#and then have to turn away in case someone observes them flirting

[booasaur]

Perry Mason (2020) - 2x01

[little-jana]

"Undercover Desires"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x f!reader

Genre: heated, fade to black smut, 18+, no explicit s*x, fluff

Warnings: smut, kissing, jealousy, flirting, touching, fade to black smut, some case talk, reader wearing a dress, heated make out

Words: 3.6k

Summary: Spencer and Reader have to go undercover and the tension between them finally snaps.

It all started with a case. A high-profile trafficking ring had resurfaced, throwing lavish parties to attract their next targets. The BAU was called in to infiltrate, gather intel, and take them down.

The plan was simple: go undercover as couples and blend in. The ringleader was known for flirting with his guests, so my job was to get close enough to him while Spencer played the part of the jealous boyfriend.

When Hotch paired me and Spencer, I thought nothing of it at first. But standing in my hotel room hours before the party, staring at myself in the mirror, nerves twisted my stomach.

The dress was breathtaking—sleek, black satin that hugged my body in all the right places. A daring slit climbed up one thigh, and the plunging neckline left little to the imagination. Paired with heels that made my legs look endless and a swipe of crimson lipstick, I looked the part of someone who belonged at an elite soirée.

But then there was Spencer. Sweet, awkward Spencer. The man who always left extra sugar packets on my desk because he knew I liked my coffee too sweet. The man who stumbled over his words when he was nervous, yet could recite the entire DSM-5 without blinking. I couldn’t imagine how he’d react when he saw me like this.

I stepped out into the hotel hallway, my heels clicking against the tile. Spencer was waiting, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored suit jacket. His hair was styled neatly, and his navy suit hugged his tall, lean frame perfectly.

"Ready?" I asked casually, though my voice came out softer than I intended.

He turned, and the moment he saw me, his entire body went rigid. His lips parted slightly, his hazel eyes widening as they trailed over me from head to toe.

"You… uh…" He coughed, looking away quickly. "You look nice."

"Nice?" I teased, stepping closer. "That’s it? I spent hours getting ready, and all I get is 'nice'?"

His face flushed a deep crimson, and he tugged at his tie nervously. "I mean, you look beautiful. Stunning. I just… you look…" He trailed off, his eyes darting to the slit in my dress before quickly snapping back to my face.

I smirked, loving how flustered he was. "Relax, Spence. It’s just a dress."

He mumbled something under his breath, his cheeks still burning, and offered me his arm.

The party was a whirlwind of lights, music, and champagne. Spencer played the part of the protective boyfriend flawlessly, his hand resting on the small of my back as we navigated the crowd. But I didn’t miss the way his jaw clenched every time the ringleader’s gaze lingered on me.

When the man finally approached, his charm was as disarming as it was nauseating.

"You must be new to these circles," the ringleader said, his eyes raking over me in a way that made my skin crawl. "I would have remembered someone like you."

Spencer’s hand tightened slightly on my waist, his fingers pressing into my side.

"My boyfriend insisted we come," I said, flashing a sweet smile and leaning into Spencer. "He thought it would be… exciting."

The ringleader’s eyes flicked to Spencer, who was staring at him with barely concealed disdain.

"You don’t seem like the type for this scene," the man said to Spencer, his tone condescending.

Spencer’s lips twitched into a tight smile. "I prefer to observe," he said coolly, his voice steady despite the tension radiating off him.

The ringleader laughed, clearly unimpressed, and turned his attention back to me.

"Well, if you ever get tired of observing," he said, brushing a hand against my arm, "I’d be happy to show you a more… hands-on experience."

Before I could respond, Spencer stepped between us, his height towering over the man.

"I think we’ve seen enough for tonight," he said sharply, his hand gripping mine. "Come on."

The ringleader’s amused chuckle followed us as Spencer led me away, his grip on my hand firm.

We left the party shortly after, our mission technically accomplished. But the tension that had simmered all night between us felt more potent than ever.

Back at the hotel, I kicked off my heels and leaned against the door of my room, watching as Spencer paced back and forth.

"What was that back there?" I asked, crossing my arms.

He stopped, running a hand through his hair. "I couldn’t stand the way he was looking at you," he admitted, his voice low.

"That was the point," I said, stepping closer. "We needed him to notice me."

"Yeah, well, he noticed you a little too much," Spencer muttered, his jaw tightening.

I tilted my head, studying him. "Were you jealous?"

His eyes snapped to mine, and for a moment, he looked like a deer caught in headlights.

"I—no—I mean…" He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Yes. Okay? I was jealous."

The admission hung in the air, heavy and charged.

"You don’t have to be," I said softly, stepping closer until I was inches from him.

"You don’t understand," he said, his voice rough. "All night, I couldn’t stop thinking about how beautiful you looked, how every man in that room wanted you, and I—"

"You what?" I whispered, my pulse quickening.

His eyes locked onto mine, and suddenly, the space between us felt too small.

"I wanted them to know you were mine," he said, his voice low and intense.

The air crackled between us, and before I could think, I reached up and kissed him.

He froze for a fraction of a second before his hands found my waist, pulling me closer. The kiss was slow at first, exploratory, but it quickly turned into something deeper, more urgent.

"Spencer, I am yours. How can't you see," I murmured against his lips, my hands tangling in his hair.

He groaned softly, his grip on me tightening as he backed me up against the door.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he said, his voice rough.

"Then show me," I whispered, my heart racing.

The moment Spencer’s lips met mine, it was like a dam had broken. All the tension, all the unspoken words and lingering glances from the past few months, surged to the surface, spilling out in the way his hands gripped my waist like he couldn’t bear to let go.

The kiss deepened, his tongue sliding against mine with an urgency that left me breathless. I clung to him, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him even closer as his body pressed me firmly against the door.

"Spencer," I whispered, his name a breathless plea as I broke the kiss for just a moment, my chest heaving.

His eyes, dark and blazing with something primal, searched mine. "I shouldn’t," he murmured, his voice rough, but his hands betrayed him, moving up my sides, his fingers brushing the bare skin over the open back of my dress.

"But you want to," I said, my voice daring as I leaned in, letting my lips brush his jaw, his neck. "Don’t you?"

His breath hitched, and I felt the slight tremble in his hands as they tightened on my hips. "More than you know," he admitted, his voice low, almost a growl.

"Then stop overthinking," I whispered, letting my teeth graze the sensitive spot just beneath his ear.

He groaned softly, his restraint finally snapping. In one swift motion, he spun us around, his hands on my waist lifting me easily as he carried me across the room. I gasped as he set me down on the edge of the bed, his body towering over me as he looked down, his gaze filled with a hunger I’d never seen in him before.

"You’re dangerous, you know that?" he said, his voice rough as he leaned down, his hands bracketing my thighs as his lips found mine again.

I smirked against his mouth, tugging at the lapels of his suit jacket. "And you’re overdressed."

That was all the encouragement he needed. He shrugged off the jacket, letting it fall to the floor as I worked at the buttons of his shirt, my fingers trembling slightly with anticipation. He caught my hands, his touch gentle but firm, and his eyes locked onto mine.

"Slow down," he murmured, his voice soft but commanding. "I want to take my time with you."

The intensity in his gaze made my breath catch. "Spencer—"

"I mean it," he interrupted, his hands sliding up to cradle my face as his thumb brushed my cheek. "You’ve been driving me crazy all night. Let me have this."

My heart skipped a beat at the vulnerability in his voice, and I nodded, letting my hands fall to my sides as he took control.

He kissed me again, slower this time, savoring every moment as his hands explored, his touch setting my skin on fire. The straps of my dress slipped down my shoulders under his fingers, and I shivered as his lips trailed down my neck, over my collarbone, leaving a path of heat in their wake.

"You’re beautiful," he whispered against my skin, his voice filled with reverence. "You have no idea how hard it was to keep my hands off you tonight."

"Then don’t," I whispered back, threading my fingers through his hair and pulling him closer.

His soft laugh sent a shiver through me, and he obeyed, his touch growing bolder as he worshipped every inch of me with his lips, his hands.

Spencer’s soft laugh melted into a low hum of satisfaction as he kissed me again, his lips warm and inviting against mine. The quiet intimacy between us was something I hadn’t expected—something that wasn’t hurried, wasn’t fleeting. It felt deliberate, like he wanted to memorize every moment of this.

As I shifted in his arms, his hands tightened slightly around me, keeping me close. “You’re not going anywhere,” he murmured, his lips brushing the curve of my jaw.

“I wasn’t planning to,” I replied, smiling against his skin.

The vulnerability in his gaze when I tilted my head to meet his eyes made my breath catch. Spencer Reid was usually so composed, so logical and measured in his actions, but this moment? This was raw and unfiltered. His hand slid up to cradle the side of my face, his thumb gently brushing my cheek as if he needed to convince himself that this wasn’t some fleeting dream.

“I’ve wanted this for longer than I should probably admit,” he confessed softly, his voice low and rough with emotion. “But I never thought—”

“You never thought what?” I prompted, my fingers lightly tracing the line of his jaw.

He hesitated for a moment, as though choosing his words carefully. “I never thought I’d be brave enough to cross that line with you. You’re... you’re too good, too—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” I interrupted, a playful warning in my tone. “If you try to put me on some pedestal right now, I’m going to knock you off of it.”

His lips curved into a faint smile, his fingers threading through my hair. “It’s not a pedestal. It’s just... you deserve more than what I thought I could give you.”

I pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palm. “And you don’t get to decide what I deserve, Spencer,” I said firmly. “That’s my call. And for the record, I’ve been hoping for this just as long as you have.”

His eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across his face. “You have?”

“Of course I have,” I said, laughing softly. “Do you know how hard it’s been working with you every day, pretending I didn’t want more? But you’re you—brilliant, compassionate, a little infuriating in the best way. I didn’t think you’d ever look at me the way I look at you.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned down and kissed me again, slow and deep, his hands holding me close as if he couldn’t bear to let go, while hovering over me on the bed. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, and his breath was warm against my lips.

“You have no idea how much I look at you,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest. “Even when I shouldn’t. Especially when I shouldn’t.”

His words sent a shiver down my spine, and I couldn’t help but smile as I pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Good. Because I don’t plan on letting you stop.”

The tension between us, once so sharp and electric, had softened into something deeper—something that felt like it had always been waiting for the right moment to come alive. His fingers trailed down my arm, intertwining with mine as he gave my hand a gentle squeeze.

“Stay with me,” he said suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper.

I blinked, surprised by the vulnerability in his tone. “Spencer, I—”

“I mean it,” he said quickly, his eyes searching mine. “Not just tonight. Not just because of what happened. I want more than that. I want everything. With you.”

My heart clenched at the sheer honesty in his words. “You really mean that?”

He nodded, his expression earnest. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak. The weight of his confession, combined with the warmth in his gaze, left me breathless. Finally, I squeezed his hand, a smile tugging at my lips. “Then you’d better keep up, genius. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Spencer’s lips moved against mine with a newfound urgency, the careful reserve he always maintained giving way to something deeper, something raw. His hands trailed down my sides, hesitant at first but quickly growing bolder, his fingertips pressing into my hips like he was afraid I might disappear if he didn’t hold on tight.

I tilted my head back as his lips left mine, trailing along my jawline and down to the sensitive spot just below my ear. His breath was hot against my skin, and a soft gasp escaped my lips before I could stop it.

“Spencer…” I murmured, his name trembling on my lips.

Hearing his name seemed to spur him on. His hands slid beneath the hem of my dress, the warmth of his palms setting my skin alight. His touch was still careful, still measured, but there was no mistaking the intensity behind it.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asked, his voice rough and low, like he was struggling to contain himself.

I shook my head, too overwhelmed to speak, and he pulled back just enough to look at me. His eyes, dark and filled with heat, searched mine, and the vulnerability there made my heart ache.

“You drive me crazy,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Every time I see you, every time you smile at me, laugh at one of my stupid facts… I’ve wanted this for so long.”

His words sent a shiver through me, and I reached up, threading my fingers through his hair as I pulled him back down. Our lips met again, the kiss deeper this time, more urgent. There was no hesitation now, no holding back.

“Spencer,” I said softly, my voice shaky as I tugged gently on his dress shirt. “This okay?”

His eyes softened as he pulled back just enough to look at me. “More than okay,” he said, his voice filled with so much sincerity that it made my chest tighten. “But tell me if it’s not for you.”

“It is,” I assured him, my hands sliding beneath the fabric to feel the warmth of his skin. “It’s everything I want.”

His lips curved into a small smile before he leaned back in, capturing my mouth in another kiss. Each brush of his fingertips against my skin sent a wave of heat through me, and by the time he slid the fabric of my dress up and off my body, I was trembling.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over my collarbone. His voice was reverent, like he was seeing something sacred, and the intensity of his gaze made me feel like the most precious thing in the world.

I reached for him, pulling his shirt off of his shoulders and running my hands over the smooth planes of his chest. He shivered under my touch, his breath hitching as my fingers explored his skin.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of whispered names, stolen breaths, and the kind of intimacy that left no room for doubt or hesitation. Spencer was attentive and tender, his every touch and kiss a quiet promise, and by the time we finally collapsed together in the tangled sheets, I felt like I’d never been more seen or cherished in my life.

As I rested my head on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back, I couldn’t help but smile. The tension and uncertainty that had lingered between us for so long had finally broken, leaving only the warmth and comfort of something new and unshakable in its place.

“You’re stuck with me now, you know,” I teased, my voice soft and sleepy.

“Good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “Because I don’t plan on letting you go.”

And as I drifted off in his arms, I knew without a doubt that he meant every word.

[wormwoodartemisia]

[One of my favourite tropes in all variations: getting rescued, one way or the other - and I really need more people to write about it 😇]

I guess enough of us have probably already made certain experiences with that one kind of guys who simply wouldn't let the issue drop when you tell them that you're not interested, no matter what you say (in decreasing stages of politeness), unless...

{Only this time, we turn the tables a bit. 😏}

Claimed

Sometimes you need to be rescued - and sometimes it's the others…

About 5.2k words

Established Ghoap, civilian afab!Reader; (almost) no specific description (except that Reader has got soft hair that's long enough to run one's fingers through + Reader might appear rather tall at some point, but nothing in detail); no use of y/n

Warning: no smut actually taking place, just some references (mostly implied, intention to have sex); taste of alcohol

[[In case you want some more info: first meeting; aggressive, unrequited flirting: pestering and being a nuisance (when 'no' is interpreted as 'try harder' or simply ignored, but neither by Reader nor Ghost/Soap); fake kiss; What do we think about a threesome {MMF/MFM}?]]

Your original plan was to go out and spend some quality time on your own, focussing on nothing in particular, just floating through your own mind. However, it's one of those nights...

The bar is crowded in a pleasant way. When you enter, you can nontheless still get you favourite spot in the small booth not too far away from the bar counter. The perfect place for treating yourself with your favourite drink and indulging in the typical noises here that let you relax after an ardous week full of work. Normally...

The night is still young, you're in good spirits altogether. On such lazy evenings, you like people-watching, in case someone catches your attention. Then you wouldn't actively listen to their conversations, of course, but discretely observe them a bit, guess their mood and wonder what circumstances brought them here. A good training for staying attentive and creative alike.

Taking a sip from your drink, you casually start scanning the taproom with your eyes, when suddenly you notice a tall, broad figure in black appear from the back of the spacious room and lean against the counter, just a few seats away from you. For the shortest of moments the man takes you in and briefly nods at you in acknowledgement. You have hardly any time to reciprocate his gesture before he turns away again to order two drinks.

Of course you remember this stoic man from several other visits here, outstanding as he is, always looking the same, clad in the darkest colours only, his face covered by a black surgical mask he never takes off fully. He's one of the regulars (even if he's sometimes away for weeks), just like you - but you wouldn't have thought that he’s ever noticed you in here, let alone make it known to you...

In all the past months, you never saw him look your way, not even slightly. He always seemed totally concentrated on the guy he kept company - that boisterous, ever-grinning mohawk with his fiercely piercing blue eyes that winked at you playfully one night when you passed them on your way out to head home. A contagious smile. Handsome man in his extrovert personality, but you don't find his mysterious, calm mate any less attractive, though you haven't seen much of him so far, except his short blond hair, some fair skin and now his dark, steady eyes a few moments ago.

You save his expression in your memory. Definitely something worth remembering.

To be honest, these two are your favourite people to watch.

Together, they take a presence in the room that's unmatched, draws you in, clouds your thoughts, if you allow yourself to go astray. You've never witnessed anything like that before. These two men have captivated you right from the start and it took you some time to put it into words: blowing through the landscapes of your mind, Mohawk is a storm, Mask is its eye... They belong together.

Such a beautiful couple (you're absolutely sure that's what they are, you can’t have misread their interactions), radiant energy, all easy-going, just pure affection, content with and enough for each other, never any drama.

Well, there's always a first time...

When Mask picks up his two drinks, he manages to take two steps back into the direction where he came from before he stops midmotion. Mohawk has just entered the stage of your field of vision, approaching fast from the backroom and stepping at the counter behind his mate. He leans his back against it, sighing audibly. You wouldn't need to be as close to them as you are in order to notice his furrowed brows and the tight line of his lips. It's easy to tell that he’s frustrated - massively so. Slowly Mask turns around, handing Mohawk his drink.

"Well, Johnny, no more damsel in distress, I take it?"

"Ach, haud yer weesht."

You can’t avoid becoming a witness to their talk. Despite the other people around, it’s a quiet evening and their deep voices carry over to you easily, closeby as you are, the tension not to be overheard.

Johnny takes a sip, looks at his partner and rolls his eyes. He's just noticed someone behind his friend. You've never seen him that annoyed: "No second act, please..."

Then you see the beauty beeline towards the two men.

You bet every guy in here would give her 10/10 - and you could readily agree - if not for her flawless outward appearance desperately trying to cover up that one specific look in her eyes, with which she holds her chin up just one bit too high. Though, nine of ten would probably gladly ignore that streak of arrogance (- which you feel so obviously oozing off her in case one is willing to take one closer look - ) if that meant getting a chance to know her better - and her pants.

She's all seductive smiles: "How impolite of you to keep me waiting!", she chirps, addressing both men equally, voice like sugar syrup, sticky, dripping. Used to getting what she wants...

Taking another sip, Johnny doesn't even bother to look at her at this point anymore.

First-row-seat, you can watch the drama unfold.

Mohawk: "We'd rather be alone."

Beauty (flirtatiously): "Now we're getting closer. Just my thought. So we're leaving?"

Black Mask: "You are very welcome to go."

Beauty: "Well, you already get me going, mystery, but I'd love to come as well."

You almost choke on your drink. This woman is terrible, fully ignoring both men clearly pointing out that her attention is unwanted! It has become obvious that she must have already been digging on your two favourites for quite some time, finally even making them change their place...

Yet she doesn't stop: "If you know what I mean."

Mask: "We get it, but we choose to ignore the implication."

Beast: "Ohh, playing hard to get, sweets? I like me some good challenge!"

Mask: "Nice. Then show us how fast you can get away."

Beast: "No problem. I'm off in less than one second if you take my hand."

"I'd rather take yer head", Johnny mumbles, but in contrast to you, she can hear him and grins wickedly: "And I'd give you head willingly, Scotty too Hottie!"

She reaches out to him, but Mask's cold voice actually makes her stop.

"Don't touch him."

Beast chooses to let Mask's words play into her favour: "No need to be jealous, killer."

"Go pick someone else."

You're convinced that he'll finally get through to her, but Beast gets distracted.

"Yeah, pick me, sugar! Anytime!", some random guy in passing by turns to her, immediately posing, showing her his upper arm, flexing his biceps, clearly quite taken with her outward appearance.

"Not now", she dismisses him, noticeably annoyed, but he only shrugs, grinning, before calling back over his shoulder: "Change your mind, lemme know, gorgeous."

Mask: "You should go with him."

She gives that bloke a swift lookover. "Not my type."

"We're nae yer type, either", Johnny points out.

Beast: "Oh, but you are. Love that brogue."

Mask: "Let me rephrase: you are not our type."

Beast: "Don't worry, I can become anybody's type."

She wants to touch him, both of them, badly so, you can tell, from the way her fingers are twitching at her side, but something's holding her back. So she does have a slight idea of boundaries, at least.

"We might nae be interested in women altogether", Johnny states matter-of-factly and has her head snap into his direction again.

"Hot - but you've never had a woman like me before, I promise."

"True. And ah hope we'll never meet one like ye again in future, either."

"You won't. I'm unique - and you really don't wanna miss this one chance, boys. I'll make it worth your while."

Rather worst your while, you think to yourself while you notice their patience wearing thin. It is beyond you why she doesn't take 'no' (all those 'no's') as what it is. It makes you angry, this full display of blunt disrespect, every rejection - in decreasing stages of politeness - just a spur for her to try harder, eagerly pushing an ego that is non-existent...

It's now that Mask furrows his brows and rummages in a pocket of his jeans: "We don't find you attractive at all." On finishing his sentence, he takes a look at what he's holding in his palm now, a silently vibrating mobile phone. He shoots the other man a swift glance: "I'm'a take that call now, Johnny. Make her leave." His tone has changed, laced with finality.

Mohawk straightens, the command initiating a subtle but nontheless visible transformation. He responds to his masked partner with one single firm nod: "Yes, sir."

The mask exits.

Beast was quiet during their exchange but now she's biting her lower lip and turns to Mohawk seductively: "Sexy."

He looks at her, the bright summer sky of his eyes now the cold of the frostiest glacier: "Oan yer bike!", a deep, low rumble.

You can sense that this was his last attempt to give her a decent way out - unfortunately she doesn't take her chance: "I'd rather ride you, handsome."

You know this type of person - man or woman, makes no difference. She won't stop.

Mohawk has just realised this sad fact, too. He breathes out deeply and while his eyes are wearily drifting towards the exit, he grazes your gaze for a split second.

Meanwhile, Beast dares to get closer, the attempt of a huntress, about to reach out and - what? Touch his hips?

It crosses your mind that this insufferable person would have already been removed from the bar had she been a man harassing two women. However, with switched roles (and a beautiful woman being after two broad blokes) nobody (except Mohawk, Mask & you yourself) seems to fathom any fundamental problem...

You can see that this might get ugly (situations easily do with people like Beast) - and since you know how things can be... Your turn.

Ready to avoid the catastrophe...

He doesn’t get the time to say anything, nor does she to lay hand on him. You're faster.

Within one heartbeat you've grabbed your drink and pop up at his side, so much out of nowhere, that you manage to catch Beast by surprise and get her full attention.

You press yourself against Mohawk's side (as unobtrusive as possible under these circumstances) and, by reflex, you guess, his left arm comes to rest around your waist, a pose the two of you have fallen into so naturally, nothing odd about it, no hint of hesitation from either of you.

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t act surprised. He simply gets what you're doing here - but Beast doesn’t have a clue.

Showtime...

This is the guise you've chosen to present, and you perform artistically: there's a hint of defeat in your features, a slight hue of regret and a thin-lipped smile pointing downwards, emphazising that you know when a game is over.

You make sure that Beast gets enough time to study your facial expression. Then you donne Mohawk a genuine smile: "OK, honey, you win. I am fucking jealous seeing you flirting with some random woman. You were right, I was wrong. It really pisses me off when you tease her. I need this bad charade to end right now or I’ll forget myself", you notice a spark of mischief in his eyes, "And yes, darling, for the records, you have just won our bet. Happy now?"

Mohawk smirks at you, "Wasnae too painful tae confess now, was it, luv?" and makes you wonder how a grin can be so subtle and triumphant at the same time. You can feel him squeeze your waist in affection.

Now you turn to the other woman: "Really good job, dearie, digging on my man, testing my limits. So, have a nice one and farewell."

You can see the wheels in her head turning.

Does she call your bluff? No, at least not yet.

Doesn't mean it's over, though...

She gives you a calculating look-over, probably wondering why this man would be with you [in general, but especially] when he could have her - but she doesn't voice you're not his league, as some might say. She notices his hand caressing you softly, small gestures that make your acting convincing - the final proof, you think, to make her believe your claim is true.

Yes, "OK, I get it, the two of you belong together", but "but then I won’t let that blond enigma off the hook, for sure!"

Your heart skips a beat.

"Pity", a deep voice chimes in. Neither that woman nor you have noticed the masked man's return, his eyes fixed on Beast. So both of you stare at him when he takes one final step, "I'm all hers as well. Actually", to put his arm around your shoulder and drag your body into his possessively, "we're a throuple."

That poor woman is speechless for a second, blinks, flummoxed. "Throuple?", she repeats, utterly dumbfounded, her voice dripping with doubt.

"Aye, throuple, ye ken?", now Mohawk closes back in on you as well, his hand sliding to the small of your back. His once mischievous smile grows darker as he pulls up one eyebrow and a corner of his mouth, showing teeth, grinning - it's the wolfish way: "We fuck each other relentlessly and live happily ever after, just the three of us."

The blond wolf knows to add an eloquent thought: "With just the right amount of cocks 'n' holes to take care of, one sweet, perfect cunt. Yours not needed."

Her eyes go wide at their crude, blunt proclamation, a behaviour so different from before, but you yourself can’t help the smirk that creeps on your lips. Too much information for her...

Her eyes dart to the upturned corners of your mouth, the way you can hardly conceal your grin gets her suspicious.

However, your own focus finds a reason to shift when at the same time you feel the two men moving you in perfect sync. While Mask's right hand is sliding up from your shoulder to your neck, his left hand is tracing your left arm downwards until his long fingers can intertwine with yours. Using only soft, sweet pressure, he's holding your hands against your hip. Meanwhile, he's turned your body away from facing the other woman so that your back is firmly pressed to his front.

You feel the outlines of his muscular body, too fascinated to do anything else but comply - and why wouldn't you? It's too delightful a moment not to simply bask in - hyperaware of how your handsome 'darling' has also fully turned to you.

He's the counterpart to the man behind you, pressing his chest to your front, radiating heat that directly pools into your core. It comes oh-so naturally for you to place your right arm on his shoulder, your fingers sliding up his neck and into the soft strands of his hair, by instinct. You could swear you hear him faintly moan in pleasure; you can see dark night dawning in the shining sky of his cerulean orbs.

Caught between two predators, you couldn't be a prettier prey for them to play with... They're a sling that grows tighter around you, a closely woven net you don't want to escape.

You just concentrate on the feeling, let it swallow you whole, relishing in the moment, pretty sure you'll never get anything comparable again.

It's a perfect moment - apart from the fact that it’s not real.

However, maybe that's just what's made it all possible for you - no self-doubts, no fear of overstepping or misreading anybody's signs, no fear of rejection - for you won't ever be close to one of these guys, who aren’t into any woman after all. That has been clear to you from the very beginning, undeniably. Maybe it’s the first time you really feel at ease in a situation that could be part of a fantasy (literally your own fantasy!) - and the way they play along (a bit exaggerated in a way, perhaps) does some good to your self-confidence, despite only being a play pretend.

Suddenly you are pushed back over the edge of reality when the reason behind everything disturbs your haunting demon of harmony.

"You do them both?", Beast inquires, voice too shrill.

Don't let her catch you, this was your idea! Play cool!

Your remark sounds casual enough: "Well, yes... Not necessarily at the same time, though..."

"Not necessarily not at the same time", Mask clarifies pointedly, just loud enough for the four of you to hear and he lets his hips roll against the curve of your arse in one smooth motion that holds enough pressure to softly push you forward.

His partner knows how to catch you, perfect timing, by letting his own lower body meet you less than halfway. If you thought the three of you were close before, then you were wrong. Now you definitely feel the outlines of their dicks against your body. The vice their muscular frames create presses a shaky breath out of you that you didn’t know you were holding. It sounds too close to a wanton moan.

Suddenly feeling caught out, you hurry to hide your face from her in the crook of Mohawk's neck, blushing.

"Careful", you whisper into his ear, in a mild shock regarding your reaction to the two men. Mohawk makes you look him in the eye, tenderly thumbing your chin, and grins like a challenge. The way he then gingerly licks his lips makes him look hungry, almost lets you assume he might actually want to try and get a bite of you... What a silly idea for you to have...

Time seems to stretch and leaves your mind in a dizzy state.

"Lucky you." Her comment startles you. Why is she still there?

You sigh. Ultimately, you've put yourself in this situation - which isn't unpleasant in itself, rather the opposite. So don't be shy in the last few metres. Keep playing until the curtain falls...

"Luckiest girl in town", you confirm and mean it, "Can always have my favourite sandwich whenever I want."

You turn your head so you can have it leaning against the cheek of the man behind you, who closes the distance between your faces immediately. He welcomes the gesture like a purring cat and you feel the low sound vibrate in his chest.

Finally Beast truly takes a look at the two men and the woman who has claimed them. She can’t but feel betrayed. Her face turns into an ugly display of her defeat.

She snaps at both men equally: "You could have just told me right from the start that you got a girlfriend."

"Less fun", Mask comments deadpan and doesn't care about how she looks at him, fury raging in her eyes: "Arsehole! Wasting my time like this with your childish games! Grow up!"

How you despise her for her ignorance, for not letting the issue drop at once unless another woman has put a valid claim on the objects of her desire... How you loathe people not accepting 'No' and blaming others...

There is a jet black feeling boiling under your skin like the most Stygian gloom.

Beast is still glaring at the three of you, she might be even waiting for an apology that will never come.

"We're done talking now", your voice is ice crashing on her heated temper.

Mohawk knows a drastic method to underline your words. He turns your face away from her, his warm hand cupping your cheek, and draws you in. For a kiss...

You feel bold, (wrath coursing in your veins because of her) moving your lips as a tribute to all these Hollywood film-kisses you've seen in your life, mimicking passion; no tongues, no such line would be crossed with him. This will stay safe, you assume.

He tastes of whisky - tar notes and peat with tangy crisp seaweed and smoky bacon swirling on the surface, hints of sweet vanilla. Mouth feel is superb, dark and sweet, grounding you.

How long is this imitation of a kiss taking that you can process all these impressions? What's your flavour on his lips?

The woman watches you kissing for an endless moment, but how would you know?

You're focalised on the open-eyed dance of your mouths that you're sharing with this stranger of your dreams, concentrated on keeping up the façade while the two of you are holding each other's gaze, his boyfriend pressing your backside to his own body. What a strange intimacy...

When you feel the man behind you carefully untangle your intertwined fingers to let his hand find its way between Mohawk's and your own body in order to have his wide palm spread below your heart, his other hand wandering up your neck and into your hair, soft strands gliding through his fingers like liquid silk, a pull that's not a pull, you know that the other woman has finally left.

It's time for you to break the kiss, observing the man in front of you, that smug smile spreading on his delicious lips and reaching into his eyes, half-lidded now like those of a well-fed cat. You are preparing for an awkward feeling to set in, but it never comes. Somehow you stay caught in that surreal bubble the three of you have created.

Should you have a bad conscience towards the man in your back for your having indulged in kissing his partner? You decide against this notion. He has no reason to be upset or jealous, has he? You did nothing wrong, only responding to a kiss, not initiating it yourself; somehow it wasn't even a kiss, all just a fake, a game, nothing serious...

Right here, right now, you don't have the slightest idea how right and wrong you are at the very same time...

[Prepare to learn, dearie dove - choices have consequences.]

"Pure dead brilliant, bonnie", Johnny beams, "Tha was the nicest way out of this fucked-up situation. Ta."

Your proud, sly smile replies: "Just couldn't tolerate her disgusting behaviour anymore." Then you shift your weight to prepare for stepping aside in order to give up the formation of your human sandwich, but the man in your back reaches out his left hand, placing it on his partner's biceps.

Your cerulean bliss smiles impishly at the masked man in a way that leaves no question as to their feelings for each other (Beautiful!) and lets the fingers of his right hand come to rest on Mask's lower arm.

Just a gesture of affection among them, for sure, but your attempt of leaving this flat triangle has failed miserably, keeping you caged between the two of them. (Probably for the better since Beast might still be around!) Anyway, why would you complain? So when his two saphires return to you, you add: "I knew I simply had to do something when she was about to get all handsy with you."

He grimaces in repugnance: "Aye, got too close, that one", then he addresses his boyfriend, "Bloody bint was about tae grab ma bahookie, ye ken?"

"English, MacTavish."

You can hear the grin in Mask's deep baritone.

"Sorry, sir", he's not sorry at all, "Let me translate: my arse." He flashes you one of his flawless smiles and a conspiratory wink you bathe in. Their banter is enjoyable!

Grinning, you present your own theory: "I bet she would have even kissed it right on the spot if you had told her to or simply let her..."

The man in front of you says nothing in reply, but you see his eyes flick to your lips. You feel the weight in your back shift when the tall blond leans forward to whisper in your ear, just loud enough for his friend to hear, too: "I think he liked your kiss much better."

Then you feel a soft press against your jaw that confuses you. Has he just put his masked lips on you?

You need to blink several times, clear your throat and reply: "That wasn't... real. Only some sort of film-kiss. No real kiss, you know?"

"It was lips on lips, hen. Half way up tae geez a winch, eh? Sounds much like a kiss tae me."

"Bloody looked like one as well."

"And tasted so, too. Yer such a nice addin tae Scotch whisky, bonnie."

You swallow - speechless, considering the turn this conversation is taking. You want to come up with some witty remark - but you totally lack any clever ideas... You play for time, reaching out to the bar counter, taking a sip from your drink.

You notice the blond's hand close around his own glas. It's only when Mohawk places his right hand on your hip that Mask lets go of the other's arm. To you it’s nothing but coincidence. The only thing you do know is that Mask will now turn his face towards the bar, away from the crowd, before pulling one sling of the mask off from behind his ear to take a good swig of his beer. You watched him do so many times in the past while you were observing the two of them. - Enough of a reprieve for you to sort out and contemplate your feelings.

You convince yourself that you shouldn't read too much into their flirty behaviour. After all, these two men are a gay couple. You will just enjoy yourself. Clearly no reason to get flustered, right? Have fun and flirt back - and let them kiss you if they like. For your part, you liked the kiss(es?) - real or not!

Then the fabric is back in place and Johnny grins at him, a thin-lipped, intense little smile, that suits his half-lidded eyes: "Ah bet she'd taste delicious with tha drink of yers as well, Simon."

The pale man hums in anticipation, a deep, rich sound, promising. "We shall see."

Still trapped between the two them, you turn to Mask as far as possible, attempting a self-confident smile in response: "Now shall we?"

His right hand lands at the nape of your neck, his thumb ghosting soft circles on your skin. "Guess so, sweet'eart. Or do you think we haven't noticed you staring and watching", your eyes go wide and the crinkles growing around his eyes tell you that he’s smiling, "at any occasion, right, Johnny?"

"Aye, very accurate, Si. Studyin us as if it was her job."

Despite the fact that he's talking to the mask (Simon!), Mohawk (Johnny!) is looking at you solely. "Like some spy, gatherin intel or so."

Spy?! Something in his voice makes you believe that this might not entirely be a joke. On the one hand, you're shocked about the fact that - obviously - you are far worse at people-watching than you thought. How embarassing! But on the other hand, it’s such an appealing idea that they think you capable of actually being such femme fatale. Thrilling! (Or worrisome?)

However, ... what would there be to spy about them, anyway? Despite their scars, testimony of various hardships, they'd hardly be some modern James Bonds...

Well, you couldn't care less! This evening is the most exciting thing since... Oh, don't rack your brains, honey!

You bite your lower lip as not to let them see the wide grin that would definitely threaten to appear on your face. "I'm no spy." A soft smile in your voice can be heard unmistakenly as you are about to look down to where your and Johnny's bodies are touching, but, within a split second, Simon's hand reaches around your throat, with the softest of pressures only, and keeps your head tilt up with his index finger.

"Luckily, you're not", Simon's voice, close to your ear, sends a shiver down your spine.

Johnny's words make it whip straight into your core, the promise of an underlying danger: "Good fer ye, lassie, and good fer us. Win/win situation. Rare enough." His hand seems to burn on your hip. And once more your world shrinks down to these two strangers.

Simon's mask touches your earlobe: "Had a bet whether you would take the first step, doll."

"And what a first step tha was, bonnie, placin yerself in my arms, makin me yer man. Sweetest compensation fer me losing." He winks at you conspicously, daringly, but you are still processing their words.

Simon lets go of your throat when you take your drink again. You drain the rest of your glas in one go.

"Finished?", the Scotsman asks, "Then cummoan."

You glance around the taproom. "Have you seen where she went to after she'd left us alone?", you ask.

It's Simon who answers your question. "Left the bar some time ago with her friends."

You nod, relieved immensely, for you wouldn't like her to come across you sitting here all by yourself. "That's good. OK. Have a nice evening then, you two." You try a good-natured smile. It makes you a bit sad that your night together has already come to an abrupt end.

The roguish look Simon and Johnny exchange with each other goes completely unnoticed by you.

Now Mohawk playfully nudges you with his shoulder, slowly, tenderly, as not to really push you away with it. "Wiz talkin tae ye, hen. Had the impression it got pretty obvious that the three of us would be leavin thegether."

This is an unexpected turn...

You stare at the grinning man in front of you, dumbfounded, kind of, speechless.

Could I possibly misinterpret their intention regarding the things to come?

The way Johnny's looking at you makes unmistakenly clear: he means it; however, they won't coax you into anything you wouldn't want - you can decline, put a stop to it, anytime; they themselves wouldn't offer anything they disliked, either. No obligations.

You turn to get a look at the man behind you. He holds your incredulous gaze, unblinking, followed by one single affirmative nod.

This can’t be happening...

Their directness, sincerity, makes your decision an easy one.

Too good to be true...

A playful smile starts to spread on your lips. You only wish your voice sounded firmer when you finally answer. "I'd like that. So what happens now?"

Johnny's palms run up your arms and down again. "Listen, bonnie: ye set the pace. All ye need to ponder about is the timing, eh?"

"The timing?", you ask, slightly confused.

"Aye. Make up yer mind, take a moment tae decide. We've got plenty o' time. Ye can have anything."

You're still no wiser when Johnny addresses his mate as if you weren't there and listening: "Ah'm curious tae see what she will pick. Ah bet she's already gone through every scenario in her head since she started watching us, our wee minx." Simon slowly nods in response. "Got that impression, too."

On your way out, you're comfortably tugged in between the two almost-strangers who have just happened to become your two boyfriends by accident. Johnny’s got his arm around your waist again, a heavy, pleasant reminder, solid warmth, whereas Simon's massive hand is a crisp burn at the back of your neck, alluring autumn on your skin, the phantom of a chill ready to reach under your surface.

The moment the three of you are out of earshot, the masked man helps you to see things clearly, to understand the transition from fantasy to reality:

"So, how do you want us, love? One after the other - or both of us at the same time?"

[pagannatural]

2.17 Heart

- this episode can’t really be called underrated but it makes me insane in a special and specific way that needs airing

-Dean is cleaning their guns and geeking out about how cool werewolves are, how they haven’t seen one since they were kids, and how good it is to know how to handle the situation, and Sam is teasing him. This callback to their shared childhood is important.

-Dean asks Sam their next step the way a teacher asks their student because Sam is still learning hunting from Dean. Sam answers correctly, looking like he’s trying not to smile and looks down and then up at Dean. He looks like he’s flirting. He loves seeing Dean happy.

- Madison tells the brothers that the victim was the kind of guy to hit on everyone in a five mile radius after a few scotches, you know the type, and Sam at first smiles knowingly. But then he looks over at Dean, who’s smiling his fuck-me smile at Madison, and his face falls. “Yeah, I do, actually,” he says.

Dean’s interest in Madison (and other women in general) really bothers him in this moment.

- Dean tells Madison someone needs to stay with her in case the werewolf shows up. The moment she leaves the room Sam tells Dean “you go, I’ll stay” with this expression that seems very serious, not like he’s just wanting to be the one who spends time with the pretty woman.

They decide to settle this the old fashioned way which is rock-paper-scissors (ro-sham-bo). Another callback to their childhood. Sam wins because Dean always chooses scissors which is honestly fascinating to me— I would have guessed Dean would pick rock because it’s the solid strong masculine option and because Sam would choose paper, but of course Dean chooses the tool, the blades. Sam grasps Dean’s arm after and his hand lingers. Again, he does not seem to have done this out of any interest in Madison, it seems like he just doesn’t want to witness Dean with her.

-This is not the face of a man who likes this woman

It reminds me of how he acted around Sarah In Provenance. He has to perform liking her for Dean, but he never shows any signs of genuine interest. Madison even dumps a basket of delicates onto the table in front of him to fold and he scrunches up his face and moves to the couch.

- Sam observes that Madison is smart and independent and asks her why she was with a stalker, and she answers that it’s not like he introduced himself like Hi I’m possessive and controlling and I like to punch people. She also says he’s wanted by the police, and that she was too insecure to leave until she realized she could take control of her life.

Madison and Sam are set up as direct parallels. She ends up being a monster without even knowing and without intending any harm, which is what Sam fears. Also, the way she’s describing her ex-boyfriend sounds a lot like Dean: possessive, controlling, likes punching people, wanted by the police. I think Dean has a lot of very redeemable qualities and for the most part he treats Sam very kindly, but he is all those things. It’s also how Sam would describe John, who he got away from by taking control of his life. The difference is that Sam actually wants to be with Dean.

- Dean kills the first werewolf in this episode. The werewolf is dying in the street and Dean stands over him and watches him turn back into a scared and confused man right before he dies. Dean obviously doesn’t enjoy seeing a man lose his life, and it complicates his earlier excitement over hunting a werewolf. The grown-up version of this hunt isn’t fun any more.

- Dean can see how Sam cares about Madison because he relates to her, and the way he watches Sam is so tender and protective. When Madison hugs Sam, Dean watches them with such bittersweet understanding

and then excuses himself very obviously so that Sam and Madison can fuck. Which they do. Which is just wild.

Because Sam decides to have sex with the first woman since Jessica because 1) Dean tells him to and 2) he sees this woman as the version of himself that gets to live without becoming a monster

- when Sam knocks frantically on his door, Dean opens up, knowing right away something is wrong and reassuring Sam that they’ll find her. The way that Sam runs straight to Dean’s door when he’s scared and needs help and Dean is right there without another thought is very romantic tropey.

-Sam yells at Dean because Dean’s willing to kill Madison without question but unwilling to kill Sam no matter what he does including murder. Dean looks a little jostled to be confronted by this, but I think to him it’s just so clear that Sam is a special and specific category from the rest of humanity and creation that he doesn’t see or doesn’t care about the hypocrisy. Sam is the center of his universe and his entire system of values. Everyone on earth or in hell is either Sam or Not Sam. It’s funny because Sam is like this about Dean too, but he just accepts it.

-Dean explains the situation to Madison calmly and honestly. It’s the decent thing to do, and also the difficult thing. He’s not cold or numb to the work, but he is able to handle it and keep his head as long as it’s not about Sam.

-Madison asks Sam to be the one to kill her and Dean watches Sam struggle. He’s been watching Sam carefully and protectively this entire episode.

-She uses language so similar to the language Sam uses to beg Dean to kill him—asking for help, saying she wants it to be him who does it, “I’m asking you to save me.” She tries to hand Sam the gun.

Dean gets up at this point and stands behind Madison, his eyes on Sam as he moves, and slowly takes the gun out of her hands. This shifts the focus off Madison and solely onto the brothers for the remainder of the episode.

His eyes stay on Sam’s as he does this, and Sam is somehow looking up at Dean pleadingly. His romantic interest is begging him for help with tears in her eyes in what will be the last moments of her life and Sam is staring at Dean behind her.

The sexual relationship between Sam and Madison is explicitly compared to Dean and Sam’s relationship. It wasn’t necessary for the werewolf character to be a woman who Sam sleeps with—the very first woman that he is with since Jessica. She’s the stand-in for Sam in this case, and Sam is put in Dean’s shoes.

The brothers go into the other room and Dean assures Sam he doesn’t have to do this, that he’ll handle it. He wants to take care of Sam and spare him this, just like he has since they were children, but he can’t this time. Sam feels he has to because she asked him, and asks Dean for the gun.

It’s a very intentional choice that Sam won’t do this for Madison until he has to ask Dean, and that in the end it’s a conversation between the brothers that forms the emotional tension and climax of the episode. Dean did what Sam needed him to do by being the one to give him the choice: let me protect you from this or do it yourself. Before, the choice was more about Madison. Now it’s about Sam and Dean’s relationship.

- Sam looks back at Dean before he walks away, like a frightened child who needs help because he really doesn’t want to do this, but he knows it’s the right thing to do as a hunter. In doing this, Sam has played out the two things from Madison that he wants from Dean, that Dean can never give him— Dean will never let their relationship become physical, and he will never kill Sam.

The camera stays on Dean’s face as the gun goes off and the episode ends. Dean can’t save Sam from this, he can’t protect him from one of the responsibilities that comes with their lives as hunters. He’s terrified that he won’t be able to save Sam at all. The days when he could take care of Sam and shield him are over, and they both have to leave that part of their childhood behind. It’s not that Dean can’t save Sam in the end, because at the end of all of this their love for each other is what saves the world. It’s that their innocence can’t survive what’s coming. They have to grow up and face the realities of their lives. Their incestuous love for each other is one of those realities, but they aren’t there yet.

[bird-inacage]

Love Sea the Series: Intro (First Impressions & Predictions)

Because I'm a huge over-analyser whose known for my lengthy BL essays - here are my takeaways from the very brief glimpse we got to Mahasamut and Tongrak. They gave us literally a 1 minute teaser, so as you can imagine, I'm filling in a lot of blanks at this stage.

TONGRAK

Tongrak looks like he's going to be an unapologetic menace. A very sexy and sassy menace. He has an air of blasé indifference which screams 'yeah and so what?' you're not the boss of me'. Someone whose clearly a bit prickly, petulant and headstrong. Writers are often independent or even loners, as it's a very solitary field. They have a very strong vision of what they want, which can mean a reluctance to compromise.

I mentioned that he gives 'I know I'm hot shit' energy. He exudes a confident sexuality which is shown in how assertive he is when flirting and the smugness in how he retorts. He knows he's hot commodity and isn't afraid to flaunt it. Probably is used to having people wrapped around his little finger. 'We play by my rules, I decide if I want you or not'. At worst he may even see people around him as playthings.

Based on the general premise of the series, Tongrak comes to the seaside for inspiration. Uppity cosmopolitan city boy thrown in to the bohemian outdoors. He looks very noticeably out of place in this setting. But he may use that to his advantage, knowing others are looking at him, dazzled by a prince in the middle of literal nowhere.

MAHASAMUT

Now what comes across most strongly about Mahasamut is that he's clearly very possessive. This is signposted multiple times in this brief introduction alone. He steals Tongrak away when he's flirting with someone else. He drags him by the wrist across the beach. I assume at this point they've not known each other long and he's being very handsy and grabby. He asserts that Tongrak 'will have to love him.' (Which could mean: I'll make you fall in love with me whether you like it or not, OR you falling in love with me is inevitable because I'm just too goddamn charming). Pretty presumptuous all the same.

This tells us that Mahasamut is equally self-assured. He has bags of confidence in his ability to keep Tongrak interested. Though he's being turned down, he doesn't appear dissuaded or phased in the slightest. Whether this is due to being generally a bit thick-headed, or putting on a front in order not to let Tongrak feel like he's won, is too early to say.

It's also worth noting that people who have such confidence in their conviction often haven't failed before. And there's a certain naivete in that. It's the whole 'through hard work and determination I can conquer all' mentality, which is not always the case.

RELATIONSHIP DYNAMIC

Now what really fascinates me about this collision of personalities is that these two are going to butt heads. A lot. Whether that's in a good-humoured tug of war, or a stubborn battle of wills. Tongrak is resistant in a 'I refuse to compromise' type of way. Mahasamut is persistent in a 'I refuse to let it go' type of way (like a dog with a bone). Neither wants to give in. Both are declaring, 'you're going to want me'.

So Tongrak and Mahasamut are not your typical match on paper. There will be fireworks (most likely good and bad). It'll probably take them much longer to find equal footing that goes beyond just sexual attraction or lust. This is why I've got a hunch the love scenes are going to pop off. We're going to get angry sex, I'm calling it now.

You could argue that Tongrak and Mahasamut do share some similarities with Sky and Prapai - particularly with the bickering and chasing - just dialled up to 100.

OTHER OBSERVATIONS

ATMOSPHERE: The setting by the sea should prove to be a really interesting way of playing on tone. Watching those two interact whilst the wind blew around them, with the crashing of the waves in the distance was a whole mood.

CONTEXT: This feels leaps and bounds removed from the more grounded setting of Love in the Air. It almost feels like a summer fling. We're getting what appears to be a more adult backdrop, which I always greatly appreciate within the BL genre.

STYLING: Tongrak's outfits are going to murder me. The silky, drapey, billowy, low cut shirts with ample collarbone on show? CHRIST. Paired with the dainty jewellery. Kill me now.

Also, love the fact they were referring to each other as 'MISTER' and 'SIR'. Like SIR, DO YOU MIND? SIR, I'VE GOT A BONE TO PICK WITH YOU. SOMETHING GOT YOU HOT AND BOTHERED, SIR?

[wntrmelts]

Why I view/write Kaeya as living an inherently feminine experience

(reposting this essay from twitter)

This entire post will be a long string of observations and headcanons surrounding why I believe Kaeya’s story is an inherently feminine experience. It includes canon interactions but also explanations as to why I write him in a certain way in my works. Also, I would like to establish that with ‘feminine’ I am not explicitly talking about gender expression, but more so the societal expectations and gender roles that have been put on women. By this definition, a feminine experience is not exclusive to women only.

Starting in his childhood, Kaeya is described as being gentle and polite by Adelinde (1) whilst Diluc was described as more rambunctious. As they grew up, Kaeya, being the more reserved one, seemed to always stay in Diluc’s shadow (2).

The question is whether this was by choice or something that was imposed upon him. In a way, I think it’s both. To survive, he made sure not to cause trouble or speak out of turn, listening to and pleasing the authoritative figures in his life instead.

After Diluc was out of the picture and out of the KoF, Kaeya was given a completely different role. He was expected to lead now, his previous persona would not suffice in an environment like this. He had to be respected, and in order to gain the respect of his new subordinates, he had to change. He became louder and more visible, he had to learn how to stand his ground. This isn’t only reflected in his personality, but also his appearance. A big silhouette that exudes status with the gold accents and fur coat; it demands attention and communicates confidence to outsiders.

Kaeya as we know him has a very big personality. It’s hard to definitively say whether he enjoys the attention he gets from outsiders. Where does the act stop and his true self begin?

In his hangout, we can see him scurrying away with the traveler once he starts getting approached and praised for his on-stage performance in Port Ormos (3).

From the way he treats the interactions, it seems that he can humor these interactions when needed, but does not particularly enjoy them. There seems to be a dichotomy between the way he presents himself and how wishes other people to perceive him, and his true desires. I don’t think this means that he completely dislikes the way he presents himself. After having played this part for so long, it would make sense that at least part of it melds into his true self, but it does imply that his change post-fight isn’t 100% a case of ‘flourishing into his true self’ as his Vision story might suggest.

On that note, the attention Kaeya seems to get from bystanders seems to be something he does not seem /entirely/ comfortable with. Besides the fan interactions in Port Ormos, Kaeya also mentions in his hangout that he got approached by a group of mercenaries to dance (4).

The subtext suggests they were flirting with him, and whilst it is possible Kaeya genuinely did not realize this, I don’t believe someone like him would be oblivious to the implications of the interaction. He doesn’t name for what it was, plays it off lightly, and moves on. 

(To be fair, you can also take him at his word for this interaction. It really depends on how much you want to believe him. But also, my mans is not smiling in these?? At all??)

Now this goes into headcanon territory but I believe Kaeya is very aware of how people look at him. He’s been described to be eye-catching in his character story 5 (5), good-looking by multiple NPCs, even the traveler calls him handsome (6).

Point is: Kaeya looks good! He knows it, but as we’ve established before, he does not always like it. Despite his own discomfort, he still believes he can use this to his advantage. Because as we know, for him, the ends justify the means (7).

Perhaps he plays up his charm a little because he knows what it will get him, or because people will underestimate his true nature if he keeps it up. 

So for my personal interpretation: he’s ‘flirty’, not because he likes it, but because it helps him get things done. The reactions he gets out of it may or may not disgust him a little, but his sense of self-worth is not enough to stop him from using these tactics to get ahead.

Lastly, I would like to discuss how Kaeya, despite everything that has happened to him, does not outwardly express any of his anger frequently. At least, not in an obvious sense. To keep up appearances and to maintain his image, he never bursts out in anger, shouts, or yells. He is always hyperaware of how other people view him, and being angry is simply not appropriate. He remains composed in the presence of others even if he might want to shout or be angry. 

In short, the performative aspects of Kaeya’s character reflect a very specific part of the female experience to me. Always keeping in check with what other people’s expectations are, not wanting to take up too much space when he was younger but having to learn how to take up more space to gain other people’s respect when he got older, dealing with unwanted attention but not voicing complaints and dismissing them to not make a big deal out of it; these are all parts of it. 

All of this is super self-indulgent so don’t take it too seriously~ Just wanted to justify why I think he gets to sit with the girls :D

References (yes, I'm extra):

Kaeya Hangout: Taste of Home https://genshin-impact.fandom.com/wiki/Taste_of_Home 

Kaeya’s Vision Story https://genshin-impact.fandom.com/wiki/Kaeya/Lore 

Kaeya Hangout: All the World’s a Stage https://genshin-impact.fandom.com/wiki/All_the_World%27s_a_Stage#Must_It_Be_So? 

Kaeya Hangout: Poems Dedicated to the Wind https://genshin-impact.fandom.com/wiki/Poems_Dedicated_to_the_Wind 

Kaeya Character Story 5 https://genshin-impact.fandom.com/wiki/Kaeya/Lore 

Archon Quest: Prologue: When the Wind Dies Down https://genshin-impact.fandom.com/wiki/When_the_Wind_Dies_Down 

Kaeya Character Story 2 https://genshin-impact.fandom.com/wiki/Kaeya/Lore 

[underthetree845]

Pocky Game? (have you ever heard of the...)

Dazai Osamu/Reader (oneshot)

Cws: gn! reader (he calls you "Belladonna" and "Beautiful" but gender is not explicitly stated), ada dazai, flirting, (one) mention of suicide because it's Dazai, mutual pining because I'm such a sucker for it, office love, pocky game, dazai osamu needs a hug, dazai being a (loveable) piece of work

About 1.5k words

Summary: Dazai and Reader play the pocky game in the office of the Armed Detective Agency.

A/n: In case anyone gets confused, the song reference is to I Want It That Way by Backstreet Boys. I can't believe I actually kept that joke in there. Anyways, I've never written for this trope before and I wanted to try, so I ended up with this!

He’s such a goddamn tease. 

Always has been. 

With those big brown eyes, so deep yet so sharp. Like some cruel joke, the longer you stare the more difficult it gets to look away. 

He knows the way your knees go weak when he brushes his hand along your spine. He knows you nearly can’t stand it when he drops his voice an octave and utters words far too close to your ear for you to comprehend the actual meaning of. Those coffee-colored eyes observe every detail of your reaction, then file it all away in that bewildering mind for god knows what reason. 

So how, you wonder, did you ever end up with those eyes mere centimeters away from your own, the glint in them paired with a mischievous curl of his lips? 

-

“Y/n-san!~” an all too familiar voice bursts through the office door. The tall man takes long strides up to meet you, sitting down with a plop in his office chair right across from yours. He wheels it out to the side, you hear something shuffling as he slips it into his pocket. 

Kunikida would’ve condemned you for the stoicism you displayed. Finally, when Dazai bumps his seat into yours, you turn to look at him with a long, unfazed sigh. 

“Dazai, I wanted to stay alone in the office during lunch so I could finish up a report, remember?” you remind him, hands still hovering over the keys of your computer. 

“Let’s play a game,” he suggests, equally unfazed as he stares at you with a grin. 

“The answer is no,” you turn back to your screen, just barely missing the start of a pout on his lips. 

“But why?” he leans forward. 

“No.” 

“Y/n-san!” 

“Dazai,” your tone is hard. 

“Tell me why,” he insists, blinking those stupid brown eyes up at you like some kind of lost puppy. 

“I need to finish this because someone didn’t complete their half of the report for the field job we did yesterday,” you remind him sternly. 

He pauses for a moment before, very quietly, ever so softly, you hear, “Ain’t nothing but a heartache~” 

“Oh,” you loudly scoff, “I think I’m actually going to kill you.” 

Dazai’s mouth quirks into a grin. 

“Ain’t nothing but a mistake,” he continues, that stupidly charming smile growing on his lips. 

“Dazai,” you shove his shoulder, not being able to help the chuckle that slips from your throat. 

“And I never wanna hear you say,” the brunette theatrically sings into an invisible microphone before holding it out to you. You make eye contact and a sigh leaves your lips. 

“...That I want it that way,” you finish sheepishly. Dazai didn’t miss the faint dusting of pink on your cheeks. 

“Ah~” he falls against the back of his chair with a dreamy sigh and a clenched hand over his chest, “my Belladonna is so talented.” 

You almost blushed at the nickname. 

He’s just a flirt, you’ve heard him use that same term with countless others, you remind yourself. 

“Yeah yeah,” you reply. Dazai watches as you lean back in your chair again and cross your arms, but you don’t turn back to your desk. 

“I promise the game won’t take long,” he adds, and you let out a sigh. 

“Fine, one round,”  you hold up a finger and Dazai grins. 

He hums, “Whatever you say, Beautiful,” pushing his chair forward so that the two of you are face to face. Your knees touch and he rests on his elbows. If you both leaned forward just a little more you’d probably- 

Anyway. 

“I’m sure it won’t last long, I’ll probably beat you without even breaking a sweat,” the detective says comfortably. 

“As if,” you let out a huff; he has to restrain himself from cooing at the face you make when he gets under your skin. 

“Is that a challenge?” he replies with a raised eyebrow, “You want to win?” 

“Against you? Any day,” you make sharp eye contact and Dazai forces himself to ignore the stir in his chest. 

“Alright then,~” his voice is smooth, his long fingers sliding the box out of his pocket. “Y/n-san, have you ever heard of the pocky game?” Dazai holds the pink box up next to his face, tilts his head to the side, and your heart nearly stops. 

“I- what?” your eyes widen. You can feel blood rush to your cheeks. “You want to play the pocky game… with me?” 

“That is what I’m suggesting,” he gives you a close-eyed smile. 

“Well, I mean,” you trail off, wanting to curse the softness in your tone. 

“Are you not up for it?” he says sadly, “Bella, you promised me at least one round, remember?” This man is going to hell. 

“Okay,” you sigh, hoping your nervousness doesn’t bleed through your expression, “Just one round.” 

“Of course, one round is all I need.” 

Dazai opens the package and takes a singular strawberry-coated stick out. He holds it like a cigarette between two fingers, you internally roll your eyes when he gives himself the frosted end. 

“Ready?” there’s a glint in his eyes as he hovers the pocky between your faces. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you reply, clenching your hands together in your lap. 

Dazai lets out a chuckle but says nothing more. 

In the next moment, both of your lips are on the pocky, a mere sixteen centimeters apart. 

You make eye contact and Dazai keeps his gaze steady but is unable to help the way his pupils dilate at the closeness. You notice, but shake it off. Probably just a refocus due to proximity. I wonder if my eyes did the same thing.  

You stare back, and with a non-verbal affirmation, the nibbing starts. 

It’s dead quiet in the office, you glance at the clock and exhale in relief when you see that there are still fourteen minutes left in lunch. If anyone were to walk in, you think you might actually jump out the window. 

How did it even come to this? You wonder. The brunette’s persuasive powers would never cease to amaze you. You could never tell if it was his grin, demeanor, the way he walked, or the look in his eyes that got to you. Maybe it was everything. 

On the flip side, Dazai could talk for hours about everything about you. He’d always found you charming, ever since you started working at the agency. He flirted, gave you sweet nicknames, held your hand delicately as he asked you to partake in a double suicide with him. Most others would lose patience after a while and resort to giving him the cold shoulder; disregard him, not that he expected any less. You, on the other hand, for some incomprehensible reason, never stopped looking at him like he might be worth something. You treated his wounds after a rough mission, told him to get home safely, covered for him when he wanted to nap, you even took him to a spicy curry place for his birthday knowing it was his favorite. He found himself craving the warmth you showed, any attention at all. He began to observe. He watched your reactions, tried to press your buttons, everything he could think of that would usually drive people away. Why you seemingly haven’t given up on him yet is something he cannot grasp, but hopes to one day understand. 

Such a man so capable of love yet tainted by the world to walk the tightrope between life and death. 

Eyes like two pools, drowning you, endlessly deep, slowly inching closer and closer. You can feel his breath fanning over your lips, and goosebumps rise on the back of your neck. 

You’re struggling to balance the pocky between your lips now, each of your actions minuscule and calculated. A little bit closer. What if we actually meet in the middle? Almost there. Do I want this? Barely an inch left. Does he want this too? 

The pocky snaps, and in the next moment, you’re left with part of the treat sticking out of your mouth while Dazai pulls back and swallows his half. The ghost of a smile resides in his eyes, you stare for a moment before finishing your half and sputtering out a sentence. 

“W-what was that Dazai?” you question, embarrassment burning on your cheeks. “I thought… I…”  you slowly go silent, barely having the nerve to stare at him as he rises and leads his chair back around to his own desk. 

“Pulling away is an automatic loss,” he replies with a complacent smile, hands resting in his pockets, “I thought you wanted to win, no?” 

You sit there, nothing but dumbfounded as the detective saunters his way out of the office space. “Enjoy finishing your report Belladonna!~” he calls, casting you a glance over his shoulder before the office door shuts behind him. 

You glance at the box of strawberry pocky left on your desk.

Such a goddamn tease. 

A/n: Thank you for reading! This was my first time writing for him so I hope it was okay. I just wanted to try something simple.

[mistydeyes]

pain killer fueled thoughts

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summary: Finally leaving the comfort of your base pharmacy, you're thrown into a makeshift medical tent. With the change of scenery, you went to work to make yourself useful to both the medics and the soldiers. This isn't your first deployment but it is the first time that someone under the effects of morphine and ketamine confesses their love to you. A sequel to "a panacea"

pairing: Price x pharmacist!Reader

warnings: medical/pharmacy terminology, medical inaccuracies, swearing, depiction of wounds, fluff, and flirting

a/n: it's finally here! to all my price fans who carried 49% of the votes, i hope you enjoy :)

🏷️ @fan-of-encouragement

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Assignments overseas were both exciting and painful for you. While you liked the different atmosphere, you spent most of your time making sure your makeshift pharmacy was stocked and ran around providing aid when needed. Every day was spent looking at the shelves and counting every bottle, vial, and box. When you weren’t occupied with that, you were prepping IV bags and debating with doctors regarding their treatment plans. You by no means had to face the horrors of fighting but it was frustrating, monotonous work.

However, besides the paperwork and bureaucracy, you hated seeing the friendly faces of your patients twisted in agony as the doctor reset their bones or stitched their wounds. You would spend your lunches at their bedside trying to ease their mind away from the pain and entertaining them with stories and your never-ending facts.

As you entered the temporary infirmary, you recognized the resting face of Captain Price. He was the only man there as the others had either recovered or been set home. You had heard he had become injured earlier this morning. A bullet through his neck/upper chest you would later learn. Miraculously, the bullet exited in one piece and missed his vital arteries and clavicle bone. You knew he’d heal well but you couldn’t imagine the pain he was in. He would be sent on the next flight home and was only here for the remainder of the afternoon. You worried about his condition.

As you entered, the field medic whispered that the Captain had just been wheeled onto the cot. They described his unit's quick actions in applying a Hemcon dressing to the entrance and exit wound. Once back at the base, they provided him with IV Lactated Ringer to provide him with some necessary electrolytes and nutrients. His case was a priority so within the next two hours he would be transferred to a proper hospital.

As you nodded at the standard procedure, the medic added, "The nurse and I hooked him up to an IV drip so hopefully it kicks it in soon." With that, the medic was off to either take a nap or get something to eat. If it were you, you’d be stealing some melatonin and passing out. You appreciated the medic’s information and started to walk towards Price’s cot.

“Y/N, what a surprise to see you here,” Price said, eyes still closed.

“I can see why you rose through the ranks. You have a scary sense of observation,” you joked and grabbed a stool to sit next to him.

“You’re just predictable. Plus how could I miss your recognizable perfume and soap? You have to tell me how they let you out of that mandated shit they call bar soap.” He replied, now turning to face you. He tried agonizingly to lay on his side as you rose from your seat trying to calm him.

“If you stop moving and rest, I’d let you have some,” you said adjusting his pillow and placing a hand on his stomach to lay him back down.

“Now doctor, is that a way to touch your patient?” he flirted. You knew the IV was beginning to kick in. You examined the label and noted the Captain was being infused with a cocktail of ketamine and morphine. You knew this was one of the strongest agents there was, learning it was first-line in extensive battlefield injuries.

His blabbering did come as a shock though as Price was always professional with you. Yes, the loving pet names left you wondering if there was more to him and you but you never received full confirmation.

Following Gaz’s visit to you, Price had become a close friend and you both were able to vent about your frustrations of the day. Although you both had confidential information you couldn’t share, he entertained you with requests to give Soap something that would shut him up and calm the Scot.

He was laughing on the verge of tears when you told him once that he should ask the veterinarian department for a muzzle and dog whistle.

“Oh, they really gave you the good stuff. There’s no way this is the strong, commanding officer I know,” you wanted to add ‘and love’ to the end of that statement but weren’t going to compromise yourself like that.

“I am much more than a commanding officer, Y/N.” he drowsily replied. “I can be anything, a lover, a boyfriend, even a husband”

God, they must have given him a hefty dose by the way he was speaking. You blushed profusely and soon felt too hot to be around him.

“Well, I’m sure some lucky person would cherish all of those. Although I’m no fisherman, I would say you are a catch, John” you responded with a giggle following.

“Not just any lucky person, I’m talking about the pharmacist Y/N,” he began and you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Besides the fact he hadn’t remembered that you were sitting next to him, he was confessing his desire to marry you. What kind of £1 romance novel was this? “They’re beyond smart and I swear, their touch feels like silk. Oh, and I love the fact that florists have the red and blue striped pole in the front because of historic bloodletting practices.”

“Barbers,” you corrected, “barbershops have that.” You had told him that story on a late evening at the pharmacy. He had graciously shown up with a cup of his famous coffee as he knew you were preparing your medication list for tomorrow’s long meeting with the heads of the medical department. This was your 2nd assignment overseas and you knew they wanted a comprehensive list regarding what was necessary for deployment. Worse yet, this three-month timeframe meant you needed to supply for six months, in case anything happened. Somehow, as you sipped you both sipped your coffee into the early hours of the morning, you had landed on the history of medicine and barbers.

“Anyways, Y/N would make the perfect partner. I want to wake up to them in the morning and know they're safe in my arms,” he continued, “No one would pass up on the opportunity to have someone to come home to and share moments with.”

“I’m sure Captain L/N is an amazing person. Maybe you should consider taking them out of their pharmacy and have something more than just your coffee” you replied. After that night with Price, you would constantly look for his signature hat and dashing smile everywhere you went. You always happened to visit his office when you knew he was working long nights and always were coincidentally getting some fresh air as he took an afternoon smoke.

You wondered how his calloused hands would feel intertwined in yours and if you could taste the smoke on his lips from his bad habit.

“As soon as I get overseas, I’ll be sure to march into the pharmacy and sweep them off their feet, soldier. Just wait and see,” he said followed by a large yawn.

“John, I think it’s time to rest,” you said and slowly got up off the stool.

Reacting to your movement, he lazily grabbed your arm and asked, “Do you think they’d drop that stop-smoking crap if we were married?”

This man was full of jokes and painkillers. You wished you’d be able to take a video of him in this state. “Might just have to ask them yourselves when you’re better. You should get some sleep Captain, you have a long flight ahead of you,” you whispered as his eyes fluttered closed.

When Price woke up the next day in a proper hospital, he noticed his prized hat on the table next to him along with some other belongings. Leaning over, he reached for it and saw a small note written on a doctor’s prescription pad in its inner lining.

In precise handwriting, he read “To my coffee hero, I was touched by what you said even in your drug-fueled state. If you mean what you said, then I have a proposition for you. Once we’re both on leave and you’re recovered, fancy a date with me? Maybe we can roam the streets of London and I’ll be sure to keep you entertained with my facts.

With love, Y/N”

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It wasn’t years later that you provided Price with the exact words he had said to you. He would have loved it, only if you hadn’t revealed it to him in front of friends and family during your vows. ┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ �� . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

a/n I’m breaking the stereotype that pharmacists and doctors have bad handwriting

[911coded]

I’m about 1/2 to 2/3 of the way through my bucktommy goes to the Pegasus Galaxy fic. The plan right now, if the characters don’t run away with it, is to get these crazy kids to Atlantis and back together. I will be leaving it open ended to continue with them living and working on Atlantis but right now I have no idea what that looks like. Ideas are welcome! I want to just post chapters here until I finish writing, then I will post the whole thing on AO3.

Chapter 1: My Lover’s Gone

Evan.Buckley13@gmail.com

To: David.Parrish.civ@mail.mil

Dave,

This is going to sound crazy but I just found out that Tommy has taken an assignment to Antarctica for the next six months! Antarctica, David! I can’t let him just leave, right? Fuck. I think I understand now why he ran but I’m at the end of my patience here now and I need to chase him before he somehow figures out how to leave the planet! Lol 😆

The LAFD bulletin says he’s stationed at McMurdo. Isn’t that where you and Lorne were based when we met in Mancora? Are you still in contact with someone there? I know you can’t say much, believe me, I understand classified, but I’m desperate man! I just need a contact in SAR and I’m sure with my certs and experience I can convince them I’d be an asset. I’ve been keeping up with all my training just in case so all I need to do is rent out my loft and I’m all set to go. Anyway, hopefully you’ll have some news for me in thurdays email. 🙏🏻

P.S. Sorry this is not like our usual emails, my head’s just a mess as you can probably tell. 😳

Talk soon,

Buck

David Parrish pushed his desk chair back and turned to the wall of windows and the sea glittering in the sun while trying to decide how he wanted to handle this situation. He smirked as he imagined the chaos Buck would bring to Atlantis. And maybe another pilot for Sheppard to play with. Of course, that’s a big if, it’s getting less and less common to find someone with the gene the last few years and Carson has been scratching his head over the why of it. With a sigh, he got to his feet and waved their suite door open. “Now to find someone with some actual authority,” he muttered to himself as he turned the corner to the nearest transporter.

He emerged in the main SCIENCE! corridor, almost positive he would find Major General John Sheppard hiding in Dr. Rodney McKay’s lab. Sure enough, when he entered the main lab, John was sprawled in an oversized chair, engaged in their version of flirting which consisted of snark and Rodney calling John, Colonel, instead of General, while they also solved complex math problems for fun. Weirdos. Dave plopped into a nearby chair and observed the chaos while he debated who to approach first.

“I got some news from my friend in Los Angeles,” he stated, when he noticed John looking at him. “Oh, yeah?” John prodded.

“Remember the ex-boyfriend that we advised to give him a little time, then go full Buck on him?” Dave asked.

“Is this the firefighter friend that makes ancient tech sit up and beg?” Rodney asked, smirking at John. John rolled his eyes at Rodney then nudged Dave’s arm, “What happened?”

“The ex-boyfriend ran away to McMurdo for six months. Buck wants to chase after him, he asked for my help with an introduction to someone in SAR down there,” Dave shared.

John’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Are you going to lure him into the program?” he asked. “Thinking about it,” Dave responded with a smirk.

Tommy was running through his preflight checks when he flinched reaching for the clipboard. Pathetic. Multiple memories of Evan grinning mischievously with a clipboard in hand ran through his mind. He shakes his head sharply and stuffed the thoughts and pain back in the steel chest in the back of his brain. He was here to work where no one knew him, where he could just breathe without someone tiptoeing around his feelings, and where he could hopefully learn how to let go of the pain of his imploded relationship. Maybe if he hadn’t done the imploding himself, it would be easier but of course he panicked and the next thing he knew, he was walking out of Evan’s loft having destroyed everything. Before Evan could ruin him. Jokes on Tommy though, turns out he can ruin himself without any help. With a deep breath, Tommy shoves the self-loathing aside and returns to his checklist with a huff.

He was running the last checks when he heard the crunch of boots on the frosted pavement, his VIP passenger was right on time.

David.Parrish.civ@mail.mil

To: Evan.Buckley13@gmail.com

Buck,

I have to tell you, my friend, you have some of my coworkers fascinated. 😂 With a bug from me in the right ear, it looks like a bored retired general should be on his way to meet your Tommy. Things are moving surprisingly quickly (well I say surprising, but most of us are out of field work and missing excitement in our lives). I heard that there was a fight between 2 generals about who got to scope out your pilot. Jack claimed that his “great age” and free time due to retirement meant that he was the obvious choice. Somewhere on my base, John is pouting and complaining to his scientist that no one lets him have fun anymore. You have already caused chaos without even being here! If nothing else, I’ll have a report on his state of mind for you by our next email. OR. If you are feeling adventurous and can get to Colorado Springs tout de suite, I have another bored general who has heard from Lorne about your uncanny bartender abilities. There may or may not be a betting pool. 😇

In all seriousness, I can get you a job without a problem, Tommy too. You both have the skills that our program can use. Here is where you have to make a decision, Buck. Classified. Our program can change your whole life, expand it and toss it on its ear. His too. Are you ready to fall down this rabbit hole? Think about it. Let me know.

Dave

Buck put his laptop on the coffee table and sat staring blankly at the wall, his mind racing in a million different directions at all the possibilities. Did he want to explore this opportunity that is now much more than SAR in Antarctica for a few months? Not only for him, but is it fair that he dragged Tommy into this? What if Tommy hates him for indirectly bringing him to the attention of these people? At this point, Buck is pacing the floor of his kitchen. Is he ready to leave his life here in LA for what could be a life-changing new job? Eddie was leaving next week to be with Christopher. Maddie, Chim, Hen, and Karen are settled in their families and happy. Bobby and Athena have both mentioned thoughts of retirement as a not so far into the future potential. What does he want next? What does he want? He wants a life with Tommy. He wants to help people. He wants to make a difference. He needs to talk this out. He needs some clarity. Buck jumps to his feet and grabs his keys and phone. He's out the door and in the elevator with the phone to his ear in a matter of moments.

[booksndpoetry]

The Gratitude Series

A Lee Minho Fanfic

Prequel to "A Modern Love Story"

WC : 2.8k words

Pairing : Lee Minho X Fem reader

Genre : Fluff

Triggers/Warnings : Repetitions of two particular words and mentions of brownies; read at your own risk of temptation

A/N : This was inspired by my own conversations with my friends when they told me to stop thanking them. I hope each of you who reads this, gets someone who'll thank you from the bottom of their heart.

m.list

“Some days I adore you a little more than a human being can adore” – Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to Vera

To Lee Minho, you were an enigma of sorts. You were like a ball of yarn, threaded with your secrets. And he was the cat, ever curious. Each thread that unravelled, satiated his curiosity, until he wanted more. Until he knew it was never going to be enough. It was more of a depraved hunger than anything, but you didn’t have to know that. 

i. 

Minho had always considered his part-time job as a barista at the local café just as a way to spend his time wisely and earn some money. He did not expect the best people to be the customers, nor did he think the café was particularly interesting. It just…..was.

But that was his opinion before you came into the café. 

The first time he’d seen you, you had ordered a milkshake and sat down at one of the tables, book in hand, the nearly empty café a reflection of your quiet, poised state.

When he’d come to serve your milkshake, you’d stopped reading your book, the original volume of Howl’s Moving Castle he’d observed, as he approached you.

You read his name off his name tag, gifted him, a complete stranger back then, a dazzling smile and said “Thank you.” with the calmest voice he’d ever heard. 

He had been surprised. Not because you’d thanked him, more so because you stopped what you were doing just to acknowledge him and thank him, face to face. 

He hadn’t known what to do. Receiving thanks or compliments had always been awkward for him.

 And so he gave away his embarrassment with the tips of his ears glowing red, muttering something incoherent in reply, and your smile had become a little bit wider. 

Just a little bit, but he’d noticed it. 

That is how he remembers his first encounter with you, with him completely flustered by you and your bright smile. 

ii. 

After you had left the café that day, he had come in extra early to work every day, in hopes of catching you if you were an early riser. But to no avail. 

After two days, he thought himself stupid. He barely knew you. And you would’ve probably forgotten his name, he reasoned with himself. 

Still, his nights were filled with thoughts of you. He thought long and hard about you. 

Did you thank everyone that way? Or was it just him you thanked that way?

He had hoped, foolish as it was, that it was the latter. 

Had you found him attractive and hence given him your attention?

The question wasn’t entirely baseless. Lots of people frequented the café just to flirt with him. But he knew that it wasn’t the case, he would have remembered you if you’d come there before.

Would you come back again? Would he see you again? 

And so, he’d tossed and turned. He couldn’t get his mind off you.  

The two days turned into four weeks and the study group he was in at University, had set up a meeting at the music club. 

When he’d asked Chan, the person who had organized everything, why they hadn’t set up the meeting in the University’s large library, the latter had unashamedly said that the library wouldn’t allow food in and hence the spot was selected. 

Even on the walk to the meeting, Minho rolls his eyes. 

The library would have been much quieter. With no rules to maintain silence, he had no idea how to protect his ears from his group of extremely loud friends.  

He arrives minutes before the meeting. The tiny room was packed and he was already assessing the number of decibels emitted from the inside. 

Taking a breath, he pushes the door open and walks inside. The entire study group had assembled for the first time, and there were a lot more people than he’d expected. 

As soon as he sits down, Chan who had been chatting with someone next to him, turns and greets Minho. Minho nods in acknowledgement, looking away and that’s when he sees you for the second time. 

You sit in a corner of the room, nose deep in a book, just like the first time he’d met you.

Today, you’re decked up in a long winter coat, and a lemon-coloured scarf wrapped around your neck.

Just like the first time, you’re smiling as you read your book.

Just like the first time, you manage to take his breath away.

And just like the first time, he doesn’t know what to think, let alone what to do. 

Despite that, he knows that he might not have a chance to see you again and thus, musters up all his courage and approaches you, which is exactly when Felix decides to announce that he brought brownies for everyone. Minho has to clamp his mouth shut to stop a groan from escaping him. 

Great, he thinks, now he would never ever have a chance with you again and he would die an old cat gentleman.

Even in his head, he thinks it sounds ridiculous. He reminds himself not to hang out too much around Hyunjin. The dramatics were rubbing off on him. 

Shaking his head, he goes back to retake his seat when he notices Felix distributing scrumptious looking brownies (that he knew were delectable) to the large group of people, by himself.

He also notices another box, and maybe it is because he’s gotten so used to serving people, he takes the box up and starts distributing brownies to the other table.

Felix offers him a cheery thanks and Minho just waves him off. 

When he gets to your table, Minho holds his breath. He expects you to have forgotten him, but you lift your head and say,

 “Hey, Minho right? We meet again.” 

and all the practice he’s given himself goes down the drain. Clearing his throat, he pretends he isn’t affected by the fact that you remember his name, and extends a brownie towards you. You look at his outstretched hand and take the brownie, and just as he’d predicted, you look up at him, still smiling, and gift him a:

“Thank you.”

 He’s just as bothered, with the base of his neck going red at the words. However, in a burst of courage, he’s taking a chance with you just to lengthen the conversation. 

“I’m not the one who made them, Felix did.”, he informs you and you tilt your head slightly. 

“I know, I’ll thank him later.”, you reply, “I’m thanking you now.” 

“Why?” he asks. He doesn’t know, why you did it. He wanted to know. 

“Because”, you say, your words slow and deliberate, like you had all the time in the world,

“you could have let him distribute them to everyone, all the thirty five students, all by himself. It wouldn’t have been a big deal. But you chose to help him and give some of us a brownie, when you could’ve eaten yours first. So, thank you.” 

He’s stunned. Both by the sincerity of your words and the honesty you delivered them with. 

For a moment he stands there, absorbing your words. Before he can respond, one of them asks if they can have one more cupcake and he gets to his senses. You smile and wave him off. 

The second time too, he thinks, was just as delightful as the first. 

Maybe Chan chose the right spot after all. 

iii. 

Slowly, Minho eases his way into your life until you’re both latched together, like two sides of the same coin. He makes you milkshakes even when he’s not in the café and you smile and thank him for it, every time. 

He’s grown used to your words of gratitude, but he knows that you don’t throw the words around lightly. So, he makes space in his heart for all your thank yous, and slowly learns how to respond to them too. 

He wonders whether it is because you two aren’t close yet, that perhaps you feel the need to thank him for every little thing. He shrugs it off, feeling like you might stop your adorable habit once you fully get to know him. 

But mostly, he wants you to stop looking at him and smiling at him like he’s the candle burning on your desk at dusk, the only source of light when you need it. Because, he feels like it might never be enough when he falls for you. 

It was so easy to fall in love with you, your entire existence a balm to his soul effortlessly. 

He thinks about it then, when he jogs to get you your water bottle from your bag, placed at the very end of the basketball court you were running in to get your daily laps in. 

Just as he’d predicted, you tell him: 

“Thank you.” 

His chest feels too tight, like he’s been running for an hour, when he’s only been jogging for twenty minutes. 

He wants you to stop. 

He wants you to tell him those words for the rest of his life. 

Minho feels like collapsing in the middle of the basketball court, to hit his head hard enough. Just so he can stop this heady feeling from consuming him whole. 

iv. 

Minho feels himself flying in love with you. Why? Because he sees you are already in love with him too. 

It’s unmistakable in the way your eyes search for him whenever he comes into a room.

It’s in how you always try to say yes to all his plans even though he tells you it’s okay if you feel otherwise.

It’s in the way you smile at him, something only for him to see.

But mostly, he knows it because of your eyes. Your eyes light up at his arrival, and they are transparent pools of your love for him, as clear as daylight.

And that, he learns, makes all the difference. 

v. 

Before you, Minho had a hard time trusting words. 

Why?

Because they were grand and promising at first, but empty if they weren’t followed by true actions. 

Most of the people early in his life only talked and talked, empty words with thoughts of what could’ve been, except they never were. 

But with you, Minho knew they were true to their meaning.

 He’d seen you bear the weight of them when you stayed behind for two hours in class to help a failing classmate.

He’d seen you fulfil them when you stayed up for hours writing something for the highest grade you had ever gotten, even if it was for extra credit.

He sees you stay true to them when you call your mom every single day like you’d promised, and when you call him without fail each time you go to the department store to ask him if he wants something. 

All he sees is you. 

You were an exception to his every agenda, every single time. 

He has no complaints. 

vi. 

One week before the finals, you're holed up in your room, ignoring all his calls, and Minho knows what's up. 

Your Psychology exams are what’s up. 

He drops by to your place and lets himself in, shoes placed in your shoe stand, just the way you do it. Going in, he gives a shout to let you know of his arrival. You holler something back & he takes it that you know.

Wandering to the kitchen, he spots a fruit bowl. Thinking that you could use a snack after all the studying you've done, he takes a few oranges from it and heads to your room. 

The sight of you hunched over your desk, buried in your books, your glasses barely hanging off your nose is what greets him.

 For a moment, all of it ceases to exist except him and his thoughts and you.

 He'd read all about the pinings of writers and poets who'd sworn that their lovers and muses were capable of taking their breath away at any time, even when they might look unflattering to the rest of the world.

 Minho had disagreed. One had to look unpresentable when they were buried in work and gave no thought about maintaining their appearance, right? 

 Wrong.

 He's rendered wrong. 

So, so, wrong. 

Because the sight of you then, bare-faced and bespectacled, puckered lips and furrowed eyebrows elicits an emotion he doesn't know how to name.

It's strong, this little feeling and every time you purse your lips or scrunch your nose, it grows stronger. He doesn't know what to do with the stubborn feeling, but he knows it's there to stay.

You were so engrossed in your reading that it took you a good three minutes to find out Minho was in the room.

After you do though, you abandon your textbook on the study desk and turn your attention to Minho. 

“Oh hey. Need something?” 

He chuckles, running a hand through his silky, wine-red strands as he takes you in fully, eyes subtle but greedy in their perusal of you.

 “I should be the one asking you that, you being buried in work and all.”

He gestures to your growing pile of papers, notes, and books. 

You let a whine in response.

“Don’t remind me of that. I’m taking a break. Seriously, I don’t get why I need to know the names of all the medical records used in the world. How am I supposed to treat other people, when I myself am slowly going insane?” 

You punctuate your rambling by sinking further into your chair until it shakes. 

He doesn’t know how to respond to that. But he does know how to make you feel better, that’s one thing he prides himself in. 

Coming to stand in front of you, he slowly reveals the arm behind his back and flourishes the oranges he’s fetched, like a magician exhibiting a miracle. 

You’re a magician of your own, giving away one of your dizzying smiles that he can see in his head for days on end. 

He slowly sits down on the floor, and starts peeling an orange. You join him and reach for one, but he swats your hand away. You frown, but abandon all thoughts of oranges when you remember your assignment, still very much unfinished. 

You abruptly get up, startling Minho out of his trance. He flinches before glaring at you. You cheekily smile down at him. 

“Sorry Min, I have to get this done before nightfall.” 

“Okay.” He says, even as gets up to shove a piece of fruit in your mouth. 

“Mo, yw don undastan-“ 

“Don’t talk while you’re eating.”

You glare at him, but do as he says.  

Even in your disgruntled state, you manage a quiet “Thank you.” 

You know how Minho left the comfort of his home just to come to cheer you up, even when he’s a homebody. And you’re grateful for it; you would’ve holed up in your room until you disintegrated into bits otherwise. 

He just shakes his head. 

Silence prevails in the room for a while, unless interrupted by the clicks of the keyboard and the quiet chewing as he feeds you slices. 

“You don’t have to say thank you to me all the time, y’know?” Minho begins, leaning beside you on your mahogany desk. 

You absently hum and finish typing the sentence. Only then do you fully process his words. 

“Huh?”

“We’re friends now, or at least I think we are. So, you don’t have to thank me for every little thing. It feels like you’re being formal with me.” 

This is the longest you’ve spoken with me, and it’s because of my thank yous. Isn’t that reason enough for me to tell you those words every time? 

The words are at the tip of your tongue, but you swallow them down. They weren’t for now, this moment. 

You just exhale and give his head a ruffle. He dodges it, and glares at you, reminding you of his cats.

Your mouth curves upwards. 

“What are the words ‘Thank you’ for then?

I don’t think they exist just for a half-hearted appreciation for someone I barely know.

I think they exist so I can try and convey my gratitude to the people close to me. I won’t ever be able to fully convey the feelings in words, but I can try.

So think of each of my thank yous as a two-word love letter sealed with joy for being in my life.

Is that better?” 

You duck your head down, shy after your sudden outburst of emotion.

I won’t ever be able to convey my gratitude fully, but I can try. 

A two-word love letter sealed with joy for being in my life. 

Good god, he believes you’re an angel at that instant.

You were ethereal in every way, whether that be the way you talked, the way you walked or the way you looked at him with thoughtful eyes, like he was the star in each one of your universes.

No ordinary person could be like that, could they?

He’s at a loss for words, like usual. And that doesn’t surprise you. He was a man of a few words anyway. 

Stealing an orange slice, you get back to work. 

This time, Minho thinks, even the word ‘delightful’ doesn’t cover it. He’s sure that no word can encompass even a sliver of your essence, except maybe the words ‘Thank you’. 

And he hopes that now you’ll let him tell you that every single day. 

© booksndpoetry 2024. All rights reserved. Please do not plagiarise, translate, repost or steal my works in any way. All idols used in this piece are just inspiration to character. They do not reflect the real people in any way.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Halloween Fics (MFLs) [October 2023 Edition]

See also:

Halloween Fics (Oct 2018)

Halloween and Ghosts (updated Oct 31/21)

Vampires (Dec. 2020)

Ghosts / Figments

Hybrids and Shapeshifters

Hey everyone!! Hope you're having a wonderful day! Today I thought that it's been a long time since I've posted an update to my Halloween fic list, but I haven't read many new fics since, so I though for today's post (because I don't have anything ready anyway) I would go through my MFL List and post up the ones that have been recommended to me throughout the years! Please note I have not read any of these, these are just based on a tag search on my offlline list :)

And because I haven't actually been asked this year for some new fics (I usually do so I am sad lol), I guess I shall make a new list without one!

As usual, please feel free to add your own fics!

========

Mummy by ChrisCalledMeSweetie (T, 901 w., 1 Ch. || UAP Canon Divergence, Halloween, Meeting the Parents) – Meeting your boyfriend’s parents for the first time can be a bit scary. Especially when your boyfriend is Sherlock Holmes. Part 12 of the Spooky Johnlock Stories series

What Didn't Happen by Katzedecimal (T, 1,213 w., 1 Ch. || Costumes, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Halloween, Texting, Case Fic) – There is a very short Conan busying about the flat. He's threatening me with a sword if I don't eat something.

Until the final breath escapes by meet_me_in_samarra (M, 1,875 w., 1 Ch. || Halloween, Domestics, Established Relationship, Mild Gore, Kissing) – In a world turned hostile they hold onto their love until the final breath escapes.

John Watson and the Curse of the Were-Kitten by  ChrisCalledMeSweetie (G, 2,193 w., 2 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Supernatural AU ||  Halloween, Spooky Fluff) – Limping away from the crime scene, John glanced up at a nearby rooftop. His mouth dropped open at what he saw: Sherlock, silhouetted against the rising full moon. Realising that he was gawping like a fool, John looked around to make sure he wasn’t being observed. When he turned back, Sherlock had vanished. All that remained on the rooftop was a small black kitten, padding between the chimney pots. Part 1 of the Spooky Johnlock Stories series, Part 5 of the H.I.A.T.U.S. Prompt Fills

These Hands of Yours by okapi (E, 2,700 w., 1 Ch. || ACD Canon || Supernatural Elements, Horror, Hands, Anal Fisting / Fingering, Halloween) – Holmes has casts made of his hands. Watson falls in love. So do the hands.

His favourite pizza (delivery guy) by thewallflower07 (G, 4,298 w., 1 Ch. || Teenager AU || Flirting John, Annoying Mycroft, Med Student John, Horny Teenagers, Halloween, High School Student Sherlock, Pizza) – Sherlock is staying at a hotel on Halloween with his family and keeps insisting they order pizza because he is infatuated with the very cute, blonde delivery boy.

Wanted: Empath by nutmeag83 (T, 4,886 w., 1 Ch. || Supernatural Elements AU || Empath John, Ghost Hunter Sherlock, Halloween, Haunted Houses, Pining John, Resolved Romantic Tension, Friends to Lovers) – Sherlock is a ghost hunter and John his empath assistant. Near Halloween, they investigate a ghostly sighting at a mansion in the English countryside. The events of their investigation bring their feelings for each other to the fore.

Food goes on the food shelf by avalanching effect (G, 5,283 w., 1 Ch. || Halloween, Pre-Slash, Crack/Humour, Cannibalism, Magical Realism, Witches, Light Gore, POV Sherlock) – John, (without conferring with Sherlock) implements a system of organization in the kitchen. There are areas designated as 'experiment' areas, and others as 'food safe' areas. Crossover, however, is bound to happen.

In a manner of speaking I'm dead by fellshish (T, 6,372 w., 1 Ch. || Halloween, Mystrade, Angst With Happy Ending, PIning, First Kiss, Drunk Idiots, Drinking Games, Humour) – Sherlock and John accidentally dress in matching outfits for Lestrade's Halloween party. Things only get worse: someone pushes them to play 'Never have I ever'.

A Beautifully Frightening Revelation by 221b_careful_what_you_wish_for (M, 6,486 w., 2 Ch. || Supernatural Elements AU|| Ghosts, Haunted House, First Kiss/Times, Frottage, Fluff, Halloween, Mutual Pining, Bed Sharing, Spooky) – John and Sherlock are investigating an isolated country manor haunted by a mischievous ghost. A series of spooky incidents brings them together in a candlelit bedroom, the night ripe for revelations and facing fears.

The Babadook by CatieBrie (T, 6,886 w., 1 Ch. || Babadook Fusion || Post-TRF, Horror, Demonic Possession, Violence, Halloween, Grief, Angst with Happy Ending) – “A children’s book,” John mutters as he flips it open. The pages are scrawled with beautiful charcoal lines and thick black ink. The cover, bright red, edges the open pages and something tugs at the back of John’s brain. It’s a familiar feeling, black and tarrish and thick in his thoughts. He shakes it off and picks the book up off his bed, turning so that he can sit on the edge and spread the book out across his knees. If it’s in a word or it’s in a look, you can’t get rid of the Babadook. He turns the page, ignoring the pressure building beneath his chest. There’s a closet on one page; paper doors meant to be opened by the reader flutter as John reads the text on the other page.

The Spirit Child by VelvetMace (M, 7,287 w., 1 Ch. || Psychological Horror, Disturbing Themes, Horror, Gore) – A small wooden box filled with clay and feotus bones yields more than just clues to a violent murder. A Halloween Story. Read at your own risk -- and I do not say this lightly.

Were it Well by merelypassingtime (G, 7,496 w., 6 Ch. || Shapeshifter AU || Crack, Halloween) – When moving in with the world's only consulting detective John is concerned he won't be able to keep his secret. Turns out he need not have worried.

In the Shadows of 221B by CarmillaCarmine (E, 8,299 w., 5 Ch. || Halloween, Friends to Lovers, Spooky Smut) – On a stormy, Halloween night, Sherlock appears changed, but John isn't about to complain about anything Sherlock wants to do to him. Part 10 of the The Stories of Angst and Heartbreak series

Let's Say I Let You In by kedgeree (E, 9,972 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE|| Halloween, Costume Kink, Established Relationship, Humour, Smut, Vampire Sherlock, Bloodplay, Biting, Romance) – It's Halloween and Sherlock's vampire costume is turning John on, but Sherlock doesn't quite get the idea of a sexy vampire. At least…not at first. Part 4 of the Holidays series

The Subtenant by khorazir (T, 12,238 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canon Divergence, Post-TRF, Halloween, Magical Realism, Humour, Ghosts, Banter, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss) – When you have ruled out the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Hence, there can be no doubt about it: 221B is haunted. Sherlock and John set out to investigate their new subtenant and find out more than they bargained for.

Hallowe'en Homecoming by earlybloomingparentheses (T, 12,594 w., 1 Ch. || Unconventional Relationship, Halloween, Sherlock’s Childhood, Family Videos) – Sherlock and John are solving a case when Mycroft turns up and persuades Sherlock to return home for his mother's Hallowe'en celebration. John thinks that seeing where Sherlock grew up will help him understand the detective better; instead, he finds himself more confused than ever. But it's John Watson's job to look after Sherlock Holmes, come hell, high water, or Hallowe'en, so that's just what he's going to do.

Looks like something the cat digged out by HOverSeas (T, 12,876 w., 1 Ch || Magical Realism AU || Post-TGG, Canon Divergence, Halloween, Hurt/Comfort, Werecat John, Temporary Character Death) – The bomb at the pool goes off, and takes both Sherlock and Moriarty with it. John doesn't agree with the outcome, so he decides to bring Sherlock back from the dead. But, of course, there is a price.

Zing and You'll Miss It by Raina_at (M, 14,980 w., 2 Ch. || Hotel Transylvania AU || Vampire Sherlock, Crack/Humour, Rom Com, University Student John, Love at First Sight, Magic, Soul Mates, Minor Mollstrade) – Every year, the monster community meets at Halloween for a big party. Sherlock is bored out of his mind as usual, when suddenly a handsome human stumbles into the monster party. Eyes meet, sparks fly, and Sherlock's entire world is turned upside down as he has to decide whether that tingly feeling is lust, love, magic, or a combination of all three.

The Masquerade of the Red Death by okapi (E, 16,800 w., 14 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, For A Case / Case Fic, Kink Exploration, Orgy, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Bum Worship, Shotgunning, Daddy Kink, Corsetry, Cock Worship, Praise Kink, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, Drugging, Wrestling, Love Confessions, Pet Play, Rimming, Public Sex/Blow Jobs, Shibari, Exhibitionism/Voyeurism) – On the hunt for a serial killer, Sherlock & John attend a masked orgy. Inspired by "The Masque of the Red Death" by Edgar Allan Poe. Part 11 of the Spooky & Kooky (the Halloween fics)

One Good Scare by blueink3 (M, 17,386 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Holmes Family, Parentlock, Misunderstandings, Family, Fluff and Angst, Jealousy, Halloween, Happy Ending) – Mummy invites Sherlock, John, and Rosie to the country for her birthday, which just so happens to coincide with the annual Harvest Festival, an event Sherlock loathes. With John seemingly making the wrong move at every turn and with ghosts hiding in each of their closets, what will it take for their (Halloween) masks to finally come off?

The Halloween Party by XistentialAngst (M, 19,044 w., 3 Ch. || Halloween, Sexy Sherlock, Vampires, Costumes/Disguises, Mutual Masturbation, BAMF John, First Time, Humour, Romance, Frottage, Friends to Lovers) – Sherlock and John attend a Halloween party on the trail of a vampire killer -- a man who's been seducing his victims and taking all their blood. Sexy costumes, bad puns, hideous danger, frantic sex in hidden places and some Halloween-flavored fluff are all on hand to "treat" you. Boo.

it's not always black and wight by elldotsee (M, 21,385 w., 7 Ch. || Supernatural Elements AU || Ghosts, Halloween, Case Fic, Victor Trevor) – By the time he turned eight, Sherlock had had more supernatural experiences than he could count or recall. He’d grown used to flickering lights, the whispers in the night, the sudden appearance of apparitions in the corridors. The dead were just as much a part of his life as the living. He went about his business, never disrupting theirs.Sometimes he talked to them, but they never talked back. Sometimes, he heard their stories second-hand, in the snippets of conversation between his parents at the dinner table, but they were never spoken about like real people. They were simply characters that formed the tapestry of the house, bumps and flickers of a life stuck in the in-between. That is, until he met Victor.

Haunted by Vulpesmellifera (E, 22,369 w., 4 Ch. || S4 Fix-It/Post-Canon, POV John, Child Endangerment, Halloween, Nightmares, Bed Sharing) – Plagued by the past, John moves himself and his daughter to a new flat for a fresh start - and it's not 221B Baker Street.While he grapples with new knowledge and old guilt, he's confronted with odd neighbors and strange noises in the night. But is it the new flat, or is John Watson losing his grip on reality?

the napoleon by darcylindbergh (E, 24,823 w., 4 Ch. || 1980′s AU || Halloween, Action & Romance, Costumes, Costume Parties/Masquerades, Mutual Pining, First Kiss / Time) – Halloween, 1989: John and Sherlock both have big plans for the night, but serial killers have the worst possible timing.

From a Well, Dark and Deep by Vulpesmellifera (M, 32,691 w., 18 Ch. || Post S4, Supernatural Elements, Horror / Milld Body Horror, Bed Sharing, Possession, Hand Holding, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Coming Out, Alternating POV, Nightmares, Caring John, Happy Ending) – Sherlock Holmes is desperately trying to reconcile his newfound memories and feelings within his transport—a transport that won’t quit with the nightmares and the strange, fiddly anxieties that crop up at the most inopportune moments. On the advice of his psychiatrist—not that he’s thrilled to be taking the man’s advice, but needs must—he's going to mark the anniversary of Eurus’ torments. That explains why he visits the well. What he finds at the well, though, is entirely unexpected. Meanwhile, John Watson has finally come to terms with something he’s ignored his entire life. He’s ready to share that something with Sherlock, except Sherlock isn’t acting himself. It's not the time for confessions, and John determines he must get to the bottom of his best friend's affliction before he can reveal anything. Part 3 of Vulpes' Halloween Johnlock

This Is Family by SaraStarchild (T, 39,840 w., 16 Ch. || Hereditary AU || Psychological Horror, Body Horror, Demonic Possession, POV Third Person Limited, Protective Mycroft, Cults, Mycroft Whump, Sherlock Whump, Major Character Death, Graphic Violence, Retelling) – When the Holmes family's secretive mother and matriarch, Ellen Holmes, passes away, the family she leaves behind – father Martin, sons Mycroft and Sherlock, and daughter Eurus – begins to unravel cryptic and increasingly terrifying secrets about their ancestry. The more they discover, the more they find themselves trying to outrun the sinister fate they seem to have inherited. This is, pretty much, a word-for-word retelling of the 2018 Ari Aster film, Hereditary. Part 1 of Sherlock Halloween Stories

A Sharp, Dressed Man Series by sgam76 (T, 50,221+ w. across 6 works || Series WiP || Vampire AU || Halloween Fic, Protective Mycroft, Kidnapping, Injured Sherlock, Psychological Terror) – Every once in a while, Mycroft Holmes is called upon to take matters into his own hands. It doesn't always go exactly as you'd expect. And he enjoys it more than he will ever admit.

FictoberLock 2018 by FinAmour & unicornpoe (M, 60,875 w., 31 Ch. || Halloween, Protective John, Smitten Sherlock, Fluff, First Kiss, Injured Sherlock, Various Prompts) – 31 different prompts, 31 Johnlock fics: one every day for the month of October! Each chapter is a stand-alone story. Some are written by unicornpoe, some by FinAmour, and some are written by us both! They range in length from ~500 words to ~3500 words, and there’s something in here for everyone.

Johnloctober by prettysailorsoldier (E, 169,945 w., 31 Ch. || Assorted AU’s || Alternate First Meetings, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, 30 Day OTP Challenge, Prompts, Halloween / Autumn, Assorted Tags) – 31 days of autumnal Johnlock with prompts from all of you! There will be a bit of everything, but you can check the tags for more specifics.

Skeletons Series by flawedamythyst (T, 174,262 w. across 3 works || Nightmare Before Christmas Fusion ||  Implied Character Death) – Sherlock's refusal to talk about his past hides far more skeletons than John could ever have guessed at. Halloween-esque AU.

[zmwrites]

Writemas 2024: Day 10

I think we're on day 12 now but I'm in the middle of a very busy stretch of time at work and personally, so we're taking our time to get these done! As always, thank you to @agirlandherquill for the prompts!

WIP: Pine Hollow

Prompt(s): "I wouldn't have done it if you were honest with me." + A lake

Words: 817

Notes: These two are really bad at talking about their feelings and that is why this one is so long. I would apologize, but honestly? More of a treat for y'all.

Gin crossed her arms and surveyed the dark waters of the lake. October was hardly an ideal time for swimming, but someone was going to have to search for the gun her suspect had thrown as soon as he’d realized she was going to catch him. The sun was already starting to set, though, so it would have to be a problem for the next day. She hated getting into the lake, and she refused to do so after dark. Besides, it wasn’t like she’d be able to find anything using just a headlamp.

“Are you jumping in, or am I?” Frey asked with his usual irreverence.

She didn’t look at him. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Okay, Gin, this is—” He stopped, giving a low growl of frustration. “Why are you angry with me?”

“Who says I’m angry with you?” she asked. She was, but she was more angry with herself for the reaction she was having, and opening that can of worms wasn’t something she was interested in doing without a steady supply of alcohol available.

“It’s been four days since you’ve looked at me, spoken to me about anything other than the case, or laughed at my jokes. Something is going on.”

“I never laugh at your jokes.”

“You pretend not to laugh at my jokes then look away so I don’t see you smiling,” he argued. “Now it’s like you’re ignoring them completely.”

She pressed her lips together in annoyance. Why did he have to turn his observational skills on her? Wasn’t she exempt from this level of scrutiny as his work partner?

“Why can’t you talk to me about this?”

“I’m dealing with a personal issue,” she said. Deflection usually worked with him, or at least he recognized it and respected that she didn’t want to talk about it. 

“Are you sure?” He stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the lake. “Because it all started after you walked in on Fiora and I—”

“I remember what I walked in on,” she interrupted. She needed one of the witches in town to invent a memory bleach to forget it.

He frowned. “Why are you upset about that? I wasn’t at work, I wasn’t on the clock, and you broke into my house!”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. And I didn’t break into your house, the door was unlocked.” 

“Gin—”

She stepped away from him and towards her truck. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well I do!”

She stared at him, taken aback by his outburst.

“You’re angry at me and you won’t tell me why.” He closed the gap again, with that stupid sad expression that made him look like a kicked puppy. “Gin, we’re supposed to be partners. We’re supposed to be friends. 

“We are friends! That’s the prob—” She swallowed the rest of her sentence.

Frey blinked a few times, then his brow crumpled. “How is that the problem? What else would we be?”

“Exactly! I should’ve known better. You flirt with everyone; it doesn’t mean anything to you.”

The kicked puppy expression deepened.“That’s not fair.”

“I don’t want to argue with you, Frey. I want to go home, take a hot shower, and get over my embarrassing crush on you so things can go back to normal.”

“You have a crush on me?” he asked, the kicked puppy look fading into a sly grin.

“That’s not the point of what I just said,” she replied. Heat rose in her cheeks and she wondered if it was too late to start searching the lake just to get out of the conversation.

“I have been flirting with you for months and have gotten nothing but amused eyerolls in response. You can’t expect me to pick up on signals that aren’t there. I assumed you weren’t interested.”

“I’m not supposed to be. I’m your partner,” she said. “Technically I’m your boss, which is worse.”

“Kind of hot, though.”

She covered her mouth to hide her smile. “No.”

“There she is,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Gin, I wouldn't have done it if I’d known you were even remotely interested in me. I flirt with everyone, but I only mean it with you.”

It was her turn to stare at him as she processed his words. “That’s dangerous knowledge.”

He closed the distance between them to just a step.

“I’m not—I have so much shit to figure out. I don’t expect you to wait around for me,” she said. She wanted to curse their timing. Of course this would all come to light when everything else in her personal and professional life was blowing up.

“I’m a patient man.”

She raised a brow. “No you’re not.”

“For you I will be.” He was smiling again.

“That’s the cheesiest shit you’ve ever said.”

“Thank you.”

Gin snorted. “Let’s get back to town before the sun sets.”

“Can I drive?”

“No.”

[dribs-and-drabbles]

Observations on ep 10:

(I'm sure that music was used in BBS...)

Redemption!

I've never really understood that arm/handholding thing that bl characters do...I've never questioned it before but the lingering camera shots on Top and Mew here has made me want to now...I think it bothers me. I find it odd from a body language perspective. Is it a cultural thing? I've never done it to someone or had it done to me - any thoughts from anyone else?

Oh and I find hugs where one person leaves their arms hanging are always awkward. If someone didn't put their arms around me I would break that hug so fast. I don't know how these characters stay hugging someone who doesn't hug them back. *shudders*

MOND!!

I've never heard those bass notes before the opening credits music kicks in! I'm sure it's just been silent before... *runs away to check* Oh, they've always been there but it's definitely louder on ep 10 than ep 1 - I've obviously had my volume too low to hear it before now.

"To solve the problem you must first admit there is one". And "I don't want to sing at your funeral". Sand slapping some truths on the table.

Why do I get the feeling that Boeing is a shit-stirrer?!

Now that it's come to mind, I can't stop thinking about Papang and Poppy together. Sorry Mark (and Pepper) but I'm rooting for a different ship now.

*incoherent screaming* I just love Khaotung as an actor!!

Oh Atom 😂 smh

I feel sorry for Boston tbh.

I somehow knew Mew was going to push Top in the pool. It's what I would have done. 😂 (But also, more bbs music).

Ooops, accidentally liking Boeing's photo. We've all been there Mew, we've all been there 😂

Yeah, Boeing wasn't 'stolen' from Sand by Top. He's a minx who likes to flirt and shit-stir and get around.

(Have I seen that stripy vest in MSP?)

Is that jealous Boston activated?! Me thinks they're not talking about phones and phone cases... OMG I love these two.

Boeing: 'be with someone who won't cheat on you'. Uh Mew...that is not Boeing. I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him.

ANOTHER KISSING PAIR @ranchthoughts!! (I know you know but I need to shout at you anyway)

THAT'S THE DON'T SAY NO HOUSE @colourme-feral!! The 'holy guacamole' house!

Oh nooooooooo Ray's dad paid Sand to encourage Ray to go to rehab. Now Ray knows and it's going to deter him from going. Noooooooooo.

Oh wow. Oh....... Wow. Just wow. Khaotung and First. I just... WOW. But also, it's Ray's turn to slap some truths in Sand's face.

Oooo I don't trust Mew. I think Boeing got to him.

I do like Mond playing evil though.

Oh, ohhhhhhhhhh Boeing is vindictive. I want to feel sorry for Top but...I need more of their backstory first...and Top's motivations for being with Mew...so, the jury's out for now.

Neo does 'kicked puppy' really well.

Oh Mark is incredible. He does that switch from cocky to vulnerable so well.

Just, *takes a deep breath*, THIS SHOW IS SO FRICKING GOOOOOOOOD *incoherent screaming*

See my other post for an serious in-depth meta essay on this ep.

[gracieheartspedro]

Assuming sexuality is only fine when it's hetero normative it seems. If people say a male celeb is flirting with women it's all good. But if anyone suggests he may be interested in men it turns into "don't assume sexuality". A funny observation, especially in the Pedro fandom among girls.

I don’t believe in assuming at all. I remember the days when I was in the 1D fandom and EVERY girl that interacted with the guys would be assumed to be a groupie or girlfriend. I never ever liked that shit. I just find it icky assuming anything about a person’s life in general. unless they are EXPLICITLY stating something about themselves, then whatever. but I just don’t understand why people obsess over who someone’s dating or fucking or talking to. this is not just in the case of celebrities, but just in general. I have people in my life that are so hellbent on knowing someone’s sexuality that they end up pushing people away because of it. it’s stupid. we should not push a certain sexuality (gay, straight, bi, etc) onto another person when we do not know them. and if you do know them, and they don’t give you access to that side of them, you should respect that.

[teecupangel]

Random prompt idea. Desmond/Kadar soulmate au, where Kadar is instantly gone on Desmond, and Desmond and Malik both think it's because of Kadar's admiration of Altair and Desmond looks suspiciously like him. So Kadar has to defend his feelings from his brother and prove to Desmond that's his feelings for him aren't based around Altair. (And Altair has to watch this mess going on around him as he's trying to live his life. And Malik tries to blame him for this for some reason.)

So, for this Soulmate AU, I was trying to think on why Desmond would assume Kadar likes him because of his admiration for Altaïr and I thought… what if, in this soulmate AU, people only know they’re soulmates after they fall in love? Like a mark/name would appear on their body after they realize that they love their soulmate. It’s not the most optimal way to have soulmates, that’s for damn sure, but maybe it was an ongoing genetic modification project of the Isu Inanna that got pushed aside because of the war then the solar flare.

In this case, the mark is a confirmation that ‘yes, you found them’ rather than a ping of ‘yeah, you’re meant to fall in love with that one’.

And not everyone has a soulmate.

In this scenario, regardless if it’s set in a ‘verse where Desmond time-traveled or a full-blown Modern AU, we’ll get the following:

Kadar has a crush on Altaïr and he doesn’t really understand why until he met Desmond. That’s when he realized that the parts that made him like Altaïr (his skills, the kindness he tries to hide, his dry humor) are the parts he shared or are heavily similar to Desmond’s own.

Kadar believes that having a crush on Altaïr had been his ‘soulmark’ trying to give him a clue.

Malik would think that Kadar is trying to find a reason to why he’s suddenly crushing hard on Desmond after carrying a torch for Altaïr for so long. Malik would think that Kadar just transferred his crush to Desmond because Desmond is a better choice (as far as Malik is concerned) and Kadar is trying to find an excuse so he doesn’t feel like a dick for throwing his feelings for Altaïr out (which he shouldn’t since Altaïr never reciprocated it anyway)

Altaïr tries his very best to ignore Kadar’s obvious infatuation with Desmond but it becomes hard when Kadar flat out tells Desmond that he’s falling in love with him and Desmond runs to Altaïr to tell him everything. Altaïr has no idea why Desmond is telling him all of this. At this point in their life, Desmond would have a better chance of getting support from that damn female Templar he insists on befriending than him.

Of course, Kadar tells Malik everything and Malik has to suffer through listening to his brother recount the entire thing and getting a migraine just trying to help his brother court Desmond which, really, is just Malik telling Kadar to slow down and to edit his most outlandish plans to a more… nicer (won't get you arrested) ones.

Of course, this ends up with Malik needing to vent with someone about all of these and Altaïr is the perfect target. He looks a lot like Desmond and Kadar’s more than worrying plans spawned from the fact that Kadar’s subtle flirting with Altaïr had no effect so he believes being clear about his intentions means being obnoxious in his gestures of affection would win Desmond over.

Altaïr does not approve of this and he tells Malik that Kadar never flirted with him which, in turn, made Malik realize that Altaïr was absolutely oblivious to Kadar’s infatuation the entire time. This only served to make Malik mock his observation skills.

Altaïr doesn’t even get a respite because running away from Malik only meant he had to deal with Desmond having complicated feelings over Kadar’s courtship and Altaïr. Is. Just. So. Done.

Desmond, on the other hand, does think Kadar is cute and he does like him but Kadar has his work cut out for him because Desmond is comparing himself to Altaïr who, in his eyes, will always be better than him so, for Desmond, he believes Kadar is simply settling for him.

But Kadar is nothing but stubborn and persistent.

Malik and Altaïr would have to suffer through it all.

While Maria just watches from the sideline, sipping tea while listening to Desmond, and wondering “These people are the ones giving us such a hard time???”

[bellaxgiornata]

Life Worth Living [Chapter Six]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Original Female Character

[You can find the full summary and chapter list for this series here]

Warnings/tags: 18+ for this series; contains fluff, angst, violence, PTSD, smut (Contains our beloved Defenders and lots of plot twists)

Word Count: 6.3k

a/n: This is a big chapter with lots of things happening in it--and you see more of Olivia's powers on display. Poor Matt's flirting doesn't get him where he wants, though. Feedback is always appreciated!

After having exchanged goodbyes in the bar with Karen and Foggy, I had led Matt outside with me, his left hand wrapped around my right bicep. The evening had gotten even colder than when we’d initially walked to the bar and I shivered in my jacket, tucking loose strands of hair behind my ear with my free hand as the chilly breeze blew them across my face. 

“Here,” Matt said, releasing his hand from my arm and gently placing it around my waist, drawing me to him like he’d done earlier. His body heat helped warm me instantly. “This still okay?”

Feeling the nerves surface at being alone with Matt again, I nodded shyly. “Yes, thank you,” I mumbled softly as I slid my hands into the pockets of my jacket. 

Silence fell between us for a minute as we walked down the near empty sidewalk. There were a few taxis passing down the desolate street at the late hour, looking for stragglers who needed rides. My eyes darted from building to building as we moved, keeping my attention on our surroundings in case someone else decided to appear from an alleyway. The reality was beginning to set in that tomorrow I’d be confronting Kilgrave with Jessica. While I was nervous at being in his proximity after so many years again, and possibly opening the floodgate to a lot of terrible memories I’d been pushing down for so long, it also meant he would know I was here. In Hell’s Kitchen. Which could, in turn, put the new friends I’d just made at risk. 

“You seem tense,” Matt observed, his voice breaking me from my thoughts. “Is it the guy from the bar?”

A slow exhale left my lips. I really wished I could tell him the truth; it wasn’t fair to Matt if things didn’t work out tomorrow. If he made it on to Kilgrave’s radar, how would he be able to protect himself? And he was my neighbor . If Kilgrave found out where I lived, he’d find Matt without even trying. Hell, he’d probably be caught in the crosshair just for being my neighbor. 

Maybe I can warn him…with just enough truth?

I felt the muscles stiffen in Matt’s arm that was wrapped around my waist. He turned his attention towards me now, his dark glasses flashing under the streetlights at the movement.

“Olivia? Is everything okay?” he questioned.

“It’s not the guy at the bar, no,” I answered him slowly, keeping my eyes focused ahead as we walked. “But…” I began, struggling to think of a way to explain without giving away too much. 

Matt stopped walking abruptly, pulling me to a stop with him. He turned towards me fully, his arm dropping from its place around me. I shivered at the loss of his warmth.

“Are you in some sort of trouble?” he asked me cautiously. “Does it have something to do with whoever attacked you?”

My tongue darted out, wetting my lips as I glanced past him.

Just some truth. Just enough to help keep him safe.

“...yes,” I answered him slowly. He went rigid immediately, drawing his cane between his hands and gripping it firmly. “I uh…I got a call earlier. Before I came back from the restroom. From the P.I. I said I was helping.” I hesitated, my eyes drawn to the way his lips pursed into a tight line the more I spoke. “She needs my help tomorrow. With that person from my past. I told her I’d help…but I’m afraid it might have some…repercussions to others in my life. If things go wrong, that is.”

A dark look crossed Matt’s face, one I’d never seen there before. His head tilted to the side as he quietly and sightlessly studied me in a way that was becoming increasingly familiar. 

“You mean for us,” Matt clarified after a moment. “Foggy, Karen, and myself. You’re afraid something might affect us?”

I crossed my arms over my chest, staring down at my boots. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him shift on his feet.

“You’re…afraid for me?” Matt asked, drawing conclusions from my silence.

“I’m worried for them too,” I admitted quietly, hugging my arms tighter around myself. “But you’re my neighbor. You’re…easier to find.”

“And blind,” Matt stated bluntly.

My eyes went wide, darting up to see Matt’s grim expression. I shook my head quickly, stepping forward and placing a hand on his shoulder.

“No!” I said immediately. “No, just that you’re literally right there. Across the hall. And you’ve been…flirting with me. Which he-he probably wouldn’t be too thrilled with.”

His head sharply tilted to the side at my words. “He?” he asked curiously. “So this guy is, what, your ex? And he’s dangerous?” Matt’s brows knitted together behind his dark glasses, his voice coming out rough as he asked, “Is he stalking you, Olivia?”

“What? No,” I said firmly. “He’s not stalking me.” I frowned, glancing away again. “Yet. I mean he might, if tomorrow doesn’t…go well.” I shook my head quickly, pushing that thought away for the moment. “Just promise me you won’t go answering your apartment door for any strangers any time soon? Please?”

“I can take care of myself,” Matt assured me.

“Matt,” I said his name sharply, my grip tightening on his shoulder, “promise me.”

He stood there for a moment just focusing on me, not saying anything. I couldn’t make out what was on his mind; I couldn’t read his full expression with his damned glasses blocking his eyes.

“I won’t answer the door for strangers,” Matt eventually assured me. He stepped closer towards me though, reaching a hand up and grazing my chin before he placed his hand against my cheek. My eyes closed at the touch. “Let me help you though.”

“You can’t,” I told him softly. “This isn’t something I need a lawyer to solve.”

“I could help with a restraining order,” Matt mumbled, his thumb rubbing a gentle circle against my cheek.

A small smile spread on my lips as I opened my eyes. His mouth was twisted into a concerned frown, his brows dipping down behind his glasses. 

“Trust me when I tell you,” I said, voice barely above a whisper as I lifted my hand from his shoulder and gently ran my fingertips down his jaw, “that a restraining order would never work.”

His head turned into the light touch of my fingers, his own hand slowly sliding down my neck to rest at the bit of my collarbone visible under my jacket. My heart started to beat a little faster at the intimate touch and I slid my fingers back up his jawline, slowly running them back down the sharp line again. I could see the way he swallowed hard, the bob of his throat noticeable at the movement.

“You confuse me,” he said breathlessly, taking another step closer to me. “You call me a flirt but flirt back with me. You tell me you’re not interested, yet you…” he paused, licking his lips and leaning further towards my touch, “you touch me like that. Kiss me in the bar like you did.” His jaw clenched, his thumb now gently sweeping across my clavicle. “You confuse me and you’re driving me crazy, Olivia.”

I bit my lip, halting the movement of my fingers and slowly dropping them from his face. I swore I heard him let out a quiet whine at the loss of the contact.

“I’m sorry, you’re right,” I said immediately. “I shouldn’t.”

“Why?” Matt asked, his question sounding almost like a plea. “Don’t tell me you’re not interested, either. I’m not going to believe that.” When I didn’t answer immediately he spoke again. “Is it your ex?”

I stepped back out of Matt’s touch, putting distance between us. I glanced away, unable to handle the pained look on his face.

“Yes,” I confessed. “That’s part of it. We-we had a terribly messed up relationship,” I stammered. “It’s the only one I’ve had. And now he’s here and I need to…to deal with…all of it. I can’t–I’m not who you think I am,” I told him in a rush. “I can’t be that. I’m just…too damaged, Matt. You deserve better. Normal.” I shook my head quickly. “I can’t be that for you.”

He was shaking his head at my words immediately. “Don’t, don’t talk about yourself like that. You’re not damaged. You’re not abnormal.”

I grimaced, a humorless laugh crawled its way up my throat and burst out. You have no idea, a dark voice snapped internally.

“You don’t know that, Matt,” I told him. “You don’t know me that well.”

He closed the space I’d put between us abruptly, drawing a hand straight to my chin and turning my face to face his.

“Then let me,” he begged. “Let me get to know you.”

“Matt…” I breathed his name like a whimper.

Suddenly, both of his hands were on my face. They cupped both of my cheeks, the warmth emanating from them was intoxicating and my eyes fluttered closed, anticipating him to pull me in for a kiss. Instead, his fingertips began to slide up to my temples, slowly brushing against my forehead on either side before dipping down, running over the length of my brow bone. Then they lowered, lightly grazing the delicate skin of my closed eyelids. My breath caught in my throat when I realized he was mapping out my face with his fingers. The gesture felt more than intimate despite the fact that we were still standing on the sidewalk just a block from our apartment building. 

“Tell me,” he said gently, one finger sliding over the slope of my nose as he spoke, “that you don’t feel it, too.” His fingertips swept over both cheekbones before lowering down the expanse of my cheeks, until they paused along my jaw. One hand disappeared suddenly from my face as the other very slowly swept its way to my chin. “Tell me,” he began again, his other hand appearing at my hip and gripping it tight. I inhaled sharply at the movement, eyes darting open and being met with his face so close to mine. “Tell me you’re not interested.” The fingers on my chin slid up to my bottom lip, so gently tracing it with his thumb before it rose and traced my upper lip just as carefully. “Tell me and I’ll believe you,” he whispered.

I swallowed hard, fighting internally with myself. My body was aching just from the way he touched my face, and just like in the bar earlier, I found myself wanting more. 

If Kilgrave finds out he’ll kill him.

My lip trembled under his thumb as I fought back so many emotions. 

“I…can’t,” I said faintly, lips brushing against his finger as I spoke. 

“But you want to?” Matt asked, one brow raising as his hands fell from me, one back to his side, the other gripping the cane that had been resting against him.

“I can’t,” I repeated. “Not-not right now. I can’t.”

The sad smile I’d seen on his face after we kissed in the bar returned and I felt a pain in my chest at the sight of it.

“I understand,” he said dejectedly. He cleared his throat loudly. “It’s getting colder out, we should probably get back. You’ve got to be freezing.”

“Matt–”

“It’s only another block away, if I’m remembering correctly,” he continued on, beginning to walk as he tapped his cane along the sidewalk.

I inhaled a shaky breath before shoving my hands in my leather jacket’s pockets again. I could feel the sting of tears in my eyes and I blinked rapidly, fighting them back as I began to catch up to Matt. 

As we walked back to our apartment building, we didn't speak. Matt never asked to take my arm again. His mouth remained in a tight frown the entire ride up to the sixth floor when we'd gotten into the elevator in our building. And as we walked down the hallway to our respective doors, he didn't look back at me as he said goodnight before disappearing into his apartment. 

I unlocked the door to my apartment and let myself in, locking it behind me before leaning against the door. A stray tear made its way down my cheek and I rubbed it away with the heel of my hand before pushing off the door, heading to my room.

I didn't bother changing before crawling into my bed. I just tossed off the leather jacket onto the floor and curled up in my sheets, pulling myself into a tight ball and burying my face in the pillow.

°•°•°•°•°•°

The hood of my gray sweatshirt was pulled up high over my head underneath my leather jacket as Jessica handed me two syringes of Sufentanil, just in case the dart gun Simpson was carrying missed. Trish was at the front of the beat up van in the driver's seat, dark sunglasses and a black beanie on her head attempting to obscure her appearance. The man beside her, Will Simpson as he'd been introduced to me earlier, was in the passenger seat beside her issuing an explanation on how to use the Bluetooth headsets in our ears to stay in touch. 

I hadn't had the best impression of the cop who claimed to be ex-military; besides the fact that he'd tried to kill Trish because Kilgrave had sent him after her when she'd challenged him on her radio show, he was cocky and arrogant. He was quick to take the lead and boss Jessica, Trish, and myself around for the mission and I was getting a strong inclination that he wanted to kill Kilgrave, not just trap him. But, as I'd learned from Jessica on our way to meet up with the pair this morning, he had access to a hermetically sealed room at a now abandoned CDC building, one he'd rigged up with water and a loose, active wire attached to a button, allowing us a safe place to secure Kilgrave once we had captured him. A place to torture him though is what it sounded more like he wanted it for.

"Make sure he doesn't see either of you," Simpson said, craning his neck to look at Jessica and I in the back of the van. "If he recognizes you, he'll run and we'll lose him."

"You're going to have to haul ass to the sealed room," Jessica told Trish. "I don't know how long this stuff will work for. We have to move fast."

"Got it," Trish said with a nod.

"If anyone walks up," Simpson said, turning towards the blonde, "just pretend to be on the phone. Do not engage."

"She's a celebrity," Jessica snapped beside me, and I noted her own obvious irritation at the man in her tone, "she's used to dealing with weirdos. …usually."

Simpson glanced back at me, ignoring Jessica’s jab and studying me for a moment. I raised my brows at him questioningly. 

"You sure you can handle this?" he asked.

I shot him an irritated look. "I'm the only one of you that can go up against him," I shot. "I think I'm good."

"Just want to make sure your head is in it," he grumbled.

"How about we go back to tense silence?" Trish suggested, her eyes darting between the three of us.

Tense silence did fall between us for a moment. I turned towards Jessica beside me. Her foot was tapping anxiously, bouncing the van lightly with the movement. When she noticed I was staring she frowned. 

"You good?"

"Peachy," she snapped. Her lip twitched when she saw my face fall. "Sorry," she apologized. "I know this isn't easy for you either."

"It's fine," I mumbled back.

"It's time," Simpson interrupted from the front of the van.

Jessica and I pushed open the back doors of the van, slipping out onto the street. I slammed them shut behind us, following Jessica around the van to where Simpson stood, lowering a black baseball cap on his head and slipping on sunglasses. I took that moment to slip the Ray Bans off the neck of my sweatshirt and pull them on. I didn't particularly want to be recognized kidnapping someone in broad daylight. 

"If Kilgrave gets one of us," Jessica started, her hand gesturing between herself and I, "just–"

"I'll take you out," Simpson cut in quickly.

Both Jessica and I shot him a look as we stepped up onto the sidewalk. My stomach knotted at how fast he'd said that and how serious he sounded.

"I was going to say use the dart gun, but sure, shoot us in the head," she snapped darkly.

"I'd rather we stick with the dart guns," I said. "Didn't sign up to die. Besides, I should be able to undo any command he gives as long as I'm around and conscious."

We split up just before reaching the park, the three of us going the separate ways we had previously discussed. I made my way into the busy park, beginning to sweat. I’d be lying to say I wasn’t nervous; not only was I encountering Kilgrave again, trying to take him down after having been free of him for the past eight years, but it was mid-morning on a Sunday. The park was bustling with people and as my heart hammered in my chest, I tried to control my racing thoughts.

What if this doesn’t work? What if he hurts someone else because of this? 

…he’s going to know I’m here now. There’s no way to hide after this…

Foggy, Karen, and Matt…all three of them might be in danger if we can’t pull this off.

I shut my eyes tight, shaking the thoughts from my head and trying to remain focused. I couldn’t think about that right now and I certainly didn’t want to think about Matt after last night.

“Everyone in position?” Jessica’s voice came through my earpiece.

I snapped my eyes open, leaning against the light post and casually sliding my phone from my pocket, pretending to scroll through the news.

“I’m ready,” Trish’s voice answered immediately.

“Standing by,” Simpson’s reply came next.

Trying to disguise the movement of my mouth with my hand, I reached up as if I was just scratching an itch on the side of my face.

“In position,” I told them.

I continued to pretend to skim a news article, my eyes occasionally lifting a bit to take in the people passing by. Thankfully I didn’t see Kilgrave standing in front of me, staring me down–an image my brain kept unnecessarily projecting.

Focus.

“Here we go,” Jessica’s voice came through the earpiece.

My hand tightened around the cellphone as I felt a nervous lightheadedness hit me. I tried to stay focused on my breathing, listening for my cue. The plan was for Jessica to stalk her junkie neighbor–her words. She’d discovered he had been her stalker just before she’d called me last night and asked for my help. She said she’d found out every day at ten in the morning he would meet Kilgrave and deliver pictures of her, so the plan was to follow him, find Kilgrave, shoot him with the dart gun and knock him out. Then hopefully we’d be able to play it off like he was a friend having an allergic reaction and we’d throw him into the van and deliver him to the hermetically sealed room.

It sounded so simple and easy, but Jessica had mentioned he’d had bodyguards previously–or at least people he'd controlled to protect him. Not to mention, it was the middle of the morning on a Sunday in New York City. My money was on that this was going to be easier said than done.

“Malcolm's exiting the park on sixteenth street,” Jessica said next.

My heart ticked up, my breath catching in my throat in anticipation. This was it, we were almost about to act.

“He’s at an outdoor cafe,” Jessica said a minute later.  “Sixteenth Street and Union Square West.”

“I’ll park a half block down, on the corner,” Trish said, her voice coming in a rush in my ear.

“On my way,” I told them, shoving my phone into my pocket and heading out of the park.

“Be in place soon,” Simpson added.

I walked quickly, brushing past people and trying to keep my head down as I moved. I felt like I was having a hard time swallowing as I walked; a lump in my throat seemed lodged there and I just couldn’t get it out. I tried hard to stifle the panic as my feet moved even faster.

Breathe, Olivia. You need to breathe.

I tried to draw in a few deep, steady breaths as I moved. Eventually I made it to the street Jessica was on, stopping just beside her. She gave me a slight nod before her attention returned across the street. I followed her gaze, noting the van Trish was driving turning the corner past us. 

And there, at a table on the sidewalk just across the street, sat Kilgrave. He was skimming through something in an envelope with a cup of coffee on the table in front of him. Beside him must have been Jessica’s neighbor, Malcolm; he looked pale and disheveled at this distance, his focus not on the man he was sitting with but diagonally across the street, thankfully not in our direction.

A few loud pops sounded across the street and both Jessica and I stiffened in response. My eyes darted to Simpson who was rounding the corner, his hand inside a brown paper bag as inconspicuous as one could make the act look. Another loud pop from the man on the corner–making balloon animals, of all things–caused Kilgrave to finally raise his head, taking in his surroundings. Simpson was almost in his line of sight.

“Shit,” I breathed out.

“Turn back,” Jessica said quickly through the earpiece. “He can see you.”

“I’m almost in position,” Simpson answered back. “I have a shot, I’m going to take it.”

“He can see the gun,” Jessica said again in a panic.

My breathing came in fast and hard as I stared at the scene unfolding before us. Kilgrave was, in fact, staring right at Simpson as he was making his way closer. I could see the way his eyes were studying the man.

“I’m taking the shot,” Simpson answered back.

“God dammit,” Jessica muttered.

Without thinking, I began walking across the street, inhaling a deep breath before I began to shout.

“Hey shit head!” I called out as loud as I could, stepping out onto the street and waving my arms. “You miss me?”

It felt like everything moved in slow motion after that. Kilgrave’s head turned away from Simpson and landed directly on me. His eyes instantly went wide as recognition dawned over him. His mouth began to part into a warm, surprised smile, but Simpson passed in that moment, shooting him quickly in the neck with the dart. Kilgrave’s face fell as his hand flew back to his neck. He tried to stand from his chair, his eyes remaining locked on me as I continued forward towards him.

And then he collapsed forward into the table, knocking it over. The man beside him jolted up from his seat, his eyes landing on me and then presumably Jessica behind me.

“Sorry, I-I didn’t–I had to!” he said before bolting down the sidewalk at a sprint.

I bent down when I reached Kilgrave, trying to lift him by the arm. Jessica appeared beside me, lifting his heavy body with complete ease onto her back.

“Excuse me, ma'am,” a man said, suddenly darting out of the cafe door. “We got this.”

I rose to my feet taking in the sight of the two large men who’d stepped out of the cafe. Kilgrave’s bodyguards, they had to be. I sized them up quickly; both well built and average height. They looked good in a fight but I could handle them, though with time not on our side I just needed to slow them down and not acquire an assault charge in public. 

“Sorry, but we've got this,” I said quickly, stepping in between Jessica and the two men.

The men didn't hesitate. They lunged towards us and I sidestepped, throwing my foot out to trip the first man and grabbing him by the shoulders when he stumbled. I tossed him backwards into the second man behind him and they went down onto the sidewalk.

“Help! They’re trying to attack my brother and my friend!” Jessica called out, shifting the unconscious Kilgrave on her back.

A woman ran over to us, offering to call an ambulance and the police. A few men nearby stood up, looking ready to enter the fight to help. 

“It’s too late,” Jessica breathed out quickly to the woman, feigning a dramatic voice that I couldn't believe the woman bought. “I’ll get him there myself.”

Without waiting, we booked it down the sidewalk, Jessica toting Kilgrave on her back like he weighed nothing. 

“We’re coming to you, Trish,” Jessica said into the earpiece.

I glanced behind me, seeing the men getting up from the pavement, glaring our way. 

“And there’s two guys right behind us," I warned her. "We need to make a quick getaway."

“ Guys ?” Trish asked in a panic. “What guys?”

I didn’t answer, just urged Jessica forward in a hurry. I kept glancing back over my shoulder, making sure they hadn’t caught up yet. Thankfully they were still a decent distance away.

When we made it around the corner, the back doors of the van were already open. Jessica dropped Kilgrave into the back before climbing in. I pulled myself up after just as Simpson swung the front door open and got in.

“Go, go!” Simpson ordered.

Trish peeled off and I slid in the back of the van, one hand still struggling to close the back door. I could see the two bodyguards sprinting down the sidewalk before I got the door shut. My head momentarily fell back against the wall of the van, my heart racing. That had been close.

“We’re clear,” Simpson said as he glanced back in the rearview mirror. “Think we lost them.”

I tried to steady my breathing but my eyes landed on Jessica. She slid the hood from her head, her eyes staring down at Kilgrave’s lifeless form in front of us. She looked deep in her own head as she watched him, a tight line forming on her mouth as her fists clenched in her lap.

Trish glanced over as she drove, brow furrowing. “You know we need him alive, Jess,” she reminded her.

“I remember,” Jessica said, her voice distant.

I watched as she rose on her knees, one hand reaching out and grabbing Kilgrave by the lapels of his nice navy suit jacket. She swung a fist back and landed it down hard against his cheek with a solid thwack. She dropped him back to the floor of the van as she sat back on her knees, her eyes meeting mine.

“He’s still alive,” she said.

Trish and Simpson exchanged concerned looks from the front seat, but I remained quiet, trying to avoid looking at Kilgrave or thinking about him anymore than I needed to in the moment. I wanted to keep myself as distanced from my emotions as I could. If I didn't see him, really see him, I could pretend it was anyone else. 

It was a bit of a drive to the building we needed to bring him to, one that went by eerily silent. Eventually when we pulled through an alley into a parking lot it was around noon. The sun was high overhead but the tall buildings around us kept us slightly shadowed. Kilgrave was still unconscious on the floor, thankfully the Sufentanil hadn’t worn off yet during the drive. 

“Let’s just get him inside quickly and quietly,” Simpson said as the van came to a stop.

I began to open the back doors as Jessica reached over to pick up Kilgrave. I paused, my hands still holding the door handles as my brows knitted together. I swore I heard a noise getting closer.

“Shit!” Jessica’s voice cut through the silence.

I turned and watched as she pulled something out of his suit coat. It was something small with a red flashing light. And then I heard car doors slamming just outside and I grimaced.

“He was wearing a tracker,” I called out in understanding.

I flung the back door open, swinging it into an unsuspecting man who’d been coming for the back doors. He went down for a moment before he got right back up. The sound of glass shattering came from the front of the van and then I heard the distinct sounds of a taser and Trish’s screams from up front. Then she went silent.

I flung myself out of the back of the van, throwing a fist into the man I’d just knocked down with the car door and dodging a punch from another man who’d appeared. As he went to pull his arm back from the punch, I latched onto his wrist with one hand and slammed my own fist into his elbow. He screamed as bone broke and he fell to his knees. I could hear the sounds of tasers and fighting behind me, but I didn’t have a chance to recover as the first man who’d attacked was coming at me now, a large taser now active in his hands.

Something took over me the moment I saw the taser swing at me, electricity sparking; the telltale vibration in my skull began to hum behind my eyes. For a moment the man hesitated, fear in his eyes as he looked on at me. I knew what it was he saw that made him pause. Using it to my advantage, I threw a hand out in front of me, a pulse of energy shooting out from it towards the man as he tried to charge me. He went flying hard back against one of the buildings, hitting the brick before falling to the pavement. He went still, but I could feel his mind slip into temporary unconsciousness. He was still alive. 

Ignoring the man still sitting at my feet, screaming over his broken arm, I turned around and saw three men tasing Jessica. They were in utter disbelief because she kept trying to get back up despite the multiple electric shocks. Simpson was in a headlock while being pummeled in the gut, his body trapped against the hood of the van. And Trish was unconscious in the driver seat, limp across the steering wheel.

Rage bubbled up inside and I lifted another hand, a pulse of energy shooting out from it as I screamed. All four men lost their footing and went flying across the pavement as if an invisible force had thrown them. Even Simpson stumbled forward to the pavement at the impact. Breathing heavily, I took a step towards them, throwing out another burst of energy as a few tried to rise to their feet.

“You’re going to leave here,” I ordered them, my voice sounding metallic and strange as it barrelled down the alley towards them. “Forget this happened.” 

The men immediately scrambled back to their cars, climbing in wordlessly at my command.

As I turned on my heel, I noticed Jessica was angrily slamming the van door shut. Her head whipped in the direction of a car peeling out of the alley.

“He took Kilgrave!” she snarled, entirely unphased by my appearance.

My eyes narrowed at the car speeding almost out of sight. With a sharp inhale, I held up my hand at the car, mentally grabbing onto it as my hand curled into a tight fist. I pulled with as much strength as my mind could handle. The car paused, the back end lifting a half foot off of the ground. A scream tore through me as I tried to pull it back, the muscles in my neck straining at the effort. Something inside my head snapped like a rubber band tearing. The car dropped to the pavement and skidded out before I could try again. I fell to my knees panting hard as sweat covered me.

“God dammit!” Jessica roared.

My eyes darted over to Simpson who was at the driver’s side, patting Trish on the face lightly and checking for a pulse.

“Is she okay?” I asked, voice weak.

Simpson glanced down at me, his eyes holding mine for a long moment, an unreadable expression on his face before he finally nodded.

“Just unconscious,” he told me. “She’ll come to soon.”

“Good,” I said softly.

The world was spinning and the vibrating in my head wasn’t helping. I lowered myself to all fours, trying to keep myself steady as I recovered. Blood dripped onto the ground by my hands; my nose must have started bleeding from the mental strain.

“We got nothing, after all of that,” Jessica grumbled before angrily slamming a fist into the building beside us–the brick crumbled under the impact.

“Not exactly,” Simpson said as he pulled zip ties from inside his coat pocket. “I knocked one of them out. We can question him inside, see what he knows.”

°•°•°•°•°•°

The man came to shortly after we’d gotten him inside of the building where we could interrogate him privately. Simpson pulled a knife out, waving it in front of the man’s eyes as he registered he’d been tied up. I crossed my arms over my chest, not exactly liking the situation.

“We need to know where they took Kilgrave,” Simpson told the man as he began tearing the fabric of the man’s pants upwards, starting at his ankle. “There’s a pain center right below the knee cap–”

“Come on man!” the guy shouted, his eyes growing wide in panic.

“Forget it,” Jessica cut in. “You could torture him until he’s dead–he can’t tell us anything. He’s not in control.”

“I am in total control!” the man countered rapidly, his voice rising in fear. “You don’t need to torture!”

Jessica frowned, her eyes narrowing. “You mean Kilgrave didn’t tell you to do this?”

“Is he a client?” the man asked. “I never spoke to him.”

“Yet you work for that psychopath?” Simpson asked him.

“No, I work for a firm,” the man answered quickly. “I just guard who I’m told to guard. The client thought he might be attacked. Frankly, I thought he was just some paranoid nut-job with a lot of cash.”

Jessica pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head as she let out a frustrated noise. When her hand lowered, she met my gaze.

“He knew we were coming,” she groaned. “God, I’m such an idiot. He knew I had the Sufentanil–Malcolm would have told him.”

I inhaled a rough breath, rubbing my hands over my eyes.

“And he knows I’m here now,” I pointed out. “So that’s another advantage out of the window.”

“He’s lying, he’s got to be,” Simpson countered.

“Come on man,” the guy whined. “The job doesn’t pay good enough for me to lose a knee cap, you know what I mean?”

Jessica shook her head, catching Simpson’s eyes. “Kilgrave knew he needed paid backup in case he lost his ability. He’s not lying.”

“So where’d they take him?” I asked the guy, stepping forward.

He looked up at me, shaking his head quickly. “I don’t know; they don’t tell us where to go until we need it. It’s a precaution. I have no idea where he is.”

“I want names of your firm and the people in your detail,” Simpson told the man.

“Sure,” he said, nodding quickly. “Whatever you want.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said slowly. “Kilgrave will just change it all now, after that. It’s too risky, he knows we’d figure it out.”

“I’ll just make sure,” Simpson snapped, raising his knife towards the man.

My eyes narrowed as Jessica slapped his arm.

“Come here, dickhead,” she ordered, dragging him to the corner of the room.

I sauntered over, a wary eye on Simpson. I was really beginning to not trust the man. He seemed like he was one step from going off of the deep end.

“Olivia and I will find him,” she said when we were out of earshot of the man. “You need to fix shit here with this guy; figure out how to come to terms with him. You’re a cop, Simpson–you’re supposed to serve and protect. Remember?” She glanced at me, gesturing her head. “Come on, we’re going to talk to my junkie neighbor. Sober him up a bit.”

I followed after Jessica, glancing over my shoulder. Simpson was making his way back towards the man who still looked terrified.

“You sure it’s safe leaving him alone with that guy?” I asked her as we made our way out of the building. “I…get bad vibes from Simpson. He doesn’t seem…okay.”

“He won’t kill him,” Jessica assured me. “I saw how worked up he was thinking he’d killed Trish. He won’t.”

“I hope you’re right…” I mumbled.

“I’m just going to tell Trish what’s going on, she can get Simpson out of here,” Jessica said as the van came into view. “We’ll grab a cab back to my place.”

I sighed, watching as Jessica headed over to the blonde sitting in the van. Trish perked up when she spotted us but she still looked upset. When she’d regained consciousness she’d done nothing but beat herself up for passing out after a single tase.

“I hope your plan works, Jessica,” I mumbled to myself.