – and that they should do better at hiding their obvious affair with one another if they want to stay in their current (separate) marriages. John tries not to laugh at their looks of surprise, even though Sherlock does have a valid point: they should be used to this by now.

           And Mycroft knows when Sherlock is coming to visit because the door to his office opens without a single knock or warning. You do the same, but Sherlock is more aggressive, nearly yanking the door off its hinges every time.

           “Y/N is missing,” Sherlock blurts, trying to gain his brother’s attention.

           But Mycroft barely looks up from his desk. “She took a cab from Baker Street an hour ago. She’s having lunch with Molly Hooper. You must have been a nuance to her again, seeing as she didn’t inform you.”

           “Y/N hasn’t answered her phone in an hour, and she was supposed to meet Molly at Barts, which is barely a five-minute cab ride. If you’d like to enlighten me on her whereabouts, I suggest you do so quickly.”

           Mycroft stops writing then, his eyes lifting to meet his brother’s. There’s a different anger swimming there, an emotion he hasn’t seen in Sherlock in a very long time.

           Mycroft notices John’s equally as hard expression, so he caves. He opens his laptop, moving to find your whereabouts to calm both of the men standing in his office. Mycroft doesn’t want to think the worse – can’t bring himself to because he’s kept a close eye on you. But apparently not close enough.

           “Mycroft,” Sherlock barks. “Where is she?”

           Mycroft doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know. The last record he has of you is getting into the cab. The cab that doesn’t have a tag anywhere on the vehicle. It drives away undetected. It will take hours to search through security footage to find it, if Gidon hasn’t wiped the video, or gone outside of the city – which he most likely has.

           “Oh my God,” John rubs his hands over his face. “Oh my God.”

           “This is your fault,” Sherlock nearly screams, pointing an accusing finger at his brother. “Never let her leave your sight, you told me. You should’ve let me take care of this the moment she was getting curious, but you couldn’t handle it, could you? What does he have on you, big brother? I know it’s not about protecting her because you’ve done an awful job at that, leading her to that drug den and nearly getting her killed—”

           “You knew she was going there?” John yells. “You knew, and you didn’t think I should know?”

           “I kept a close watch on her—”

           “Yeah, well, apparently not close enough,” John snaps. “I’m calling Lestrade.”

           “I’m going to handle it, John—”

           John cuts him off again. “I don’t want you to handle it, alright? You’ve done enough handling it, Mycroft, and it’s gone too far now. You can’t fix it this time, and frankly, I don’t want you to try.”

           John steps out to make the call, giving Sherlock a moment alone with his big brother.

           “Where has he been hiding?” Sherlock demands. “I want everything you’ve been holding back from me.”

           “Sherlock—”

           “Now.”

           Mycroft sighs, turning to walk over to his filing cabinet. Sherlock watches as his brother opens the locked drawer, pulling out three files, all filled to their maximum capacity.

           He pushes the drawer closed with his arm, holding the folders out to Sherlock. “This is everything.”

           Sherlock grabs the files, ready to rip them out of his hands, but Mycroft keeps his firm grip on them. The younger looks at the older with a glare that is lethal.

           “You’ve gotten attached, Sherlock,” Mycroft’s tone is warning. “You’re too involved.”

           “Shut up.”

           “You know what I have always told you,” Mycroft gives his brother an even look. “Caring is not an advantage. Don’t let it disadvantage you.”

           “Because that worked for you,” Sherlock mutters, ripping the files from his brother’s grip.

           Mycroft watches his brother leave, sighing loudly as the door slams on its way out. And even though Sherlock doesn’t want his help, he still opens his laptop, beginning the search for you.

[bibliothesoph]

Neverland, A Parcel of Truths (part 9)

Simon wakes up alone. He can't stop grinning about last night and how he and Baz kissed for so long. How good it felt to kiss Baz. How good anything feels when Baz is there. He wonders, briefly, if he's a fool for falling for Baz so quickly. After all, he's really only known him a day, but he knows that there's more to it. He's known Baz for years, in a way. All those nights of stories and crying and fighting and Simon heard all of it. He knows that Baz likes to play to violin when he's upset or feeling emotional about something. That Baz has a little sister who he would go to the ends of the earth for. That Baz loves a story. That he wants to be saved.

Is Simon saving him? He certainly hopes so.

But now Baz isn't here and Simon is alone again. He hates being alone. Back in London, he was always so fucking alone. All of the time. It didn't matter if there were people around because it was the kind of loneliness that ate him away from the inside. The kind that filled him up until there was no room for anything else.  It nearly killed him. It was why he had to get away––why he spent all those nights in Hyde Park. If he was always going to feel alone, no matter what, he thought it would be better for him to just be alone.

But then Penny found him and he wasn't lonely anymore, even when she was there. She listened to him. She cared. She was there for him when the rest of the world turned its back on him.

So he gets up to find her. If he can't be with Baz now, at least he can be with Penny. She'll know what to do about Baz, he figures. He decides he won't tell her that they kissed (even though that violates their no secrets pact they made ages ago) but he'll see if she knows where Baz has gone off to. If she doesn't have a clue, which he feels is probably impossible, he can at least fill her in on all of the Humdrum nonsense from the day before. Maybe he'll tell her what Baz said, about them looking alike. She'll probably get a kick out of that.

He finds her upstairs. That's where her little apartment is. He still isn't entirely sure what moved her to leave the rest of the fairies behind and live with him, but he doesn't ask anymore. He tried, once, and she got all upset about it. Turned red, even. So he doesn't push her. If she wants to elaborate, he'll be there to listen.

"Hey, Pen," he says, entering the room.

She's making him tea, it seems. She never makes it for herself. She tried it once and the caffeine and sugar made her go mental for a few hours. She hasn't tried it since.

She smiles at him and flutters over, getting right up in his face. "Where were you yesterday?"

"Yesterday?" Simon asks, the word feeling foreign on his tongue. "There is no yesterday. Just what was and what is and what might be." It's a bit of a game they play––joking around about the concept of time in Neverland. It hurts his stomach if he thinks about time too much, and Penny knows this. That's why she plays along.

She glares at him.

Well, usually plays along.

He groans. "Come on, Pen. I was showing Baz around."

She huffs and rolls her eyes. The kettle whistles (Simon remembers bringing that kettle back. It caused a lot of drag) and Penny hurries over to the fire to move it. She's pretty strong for such a tiny thing.

"Fairies are like ants, Simon," she'd told him once when he asked how such a small creature could lift such heavy things. "We can carry things way over our body weight. Only, with fairies, it's because of magic, not science."

"How do the ants use the science?" he had asked. Because he was a moron.

"You got yourself into trouble again, didn't you?"

Simon takes a seat at the table and watches as Penny pours him a cup of tea. The tea cups, thankfully, were not brought from the mainland. Simon had found them on the shoreline one day, where all of the Lost Things are brought in by the tide. He isn't sure how it works, but he loves it. The magic of it. He's gotten quite a few things from that shore. He thinks he should return the items to their proper owners, but that could take years and the owners might not even be alive anymore. He feels bad, sometimes, for using things that people in London held dear, but if they really loved them, surely they wouldn't have lost them in the first place.

"Aren't I always getting myself into trouble? Anyway, it doesn't matter. Tribespeople held a big feast for me in the end."

Penny doesn't look impressed. "And where is your guest? Basilton?"

"He goes by Baz, actually," Simon says, blowing on his tea.

Penny just glares at him and sits on top of the wooden bowl of apples. "Did you return him to London?"

"No. I like having him here. He's gonna stay forever, yeah?"

Penny sighs and takes off her glasses. She flies over to Simon and uses the fabric of his boxers to clean the glass. "Simon," she says, sitting back down on an apple, pressing her glasses up against her nose, "you know that's not true."

He laughs at her. "'Course it is. He likes me and he likes it here. Why wouldn't he stay?"

"Because he has a family, Simon. He has a family and a life in London."

Simon hasn't really thought about this yet. He'd assumed that Baz would stay with him forever because he was the one who had decided to come. He'd packed a bag, for fuck's sake. "He said he wanted to be saved," Simon argues. "And I saved him by bringing him here. He doesn't want to grow up."

Penny just looks at him like he's pathetic. He certainly feels pathetic now, anyway. But then he remembers that Penny doesn't know the whole story. She doesn't know that Baz kissed him back, then kissed him again. She doesn't know how they feel about each other. How Baz likes Simon for the person he actually is and not just the story of his adventures.

"He'll stay," he says, getting up from the table. "You're just...you're just jealous of me spendin' time with him!"

He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, but he can't stop the rest from spewing out.

"You're jealous that he's my friend and that he went on adventures with me yesterday! And you hate the fact that I love him and that he wants to stay here forever because then you won't have me all to yourself. You won't be...you won't be able to control me anymore when he stays!"

He wants to throw up. He wants to get on his knees and tell her that he's sorry, but it's too late, now. There's nothing he can do to take any of it back.

She stands up and brushes invisible crumbs off her dress. "I've never controlled you, Simon. I've protected you. Since the first moment I felt your pain, all I've done is bloody protect you!" She's turning red, now, and Simon is terrified but he also knows that he deserves it.

He hangs his head and lets her carry on. They'll be fine after this, he figures. She can yell at him and then they can laugh at this silly little game they're playing. But there are tears in her eyes and they turn to steam as soon as they hit her cheeks.

"But, you know what? If you're so sure that Basilton will stay forever, then what do you need me for? If he can protect you, what good am I?" She flies off into her apartment for a minute or two and returns with a big stack of papers bound together in string that Simon has never seen before. She drops it on the table and it lands with a thud. "So here you are, Simon. Here is every bloody thing I've protected you from."

With one last glare, she flies out of the room.

Simon doesn't move. He doesn't say anything. He just stares at the papers and lets the tears fall from his eyes. This feeling, guilt, is so strange for him. It's a feeling he hasn't felt as Simon Snow, only as Simon Salisbury. He doesn't remember it too well. He remembers feeling it for his mother because he was so convinced that he was the one that killed her. It's what is father always told him. It was why his father hated him with everything in him.

Guilt.

He rubs his arm under his running nose and sits down again. He wipes the tears off his face with the back of his hand and carefully unties the string around the papers.

The first paper is, he realizes after a moment, is his birth registration certificate. He's never seen it before, but the information is how he remembers it. He sets it aside and sees an old newspaper, one from a few years after he went to Neverland.

Murderer Found!

He skims over the page to see what importance this document has to him. When he sees it, his heart stops beating. His breath pauses. His knuckles turn to fists.

David Salisbury of London, formerly of Wales, was recently put on trial and later confessed to the murder of his wife, Lucy Salisbury in 1888. The case of her death has been a subject of interest to her mother, the great Lady Salisbury, for the past seventeen years. As such, the police are treating it as an act of Treason due to the nobility of the esteemed family. David is to be hanged and quartered for his––

Simon stops reading after that.

All this time, he thought that he had killed his mother. His father told him that he was the reason she was dead. It ate him alive, thinking that he had unknowingly killed his mother. It had torn him apart from the inside out for all his life. But knowing that his father, a murderer, was the one who killed her instead starts a fire in him that he doesn't like. It makes him angry. Angrier than he's ever been. It comes rushing into him, then, that Penny knew what Simon could become the whole time. That she loved him despite this information. It makes a certain sort of sense to him, then. It explains his hunger. His need for adrenaline. In a way, he supposes that he's a junkie in need of a fix, just like his father. He tries to reason with himself and say that it's okay because at least he uses his sword to help people, but now he doesn't know if that's true. He's slain werewolves. Pirates. All sorts of creatures.

He shoves the newspaper aside and looks at the next page. It's a calendar with everyday marked with an X except for one, which is circled.

January 21, 2020.

[i-love-charles]

Five Finger Fillet III

Chapter 3/3

Part 1 + 2 [in case you haven’t read them]

Notes: Javier Escuella + Female Reader, Smut, Blowjob, Fingering, Bill Williamson, Romance, Conclusion, Extreme Fluff

Wordcount: 2,776

[this was a lot longer than I thought it would be]

You awoke bright and early, amber beams of the sun slipping past the flapping entrance of your tent. Stepping out of the small confines you notice the campfire has puts itself out sometime in the night, leaving only the ashy logs and the smell of old burnt firewood behind in its absence. Javier was still presumably asleep in his own tent respectively, a quiet hum leaving its walls every few minutes coupled by the rustling of his body against his thin sleeping bag. The events of the night before were still swilling around in your sleepy head, but despite the gunshots and the argument, all you could think about was his raspy confession.  

“I've wanted to kiss you for the longest time, amorcito.” It was like honey to your ears, the sweetest lullaby you’d ever heard. A single violin in a choir of obnoxious tenor drums and cymbals. You had to admit, you’d thought about his voice coated in lust as you lay in your tent with your hands gripping at the constraints of your underclothes, quiet whispers of his name slipping past your lips as he lay only a few feet away in his own tent – but this only added to your excitement. 

You spend the mornings last moments alone by lighting a fire and warming up a tin of bland kidney beans above its flames. Quickly you are interrupted by the man emerging from the tent flaps, his hair a tussled mess and freshly wounded knuckles wrapped inside a makeshift cotton bandage – his broad chest and muscular thighs were still coated under his clothes from the night before, small spatters of stranger's blood included. The atmosphere was nothing short of awkward and uncomfortable, you could cut the tension with a blunt butter knife. He made his way to the saddle draped tightly over Boaz, searching aimlessly through the satchel. You assumed he was searching for some food, knowing full well your horse had each of your provisions stored, and he was probably feeling too guilty for his cutting words the night before to ask for some. You weren’t letting him get his way that easily, he owed you an apology, at least. Finally, he gave in, and pressed his back against a nearby tree in defeat.  

“I'm real sorry for the way I acted yesterday, ___” His eyes looked guiltily down at the dirt beneath his heavy boots, sifting his heel through the grainy roots and twigs that lay below. “...and for blaming you.” His words left an ache in your chest, the slight shake of his voice only adding to the purity in the confession that spilled from his soft lips. You tried to interrupt by lifting yourself to your feet and meeting him at the willows winding base, seeing Javier in emotional despair made you feel like a monster, but he lifted his palm up calmly to signal for you to listen. “Por favor, just listen. I’ve had feelings for you for a very long time, I think what I said yesterday only proved that even more, amorcito...but I've seen what happens to love in our lifestyle.” His words left you speechless, unable to do anything but listen to his heartfelt disclosure. “Annabelle: dead, Molly: heartbroken, Abigail and John – I left my home because of a woman, mi amor. I'm a hot-head, everyone knows that, wouldn’t be in this mess if I wasn’t – but I was taught better than to raise by voice at a woman that mirrors my affection.” Javier's sorrowful brown eyes came up to meet your own which were presumably mirroring you shear confusion and unmistakable passion for this man. He let out a steady breath before continuing. “If I act on how I feel about you then I'm scared we might just fall victim to our life choices...” By now his usually stern and harsh expression was pure vulnerability and love “...but I'll never forgive myself if I don't at least try.” He slight smile lifted at the corners of his lips, and before long they were hungrily pressed against your own. 

The kiss became feverish in the wake of his passionate confession of his love for you. The air was still uncomfortably thick, as it had been before, but no knife could cut the passion and lust that surrounded you both under the whimsical leaves of the tree towering above. His fingers ran hurriedly across your delicate dress, meeting at the lace that held your thick corset together – his fingers worked to unravel the flimsy strands like guitar strings, unravelling them methodically and expertly. Before long your heavy needy breasts were set loose in the absence of your corset and the simple cotton shirt underneath, the bitter yet humid air from Lemoyne’s breeze washing against your sensitive nipples: they stood to attention immediately. Javier broke away from the meeting of your lips and took a step back, his eyes fixed on your exposed chest in admiration at the sight before him, a quiet and constrained ‘mierda’ slipped from his pouting lips. His reaction to your bare breasts caused a ripple of goosebumps to form on your skin and immediately a pool of heat and dampness began to form rapidly in your clothed and constrained centre. A thumb came up to graze agonisingly slow against one of your nipples, and you let out a raspy moan in response that echoed throughout the woods around you.  

His expert tongue gave a few more agonisingly beautiful licks and kisses at your sensitive nipples before he began to tear impatiently at the long skirt around your waist. In a swift tug at the button that embellished its waistband the skirt, along with your white cottoned bloomers, fell in a distressed pool at your ankles.

The button had flung off at the force of Javier's pull and low lay discarded among the rustling leaves decorating the forests ground; but you were both too desperate to care. Your body bare in front of you man's watchful gaze, apart from a pair of light-weight leather boots strapped to your ankles. You couldn’t break his gaze, feeling distantly intimidated and vulnerable as you stood practically naked in front of a fully clothed Javier. The thought brought your hands almost desperately to Javier’s denim waistcoat so you wouldn’t feel so alone, he rejected your advances with a silent shake of his head before sighing a simple ‘Let me look at you, bella.’ His words were laced with thick eroticism and your knees shook with anticipation at his thoughts, what was he thinking? Did he like what he saw, maybe he was just being polite. I mean, Javier was a lady's man, he’d probably seen figures better than yours ten times ov-  

Your fanatical thoughts were interrupted by Javier's sudden attack against your lips, hungry and wanting with desire. He backed you up against the tree stump, the harsh prickles from the bark against your skin were the least of your concerns, though. One of his rough hands came up to clasp behind your neck, pulling you closer, the other rest only inches away from your swollen pussy. The delicate pads of his fingers came to a halt up against the smooth and soaked skin of your sensitive lips, stroking against them methodically in slow paths; each time the tips of his fingers would travel furthest north they would brush up agonisingly slow against your clit – every touch would elicit a breathless and desperate moan against where your lips met. 

“Javier...oh, god...” You moaned into the kiss. 

His scholarly assault against your pussy had a familiar ball of pleasure building in your core, and with the reactions he was gaining from you, he knew it too. You clasped around his wrist to signal for him to slow down, but the result was quite the opposite. His tongue began to move feverishly against your own, two of his fingers mirroring the assault by darting at a delicious pace inside the tight hole that begged for his attention whilst his thumb continued to work in circles at your tiny sensitive clit. The intensity between your legs set the pleasure building ablaze and to stifle your cries amongst your orgasm you pressed your face into the crook of his neck, sucking and licking at the tanned skin that pressed against your lips. In the midst of your climax you struggled to keep yourself propped up, but with the help of the thick tree behind you and one arm around Javier's neck, you managed. The orgasm that this man tore from you had your mind foggy with lust; this was so much better than the dirty dreams you’d had about him. His talented fingers emitted a crude noise from your soaked and sensitive pussy; this would usually have you practically melting with embarrassment, but in the comedown of possibly the best orgasm of your life; you didn’t give a damn – not even when he slowly pulled his fingers out and you noticed them completely coated in your arousal – or when he’d lifted his fingers to his mouth and sucked away slowly at your taste.  

His eyes fluttered closed and a whisper escaped his mouth in the absence of his fingers. “You taste so fucking g-” 

“Escuella!” An irritated, and familiar, shout sounded from the path hidden by the trees, thankfully the tree trunk behind you hid both your naked body and your presence. “Greaser! Where the fuck have ya’- there ya’ are!” You heard a horse's hoofs come to a skidding halt in the dirt a few meters from you, accompanied by the thud of boots meeting the ground. Javier’s face dropped with annoyance at the interruption, you stayed hidden behind the tree, hoping your unexpected visitor wouldn’t come any closer and become aware of the situation he’s walked into. 

“What’ya want, Bill?” Javier sighed, his waist down was covered by the shrubbery that guarded the tree, only his chest and face visible from Bill’s direction. Still in the afterglow of your previous orgasm, you sank down to your knees, now face to face with Javier's covered, still hard, cock.

You just couldn’t resist. A hand daringly came up to work at the buttons of his trousers, slowly and delicately working to release Javier from his confines whilst still remaining anonymous to Bill. His breath hitched in his throat at your actions, a simple choke of air leaving his throat when your soft feminine hands came up to rest around the base of his thick cock. It was even more impressive than you’d imagined, you knew he’d be thick, but you didn’t think he’d be hung like a horse as well.  The sight had your pussy greedy again. You made an effort towards keeping the movements soft and tantalising, not wanting to break your cover. Your other hand came up to massage gently at the balls that hung down before you, even licking and sucking at the skin there every so often. When you felt he’d been teased enough you took him fully in your mouth, pushing him to the back of your throat and stifling back a slight gag while your tongue dragged along the veins that painted a beautiful purple pattern among the underside. Poor Javier tried his very best to remain casual in his demeanour with Bill.  

“I don’t want nothin’. Ya’ didn’t get back last night.” Bill paused for a second in confusion. “Were you talkin’ to that fuckin’ tree, Escuella?”  

“I w-was takin’ a p-piss, idiota.” You tried your very best not to muffle a giggle against his cock. Poor Bill – he had no idea. 

“Look, just get back to camp, Dutch sent me looking for you and ___.” Bill responded nonchalantly. “Where even is ____?”  

“A-” A particularly tactful nudge of his cock at the back of your throat caught his attention and his voice began to shake and stutter slightly in response to the pleasure. “Asleep.”  

Bill’s eyes wandered down to the ground surrounding the fire, his gaze landed upon the familiar fabric of your skirt along with a pair of women's bloomers that’d been discarded in a careless pile upon the forest’s foliage. A heavy chuckle vibrated out from his chest and he knowingly turned at his heels, he mounted Brown Jack and nudged at the horse's side to signal for him to ride away.  

“Sure she is!” Bill shouted back; his voice still shaky from the chuckle he was clearly trying to suppress.  

Javier watched tensely as the cowboy rode away through the trees, and soon his gaze tore back to stare down at you upon your knees for him – his eyes were swimming with lust and frenzied with need. The need to get off, to see you, to fuck you – it didn’t matter – and now that Bill was out of the way, you took the opportunity to show your appreciation in full swing.  

Your soft hands worked tactfully at his balls, along with the base of his cock and the length you couldn’t fit into your mouth; you’d gotten used to the gagging, and the ache in your jaw was the least of your concern. You could feel his twitching against your lips, he was definitely close, and you just wanted to taste him, to see him come undone completely for you, your eyes only. His breaths became hitched at the vibrations of your moans against his length, his own moans getting trapped in his lungs.  

“Por favor, bebé. Por favor.” His hand rest against the back of your head, keeping you gently in place with your lips surrounding him. His other arm with its elbow perched against the tree and his palm bunched into a fist, he bit down at his bandaged knuckles, clearly too turned on to notice the pain, and under his breath he spoke sentences in his native tongue, most you could not understand, but they sounded a lot like pleas in the throes of pleasure. One sentence he uttered that you definitely could understand was “I’m cumming” but by that point his was already spilling down your throat, the spurts of his warm cum that did make their way to your taste buds were warm and salty, but still somehow tasted delicious. His legs became uneasy and you watched mesmerised at the man you’d been fawning over completely losing himself in bliss because of you - a chain of curses, many in Spanish, left his mouth, accompanied by his honey-covered callings of your name. 

You kept your mouth at a steady rhythm whilst he rode out the comedown of his orgasm, small droplets of his warm cum still leaking out into your mouth. You brought your eyes to stare up and meet his, which were closed as his face scrunched slightly in the afterglow, a thin sheen of sweat that shone against the morning sun coated his exposed skin – he looked godly.  

He left your mouth with a satisfying pop and you licked a final stripe across the tip of his cock, catching any remaining cum on your tongue: wasting any would surely be a crime. The man before you joined you at the base of the tree upon the dry green grass, he spare hand reached across you to grab one of your discarded items; and picking up your long skirt he places it over your exposed breasts and torso, the simple yet adoring gesture sending a flutter through your exhausted body. 

Before settling down with him against the tree you lifted yourself slowly to your shaking feet and made your way daintily to the fire while Javier tucked himself back into his trousers and wiped away at his brow - the can of kidney beans still slowly boiling on the impromptu grill above the flames. You picked up the can with the end of your skirt, avoiding the scolding metal, and peeled back the tin’s cover. 

You both rest with your backs against the base of the tree, his arm slung across your shoulders and your head rest between the crook of his neck. Sharing the kidney beans between you both, bland as ever, but not even they can ruin the bliss – you'll just eat Pearson’s stew when you return. You both knew that your presence was needed back at camp, but you neither of you wanted this moment to end. The confessions, the intimacy, everything just felt too good to be true – like you’d wake up any minute back in camp with a pile of laundry for your chores. No words were said because none needed to be, you both knew exactly what the other was thinking: relief, adoration, exhaustion, satisfaction...love?  

Definitely love. 

[nmberfive]

words we can’t take back

read on ao3 || idea creds to @didon || read part 2 || reblog for tag list

@ravenclawfairchild

1.

The first time someone tells Vanya she should be dead, she is 16. Ben’s funeral is a mere three hours away, and she figures she should talk to Klaus. He’d been closest with Ben, after all, the two seemingly inseparable. Without Ben, she knew Klaus must feel alone, unimaginably so. And, well, feeling alone was something that Vanya had a bucketload of experience with.

He’s high when she approaches him. She can smell the weed radiating off of him, and his big eyes are wide and unfocused. She’s seen him like this before, sure. She can’t remember a time when she hasn’t seen him like this, not since they were kids. But something about this feels different, feels like it’s more. Then again, so does everything. Still, she comes closer, kneeling in front of him, doing her best not to flinch when his wide, angry eyes focus on her.

She opens her mouth to say- well, what she intends on saying, she isn’t sure- but is cut off by his slurred voice, low and broken. “Why are you here?”

“I just wanted to-” she begins, face flushing, cursing herself in her head. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She is so not what he needs right now.

He interrupts her once more, shaking his head, gesturing around with his pale, slender fingers. “No, no. Why are you here?” He’s gesturing around them, at her, at the house, and she doesn’t understand. “Why are you here when he isn’t?”

Her eyes widen and oh, she gets it now.

He doesn’t stop, his voice distant and rough, an angry hiss. “Why are you alive? You don’t- you don’t deserve to live. Not like he did. You’re- you’re just ordinary. He was special.”

She steps back, vision blurring with wet tears she can’t manage to hold back. She knows he doesn’t mean it, or rather, he doesn’t mean to say it aloud. She’s thought it before, and it comes as no shock to her that he has as well, but it still stings to hear him say it.

So she doesn’t turn back when he calls her name, voice apologetic, not when she hears him muttering and cursing under his breath. Not even when she hears a muffled, “I know, god, just shut up.” that she will later wonder after, when her tired mind allows herself to think of the occasion, emotions numbed with the pill that is so good at shutting out her pain.

2.

The second time is about an hour after the first. Vanya’s been crying for about an hour when Luther finds her, his face tight with disapproval and pent-up anger that he’s never been good at concealing.

“Why are you crying?” He bites out, voice mocking and angry.

She looks up, glassy eyes wide and confused. “He was my-”

“Oh don’t give me that bullshit. He wasn’t your brother. You didn’t know him. He was my brother, and I lost him. God, I wish he was here.”

“Me too,” Vanya says, her voice small and hurt.

“No, no, you don’t get it. I wish he was here instead of you.”

This time, when she stumbles away, there’s no attempts to stop her, no regret in her brother’s voice. There’s just silence, a cold, angry silence that envelops her.

3.

The next time she’s told she won’t be missed, it’s less spoken out loud than it is implied. She’s standing at Ben’s grave almost a week after the funeral, eyes downcast, shoulders shaking as she struggles to hold back silent tears. She doesn’t realize she isn’t alone until she feels a comforting hand on her shoulder, a gesture she is unused to. When she whirls around, surprised, she meets her father’s surprised gaze.

“Oh. I thought you were your brother for a moment, Seven.” Which brother he is referring to, she isn’t sure. She’s not sure it matters either. It certainly doesn’t matter as much as what she knows he means- that he wouldn’t have reached out, wouldn’t have comforted her if he’d known who she was.

“Why are you here, anyways?” She winces, thinking briefly of Klaus.

“I miss him,” she answers, her voice trembling.

He nods, face impassive, but she knows what he’s thinking. You don’t deserve to miss him. You don’t get to miss him. He should be here in your place. Her jaw squares, and she turns away, heading back inside, muttering something about wanting to get out of the rain as she goes.

4.

It’s when she’s leaving that she hears it again, that sentiment that she’s tried so hard to forget. This time it’s from Allison, which she supposes shouldn’t surprise her as much as it does (they’ve all thought it, she knows they have, of course Allison doesn’t actually like her) but Allison’s always been kinder than the others, and she’d fooled herself, just a bit, into thinking her kindness hadn’t been a trick.

Maybe if she’d been less foolish, the blow wouldn’t have felt quite so low.

She’s said her strained goodbyes to each of them, and is almost out the door when she hears Allison call her name. She turns around, suitcase quietly hitting her leg as she does so, and faces her sister as she descends the stairs, face filled with a quiet anger that only she had ever been able to possess. The rest of them had always been loud with their anger, with everything. Vanya had learned to quiet herself over the years, but it took time and help from the pills she’d come to rely so heavily upon. And her quiet did nothing but shove her further into the shadows, nothing but make her even more invisible to her family than she’d been before. Allison’s quiet was different, containing a sort of power that the others’s noise could only begin to capture.

“Vanya,” Allison repeated, her features tight. “You’re leaving?”

She raised her eyebrows, surprised. Allison had known she was leaving, had already said goodbye. She wasn’t sure how to respond, wasn’t sure if Allison meant more than she was letting on, more than Vanya understood. She nodded, shrugging helplessly. “I have to get out.”

Allison rolled her eyes. “You have to get out? Do you have any idea what the rest of us have been through, while you were here playing your stupid violin? Do you have any idea what we’ve lost?”

“Ben was my brother too, Allison.” Her voice is quiet, but she thinks maybe she’s captured a fraction of her sister’s sort of quiet, because in the large space, the words seem to bounce around, feeling louder than anything she’s said before.

“Was he? If he was your brother, Vanya, really your brother, you’d know him. You’d know he wouldn’t want you to leave. You’d know he wouldn’t have left us, because he knew better than to abandon his family.”

The words cut at her, but she forces herself to keep her chin high. She will not let her last memory of her childhood home be one of her cowering to her sister. “I’m not him, Allison, I never will be!”

Allison frowns. “Unfortunately.”

She flinches, and turns on her heel, pushing the door open. She doesn’t let herself look back. She doesn’t need to, anyway. Allison’s disapproving face is still burned in her mind.

Later, Allison calls her house. She doesn’t pick up, doesn’t let herself give in, but she listens to the message, a seemingly endless monologue of I’m sorry’s and I love you’s that she will spend the next year attempting to believe.

5.

She doesn’t hear from any of them after that, with the exception of a few calls from Allison that take all of her effort to answer, and never last more than ten minutes.

And then she writes her book, and everything changes.

The calls from Allison are less frequent now, and when they do speak, her voice is clipped and lacks its usual politeness. She receives calls from each of her siblings, each sibling somewhere in between anger and betrayal that she doesn’t know how to respond to.

Diego calls last, not bothering to conceal his anger when she picks up. “Vanya.”

“Diego?”

“Why the fuck did you write that?”

“I-”

“No, I’m not done, Vanya. Why the fuck would you do that to us? Wh- what gives you the fu-fu-fu- shit.”

She can picture him then, standing over the phone, shaking. She hadn’t heard his stutter come out in years, and it surprised her enough that she kept quiet.

When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and controlled, more deliberate than she’d ever heard him. “What gives you the right, Vanya? You didn’t- you weren’t like us, how dare you pretend you get it?”

“I wasn’t pretending anything, Diego,” she exclaims, no longer able to keep herself quiet. “I never once said I got it. What we went through- what he did to us- it was different, you know it was. I never pretended otherwise.”

“You did, though. You pretended you deserved more than us- more than Ben. That’s why you left, isn’t it? Because you aren’t one of Reginald Hargreeve’s freaky wonder kids? You’re just Vanya. You left us all with him, after everything he put us through, and then you started a normal life. None of us could ever do that, not after what he did to us. And your book? The one you wrote so that everyone could fucking pity you? It made it so much harder for us. You know, Ben would’ve never-”

He goes silent. Vanya slams the phone down, shaking, and glances around the room. She glides toward her violin, like a magnet drawn to a magnet, taking it out of its case gently, gazing at it with eyes full of all the love that had never been bestowed upon her, hands slowly stopping their trembling as she begins to play.

[thedyingmoon]

🖤 I See My Future Before Me 🖤

~ A V X Reader set in an Alternate Universe wherein you and Griffon take the center stage! 👍👍👌

~ Now tagging my Sweet Peas, @heaven-on-a-landslide , @lessy86 , @gxthghoulfriend , @simmy-ships , @ehrzeth , @diabeticsugarush , @ceruleanworld , and @boundbysoul . 🖤

~ This chapter is for you, @krazy06 ! Thanks for giving me endless Griffon ideas ( albeit unintentional 😂😂😂 )! 🖤

~ Alright? LET'S DO THIS !

***

XV

***

A few hours prior.

***

"I' am the villain of your story,... "

"Useless,... "

"Imbecile,... "

"Please, find him and save him before it's too late!"

"VERGIL! WHERE ARE YOU?! VERGIL!"

"I' am so sorry, my dear,... "

"Fulfill my wish, I beg you,... "

"SWEET PEA!"

You jolted wide awake as you felt a weak electric current run through every nerve of your body.

"Oh, I'm glad you're still alive!" You heard the Demonic bird as you opened your eyes, letting your sight adjust to your surroundings.

The last time you were awake, you remembered yourself being a bit tired due to your dancing and a bit sleepy due to the cold weather. You remembered V offering you a shoulder to lean on so you could take a nap, and he even offered to read for you to help you relax. You also remembered Griffon settling himself on your left side, squeezing himself closer to you, feeling warm and cozy, and you also saw how Shadow materialized and laid down next to your feet, purring shamelessly loud like the huge, Demonic cat that she was.

Not only that, you could also remember how V wrapped his arms around you as he pulled you closer. You felt the warmth of his flesh, smelled his lulling scent, heard his soft and gentle voice as he read to you,...

... you also remembered how he kissed your forehead as he told you to rest well,...

And now, you stared around the place, feeling as if something was really off in the atmosphere. The air was heavier, and you felt a shortness of breath.

"What happened?" You asked Griffon, your voice sounding strangely hoarse and emotional.

"I dunno!" The bird answered. "I woke up to ya sayin' some stuff while ya sleep. Then, I saw V,... "

At the mention of his name, you suddenly felt chills run down your spine. You glanced to your right and saw the man, himself. He was still asleep, leaning onto his cane for support.

But, what really startled you was his hair, which had turned snowy - white, and the absence of all his contract markings.

And most of all, there was a strange aura about him, a very dark and evil one. And it seemed to be the force that kept him unconscious.

"Oh, my God, V!" You worriedly muttered as you shook the man, trying to wake him up. "What happened to him?! What's wrong with him?!"

"I - i,... tried to wake him up, believe me!" Griffon shrieked, panic taking over. "I even tried calling Shadow and Nightmare! They're not here! They're gone!"

"What's happening here?" You muttered, your head still unable to process the gravity of the current situation.

"I already told ya that I dunno! What else do ya want, a fight?!"

You stood up, and went towards the window. It really was dark, but you knew full well that it can't be night already. You were only asleep for a while!

And then, right outside the studio, was the answer to your question.

With narrow and cautious eyes, you hustled to where your boots were, hastily wore them, picked up your parka and your violin case on the table, and began to leave. You turned back to Griffon and spoke.

"Stay here with V. I'll go outside and check what's going on."

"Heh! Ya don't need to tell me that! I'm stayin' here, bitch."

"Okay."

"And what do ya need that violin for? A fuckin' concert?!"

"Wha - ?!" You stuttered, looking at the violin case. "Who told you I can play the violin? I'm tone deaf!"

"Oh, alright." Griffon simply replied, then realized that the thing you're holding onto since the early hours of the day was not a freaking instrument in the first place. "WHAT IN THE ACTUAL - ?!"

But, you were already outside the room and didn't get to hear the Demonic bird's curses.

The moment you stepped outside the building, you noticed how the sky was pitch black that not even the stars, the moon, and the clouds could be seen. There was a distinct heaviness in the atmosphere, same as what you felt in V, and it was honestly making you sick.

Not sick physically but, sick in the soul.

It's as if the air itself could make you feel utterly hopeless.

You looked around the deserted road as you walked, trying to search for the root of this phenomenon, when some strange rocks protruding on the ground came into view. And you were very positive that they weren't there before.

What is this? You thought as you looked at the strange circle - like runes that were carved on the rocks.

"Sweet pea!" You heard the Demonic bird from a distance as he called after you. You turned around, almost mistaking him for the enemy.

"Griffon?! I thought I told you to stay with V?!"

"Not gonna leave ya alone!" The bird answered you matter - of - factly. "He'll be fine. Don't worry too much about Shakespeare."

"YOU'RE TELLING ME NOT TO WORRY ABOUT V?! ARE YOU CRAZY?!"

"I TOLD YA! HE'S FINE - !"

All of a sudden, you felt a dark and heavy presence looming in the area. The strange rocks lit up a sickly - looking violet, its very essence crawling its way towards your feet.

"What's that?" The bird, being a few feet above the ground and that strange light, questioned.

You didn't answer. Instead, you opened the case and took out your weapons.

"Sweet pea, that thing's not gonna do anythin' - "

"WATCH OUT!" You practically yelled as you positioned yourself in front of the bird and managed to slice through the very sudden incoming projectile of light using your bow.

However, the attacker seemed to have a lot more in store for you as you noticed a huge, violet light kind of wave that was coming rapidly towards you.

With much resolve to fight, you positioned the metallic violin in front of you like a shield, channeling the entity's power within you. The metallic instrument glowed, a sign that it has received the power it needed from you.

"Stay behind me!"

"Don't need to tell me!" The bird screeched in panic as he did what you told him.

The metallic violin emanated a strange form of light that instantly morphed into a shield, protecting you from the crashing wave of the sinister violet light that disintegrated the ground it touched.

"Ihh! What the fuck is that?!"

"There's no time to find out. Let's go!"

And so, using the special violin you had as a shield, you ran forward, making sure to not let even a small part of your skin touch the wave of light.

"Incoming projectile!" Griffon screamed behind you as he spotted a speeding blade of light going down rapidly towards the two of you.

As soon as you noticed this, you raised the bow, waited for the light to come closer, and succesfully sliced through it just like what you did with the first projectile. Then, you went on, warily watching out for more of those hostile things.

"What are those weapons?"

"Sword and shield." You simply answered, not letting your focus waver for even a second. "Well, rapier, actually. The bow is more like a rapier than a sword."

At the mention of your weapon choice, you could suddenly hear Nico in your head as she made the offer to design a weapon for you for the first time, which was eight years ago.

"Behold my genius! A shield and a rapier in the form of a violin and a bow! You could use this violin to channel the entity's power from within you. It could absorb energy and turn it into whatever form you desire! A shield, projectiles, anything! And this rapier can cut through Demon flesh as clean as possible. You won't have to worry about anything if you have these two."

"That's great!"

"One question, though: why violin? If you simply asked, I could have made somethin' more badass for you."

"That's because,... "

You smiled at the memory. You knew very well the reason behind it, and it was to remind yourself of your life - long mission to search for that white - haired man from your visions who could play the violin.

And now that you've found him, you don't intend on ever letting him get hurt.

"There!" Griffon shrieked as two glowing orbs came into view. "That's Shadow and Nightmare!"

"Let's get them!"

As you were about to reach the orbs, something sharp and spiky rose from the ground, startling the two of you and wounding your right leg. Your eyes widened in pain as you almost collapsed to the ground. The enemy gave you no time to recover as another spike rose and made a huge slash on your other leg, making you howl in unbelievable pain.

"(Y/N)! You - !" Griffon was about to electrocute the spikes when another wave of violet light appeared out of nowhere and engulfed him.

You watched helplessly as the light possessed the Demonic bird. It happened so fast that you were not able to retaliate in time to save him.

"Griffon!"

"Wait, wait, I'm fine!"

"Are you sure?!"

"Sweet pea, another spike! Let me!" The bird offered as it tried to channel his power for an attack. He folded his wings and unfurled them,...

... but nothing happened!

"Wha - ?! My powers are gone!"

You stood up, trying to ignore the pain in your legs and the blood gushing out from your wounds, when another batch of spikes rose from the round, almost killing you had you not dodged in time.

"Stay close behind me!" You ordered, waiting for the bird to do so. "I'll protect you."

With no time left to waste, you made a quick run towards V's imprisoned familiars, dodging spikes and slicing light projectiles along the way.

Twenty feet, seventeen feet, fifteen feet. You were so close to reaching them,...

... until a strange kind of portal appeared before you. And what came out of it was a creature so diabolical, the Demons you faced before could never compare.

"Malphas!" Griffon uttered in fear as the half female half avian Demon blocked your way.

"What a curious little creature!" The Demon called Malphas drawled seductively as she stalked towards you. "These creatures before you failed before my power! And soon," she lifted a skeletal finger and pointed it at you. "... your powers shall be mine!"

"HEY, YOU STINKIN' EXHIBITIONIST!" The powerless Griffon, who was still cowering behind you, yelled. "GIVE MY COMRADES AND MY POWERS BACK!"

"Take them if you can." The enemy exclaimed. "And if you fail, I will feast on your soul!"

"Not good! Not good! Let's run away before - !"

But, the bird did not have time to finish his sentence as he saw you charging forward towards the Demon.

Despite your wounds, you managed to evade the spikes and the light projectiles that the Demon sent your way. However, as your wound worsened, your movements became sluggish, giving Malphas her needed signal to finally move against you. She conjured another portal and used it to escape. And seconds later, she reappeared, almost killing you with one slash of her talon. You thankfully escaped, thanks to Griffon who grabbed your parka and lifted you off the ground, sending you a safe distance away from the Demon.

"We can't do this, sweet pea! W - we d - don't have the strength!"

You smiled despite your predicament. Your head was getting lighter and your sight was getting more and more blurry. You tried to stand up but, your wounds were really awful that you screamed once more in pain and collapsed to the ground.

"Stop that! You, we, can't fight! Let's call the pimple kid and ask for help!

"It would be too late, by then!" You exclaimed, refusing to get knocked out by your wounds and rapid bloodloss.

"And how do you propose we beat that thing, huh? Drive that skinny sword of yours through her heart? YA CAN'T EVEN FUCKIN' STAND! I CAN'T EVEN USE MY POWER! LET'S RUN AWAY AND ASK FOR HELP!"

"NO! I PROMISED TO PROTECT YOU!" You yelled at the bird, your blind convictions surely sending you to your deathbed. "And even if we run, she'll only go after us. What's the difference?"

"We'll live for a bit longer!"

You glanced up at Griffon, giving him a look of bravery despite your pitiful form. "Living for a bit longer? I can't have that. That's,..." you stood up and winced. "... unacceptable."

"And what? Ya really want a fight do ya? YA WANT IT THAT BADLY, HUH?!"

"No." You finally managed to stand up straight, fully decided and unhesitant for your next move. "But, I have no other choice."

You removed your parka and tossed it towards the bird.

"Hey! Just what do ya think you're - ?!"

Once again, the bird did not have enough time to finish as he saw you stripping the rest of your clothes, including the offensively seductive lace underwear that Nico gave you that morning.

"HAVE YOU LOST YOUR FUCKIN' MIND?! YES, MALPHAS IS BUTT NAKED, BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN YA HAVE TO - !"

"Maybe." You only answered as you took a step forward. "But, we're way out of our safe zones now."

"What do ya mean by that? Start getting clear with me, woman!"

You faced him once more, but this time, with a weird smile on your face. "You're right. I can't beat Malphas. I'm weak, as you just saw. I can't kill her but, she can."

"Ah, who?!"

Nico's voice went back to your head as you recalled her words once more.

"Now, as much as possible, you have to rely on those weapons I gave you. You would only let her take over as a last resort!"

"What if there's no other choice, then?"

"Then, you're gonna have to say byebye to your clothes! Or, at least, strip them before she comes. You can't afford to buy that many set of clothes every after mission! You'll go hungry!"

"Hunger? Clothes? Whatever." You uttered to yourself as you made your way towards Malphas.

"SWEET PEA!" Griffon pleaded as he tried once more to attack, only to fail yet again. "YOU WILL FUCKIN' DIE! STOP!"

But you only looked back at him, winked, and held up a slender finger to your bloody lips.

"Sshh,..."

The Demon noticed you as you reappeared before her, vulnerable, wounded, and exposed.

"Finally accepting your fate, mortal?"

"I don't think so."

"You! What are you - ?"

A warm kind of light suddenly engulfed your whole body, lifting you off the ground and blinding Malphas at the same time. Griffon, who was safely away from the fight, saw how your body morphed into a being of pure light that stood much taller than you were.

"Sweet Shirley! What a secret to hide!" Griffon exclaimed as he saw you come closer towards Malphas. "GO BEAT THAT EXHIBITIONIST, SWEET PEA!"

As the Diabolical Amalgam used her powers in the form of her portals, spikes, and projectiles, you only stayed where you were, receiving all the relentless attacks from her. And when the Demon realized that you have become somewhat invulnerable, she tried her best to escape, only to find herself suddenly slashed in different parts of her body. The rays of light that emanated from your very being extended out and went after Malphas in the form of hot blades, slashing her and wounding her, giving her no time to even move a finger. With a swift movement of your arms, you brought down judgment on the Demon, exuding a very bright light that melted Malphas' grotesque avian form, leaving her true form behind.

"Mercy! Mercy!" Malphas pleaded as she saw you hovering towards her.

"Ooh, this I gotta watch!" Griffon said to himself as he flew down to witness the winning fight.

"Malphas of the Underworld, you stand before the Protector of The Present." Griffon heard you proclaim in a very different voice. "I command you: speak and reveal who sent you to this Universe!"

"I do not know! I do not - AHH!" Malphas screamed as she felt another slash of hot light wound her already bloody and unrecognizable torso.

"By the name of the One Mistress who commands me, speak the truth!"

But, despite the deadly wounds she just received, Malphas only laughed.

"You know who sent me. It is she! The most powerful of all. Blood of her blood! Flesh of her flesh! Spirit of her spirit! Arisen from the Dead in pursuit of power! It is,... "

But, before she could even finish her words, Malphas slowly disintegrated, her flesh turning into ash and her dark aura vanishing.

"We won! We fuckin' won!" Griffon sang as he also felt his powers returning to him. "You did it, sweet pea! You - "

"AT THE FINAL HOURS OF THE EVENING AND THE LAST RADIANCE OF THE WOUNDED MOON, THE PAST WILL WEEP, THE PRESENT WILL KNEEL, AND THE FUTURE WILL DIE!"

"What in the - ?!"

Griffon witnessed in shock how you uttered those cryptic words in a, yet, different tone than the first one you used on Malphas. He also saw how the light slowly vanished from your body, turning you back into your old self. Your body hovered for a moment, and finally went back to the ground, leaving you with no trace, whatsoever, of your battle against the Demons.

No wounds, no blood, no injuries.

It's as if you were whole once more.

"Hey, hey, (Y/N)! Wake up!"

As you opened your eyes, you noticed how the darkness vanished from the sky, revealing its soft, afternoon glow. You also noticed how the orbs slowly disintegrate, already making their way back towards their Master.

Aside from one.

Still feeling a bit weak, you went towards that one orb glowing red and blue at the same time, like the two colors were in conflict with each other.

"Who is this?" You asked Griffon.

"Uhh, that would be the cat." The bird answered.

"Shadow? Why is she - ?" You mumbled, reaching out a hand to the orb.

At the first signs of contact, the orb's colors became even more chaotic as each of them fought for dominance.

Griffon, on the other hand, knew what's really going on.

The Yamato was taking over Shadow, it's very essence beating the familiar's consciousness,...

... just like that one time at Delphi.

But, why now, of all times?!

"Ah, Griffon? What do we do with Shadow?" You frantically asked as the orb became bluer and bluer by the second.

"Ah! Ah! V! We need V!"

At the mention of its master's name, the orb suddenly settled down and hastily disintegrated, its dark particles quickly crawling past you and back to the dance studio.

"Oh, there's no need." The bird breathed a sigh of relief. "I can tell that V is wide awake and is now running to get here."

"Oh, I see." You muttered, then suddenly, the two of you realized,...

"C L O T H E S!" You and Griffon simultaneously shrieked in panic.

A few minutes later, V arrived, looking for you and Griffon.

"Hoo, I'm glad you're wide awake, V!" Griffon shrieked obnoxiously, suddenly blocking his vision.

"As tempted as I' am to ask what occurred during my,... absence,... I would like to know: where is she?"

"I! That! She! Err!" Griffon hysterically stuttered, making the man even more suspicious.

"Hello, V."

Griffon stopped mumbling at once when he heard you speak. "Oh, there is the chick! Hahaha!"

V practically shoved his avian familiar aside as he came to meet you.

Fully clothed and with no trace of combat, you smiled at him and said, "Are you alright?"

V sighed. He knew something happened while he was knocked out. But, he dared not ask that, for you were here with him, safe and sound.

"I' am doing wonderful." The man replied with a smile.

***

"Nothing really matters, anyone can see!"

"Nothing really matters!"

"Nothing really matters,... to me!"

"Anywhere the wind,... blows!"

"BANG!"

Nico and Nero looked up as the two saw you, V, and Griffon making your way back towards the van after your first night patrol.

Nero ended his duet with Nico and his air guitar performance and ran to meet you halfway.

"Welcome back!" The boy cheerfully uttered, bringing his huge hand down on V's shoulder and squeezing it. Lightly.

"How did your first night patrol go?" Nico asked with a knowing smile.

"Fetching." V answered with a knowing smile of his, emphasizing on the word, giving Nico some false, and filthy, thoughts about how your night patrol with him went.

And, of course, you, being totally dense when it comes to those things, only shook your head helplessly.

"Normal. A few Demons here and there. Nothing special." You answered, dedicated to keep your confrontation with Malphas a secret from them.

"Can we have breakfast now? I'm starving!" Nero announced as he took a seat on one of the abandoned chairs, waiting to be served like a guest in a restaurant. "And stop hiding that apple pie, Nico! Give it to me now!"

"What are you talking about, psycho?! I'm not hiding any food from you!"

"Oh, yeah? Then, what's that strong apple pie aroma I'm smelling right now, huh?" Nero questioned, then turned to V. "You can smell it too, right?"

V, who could only smell the fresh flowers in your presence, shook his head.

"Seriously?! What? I'm the only one who can smell it?!"

Griffon was about to join in the apple pie banter when he heard someone calling him. He turned and saw you as you were about to enter the van, drowsily looking at him with one finger held up on your lips.

"Sshh,..."

***

The moment Trish entered her favorite department store, she knew something was really off.

She warily made her way towards the back of the shop, knowing the target would be there. She cautiously crouched towards the next aisle, expecting some Demon to come out, when,...

"Ooff!"

Somehow, Trish bumped into you, making you drop your items on the floor.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" You apologized as you picked up your items.

"No, I should be the one to apologize,..." Trish uttered, trying to help you pick up your things, when she suddenly stopped as she looked down at you. She knew there was something off about you but, then, she knew you were not evil.

But, what could it be?

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, I' am." You answered, giving her a sweet smile before leaving.

She waited for you to pay for your things and leave, and when you finally did, she approached one of the Sales Associates and interrogated.

"Was this her first visit here?"

"Oh, the girl? Yes, it is. Cute, isn't she?" The girl answered.

It was the first of the many occasions when Trish just had to spy on you, trying to find out that particular something in you that gave her uneasiness and sleepless nights. And in the space of two days, she found out that you worked for Dante as his assistant. You would sometimes go out and do some errands for him, like going to the grocery store, and such. Aside from that, everything about you seemed normal.

It was when she bumped into you again in that same department store did she finally realized what's off about you. It should be considered as normal but, Trish knew it in her bones that she was the only one who could sense that elusive something from you.

Everywhere you went, you leave a distinct sign about you that was very hard to ignore, especially for a Demon like her. And it was only proven further with her latest observations of Dante as she saw him frantically searching for expensive vintages whenever he had the budget and never getting satisfied, not even once.

It was your scent,...

To Trish, you smelled like chocolates.

The kind that gave her an unhealthy addiction.

***

🖤🖤🖤

Note: In case you have been wondering, yes. The song from Nero and Nico's duet is Bohemian Rhapsody from Queen.

P.S.: I have the entire last week of June filed for my vacation leave starting from the 25th to the 30th. So, yes! More chappies of this fic!

🖤🖤🖤

***

[janeofcakes]

FJW: Chapter 14

** I was going to taunt you all with a super short chapter and I just couldn’t do it. You’ve all been so great to me. So please, sit back and enjoy this one. I, for one, will be eating pita chips and hummus. OMG, hummus.... **

John closes the street door to 221 softly and takes the steps two at a time. He hopes his flatmate took the advice he gave before he left that morning and is asleep in bed. Or the sofa or with his head on his desk, John really doesn’t care. Sherlock has taken case after case, working non-stop and getting no sleep since John woke from the Eurus nightmare. John and Rosie have seen precious little of the detective in the two weeks since that night. The few times he has been home and not busy with Rosie, John has tried to talk to him - find out why Sherlock is so certain John will push him out of his life. John cannot think if a single situation that would make him do that. Leaving never crossed his mind when he remembered Eurus. Why would it? Sherlock wasn’t to blame, no matter how much he seems to want to blame himself.

Sherlock has dodged and deflected John’s every attempt to talk. He is clearly avoiding John and it isn’t fair to Rosie. John and their daughter love spending time together, getting to know one another, but both have missed Sherlock and it has started showing more in Rosie in the last few days. The light in her eyes is dimmer without him. Sherlock may not want to answer John’s questions about their past, but he will bloody talk to John about Rosie. John will see to that.

He unlocks the flat door and closes it quietly. He takes a step and stops cold. He can hear voices in the kitchen. He approaches silently, wanting all the information he can get. It is definitely his flatmate and Mrs. Hudson. John knows he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but he can’t tear himself away after what his flatmate says.

“You’re avoiding him, Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson says loudly. “It’s plain as the nose on your face.”

“I don’t know what else to do!” Sherlock sounds frantic. “He wants me to tell him about the past.”

“Well, why don’t you? He’s a grown man, Sherlock. He can decide for himself how he wants to handle things.”

“But Dr. Hoover…”

“Oh, hang the doctor! She makes recommendations not laws. If John wants to know…”

“I don’t want him to know!” the detective shouts. The entire flat goes silent. John is afraid they will hear his breaths coming faster now or the heartbeat that echoes loudly in his own ears. “When he finds out everything, when he finds out the truth, he will leave me. He will hate me again and he will take Rosie and he will leave.”

John blinks in shock. Sherlock never calls Rosie by name. Mrs. Hudson once told John the only time she ever heard the man use the girl’s given name was when daycare had called to say she had fallen. They thought her elbow was broken and in need of A & E. It was the same conversation in which John asked why he calls her Watson. Mrs. Hudson didn’t know.

“Sherlock,” the woman says gently now, “you underestimate him and his feelings for you.”

“His feelings?” Sherlock snipes with a mirthless laugh. “I know exactly what he thinks he feels. He thinks we’re a couple!”

And there it is. John’s heart goes cold and he can feel it crack right down its middle. His eyes sting with tears and he just manages to silence the gasp on his lips with the back of his hand. He was right. He was right when he and Greg were at the pub that night. Sherlock met someone else. He loves someone else and doesn’t have the heart to tell John. He let him move back in because he had nowhere else to go and let him sleep in his bed because John wouldn’t have understood why he had been shunned. So many things make sense now. Why Greg was so surprised when John told him he and Sherlock sleep in the same bed. Sherlock trying so hard to sleep on the sofa and the total lack of physical contact. There’s so much you don’t know. Things have changed. You won’t feel that way when you know it all.

John stumbles backwards and he does gasp then - like someone hit him in the chest.

“What was that?” Mrs. Hudson asks.

John runs. He runs to the door and throws it open. He hurries down the stairs, nearly falling halfway and slams out of the building. He sprints to the left to avoid the sitting room window in case Mrs. Hudson looks out while the detective pursues him. He bolts along the pavement, working himself in and around groups of people so Sherlock will lose sight if he is following. John finally slips into a narrow alley blocks away from his home. He leans his back against the wall, breathing hard and letting his head fall back until it meets the cold brick. Tears are streaming down his face. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and clenches his teeth in pain. His chest hurts. Like his heart was ripped from it, except John knows it is still there because it is broken and John doesn’t think it will ever be whole again.

An hour later, John is sitting on a bench in Regent’s Park staring blankly ahead. He can’t go back home. He doesn’t know how to go back. It isn’t his home anymore. Isn’t his life, his love. He feels lost and so alone, and he can’t help thinking he has felt this way before. His heart broken, his mind and body adrift, no one to turn to. And he feels that Sherlock was at the center of that too. Must have been when Sherlock...when he died. John lets his eyes close slowly, no idea what to do and suddenly so tired.

“John? John Watson?”

The doctor opens his eyes to see a short, stout man with dark hair and glasses approaching. He wears a smile on his face. John straightens his posture and squares his shoulders, determined go look as normal as possible.

“John, it is you!” the man is right in front of him now, shaking John’s hand with both of his. “May I?”

“Of course.”

The man sits on the bench, his body turned so he is facing John.

“God, it’s been years,” he exclaims with a brilliant smile. “Not since the wedding. How have you been?”

“Wedding?” John replies in a quiet voice. The strange response doesn’t seem to bother the man.

“This is amazing, isn’t it? Meeting like this again after what, seven years, almost eight. Or is it longer?” he laughs. “And what did I say to break the ice back then? ‘I heard you joined the army so you could get shot’?”

The man laughs jovially while John bites his lip. He swallows and fixes the man with serious eyes.

“Well, actually,” he begins as the man goes quiet, the smile melting off his face.

“Oh, god,” he puts a hand on John’s shoulder. “Oh god, no. It didn’t happen again. I’m so sorry. I knew you kept on working at the surgery and with Sherlock, you said as much at the wedding, but I never imagined… How’s Mary? Are you both okay? Do you need anything?”

“Mary?”

“Yes,” the man finally seems to catch on that something is off. “Your wife, Mary Morstan. John, are you all right?”

John’s eyes are wide with shock. His mouth hang opens, but his voice fails him. His wife. His wife? He was married. He was married. And where was Sherlock? How could he have done that to him? What the fuck? John clenches his eyes shut for a second, just a second and then opens them wide again, because memories claw and rasp at him when they are closed. The darkness of a pane trying to cut him with its slowly falling shards.

“I’m sorry. I have to go,” John stands all in a rush and starts away from the bench. The man doesn’t stand or follow, but clearly considers it. His face is a mixture of confusion and alarm. John turns to half face him again without stopping. “I’m fine. I just, I have to go. Sorry.”

His fast pace turns into a run and he doesn’t stop until he reaches 221. John unlocks the door and bursts inside, closing the door to shut out the world behind. He claps his back against it and closes his eyes - sharp points of black glass tracing his skin - they fly open and he stares straight ahead at the staircase leading up to his flat. He breathes heavily, his heart hammering in his ears for the second time that day. This time the sound of violin music cuts through the noise of it. John shifts his gaze to the top of the stairs. Is this realization what his flatmate is afraid of? Sherlock must give him answers.

As John starts up the stairs, he pulls his mobile from his pocket to check the time. They won’t have to go for Rosie for another three hours, plenty of time to extract secrets from his flatmate. He drops the phone back into his pocket and his pace slows until he is standing still on two different steps near the top of the case. The song Sherlock plays is so familiar, so sad, written for him. John narrows his eyes in concentration and glass shatters in his mind. He played it at the reception while John danced. He danced with Mary. She was blonde, his height, beautiful smile. He met her while Sherlock was dead.  And something else. She is Rosie’s mother. She and John had a child while they were married. John is Rosie’s father. Her ‘real’ father. John closes his eyes and inhales deeply, almost painfully, as Sherlock’s words come back to him.

John flies up the remaining steps and into the flat. Without stopping until he is in the sitting room, he stands stalk still staring at his flatmate’s back as he plays to the window. Sherlock does not stop or turn around, but he knows John is there.

“I’ve had a call from Mike Stamford,” he says.

“Mike? Of course. The man in the park.”

“Yes.”

“Who is Mary Morstan?” John asks breathlessly. He knows, but there’s so much he doesn’t. He needs to know.

Sherlock’s hand stills and John hears him sigh. He turns to his desk, placing the violin and bow carefully on its surface. With his arms straight, he rests his hands on the desk and stares down at it.

“She was your wife. You met her while I was,” he pauses and takes a deep breath. “When I was dead. She gave you comfort when no one else could. You’d moved out of the flat and you met her. She had moved in with you and you intended to propose marriage the night I returned.”

“She’s Rosie’s mother.”

“Yes,” Sherlock nods once, still not looking at John. The doctor comes closer.

“That song. You played it at the wedding,” he says gently. “You left early.”

Sherlock raises his head and meets John’s eyes.

“I didn’t think you noticed.”

“I noticed.”

“You never said.”

“There are a lot of things we never said,” John breathes, “aren’t there?”

Sherlock stares, grappling with emotion. He watches as John comes nearer and touches his arm with just fingertips.

“I can see the wedding. Nothing else,” John shakes his head. “Who is Mary Morstan? Please tell me, Sherlock. Please.”

A moment later, they sit in their respective chairs facing one another. John is still utterly torn apart by his flatmate’s words to Mrs. Hudson, but the feeling is eclipsed by what he feels now looking at Sherlock’s face. He is sad, forlorn, resigned, like mere threads hold him together. He has told John how he and Mary met, who she was, and how Sherlock met her. He fills in the blanks of the wedding and tells John about his deduction at the reception, the pregnancy and birth. John can’t help but feel it all leads up to something terrible and begins to wonder what exactly happened to Mary Morstan. Are they still married and if so, where is she? Why is she never with Rosie? Why doesn’t Rosie ever talk about her? It had never occurred to John to ask. He had always assumed he and Sherlock had found a surrogate.

“It wasn’t until after the wedding,” Sherlock’s words interrupt John’s thoughts, “that we discovered she was an assassin.”

“What?” John can barely get the word out in his shock.

“She was being blackmailed by a man called Magnussen She intended to kill him to hide her secret life. She wanted to be a mother. To be with you,” his gaze drops as he remembers.  “But I caught her at it. Later, when it became clear there was no other way to protect you, I killed him myself.”

“Sherlock,” the word is breathless. John’s every feature reflects his shock as he shakes his head slowly in disbelief. “Christ, Sherlock, why would you do that?”

“You said the same thing then, all those years ago,” Sherlock whispers and then speaks firmly. “I made a vow. I said I would protect both of you, and your unborn child. It was the only way to do that. To protect you from Mary’s past.”

“Jesus. And you’re not in prison because of Mycroft?”

“No, even he could not help me. Eurus began trying to lure you to the well. She saved me by making us all believe a dangerous enemy had come back from the dead. When I solved the case, my freedom was the British government’s showing of gratitude.”

John watches him carefully, reading every sign and nuance of Sherlock’s expression and movement. He tilts his head in thought and wets his lips.

“There’s more,” he says experimentally, knowing Sherlock will return his gaze. “Something with you and Mary. She hurt you.”

The detective’s eyes are wide with surprise and his jaw drops, but he closes it quickly. He forces his grey eyes to go steely. John gives him a stern, but imploring look, hoping he won’t shut down and refuse to tell him more.

“What is it, Sherlock? Tell me, please.”

“She shot me,” his voice is barely audible. John gasps in horror. “You found me and took me to emergency. I died on the table and came back for you. To protect you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did. I told you everything.”

“Oh my god,” John cannot believe what Sherlock has told him, but he knows his friend would never lie. John is dismayed and utterly disgusted with himself. “Why the hell didn’t I leave her? How could I have stayed with a killer? She tried to kill you and you’re...you’re everything!”

“It was complicated,” Sherlock shrugs. “You’d just married her, she was carrying your child. You didn’t want to lose that, so I convinced you to stay.”

“What?!” John barks. “She nearly killed you, Sherlock! Why the fuck would you do that?”

“To make you happy. You loved her.”

“I love you!”

“No.”

“Yes, Sherlock.”

“I killed her!”

@echosilverwolf @technicallywiseoncns @vvaticancameoss @cow-mow@philliphooper@whodwantmeasaflatmate@swissmissing@gloriascott93@kingdomofbrokenhearts@srebrnafh@thetranslucentwallaby@britishaccentfan@plasticstrawsmuggler@spazzz32@absentmindedsstuff@shuukichan @annecumberbatch@maeliandmyself @welcometomyharddrive