#blond Greg is so freaking hot

[childoftheriver]

Dorks II: Revenge of the Lake

[or-ng-c-ss-dy]

my brain is broken today, i’m about to drink a fourth cup of coffee, and i’m ignoring every single one of my responsibilities for as long as humanly possible so

let’s talk porn au lmao, nsfw under the cut

au where dustin, needing to do something with his production degree, ends up responding to some ad for a small studio that ends up being a pretty low budget pornography studio. and he needs the money, and the work is fairly easy, he just stands around and films mainly women who also need money. and he gets sort of a reputation for being a good guy because he’s not some creep, he’s just there to earn some cash to live, he didn’t sign up to look at naked girls.

but, also, working in porn sorta kills porn for him. like he used to watch it like any guy, just some material to get off to but, now, it’s like work to him lmao. like he can’t watch a finished video without picturing some broke dude fresh out of college, standing there with a camera, getting that angle from behind that no one really likes, all while some other poor asshole fresh out of college stands besides him with a mic to get the fake moans of “ooo yes daddyyyy right there~”

anyway, he does it for long enough that he ends up getting a much better, much higher paying offer from a company with actual production value, some modicum of respect for the performers, and just less seediness all around. the studio just happens to be gay porn but that’s fine, he didn’t take the job to look at women, it’s just...now the people watching actually want to see that angle from behind, and the fake moans are deeper, it’s the same thing, there’s just two (or more) men.

first day on the job, he’s checking out the camera they’ve provided for him, a lot higher quality than the one from his old job. he’s messing around, zooming in and out, when he happens to zoom in on a hot lil bod, all abs and what looks like fuckin gils, and wow, this guy is good looking. he zooms out, sees blond and a trim little beard and pink pink pink lips, and dustin has to put the camera down to take in the whole picture.

“who is that?” he ends up asking his new co-worker, some guy similar to him, a little further out of college, needing money still.

greg’s worked there longer than him, and he looks at him for a long time like he’s stupid, which is annoying because the first words that greg said to him that morning upon first meeting was asking him if he sits or stands to wipe his ass.

“that’s jim. he’s like...one of the lead stars here, did you do no research?”

“...i’m not gay...” which doesn’t even sound convincing when he’s still looking at very pink lips, but greg doesn’t seem to notice.

“neither am i, man,” greg says, sounding way more sincere than dustin, “but still, you gotta watch a video or two to see what you’re working with.”

which sounds dumb because porn is porn, it’s work. he points the camera at the action and then someone edits it and posts it online. he’s used to being around dicks, so what if there’s more than one this time?

anyway, the whole thing freaks dustin out, he records hot little jim doing porn, all abs and slender hips, definitely fake moaning while he takes some guy’s dick only it kinda sounds real as it hits his ears, and then has to go home and do.....research.........

watching jim work doesn’t feel like work though, fisting the arms of his chair, pants too tight, and it’s going to be a real big problem for everyone involved, but mainly dustin!

[kaimelia]

interns

a/n: okay here's a little thing I wrote super quickly so it's a little random but! I know people are more interested in canon compliant fics (which tourist is not) so here's this!

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

"He's just so nice." Amelia glanced up, looking towards the group of interns that had gathered at the end of the nurses' station, their voices hushed as they crowded together. "I mean, half the attendings won't even look at us, and he already knows all of our names."

"It's our first day; you can't expect them to care about us."

"But he does! I may just go into ortho now. Do you think he's single?" Amelia bit her lip, smiling as she listened in to their conversation, diverting her eyes back to the tablet in her hands.

"He was talking about a son, but he doesn't wear a ring."

"Single Dad? That's hot," an intern muttered, throwing her blonde hair over her shoulder.

"He may not be single, Em. Some people aren't married."

"What kind of woman would have a kid with a man like that and not marry him? Come on, have you seen him?" Amelia rolled her eyes, looking over once more to take note of who was there. The blonde woman, who the other interns had referred to as 'Em,' was twirling her hair around her finger, gawking at a photo on his phone. "I found his Facebook. He doesn't have his relationship status up, and all his pictures are of his kid. I'm placing money on single Dad."

"Or maybe, he just doesn't put it on the internet. Ever thought of that? Privacy is nice," a male intern added, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Says the one with no digital footprint. I googled your name to see absolutely nothing besides a graduation list. Dr. Gregory Collins does not exist online."

"For a reason. Maybe Lincoln just doesn't feel the need to post a picture every time he sees a dog on the street."

"What if he's gay?" Another intern whispered, covering her mouth with her hand.

"How would he end up with a kid, then? Good one, Kayla."

"It could be his nephew, or he adopted?" Kayla shrugged her shoulders, her arms extended in suggestion. "We live in a progressive world; you never know."

"Will they kick me out of the program if I sleep with an attending?"

"Are you really going to try and seduce him? Because that's quite possibly the most idiotic thing I've ever heard." Meredith walked up to Amelia's side, reaching for a tablet from the stand and logging in.

"Shh," Amelia whispered, tilting her head in the direction of the interns. "They're talking about Link. I'm eavesdropping." Meredith rolled her eyes and opened her chart.

"Greg, you're just jealous because his thing is probably bigger than yours."

"That has nothing to do with this. I'm saying that you shouldn't go around trying to sleep with the chief of orthopedic surgery when we've been in this hospital for less than a day." He glanced down at his phone. "I've gotta go; Pierce is paging me. Please don't do anything stupid, Em." Meredith raised her eyebrows.

"They think he's single?" Amelia nodded her grin wide. "And you're fine with them talking about sleeping with him?"

"Come on, it's kind of funny! And when they find out we're dating, they'll stop; it's all innocent in the long run. I'm not worried about Link sleeping with an intern, and I'm pretty sure if that blonde one tried to make a move, he would freak out and never put her on his service again." Meredith shook her head in amusement.

"If you wanna really freak them out, text Link to come over here, make them see that you've heard everything and that you're his girlfriend." Amelia's face lit up, and she pulled out her phone, texting Link.

"His kid is cute. I love kids; I could be a good stepmom."

"You're at the start of your career, do you really want to start parenting a kid? That kid looks like he's four or something; you would be tied to that kid for fourteen years."

"For that man, I would. Have you seen him?" At that moment, the doors opened, and Link came walking through, a grin on his face. "Dr. Lincoln!" The interns stood up straighter as he passed, a blush creeping onto the blonde one's face. Link offered them a half-wave, casually walking backward until he playfully bumped into Amelia's body, wrapping his arm around her waist and kissing the top of her head.

"So, why'd you want me here?" Amelia looked up at him before her eyes darted to the side, seeing the interns staring at them.

"Those interns were talking about you and how they would be willing to be a mother to your child because you're that hot," she muttered, leaning up to kiss him. "And now they're super freaked out and will be scared of me for the next month because they know that I heard everything they said."

"Did I say something wrong? To make them think I was interested? I wasn't trying to do anything-"

"No, you were just being a decent human being, but interns see that as you offering to shove your hand down their pants," Amelia grinned and kissed him again. "You're supposed to be mean to the interns."

"Have some sympathy for them; we were interns once. You remember how much that sucked?" He dropped his hands to her hips and cocked his head to the side. "Okay, well, seeing as you don't actually need me for anything, I'm gonna go make sure none of the interns have killed my patient."

"You're picking up Scout tonight, right?"

"Yup. I love you!" He waved goodbye, jogging past the interns again, whose faces were flushed.

"They look like you just killed their puppies," Meredith laughed, a huge grin on her face. "I've missed torturing the interns."

"It definitely shouldn't be this fun."

[lana-llama-in-pajamas]

Evans relationships

sun drop/moon drop and Evan

She and him have a good relationship

She will hold him on her hip sometimes when she has to take him to parts and services

Evan often finds crayon and glitter glue in unsavory places

Will walk into the daycare in hours of operation and teach the kids a fun fact or have them play hide and seek so she can pull something out of his gears

Moon drop freaks her out sometimes but she almost never has to maintain him in the dark

One time she found a colored pencil in his pelvis gear…kids are odd

Freddy fazbear and Evan

Both are pleasant toward each other

She may or may not have flirted with him as a drunk dare at a new years eve party, ended in a duet on the mainstage

She never wants to talk about it

She's had to clean wine coolers off him a few times

When she saw him Gregory and Vanessa walk out of the plex dirty and tired she said nothing but opening all the doors of her car and and sighed “guess I'm calling in sick”

She wont admit him and Monty are her main favorites

Monty and Evan

She and him have danced on the dancefloor during the new years party

Did she wear his glasses? Yes.

Monty doesn't get that dirty surprisingly

Chica and Evan

She and Marcus have had to dress the animatronics sometimes for holidays

Chica likes being dressed up in the Christmas the most

Evan learned the hard way ‘never have food alone around Chica’

Evan has told the chicken that her names means ‘lady’ in Spanish

Now Chica will only respond to ‘my lady’ from her and Marcus

Roxy and Evan

The most silent

Roxy is the hardest to dress up

One time Roxy has said the phrase ‘I bet you don't have any friends’ to Evan

It was one of those ‘I don't get paid enough’ moments so Evan calmly put Roxy's comb on her vanity and walked out with a simple “no”

Did Roxy feel bad? Maybe

Dj music man and Evan

Fear.

Vanessa and Evan

she's got the hots for the blonde

She just isn't good at showing anything but aloofness and a calm happy demeanor

Tired wives

with their chaotic son and big father like murderous robot bear nanny

It was a cute wedding

Glamrock Mr. Hippo

She gets unnerved by his long stories

She always has Marcus nearby

Otherwise for him it seems she's just an employee

Glamrock bonnie

They never really got to know each other

But Freddy says they would've gotten along

Vanny

Vanny got explained to her by Vanessa and Greg

But not much

William Afton/ burnt trap

Also explained to her after the fact

Pizza plex employees

She's universally liked

She's been with them for 2 years so everyone knows her

[chemicallady]

Science and Vision

Part I

A/N: let's start something completely new! Hope you'll like the idea. I dont know how many parts I'll write. Let's see what happens togheter.

Once, Greg said that he has to choice between science or 'something else'. And he chose science. What it someone we is going to bump into is thinking otherwise.

I'm also using the characters of Frank Diners, introduced in episode 13x02! A couple of years before those (terrible) event.

Important: this parts are dreams

Couple: Greg Sanders/Female!Reader

Category: Romantic, Supernatural, Phychic, a little of angst of course.

Content Warning: mention to cases in which is involved a kidnap and a murder. Csi classical stuff.

Summary:  Reader is a powerful psychic, as her grandmother. Unfortunately, this gift doesn't help her in paying the rent, but as his mom always says 'anything happen without a reason'.

Reader starts to believe that when a series of drammatic nightmares start to keep you company during the night. And the subject is always the same, like a video, replied over and over again....

*****

Las Vegas, December 5th 2010

《Sorry Vincent! I'm late!》

You make your entrance at your work place - Frank's Diner- and you notice both officers Akers and Mitchell laught softly at you from their position at the bench.

《Traffic is tremendous tonight》, you try to explain yourself, keeping your apron and put it on. Your boss is in the kitchen, so he doesn't notice your delay. Owen, his brother, grinns from the front desk, like he doesn't mind at all. Picking a pen and your notebook, you look at the two officers with a charming smile. 《What can I serve to you, gentlemen?》

Andy orders the usual coffee with bacon and eggs, even if is like three in the morning. The bell on the door rings again and four people are now coming into. The last one, the guy who is talking with Owen, is the one who always caught your attention. Greg Sanders, CSI, hot material. He is also funny and interesting.

A total match.

But probably too smart to notice a waitress. Little does he know that you have a master degree. You are the new one in here and most of the clients are cops. Cops never ask too much and if the do, well.... it's an interview.

《Ei (y/n)》 , sayis a man, smiling at you with his usual kindness. 《Are you on shift tonight? Isn't this your day off?》

《What can I say, Nicky?》, is your answer, keeping a pitcher full of hot coffee. You fill a cup for him while you are still speaking. 《I need some extra money. I have some problems with my car, actually...》

《Again?》 Sara asks you, keeping the mug you're offering to her. 《Maybe is time to change that tin can.》

Akers captures your attentions with a joke. 《Maybe that's why you're always late!》

You start to pretend to be offended, putting and hand on your chest. Greg laughs and answers for you. 《It's a '69 Chevy Chevelle, Sara. (Y/n) cant just throw that piece of history away.》

《Thanks Sanders, you truly are a man of culture》 , you says, bright smile and a little wink, while Edie grinns next to you. 《That car is a part of me》

《The oldest one, I presume》 , Catherine tosses at you, 《Sorry to bother your discussion about ancient veichles but we are on a case and we need some fuel to work. Can we order now, (y/n)? You are in front 9f a group of hungry forensics. 》

《Of couse you can!》 Vincent appears somewhere next to you. 《Edie will keep your orders guys! (Y/n) has a big mouth ... hasn't she?》

Everyone laugh while you blush a little, biting your tongue to avoid a rude tense. Dahlia comes to the bench, asking for her usual milkshake that you are more than happy to prepare for her. Just to hide how much you are embarrassed. The CSI stay for almost 30 minutes and you cant help yourself but searching for Greg's gaze. He gives you some in return, but the two of you don't speak till it's time to say goodnight.

《Which one?》, Dahlia asks you, while you are still pointing the door with both your eyes, as you are waiting him to come back and ask you out one of those days.

《Don't know what are you talking about》, is you flat answer while the realisation that he is gone again without your number arrives.

《Stokes or Sanders?》, the blonde ask again. Edie smiles, clearly enjoyed by the situation. You know that she is only happy to have a co worker but also too shy to ask first. There is Dahlia for this.

You sigh, 《Am I so obvious?》

《You look so helpless, baby girl》, Dahlia continues, playing with her long amazing hair. 《You didn't answer sweety.》

You have your back on a corner. Once a Marines, always a Marine and Dahlia is proving this theory to you right now. So you decide to let it go. 《The cutest...》

Edie keeps the dirty mugs, smiling even brighter. 《So Sanders》

《We need to arrange a date》, is the last statement from Dahlia, before she goes on Owen to pay. She lefts 5 bucks as a tip, and a malicious smile. 《Because if we have to wait the both of you, guys.... nights in Vegas are long, but not that much!》

◇◇◇◇◇◇

The crowd is melting in front of your eyes. All that is matter right now is him.

His eyes on the road, is smile....

The sound of the music is far away from you and you can enjoy the sweet sound of his voice.

The place is dark and quiet and you feel safe with him.

He is your only hope.

Your courage....

No one have never understood you like he can. You two meant to each other.

So why is he so mad at you?

And then the pain arrives.

Is impossible to handle it.

Your hands are painted in crimson and you are loosing your balance...

....The room is so cold.

The silence is heavier than you think.

And the Emptiness is swallowing you all, piece to piece, slowly....

◇◇◇◇◇

Here we go again. Another shift, beyond the bench with an headache caused by lack of sleep. It's the same old story since.... you can recall.

You've started to have this nightmare almost two weeks ago, when you moved to Vegas. It's funny, you run away from ghosts just to bump into new ones.

But this time is different. Is more...

Powerful and you are helpless because you can't just go to the doctor and tell him 'hi, I'm a psychic and my visions are too strong while I try to sleep. Can you prescribe me Valium? A family storage please.'

Everyone will change their behavior towards you if they only know...

Same old story, again.

And you are so tired to move away every time you feel uncomfortable.

Is a lonely condition because you have to keep this secret for yourself.

You are the mad one, in the end. The crazy girl who can see the 'emotions' of dead people. Their last moments. And you grow tired of being the freak.

You want to be normal.

You want to be less lonely.

《Ei (y/n). You look so pale, what's going on?》

Your eyes meet Greg's ones when you hear him speak. A tiny smile appears on your lips, while you rise your hand to keep a mug full of coffee for the agent. 《 Have you ever sperimented how awful is being tired but incapable of fell asleep?》

《Please don't tell me》, is his answer, while he is smiling at you. You can't help yourself but think that is so cute. 《Thank you for the coffee.》

《Do you want to eat something?》

《No, I'm fine (y/n). I just want to review this case. I hope I won't bother you if I stay here at the bench for a bit.》

So charming.

He would never bother you.

Another smile and then you come back to work, serving coffee and keeping orders to the abitudinary clients. Greg stays much longer than 'a bit', by the way. An hour passed and he is still there. Is almost the dawn and you are going to end your shift. You are so tired...

You will probably walk home; you are too messy to drive.

You come back to Greg and you lean against the bar, yawning in your fist. 《May I ask you about this case?》

He sighs. 《An answer for and answer.》

《Then ask, Sanders.》

He looks at you with a small grinn. 《Why you can't sleep? Did you partied all night at the Mediterranean?》

A small laught abandon you month. 《 I wish. I just had a nightmare....》 He looks sorry for you, but it's fine. 《So? The case?》

He goes through his file before he shows you a picture. You barely hear what he says next. 《A girl disappeared a couple of weeks ago. Her name is Nina Foster, a university student. She was the head cheerleader of the college's football team and she went missed since the last.... (y/n), are you ok?》

You are barely breathing now. 《Oh my God.》

《What?》 , he asks without understand what's wrong. 《Do you know her?》

《I didn't. 》 you reply. 《.... I have dreamt about her. My nightmares....》 your hand traces slowly the line of the jaw in the pic, before speak again. 《I saw her being stabbed in the belly..... I think she is dead.》

....That probably wasn't a good idea.

~ continue ~

[marnie1964]

Karate Kid/Cobra Kai survey

i'm gonna consider myself tagged

It’s the year 2021 and you’re obsessed with The Karate Kid. How are you feeling?: an unexpected turn of events but it's passing the quarantine, i guess!

Did you grow up with TKK or are you new to the series?:  to be completely honest, i don't really like the movies? i didn't vibe with them as a kid and when i went back and tried to watch them this year i couldn't make it all the way through.* i think they're well crafted movies, but i've never liked relatable young boy wish fulfillment (i couldn't even get thru harry potter as a kid), and i think the first one is guilty of burying the lede twice over with regards to mr. miyagi and later the relationship between kreese and johnny. and lucky me--these are exactly the areas that cobra kai delivers on.

*except for the third one, which imo is a camp masterpiece and also genuinely heartbreaking. it's the only one that allows daniel to be an genuine pain in the ass. i think i've finally figured out what the target audience for cobra kai is: people who's favorite karate kid movie was tkk3 (me).

We gotta do the basics. Favorite character: johnny! what is a man but a miserable pile of bruce springsteen lyrics? or aimee mann lyrics? or mountain goats lyrics? or otis redding lyrics? or--fuck, have americans ever written songs about anyone else? i have an unreal amount of good will towards this man and his late-life struggle for recuperation. he's the heart of the show both in terms of his relationships with other characters and in terms of zabka's chemistry with the other actors.

my deep dark double secret fave is kreese. he makes me feel real anger in a way that's usually reserved for characters in vince gilligan shows. i'm a bit obsessed with him and his preoccupation with johnny and later johnny's teenaged son (I Have Thoughts). the show does a great job of making what he did to johnny--and all the years and years and years of fallout from that--feel really real, which makes him one of the most viscerally despicable villains i've ever come across . it's unironically among the best portrayals of domestic abuse i've seen, may god have mercy on our souls. the decision to pop out from behind a fucking cardboard cutout of himself to scare daniel in tkk3 was also a hilarious galaxy brain move. aspirational stuff.

also--shout out to daniel-san. the writers really had to work their asses off to make him into a character that appeals to me, and i think they did a great job of it. he's a cringey tool who's capable of displaying a surprising amount of integrity under the right circumstances! he's tom wambsgans! he's pete campbell! he's wonderful i love him!

Favorite ship:  johnny & daniel (what if mysterious skin was a sports comedy??)

Underrated character: the True and Correct answer to this question can only be aisha, although i don't think she was actually underrated by anyone besides the writers. chozen is also lowkey my favorite katate child because c'mon, he had everything (spear fights! ziplines! teen death matches! formfitting disco-era polyester button down shirts worn with gold chains!)

Underrated ship (don’t say therapy, lol):  uhhhh... the only teen couple that could have been interesting is tory/aisha. they were cute together and their friendship rang true to me. it's that thing where you're the new girl and you're conventionally attractive, but on the inside you know you're a freak so you immediately gravitate towards the most obvious female outsider. i lived it, bay-bey!

i also think there are interesting things to explore with carmen and johnny's relationship. i don't know if the writers are even aware of it (i lean towards no b/c men amirite) but the entire premise of carmen's character is that she chose to live in poverty to protect herself and her son from a bad man with power. she's thereby the exact opposite of johnny's mother, who (at least by his understanding) married hollywood film producer shmarvey shmeinstein to provide her son with a better life. so, there's a lot to unpack in his attraction to her. also they're super hot hur hur i like sexy nurse thing hur hur.

Wax On, Wax Off or Sweep the Leg?: i can't look directly at it, but sweep the leg. zabka what the fuck man.

Which of Daniel’s dumb little outfits is your favorite?:  i don't think i've seen anyone mention this one yet, but the football jersey with the sweatpants. it makes him look so small and huggable, i wanna pick him up and set him on my shelf or something.

Character from the films you most want to return, who’s not Terry Silver: bring back ali's lesbian girl gang!!! or else--dutch. he was funny and iconic, i loved his exaggerated offended reaction to everything daniel said or did in tkk. also, i'm tacky so i'm a sucker for aggressively bleach blonde hair. the SCANDALIZED wasp couple standing behind ali and johnny in the spaghetti scene will also do. or terry's secretary (an mvp--i believe the original actress has passed away so in my heart of hearts she's portrayed by j. smith-cameron).

Scene that lives in your head rent-free: the whole character development speed run that johnny does from sweep the leg to crying while handing daniel the trophy to getting strangled in the parking lot by his beloved teacher. i'm especially transfixed by that last bit--what's the thought process of a man who decides to publicly execute his teenage student via strangulation? why did none of the many bystanders call the police? johnny is the real kitty genovese, prison for everyone.

from the cobra kai series proper: daniel's decision to greet johnny with a big hug after not seeing him for 35 years and never actually being friends with him (I Have Thoughts), the heinously creepy scene where johnny is repeating the cobra kai mantra for miguel and his entire disposition completely changes (demonic possession shit), and johnny's tiny go-ahead-and-kill-my-abuser nod (his face is so stoney after being so animated at dinner) coupled with daniel's shaky little sign of relief (macchio is really the cutest when he looks scared).

it goes without saying that every johnny & miguel scene lives rent free in my HEART.

Will Anthony LaRusso ever be relevant?: anthony becomes relevant for one (1) episode next season when amanda and daniel finally get around to putting him up for adoption.

You live in The Valley and are forced into the karate gang war.  Which dojo do you join?:  i enter the cobra kai dojo decked out in all of my snake-themed clothing and jewelry (it's a lot). i approach kreese and explain to him that the open mouth of a snake, viewed head-on, is a yonic symbol. i am permanently banned from the cobra kai dojo.

(seriously though, assuming i'm a teen in this scenario i think i would have vibed with tory/miguel/aisha. dimitri and sam would have driven high school me up the fucking wall though. the cobra kai style looks like more fun/better exercise. do i also genuinely believe most young girls could actually benefit from someone yelling no mercy down their neck? maybe so 💖)

What’s your training montage song?:  50ft queenie - pj harvey (it takes place in the alison bechdel feminist karate dojo ofc)

It’s the crossover event of the century! Which TV show are you combining with Cobra Kai for an hour-long Saturday night special?: it's a full episode flashback to the time johnny got arrested in albuquerque, new mexico. johnny's court-appointed attorney is a weirdly hot babe who seems like a super straight laced killjoy at first, but soon reveals herself to be an unhinged woman. one thing leads to another, and johnny winds up in bed with her and her loser husband. there are lots of great themes about punitive justice, people's ability to change for the better (and worse), and what makes someone "good" or "bad" to begin with, but mostly it's just really hot sex. the husband tries to sell johnny a prepaid cellphone and johnny tell's him that cellphones are never gonna catch on, cause who want's to be bothered by people all the time like that?

better call saul. it's a better call saul crossover ep.

(fwiw think that greg 'hbo succession' hirsch should also be terry's cousin greg on the non-roy side. think about it--the roys are small people, but cousin greg is really tall?? and who else is really tall, and a blue eyed brunette to boot? terry silver. it all adds up! this never becomes relevant to the plot, in any case, i'm just considering it canon until the writers come to my house and explicitly tell me i'm wrong.)

Tagging: anyone who's interested 😘

[kpopfanfictrash]

A Lie of Omission

Author: kpopfanfictrash 

Creative Content Contributor: @baebae-goodnight (thank u for this moodboard I keep using bc it’s so good)

Pairing: You / Jimin

Rating: PG-13 [ fluff + enemies to lovers!AU + Hogwarts!AU ]

Word Count: 3,655

Summary:  A series of drabbles about Slytherin!Jimin and Hufflepuff!Y/N, the sister of his self-declared mortal enemy.

A/N: These drabbles are non-sequential.

“I’m not going,” you mutter, slumped low in your chair. Before you, the Hufflepuff common room fire roars cheerily, as only a Hufflepuff fire can.

Sandra sits in the chair next to you, scribbling notes on a fresh sheet of parchment. “And why not?” she hums, not looking up from her book. “Why aren’t you attending the Yule Ball, again?”

“Because,” you inform, groaning out loud. “In order to attend, I would need a date.” Slouching even lower, you stare at the flames of the fire. “And in order to have a date, someone would need to ask me.”

Finally, Sandra snaps the book shut. “Ridiculous,” she announces.

Glancing sideways, you frown. “There’s no boggart here, San.”

Sandra rolls her eyes. “Not Riddikulus, I am calling you ridiculous. As in, your way of thinking is absurd.”

Slightly offended, you push yourself higher. “And how am I being absurd?” you demand, crossing both arms over the table. “I would be fine going solo, if anyone else were. But even you have a date,” you complain, nudging her elbow. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you and Hoseok but it leaves me as the third wheel. That’s no fun.”

Sandra sighs, poking you back. “That leaves you as a chicken, not the third wheel.” Standing up from the table, she stretches both arms overhead. “If you really don’t want to go, you don’t have to. But you’re selling yourself short here – there are plenty of guys without dates. Or,” Sandra brightens, “you could ask Lucas to set you up with someone! What about Seokjin, in Gryffindor? He’s super dreamy, and isn’t he close to your brother?”

With a grimace, you shrug. “I guess so, but Lucas’ friends all see me as a kid.” With hesitance, you remove a certain not-friend of Lucas’ from mind. “I would sooner die than attend the Yule Ball with Seokjin and have him curse potential suitors because their ties were askew, or something.”

Sandra snorts, picking up her bag. “Well,” she accepts. “You’re on your own, then. I just feel like this is a total waste of dress robes.”

Sighing dramatically, you stare into the fireplace. Sandra is correct, you know this – you are being a giant chicken. The Yule Ball does not happen often and Filch, along with the rest of the staff, have been decorating for weeks. It has become somewhat dangerous to venture down a hallway alone, for fear of mistletoe popping into being above you.

With a twist of your lips, you scan the common room and consider your options. By the fireplace stands Greg, a fellow Sixth-year in a few of your classes. He is nice enough, semi-cute and you hear he is not taking anyone to the ball yet. When you open your mouth to mention his name as an option, Sandra cuts you off.

“Not Greg,” she responds, shoving books in her bag. When you blink up at her, Sandra laughs and shrugs. “Sorry, I saw you looking. But anyways, Greg asked Julie Quinn to the Yule Ball this morning.”

“Oh,” you exhale, slumping back in your seat. “Then I guess I’m screwed, huh?”

Even as you bemoan, a nagging voice inside you whispers you could always ask Jimin. The two of you have not spoken for weeks, not since you realized during your last um, meeting that you were becoming too attached to said fuck buddy. Shifting uncomfortably, you attempt to push his face from mind. Jimin has not asked anyone else to the ball the last that you heard and you cannot help but wonder if this is because of you.

It is a silly thought, a baseless one and you banish it instantly. Jimin does not care and yet, for some reason you continue to wonder. Your relationship has been clear from the start. A way for him to get off, and a way for you to get practice – but now, you find yourself staring down at the table. Towards the end, it seemed as though there might be more. Jimin lingered once or twice after you hooked up, helped you with spells a couple of times and then there was the feeling you had, when Jimin fucked you from behind and pulled you against his chest.

Pressing your thighs tightly together, you attempt to forget the brush of his lips on your neck, his hands hot on your body. It felt strangely intimate, in a way it never had before and you do not know what to do with that piece of information. Shaking your head, you look up from the table. Sandra is right about two things, although she does not realize that fact.

You are being a chicken about the ball, just as you are being a chicken about Park Jimin. You should have told him you did not want to see him and instead, you fed him excuse after excuse. None of which were truthful. It is only – you did not want to tell Jimin it is over. You still do not want to tell Jimin it is over.

Why that is so, you have not allowed yourself to consider.

Drumming your fingertips over the table, you stare into the fireplace and frown. “I don’t think I’m going to go,” you announce. “I’ll just stay in the common room, conjure some Butterbeer and drink myself to sleep, or something.”

“And miss the ball?” a voice asks, sliding into the empty chair at your table.

Both you and Sandra glance sideways, surprised to find none other than Kim Taehyung, Hufflepuff’s golden boy in the seat. He grins in your direction, shaking honeyed-blonde hair from his gaze.

Without meaning to, your heart beats a tiny bit faster. Upon your arrival at Hogwarts, Taehyung was one of the first people to be kind to you – to you, Y/N and not you, Lucas’ sister. He sat beside you during the sorting ceremony and cheered when you got into Hufflepuff after he did. Taehyung is sweet, kind and it does not help that he transformed overnight into one of the most attractive men you have ever laid eyes on.

“I – Taehyung,” you blink, surprised by the suddenness of his appearance. You two used to be close, but have not talked much in years. “How are you doing?”

“Oh, you know,” Taehyung sighs, waving a hand. “I’ve been better. Been so busy studying for exams, the ball completely slipped my mind.”

“Oh?” Straightening, Sandra stares meaningfully at you. “Does that mean you don’t have a date, Taehyung?”

Sadly, he shakes his head. “Afraid not,” Taehyung explains, peering at you from beneath his lashes. “And – not to be weird, but did you just say the same, Y/N?”

Staring, heat creeps up the back of your neck. Things are a bit fuzzy and for a moment, you are about to say yes – until Jimin’s face flashes, unbidden, through your mind. With a frown, you attempt to shove this aside. Jimin is not relevant to this conversation, nor is he a realistic option.

Even if you two were more than fuck buddies – which you are not, you remind yourself – Jimin could never bring you as his date to the ball. For one, dances are not his scene and for another, Lucas would be absolutely furious. If his little sister were to show up on the arm of his mortal enemy, Lucas would lose his shit and to be honest, you could not blame him. Jimin has done some shitty things to him in the past (the spaghetti hair comes to mind) but then again, so has Lucas to Jimin.

Shaking free from your reverie, you glance at Taehyung. “I – uh, yeah,” you nod. “I wasn’t planning on going at all, actually.”

Taehyung seems surprised by this. “You’re not? Why?”

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, Sandra moves to leave. “Looks like I’m not needed here anymore,” she declares. “Y/N, I’ll be getting ready in the tower, okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, watching her go. Once she has disappeared, you return to Taehyung. “I don’t know,” you admit, trying not to look embarrassed. “I guess there was just no one I wanted to ask.”

“Oh.” Taehyung pauses, thoughtful. The yellow in his robe sets off the golden brown of his hair, making you stare. “What about me?”

“What about you?” you blurt out, surprised.

Taehyung chuckles, leaning in conspiratorially. “Would you want to go to the Yule Ball with me, Y/N?”

For a moment, you can only stare. “Are you shitting me?” you blurt, as Taehyung grins.

“No,” he insists, shaking his head. His expression turns incredulous. “Why would you think that? You don’t have a date, I don’t have a date and I’ve always liked you, Y/N.”

The way he says this – so easily, so casually, gives you pause. For a moment, you are floored. “As a friend?” you squeak out.

Taehyung blinks, his confidence somewhat shaken. “Yeah,” he breathes, tilting his head. “As a friend, I like you.”

His voice is soft, adamant and you stare at him for a moment. Jimin’s face flashes again through your mind, which is becoming annoying, to be honest. Here is a great guy, asking you to a dance and all you can think about is that tiny, little dent about Park Jimin’s lips.

It makes you tilt your chin up and nod. “Alright,” you say, standing up from the table. “I’d love to go with you, Taehyung.”

Expression brightening, he stands as well. “Great,” Taehyung beams. “I’ll meet you in the common room tonight, okay?”

“Sure,” you agree, turning to head towards the stairs. At the bottom, you pause with one hand on the railing. “My dress robes are silver,” you say, turning to face him. Taehyung smiles, having been caught watching you go. “In case you wanted to know.”

“Silver sounds good,” he responds, nodding as you turn and disappear out of view.

Sandra, obviously, is ecstatic about this turn of events. She helps you get ready, chattering incessantly about meaningless things while twisting your hair around competent fingers. At the end of it all, you barley recognize yourself in the mirror – in a good way. Marveling, you turn your face side to side and wonder what, exactly, Sandra did. Your eyes look larger, skin dewier and fresher.

“Wow,” you exhale, glancing at Sandra. “You outdid yourself.”

“Taehyung is gonna freak,” she grins.

She is not wrong, exactly. As you descend to the common room and find Taehyung and Hoseok already waiting, he does a double take at your entrance. “Wow,” Taehyung exhales, eyes wide. “Bet everyone is kicking themselves about not asking you first, huh?”

Ducking your head, you hide a smile. “Stop that,” you chide him, without really meaning it.

Taehyung laughs, taking your arm in his to exit the common room. A group of students head towards the Yule Ball together, talking and laughing the entire way to the Hall. Taehyung walks slower than the rest, falling behind so you can walk side by side.

“So,” he exhales, looking at you. He is beautiful in his slim, black robes and bright silver accents – Taehyung has always been adept at charms, you recall. “I’m glad you said yes. I don’t want you to think that… my bad timing means I’m any less happy to be here.”

He seems nervous, which is sweet and you smile. “You don’t need to explain anything,” you assure Taehyung, entering the Great Hall. “I’m just happy to be…”

You trail off when you see Jimin.

He looks up at the same time you do, freezing in place. While Taehyung recovered quickly from your visual though, Jimin remains frozen in shock.

He is alone, dressed entirely in black with nothing to accent his clothing. Despite this, you find you cannot look away. The blonde of his hair is swept back, a style Jimin seldom wears. You once told him you liked it. You wonder if he remembers.

Realizing you are motionless, you turn. You are not here alone, you remind yourself – Taehyung is your date and, looking upwards, you manage a smile. “The decorations are lovely,” you finish, lamely.

They are; this is true, but they are not the thing which makes your heart pound.

Taehyung glances around the room as you walk. “True,” he agrees, pulling you closer. It could just be your imagination, but you swear he looks at Jimin.

Jimin is not looking at you, though, having turned away as quickly as you did. When you leave, you glance backwards to spot him taking a sip of his drink. Jimin’s grip on the glass is tight, his jaw is clenched and you worry about this for a moment before turning away.

Tonight, Jimin is not your problem.

“Punch?” Taehyung offers, coming to a stop at the bowl.

Gently, you nod and remove your arm from his grasp. “Please,” you agree.

For the first time, you notice the room you are in. The Great Hall has truly been transformed overnight. Great, sparkling icicles hang down from the ceiling and golden baubles float by, dancing on air. The room is spiced somehow and you draw in a deep breath, reveling in the crisp feeling of winter.  

Leaning forward, Taehyung hands you a cup. “Y/N?” he asks, a note of concern in his voice.

Startled, you did not realize you were staring elsewhere. “Sorry,” you respond, accepting the drink. “I was just... looking at the decorations.”

Chuckling quietly, Taehyung follows when you exit the table. “Right,” he nods, glancing at you. “You do seem kind of distracted, Y/N. Maybe I’m overstepping, but… was there someone else you were hoping would ask you?”

The way he says this, with a gentle arch of his brow, makes you wonder if he knows. You wonder if Taehyung saw the way you stared at Jimin when you entered; stomach sinking, you hope he did not because Taehyung does not deserve that.

Tonight, he is your date and you resolve to be better. “I,” you exhale, shrugging a shoulder. “Maybe, yes. There was someone else. But the point is – he didn’t ask me, right?”

Shyly, Taehyung ducks his head. “I guess,” he admits, glancing up. “I’m glad you’re here with me, anyways.”

Warmth spreads through your chest, a second away from something more when a hand closes over your elbow. You whirl, expecting to see Jimin and instead, find your brother.

“I need to talk to you,” Lucas hisses. Glancing over your shoulder, he spots Taehyung and forces a smile. “I’m sorry, man. Could you give me a minute alone with my sister?”

Taehyung slowly nods, looking to you for approval. “If Y/N wants to, sure.”

Gratefully, you appreciate his distinction of word choice. “Yeah,” you agree, allowing Lucas to pull you sideways. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

Taehyung nods, watching you go as Lucas drags you across the length of the Great Hall. “Ow,” you complain, turning to swat at his arm. “Watch the robe, Lucas. I’m – oh,” you blink, as he suddenly turns.

“Is it true?” Lucas demands. He glares at you down the slope of his nose.

Staring back, uncertainty unfurls in your stomach. “Is what true?” you ask, suddenly afraid what he means.

Lucas could not know about Jimin; that would be impossible. You have not seen Jimin in weeks and the last time you two hooked up, no one saw. Your stomach churns though, wondering if you messed up. Perhaps someone saw you both exit the classroom; maybe someone saw, and maybe someone told Lucas.

Rolling his eyes, your brother lets out a huff. “Is it true,” he repeats, “that mom sent candy cane cookies in the holiday packages?”

A bubble of relief pops inside. “Oh my god,” you complain, pushing his hand from your arm. “Are you serious, Lucas? You’re pissed off at me because of candy cane cookies?”

“Ah!” Lucas declares, pointing a finger. “So, it is true! I should have known the moment you offered to pick up my package from the Owlery! I should have known when you took two days to give me mine! You stole my cookies, didn’t you?” he demands, thoroughly cross.

Fleetingly, it crosses your mind that if Lucas is so mad about this, god knows what might happen were he to ever find out about Jimin. This thought makes your stomach sink, heart twisting for reasons you do not understand. If Lucas is so mad over stolen cookies, you can only imagine how hurt he would be if you – literally – slept with the enemy.

Slowly, you swallow. The corners of your eyes burn and for the first time tonight, you regret accepting Taehyung’s invitation. He is a nice guy, yes but he is not – stopping yourself, you do not think his name.

“Fine, whatever,” you exhale, returning to Lucas. “Yes, I ate the dumb cookies. I’ll have mom make you more, okay?”

Lucas squints. “With extra sprinkles and frosting?”

“Yes, your highness.”

He grins, folding his arms. “Okay, fine. I declare this sibling fight over.”

“Was there ever one to begin with?” you groan, patting his cheek as you move to walk past. “Anyways, you can consider the delay in cookies payback!” you call over your shoulder, stepping out of the alcove.

“For what?” Lucas responds, his expression one of pure disbelief.

“Remember that time you broke my Rememberall?” you yell, nearly out of earshot.

“We were five!” Lucas cries, as you slip around the corner.

Laughing, you move until someone else grabs your elbow. Really, you think as you are tugged into a hallway, this is starting to become an unfortunate habit.

Jimin pushes you against the wall. “Hey,” he exhales, before kissing you.

You yelp, a tiny noise of exclamation before sinking into his kiss, thoroughly distracted by how good he feels. Without thinking, your arms rise to wrap around his neck and pull him closer. The stone behind you is cold; rough, like his hands on your body, so eager to have you.

“W-wait,” you gasp, turning your head.

Releasing a groan, Jimin’s fists clutch at your robes. “What is it?” he mumbles, pressing his lips to your neck.

Eyes fluttering, you let your head hit the wall. Jimin feels so good, you are drowning in him after being apart for so long. Something twists in your stomach at this, realizing how regularly you met up with him before.

“Jimin,” you exhale, panting from only his kiss. His hands fumble at your dress robes, needing you closer. “We can’t.”

“Oh, I disagree,” he laughs, gently caging your hips with his own. “The way you look tonight – shit, Y/N.” He says your name in a whine, a desperate groan of desire. “I’ve wanted you since you walked through the door.”

“I-I’m on a date,” you blurt out, silencing him.

Jimin slowly opens his eyes. “Oh,” he responds, careful.

Chest rising and falling, you stare at him through the silence. “I’m here with someone else, Jimin,” you mutter, not knowing where else to look. “I know that we fuck around, sometimes – but not here, okay? Not while my date is waiting for me out there.”

Jimin stiffens. “Right,” he responds, entirely unreadable. There is something dark, almost angry to his gaze. “Right, of course. We only fuck sometimes.”

When he says the last two words, they sound like a mockery. Frowning, you search his face for an answer. “I,” you pause. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”

After a brief pause, Jimin wrenches himself away. Shoving his hand through his hair, he looks out at the Hall. People are dancing now, whirling around the decorations in couples and partners.

“Sure,” Jimin states, oddly cold. This is when you realize that before, he was not cold. In the past few months, Park Jimin has not been cold to you at all. “Of course, you wouldn’t.” Jimin turns back to you. “Why are you here with him, anyways?”

For a moment, you can only stare. “I – what do you mean? Because Taehyung asked me, that’s why.”

Jimin’s eyes narrow, as he takes a step closer. “And why have you been avoiding me, then?”

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” you respond, automatic.

He snorts. “Don’t bullshit me, Y/N. It won’t work.”

Staring at him, you consider your words. “Fine,” you respond through gritted teeth. If you wanted to, you could reach out and kiss him, but you do not. “I haven’t wanted to hook up lately, that’s all.”

At this, Jimin’s nostrils flare. “Oh?” he responds, sounding strangled. “And why is that? Because of Taehyung?”

He looks up to scan the hall but you do not follow his gaze. “Maybe,” you grind out, so angry your blood boils. Every inch of you aches for him. “Why do you care, anyways?”

“I don’t care,” grunts Jimin, grabbing your waist. He yanks you forward, chests thudding together as a tiny moan escapes you. Jimin pushes a hand through your hair, dislodging bobby pins as he hovers over your ear. “I just,” he murmurs, softer. “Why him?”

“What?” you freeze, heart catching.

Jimin inhales, his breath shaky. “Why… him?”

Slowly, you turn your head to look at him. Jimin stares back, unabashed. “Who else?” you ask him, confused.

For a long moment, Jimin does not respond. Then, his grip tightens briefly on your waist before releasing. “If,” Jimin hesitates, glancing around. Never before, have you seen him look like this – uneven, uncertain. “If you have to ask me that, then you’re right. I don’t care.”

With that, he spins on his heel and stalks out of the hall.

You stare after him, finding it difficult to breathe and wondering what in the hell just happened. You did the right thing, you remind yourself. Lucas would have been livid, if he found out and you were growing too attached. Jimin means nothing to you in the long run.

And yet – if Jimin truly meant nothing to you, your heart would not constrict so tightly. Your legs would not shake as they do and you would not reach out to steady yourself on the wall.

You would not feel as though your entire world has crumbled, simply because Jimin said he does not care.

A/N: [ Master List ]

© kpopfanfictrash, 2019. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[fanatical-san]

Omg 6, 22 or 24 for Drarry - I can’t decide which one as I think they’d all be amazing, so I’ll leave it up to you! :)

I have spent a day writing these, so I apologise if the quality’s really low. Fasting doesn’t really help, either XD

I answered 24 here for another person here, so you can go read it (AO3 version here). I answered six for you as a separate post here (and there’s also an AO3 version). And finally, here’s twenty two (which is also available on AO3): “Sorry.You’re the first person I’ve spoken to in ten years.” I’ve called the piece ‘Herbal Tea’. Yep, it’s one of those.

And yes, I answered them all, because I couldn’t help myself. A massive shoutout to @skarhead and @jostaart, though, because I trawled through their brilliant blogs for inspiration, and these three drarry fics are the result. Whilst they’re based on the prompt, not particular artwork, @skarhead and @jostaart was crucial for bringing my ideas to life! And um, I got a little carried away with this one, so some of it’s under a cut. I hope you enjoy it, and that it’s not completely boring. Here goes:

The November air is chilly, although the temperature isn’treally anything new to Harry, living in Britain. There’s something distinctlydifferent about it to October, though, and he takes a moment to pause andbreathe it in. He’s been doing that more and more; taking a moment to pause. Heneeds it nowadays, especially; ever since declining the position of Head Aurorand resigning completely, the press has been swarming around him insistently,which is a feat considering how much they regularly pester him about thecontinued absence of any romantic relationship. Hermione does her best to keepthem away, but it’s his problem to deal with, and deal with it he does.

Self-care is something he’s been neglecting for years now,trying to stay above everyone else’sstandards rather than his own. He should’ve been able to move on from the war,but his Mind Healer tells him that by throwing himself into the path of theDark Arts for a living, he’s been forcing himself to hang on to those toxicmemories. Well, not anymore, and he feels no obligation to explain it to anyoneapart from his friends and family, who wholeheartedly agree with him. At leasthe’s done that right.

Harry is rudely yanked out of his thoughts by someonerunning into him, full force. The weight of the person topples him over, andHarry is ready to give them a piece of his mind, before he looks up at a facethat, whilst having matured since he saw it last, is still shockingly familiar.

“…Malfoy?!” Ifthere was one person that would not have been found in Muggle Manchester, ofall places, it would be Draco Malfoy. Not only because Malfoy Manor was inWiltshire, and not even because he was in a Muggle area rather than a wizardingarea, but because Malfoy hadn’t been seenfor years. Most people assumed that he’d either remained reclusive within hisown house, or that he’d moved. Some hoped that he’d been dealt with, Harrybeing the polar opposite; he’d tried to find Malfoy multiple times, and forvarious reasons, with no success. He’d stopped himself from searching MalfoyManor, because it would’ve looked obsessive, and Ron and Hermione were alreadyworried for him.

And now, here he is, on top of Harry, looking terrified. Heclutches Harry’s jacket, and blurts:

“Potter, I know you hate me, but I will pay you whatever youwant to just get me out of here.” Hisvoice is rough and hoarse, and he seems more surprised than Harry is at hearingthose words. Harry wants to ask more, but at that moment, he hears the firstyell.

Malfoy’s crystal grey eyes look desperately into Harry’s,and something in him compels him to wrap one arm around the platinum blonde andDisapparate – straight to his house, which is under the Fidelius Charm. There’sno turning back now; Malfoy knows the location of his home.

Speaking of Malfoy, the man is passed out on his sofa. Hishair is expertly ruffled, and falls in waves around his angular face. He’slean; too lean, as if he hasn’t been eating well. Whilst he wears designerclothes (Muggle, strangely enough), it’s apparent that he’s been wearing themfor too long.

As dishevelled as he is, Malfoy still manages to look…angelic, almost, which is unsettling,because Malfoy is not an angel in any way. He decides to leave him for now,although questions are buzzing about his mind. Harry knows from experience thatit’s never a good idea to dwell on such thoughts, or to bombard a person withquestions after they’ve passed out.

Harry instead decides to make some hot drinks. Luna showedhim a wonderful recipe for various herbal teas that work different calmingeffects into a person, so Harry begins brewing a certain tea that has specialsoothing properties. Harry loses himself in the rhythm of stirring and addingingredients, to the extent that he doesn’t notice Malfoy until the blonde isstanding next to him. He says nothing, choosing to let Malfoy speak when he’scomfortable to.

It’s a surreal situation; standing in a cosy kitchen, thepeaceful aroma of herbal tea filling the air, with Malfoy by his side. It’s notunwelcome, though; Harry finds that he doesn’t mind the company. Malfoy clearshis throat.

“You may possibly have the most uncomfortable couch I’ve ever crashed on, Potter.” His voice isweak, but his tone strong, and Harry is briefly reminded of a darker time, andthe words, ‘I can’t be sure’. Hepushes it from his mind, and addresses Malfoy.

“Nice to see you haven’t changed, Malfoy.” He says itquietly, but Malfoy freezes at the words for a second, before replying.

“Sorry. You’re the first person I’ve spoken to in tenyears.” Harry drops the spoon, startled; he’s not expecting to hear that at all. Malfoy deftly catches thespoon, though, and takes over brewing. “That’s quite an advanced magical tearecipe you’re making, Potter,” he says absentmindedly. “Consider me impressed.”

Harry still hasn’t quite absorbed the information, and heknows it’s a bad idea to ask, but he does it nonetheless.

“Malfoy…what do you mean, first person you’ve spoken to inten years?” Harry speaks slowly and hesitantly, not sure how Malfoy is going toreact. The blonde simply scoffs.

“Potter, I’m not an injured kitten. You don’t need to usethat tone with me.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re still doing it.”

“Sorry?” Harry doesn’t want to overstep his boundaries; heneeds to avoid Malfoy closing off. The kitchen is quiet for a minute or so, thesilence broken only by the soft swish of the tea being stirred.

“Thanks, though,”Malfoy says after a while, his voice softer than before. “for helping me getout of there. But I don’t want you to treat me like a trauma victim.”

Harry doesn’t know if it’s right to respond, so he doesn’t,but gets two mugs out of the cupboard. Malfoy pours the drinks, appearingrelaxed, but Harry doesn’t believe that he’s just suddenly alright.

“Yeah, okay. But I’m not going to tell anyone anything youtell me. What you say here stays here, I swear. So, try to trust me, even ifit’s only for now. Please.” Malfoy sighs.

“Do you have a better place to talk?”

*

Snowflakes fall lightly, and lights twinkle in the distanceas he and Malfoy sip their hot drinks out on the balcony.

The balcony is one of the perks of Harry’s home, one hewasn’t quite expecting. It’s spacious, and with a few waterproof charms,warming charms, as well as a few select beanbags, it’s become one of hisfavourite spots in the house.

“And I just stopped trying. There were so many people afterme. I would stay over at Blaise’s, or Pansy’s, or Greg’s, never sayinganything, but they were probably the only reason I survived. It was never safeenough, though; I had to keep moving constantly.”

“The DMLE got rid of all the members, though; we trackedthem all down. It was a major investigation at the time.” Malfoy laughsbitterly.

“The Aurors got rid of the main body. They had hired peopleto carry out their dirty work for them. As you know, some of the leaders werein too high a position to have each target killed personally. The people afterme were some of those employees, still intent on revenge.” Harry groans,frustrated.

“This is a whole other issue. How many were there?” Malfoy’slooking out over the other buildings, and something about the sight draws Harryto him.

“About thirty-five,” he says. Harry can’t believe thatMalfoy was able to survive that many trained killers after him especially. He’sabout to reply, when Malfoy continues. “I don’t blame them. I can’t beforgiven.”

“Malfoy-”

“Draco. Call meDraco. We aren’t kids anymore.”

“Draco,” Harry corrects himself, turning to face himproperly. “the people hunting down ex Death Eaters are the ones in the wrong.It’s the kind of behaviour that started a war in the first place. And I forgaveyou years ago; you are most definitelycapable of being forgiven, but you have to forgive yourself first. No-one else can do that for you.”

Draco chuckles.

“When did you become so sappy, Potter?” Harry rolls hiseyes. Of course Draco isn’t going to take it seriously. These are words comingfrom him after all.

“If I get to call you Draco, you get to call me Harry.”Draco shoots him a pointed look.

“Fine then, Harry;where is this all coming from? Younger you probably would’ve told me that Iabsolutely can’t be forgiven and thatI’m being pathetic. What changed?”

“I grew up,” Harry answers seriously.

“You mean you grew older.You’re still really freaking short,” Draco teases.

“Shut up,” Harrygrumbles in response, but he’s smiling.

*

“Are you sure about this?” Draco asks sceptically, surveyingthe room. It’s well furnished, with an ensuite and all. A king-sized bed stands proudly in the centre, with lusciousred curtains surrounding the four-poster bed.

“Draco, Narcissa wantsyou to stay with me. I’m not going to say no to her. And besides, now that youaren’t as bigoted, you’re actually a decent person.” Draco sighs in defeat,answering back nonetheless.

“Since when were youso chummy with my mother?” heretorts. But Draco full well knows that this is the safest place for him. Hismother was brave enough to approach the Saviourof the Wizarding World, of all people, and who’s Draco to say no to somerefuge?

Plus, Harry himself is a bonus. Gone is the scrawny,righteous kid that Draco always despised. He’s not actually grown that muchtaller, but it suits him. Years of Auror work have served him well, buildingsome muscle and defining his jawline, and Draco has found himself staring moretimes than he’s comfortable with.

“Are you really going to throw a fuss about this?” Harry asks with an eyebrowraised, and Draco smiles sweetly.

“Of course not, oh Saviour.” Harry punches him in the armlightly.

“I’ve told you not to call me that, Ferret.”

“Whatever you say, GoldenBoy.”

“Prat.”

“Scarhead.”

“Are you two really bickering at this age?” Narcissa says, appearing from the stairs. “Anyonewould’ve thought you two were still schoolboys. Now,” she says, addressingDraco, “are you all settled in?”

“Yes, Mother,” Draco replies, earning a look from Harry.Narcissa doesn’t seem to notice this when she turns to him.

“Please tell me if he causes any sort of trouble. I know howpicky he can be.” Draco splutters.

“Mother!” Narcissa only smiles knowingly at her son,sweeping him into a hug.

“You know I love you, Draco. Stay safe for me, darling.”Draco hugs her back for a long moment, flooded by how much he’s missed her. Shepulls back and looks at him. “You’re safe; Harry Potter is looking after you.”

And aren’t those just the words that he never imagined hewould hear?

*

The first time Harry wakes up next to Draco is over a monthlater, on Christmas Day. Well, wake upis relative term. It’s much more accurate to say that he’s forced awake by aparticularly grouchy Draco yelling in his ear. He opens his eyes blearily tofind that he’s lying on Draco’s chest, arms wrapped out around him. Harry turnsa bright red and scrambles back, embarrassed and confused.

“Draco? What are you doing in my bed?” Draco’s cheeks becomea matching shade of red.

“You forgot to put up those Silencing Charms last night.” Oh shit. “You were screaming, and I cameto wake you up, but you, uh…you seemed to want me to stay. So I did.”

If the ground could just open up and swallow him, that wouldbe wonderful.

“Yeah, um…sorry about that.” Draco rolls his eyes.

“Don’t fucking apologise, Harry; it was my own decision.”Harry tries to respond, but ends up yawning, making Draco smile a little.

“What time is it, anyway?” Harry asks, rubbing his eyes inan attempt to feel more awake. It doesn’t work.

“Six a.m.,” Draco replies smoothly.

“What?! Why the hell would you wake me up so early,Draco?” Harry complains, but Draco simply leaves the room. Harry follows him,demanding an explanation. They end up in the living room together, where Dracopoints to a present under the tree that Harry is certain wasn’t there before.It’s addressed to him. Harry hesitantly picks it up.

“I don’t know if you’re waiting for next Christmas,” Dracodrawls, “but I’d recommend you open it.” Harry doesn’t say anything, butcarefully pulls the ribbon off, and not-so-delicately gets rid of the wrappingpaper. Inside is a perfectly sculpted crystal snow globe, with two miniaturefigures inside it, sitting on a balcony and sipping drinks. Harry stares at it,transfixed.

“Here,” Draco says, gently twisting a key on the side of theglobe. Soft music begins to play, and the figures rotate slowly.

“Draco,” Harry breathes. “It’s…it’s gorgeous. You didn’t have to…”

“I thought it would look good on the mantelpiece,” heresponds simply, placing it there himself. He turns back to Harry, trying togauge Harry’s next move. “Well…Merry Christm-oof!” Harry tackles him to the ground in a bearhug, and they staylike that, until Harry pulls back slightly.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m frankly still knackered.Wanna get some more sleep?” Draco grins at him in a way that makes Harry’sheart clench ever-so-slightly.

He doesn’t know whatit is exactly, but Harry does knowthat this is the beginning of something great.

As they go back to bed, comfortable in each other’s embrace,snowflakes begin to fall softly outside, just like on the very first day thatthe universe threw Harry and Draco back together.

Yes, it was fricking long. Hope you liked it, though! Have a lovely day

[mercutioswriting]

WIP1; Pt. 6

They were in a car. Andy driving, Bee sitting shotgun, Jazz, Peyton and Charlie in the back as usual. It wasn’t the van Andy drove— it was a sleek silver BMW. Andy’s hair was a thick dark brown, his soft smile wiped from his face and replaced with an annoyed frown. Peyton and Charlie were silent— they weren’t girls at all, but ghosts. Two young men wearing blue and white jerseys sat in their places, more brawn than brains. Someone held onto Jazz, who had one hand wrapped around the unknown person's and a bottle of beer in the other. The windshield was missing, but the car wasn’t moving, because they were in a gymnasium, the crowd roaring. There was no crowd. There was no car. There was no gym. There was no one.

              Brown eyes opened to see nothing— nothing but black.

              Andy woke up to a heart attack. Not a literal one, though it certainly felt like it. His phone was ringing loudly, and he scrambled to find it, knocking away Bee’s sleeping limbs and pulling off the blanket they shared. The phone had been on the arm of the couch, but Andy’s groggy flailing knocked it to the floor.

            “Hello?” he said.

            “Andy?”

            “Peyton? Why are you calling me so early? Is everything okay?”

           He turned to look at Bee, who was still firmly asleep. He slept like the dead, always had. Andy had a split second of fear that Bee was dead, that he’d somehow died in the night. Don’t be irrational, he told himself. Everything’s fine.

            But everything was not fine. “Charlie’s missing,” Peyton said. “I mean, I don’t know if she’s missing-missing, like officially, but she’s not responding to texts or calls and I can’t get in contact with her parents and I'm freaking out because she doesn’t do this, you know? She doesn’t just ignore people, even if she’s mad at me. Do you think she’s that mad at me?”

               “Take a deep breath,” Andy said calmly. No, if Charlie wasn't one to give the silent treatment, then worry was justifiable. But— “She probably just ran out of power, or her line is down.” He yawned despite trying to suppress it. “Sorry. Who else have you reached out to?”

                Peyton took a shaky breath and let it out. “You were the first one I thought of. You always seem to know everything in these situations, you know? She has a brother, I think I can find his number. Should I call him?”

                “Yeah, do that— it’s probably nothing,” Andy assured her. He took a deep breath of his own, trying to slow his racing heart, ignoring the part of him screaming that Charlie was dead in a ditch somewhere. The deep breath turned into another yawn. “She’ll call you back once her phone is working.”

                “Thanks, Andy. You’re a sweetheart.” She hung up.

                Charlie, shifting so Peyton could buckle her seatbelt. Charlie, kidnapped. Charlie, eating her lunch at school. Charlie, bloody and bruised. Andy pressed his palms to his eyes, trying to rid his dream-ridden mind of the graphic possibilities. He stood up. Thinking about it more won’t accomplish anything. Andy shook Bee awake, but Bee opened his eyes for the sole purpose of locating Andy and scowling at him, not moving a millimeter. Andy rolled his eyes as he went to make breakfast.

                 Andy’s mother came barreling into the kitchen, scarf flying and keys missing. Her hair was less vibrant than it once had been, but it remained a confusingly dark red-brown, a shade strangers admired and her son inherited. He had inherited few of her personality traits, one being her ease with a packed schedule. “Andy, I have a meeting— Is that Bee? Hello, Bee— so you’ll be on your own again tonight, okay? Love you lots,” she said, waving to him as she made her way out the door. The keys turned out to be in her bag, where she had put them. Just seeing her breeze through made Andy more stressed. The knuckles of his hand, clutching the refrigerator door, turned white.

                “I’ll make omelettes,” said the raspy voice of a young man behind him. Bee stood where the kitchen and living room met, wrapped in a blanket. His bedhead was a lion’s mane, his borrowed pajama pants slightly too long. He seemed somewhere between a child, seeking comfort from his parents after a nightmare, and a king. King of dreams. King of nightmares. King of being two completely opposite things together.

                “Sure,” Andy said, moving to the side. Why was Bee so, so, so striking recently? Andy was more used to him than his own family. Right?

                 The smell of cooking soon filled the kitchen, adding warmth to the crisp morning air.  Annie was lured downstairs, sleepily rubbing her eyes, only to squeak with embarrassment when she saw who was at the stove. “Morning,” he said to her, as if he was often found making eggs in her house. “Omelette?”

                 Andy muffled a snicker. Annie loved omelettes— it was the only thing she would make other than brownies, and that was with a packaged mix. She’d be embarrassed to be seen in her flannel pajamas, but she would stay. Sure enough, she said yes, getting a plate and a glass of tea and waiting at the counter with Andy. He raised and eyebrow at her drinking hot tea from a glass. She raised her eyebrows at his doctor-and-parent-prohibited coffee, and he conceded.

                 “Annie, do you want spinach or broccoli in yours?” Bee said.

                  “Oh, um, spinach, please,” she said shyly.

                 “Spinach is gross,” Andy said. “You’re weird.”

                  Annie stuck out her tongue. “You’re weird.”

                  “I’m team spinach,” Bee called out without turning around.

                  Andy stuck out his tongue at Bee’s back. What a traitor. A phone rang— not his, Bee’s. Bee sighed, serving the omelettes onto plates and bringing them over to the counter.  “Andelo, go find my phone. I’m not in the mood for talking out loud.”

                   “Andelo?” Annie repeated, taking a bite of her omelette.  

                    Bee winked at her. So he wasn’t in the mood for talking out loud, but could carry on a conversation with a middle schooler. Fine. “No one goes by their legal name these days, kid. What’s yours?”

                    “What’s yours?” she countered.

                    “Classified. Top secret. Not even I know.”  

                    “Come on, what do you put on— what’s on your driver’s license?”

                    “I said it’s classified, Anastasia. Eat your eggs.” He smiled— just a little tiny one— to soften the rebuttal.

                      “Bee, do you have Peyton’s number?”

                      Andy had returned to the counter, staring at the phone in his hand. Missed Call From Charlie. He’d tried calling back, but the call went straight to voicemail. Who knew Bee even had Charlie’s number? He only had about three people in his phone.

                       “No. Use your own phone,” Bee said. “Why?”

                    “She, uh, I have to call her back,” Andy said. But he couldn’t reach her by phone call, so he sent a text. Andy hoped that Peyton would see the message soon. He hoped that Charlie would be found soon. Why had she called Bee, of all people? Not one of her other friends, not Peyton, not Andy— uncooperative, apathetic Bee.

                   No, that wasn’t fair. They wouldn’t be friends if he was so awful. And Andy knew he wasn't being fair, but he also wanted, just for once, to be the judgmental one. He was tired, and stressed, and a million things would go wrong by the end of the day, he just knew it.

                   Andy told that part of himself to shut the hell up.  

       ———————————————————

                   “You can’t stay over two nights in a row. Your mom will think you’re running away.”

                   “What makes you think I’m not?”

                    “Damnit, Bee—”

                    “Can I step up for night number two?”

                   They burst into laughter at Jazz’s comment, which hadn’t been intentionally suggestive, but they played it off like it had been. They posed and blew a kiss at Andy. The dark polish on their nails was mostly chipped away, and they wore no makeup today.

                    “Slumber party!” They said. “C’mon, Andy, please?”

                    “Will your parents be okay with it?”

                     “Will yours?”

                     Bee wrapped an arm around Andy’s shoulder. “Of course— this guy gets away with murder. Because no one thinks he murders anyone.”

                   “Are you implying I’ve committed murder?”

                   “Are you implying I’m implying you’ve committed murder?”

                   “Uh… yes?”

                   Bee ruffled Andy’s hair, and while Andy swatted his arm away, Jazz stole a fry off of Bee’s plate. “So, can I?”

                   Bee pouted. “What, they can stay and I can’t?”

                   Andy’s thoughts were tangled. Bee’s mother really would think he was running away if he stayed away too long. But Andy knew he had to help him. And Jazz— Jazz had once vowed never to stay the night with anyone they didn’t know well and trust completely, and to be asked meant something was up. More ‘up’ than usual, that is. Their parents? Harassment? Andy’s nuclear family rarely interfered with his life, so his often-empty house had become home base for his friends. Especially because he had been the first one to get his license. He sighed. Some of the tension left his shoulders, more a sign of defeat than relaxation. “Fine.”  

                  Bee and Jazz cheered and toasted with fries from Andy’s plate. Damn, he knew he should’ve gotten the salad, even if it tasted gross. Randy’s Burgers was known for good burgers and fries— not anything else. Why did his friends even bother ordering their own meals?  

                  “Well, if it isn't my favorite people in the whole wide world!”

                   Jazz cringed, looking for the source of the voice. Andy groaned. Bee scowled from behind a curtain of hair. Albright. He approached with three of his similarly muscular and nasty friends. The vaguely attractive blond one was Connor Delaney, the shortest of the group Greg Neduva. The third was only vaguely familiar, but he shared a resemblance to Albright. Brothers? It wasn’t that much of a resemblance. Maybe guys who played sports and acted like dicks tended to share looks as well as personalities. Or lack of them, as it were.

                   Would ignoring them make them go away? No. Albright dragged a chair from another table and sat down between Jazz and Andy. He wasn’t even an unusually large person, but it felt like he invaded everyone’s space simply by being next to them. His sneering cohorts remained standing. Andy scooted away from them.

                  “What, MacDonald? Do you not like me?” Albright placed a hand on his chest, pretending to be hurt. “Greg, get a load of this guy! Think you’re too good for us, don’tcha, Andy-man?” Andy flinched at the nickname as Neduva obligingly snickered. “Oh, I’m sorry—” Albright roughly pulled Andy to him, trapping him in a headlock. It was useless to fight back— Andy had half the muscle and none of the cruelty Albright possessed. “Only your cripple boyfriend here can call you that, can’t he?”

                     “Shut up,” Bee snapped.

                     “Ooh, touchy-touchy,” sang the one who looked like Albright.

                      “Trouble in paradise?” Connor Delaney cooed. “Hey, Albright, why don’t we, uh, give the lovebirds a little time to cool off. Alone.”

                      “Get your hands off of them,” Bee said calmly. His hand lay on the round black table, fingers relaxed. It was all Andy could see from the headlock, his fringe falling into his eyes.

                       “Oh, I’m sorry—” Albright squeezed a little tighter, only releasing Andy when he choked. “Is that better?”

                       Bee’s eyes remained on Albright, his face a mask of calm. The hand not on the table held Andy’s, resting on his knee, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles. “Blondie, that means you too.”

                      Delaney raised his hands from Jazz’s shoulders in an I surrender gesture. “Hey, you’re the one complaining, not—”

                      “Shut up and get out of my way,” Jazz snapped, visibly shaking. The only thing they wanted to do was escape, which was the only thing they couldn’t. Delaney, right behind them, leaned over and whispered in their ear. “Nah.”

                        He was probably not expecting to have Jazz’s head slammed sideways into his skull. Knocking into the table and chairs, he tumbled to the sidewalk.

                       “Fuck you, you little bitch,” he said, rubbing his cheekbone.

                        Everyone was on their feet. “Fuck you,” Jazz spat at him. “Fuck all of you.” They stormed off, disappearing behind a corner.

                       “Bitch,” Albright muttered. Looking at Delaney’s red face, he added another word, one Andy couldn’t hear. In fact, he wasn’t sure he could hear anything. His ears were ringing.

                        Bee got in Albright’s face. People tended to forget, but Bee was actually quite tall. “Say that one more time and I will ensure your death is slow and painful.”

                        “I said—”

                        “Dude, we have to go, Sarah will be pissed,” the unknown one said. His gaze flickered to Bee.

                        “I don’t care about your fucking girlfriend, Chris,” Albright said. He was slightly deflated. There was a bruise on his jaw, Andy noticed. Peyton had left her mark.

                        “Well, I do. And we’re late. Let’s go,” Chris said, already walking away. Delaney and Neduva hovered awkwardly before following him.

                         It had turned from three against four to two against one. Albright was a dick, but he was also some part of a coward. Bee waited for his next move, an eyebrow arched.

                         Albright spat on the ground and walked away.

                         Watching him go, Andy thanked God that Albright and his friends walked the opposite direction of where Jazz had gone. Where had Jazz gone? The remnants of the food on the table had gone cold. As Bee stood glaring into the distance, Andy tidied away their things, then grabbed Bee’s hand and led him to find their friend.

                         “Are you okay?” Bee said. His tone was sour, but Andy knew he meant it with concern.

                       “I’m fine,” he said. The urge to touch his throat was squashed down.

                        “Found them.” Andy looked where Bee indicated to see Jazz leaning against a blank beige wall, their model’s pose guarded. Their arms were crossed and their eyes scanned for threats. Shadows from clouds and sun drifted across the sky, casting strange light across the courtyard of small restaurants and shops. Jazz’s purple hair, which Andy had assumed was intentionally messy, was the kind of unkempt one gets from stress, not style.            

                       “They left?” Jazz said when Andy and Bee approached.

                        Andy nodded. Jazz stood up straight, coming away from the wall, sweeping their messy hair back unnecessarily. “I know He was just being a bag of dicks, but are you two actually like, together?”

                        Bee dropped Andy’s hand like it was acid. “No.”

                      Andy put his hands in his pockets. He knew his face was turning red. Why? “Nah, Jazz, you know I don’t, uh, I mean—” He found himself stumbling over his words. Why? Why? Why?

                     Waving it off, Jazz said, “No, it’s okay, I get it.” Andy wondered what exactly “it” was that Jazz understood as they walked to his car. Bee was already there, leaning against the side much like Jazz had awaited them by the ice cream parlor. A model; long limbs, defined features. He wasn't supposed to stand on one foot like that. Andy didn’t chide him as they piled into the van. I’m not his mother.

                      I’m not his boyfriend.

                      “Where to?” Andy said as they pulled out of the parking lot.

                      “Home,” Bee said. His grip on his seatbelt, over his heart, looked as if he was saying the Pledge of Allegiance to the window.

                      Who’s home? Andy wanted to say. His, of course. Bee’s father would be at his house, and Jazz… Andy had never meet Jazz’s parents. It was one of those things you never really want to bring up, one of many elephants in the room. Or in this case, the car.

                      Bee wasn't saying the Pledge of Allegiance. He was praying.  

                      If you had asked him what he was praying about, he wouldn’t have given— wouldn’t have been able to give— an answer.

[littlepinkypinkbunny]

klaine 1:2

“Just lay back and relax, baby.”

blaine pushes back the hair falling on kurt’s forehead lovingly, kissing the revealed skin.

“How do you expect me to relax when I know what’s about to happen?” kurt asks, nibbling his lip.

“Because I’ll be here the whole time. Just breathe. It’ll be fine. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Okay. Breathe.”

blaine traps each of kurt’s limbs in the leather cuffs one by one until he’s spread out, his pussy dripping onto the sheets and blaine straddling over his abdomen. “Now, this isn’t so scary, is it? Just you and me.”

kurt nods stiffly, tugging lightly at the bonds at his wrists. “But soon it won’t just be you and me.”

“But I’ll still be here.” blaine assuages, scrubbing the pad of his thumb under kurt’s eye. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here every second.”

 “And you’ll stop it with the safeword, right?” kurt reaffirms.

“The second you say it, the cuffs come off and everyone is kicked the fuck out.” blaine slips his fingers under the brief space between the cuff and kurt’s wrist, soothing the skin there that’s already beginning to gather sweat.

blaine breathes in deeply through his nose, letting the air out through his lips. “Okay.”

blaine smiles, leaning over to envelop kurt’s lips in his. “It’ll be so hot, I promise. And if you don’t like it, we’ll never do it again. I just want you to try this for me, yeah?”

“I know, blaine. I’ll do it.” kurt says, giving an encouraging smile.

“That’s my good little boy.” blaine says, pressing another passionate kiss to his lips.

They’re interrupted by a husky, impatient voice. “Are we gonna start this shit or not? I’m getting blue balls over here.”

blaine whips his head around to glare at the man who’s leisurely stroking his beefy cock in his grip. “Chill the fuck out, man. Or would you like to be the one strapped to the bed while having half a dozen cocks thrust in your face? Because that can be arranged, Fraiser.”

blaine had had reservations about Fraiser from the start, since he’d met him for the first time at a club in Brooklyn last year. He had been…forward to say the least, but blaine had promised to give him a call if he was ever “looking for a threesome”, and blaine figured the more the merrier. It didn’t mean he couldn’t put him in his place. Fraiser was under a contract for this (all of them were); if he broke it, then blaine would break Fraiser’s dick too.

Fraiser spits harshly into his palm and continues to work his cock, eyeing Kurt with irritation.

“blaine, I’m ready. Don’t worry about it.” kurt confides, his eyes alight with all the sincerity he can muster. Part of blaine just wants everyone else in the room to leave, so he can hold and fuck this beautiful boy all by himself. The other half of him is seriously getting off on that innocent look in kurt’s eyes that will only intensify as he’s used and abused by every cock in this room.

blaine nods, kissing him again. “Okay.” His fingers drag down the length of skin on kurt’s arm before he hauls himself off, and slips off the bed to lean against the wall. His eyes never leave kurt’s form as he mutters, “I only want one of you to start off. We’ll add on after he’s adjusted.”

“I’ll start off the little twink.” Frasier grunts, getting exactly one step forward before being halted by blaine’s ice-cold tone.

“You will wait, Fraiser. And you will wait a long time.”

Fraiser growls, falling back against the wall and slamming his fist into it.

A silent expression of gratitude is passed from kurt to blaine after the exchange.

“kurt, you choose.” blaine grants, nodding his head toward him in allowance.

kurt tilts his head up to scan the room of hard and sweaty boys, immediately skipping over Fraiser as his eyes come to him. “Duncan.” He says in a small voice before letting his head fall back onto the mattress.

blaine had figured as much, since kurt knew Duncan the best; he was from his Intro to Theatre class kurt’s freshman year and they had gotten along quite well. blaine indicates to Duncan with a small nod and the man smiles briefly, but politely. He eases himself onto the bed, holding his dick in his hand, bracketing his legs underneath kury’s upstretched arms. “You ready?” Duncan offers with inquiring eyes.

kurt smiles up at him, the naivety clicking into place. “Yes, sir.” His jaw drops wide open, his eyes sparkling with sudden eagerness, and abruptly blaine feels very, very close.

He has to make a vice of his fingers at the tip of his cock and balls just to keep from coming. He’s grateful for the makeshift cock ring when Duncan lowers himself into kurt’s mouth slowly, watching as he closes his plump pink lips around the shaft and takes every inch of him that Duncan gives.

A muffled gag comes out around Duncan’s cock as kurt works through his reflex, and blaine sees a tear roll down the side of his face and down into his hair from the resistance in his throat. However, blaine knows how determined kurt gets, so when Duncan pulls out and immediately fucks back into his mouth, kurt moans around him as his nose smashes against trimmed pubic hair and sweaty skin.

Duncan’s hips begin to grind slowly into kurt’s throat, and his eyes continue to water at the treatment, but he accepts it without complaint, his lips stretching so perfectly around the cock.

“You can take another now, can’t you?” blaine doesn’t realize he’s said it until it’s out of his mouth. Regardless, he sees kurt give a haggard thumbs-up on one of his bound hands, unable to answer from his full mouth.

blaine smirks lustfully, turning his head to a sexy brunette man named Luke, catching his eye and nodding at him. Luke was a casual acquaintance of both Kurt and Blaine, but more so of the former (kurt had preferred guys who didn’t know him too well for this, and blaine completely understood). There was no denying that blaine had eyed him once or twice, but nothing more. And now, blaine could confirm that Luke fucking kurt was so, so much hotter than kurt fucking Luke.

Luke’s tongue runs over his lips and he gives his cock a few pulls as he steps forward to the bed and climbs onto it, kneeling between kurt’s spread legs. “I’m thinking that wet pussy of his should be filled.” Luke narrates as the head of his dick drags slickly through his folds. kurt moans loudly around Duncan’s cock that’s still fucking slowly into his mouth.

“Yeah, take the bitch.” Someone in the background encourages. Instantly, there’s a chorus of various agreements from the remaining boys, waiting with their cocks hanging and their eyes fixed.

“Fuck that slutty cunt, Luke.”

“Give it to him.”

“Make the bitch scream.”

blaine’s gaze quickly darts to kurt’s, taking heed to assure that what they’re saying isn’t freaking kurt out. Though, he finds kurt can’t exactly meet his gaze due to kurt’s own eyes rolling back in his head from the pleasure of it all. His hands clench and relax and clench again as the veins in his throat pop in and out of sight along with the length of Duncan’s cock.

Luke shoves into kurt’s cunt in a single thrust, not missing a beat before picking up a rhythm in his hips. kurt keens around Duncan, his neck straining upward as two cocks fuck into him at once, his nails digging deep into the palms of his restrained hands.

“Look at him sucking up that cock.”

“He was born to take dick.”

“Wanna come all over that greedy ass.”

“Hey, dude, let me at that throat!” The last one is mentioned by a short blonde named Greg, a boy from a couple of blaine’s vocal classes with a big dick and a currently very hungry gaze. Duncan twists his head around and tilts it up in acknowledgement, pulling his dick out of kurt’s mouth and swinging his leg over to climb off the bed.

kurts head falls to the side, panting out the side of his saliva-drenched lips, cheeks, and chin. His eyes clench shut as Luke pounds his pussy, little gasps and whines choking out of his throat with each thrust. When kurt’s eyes blink open again, they stare right into blaines, wide with desperation and avariciousness. They don’t speak, just exchange heated glances as kurt spews out exasperated noises each time Luke bottoms out inside him. And blaine can tell without either of them saying it that kurt is imagining it’s him inside his pussy, being fucked within an inch of his life.

It doesn’t take long for Greg to have his dick hanging in front of kurt ’s face, and he drops his jaw again, taking his third dick of the night down his throat. blaine guesses that the numbness has already taken over from being handled so rough by Duncan, and kurt opens up easily around him, even as his pussy is fucked.

There’s another interception as another man, Doug, tugs at Luke’s shoulder, signaling a switch. However, instead of going for his pussy, he aims further back, pressing the head of his cock at kurt’s pre-stretched asshole.

“blaine, pass me the lube.” blaine shakes himself out of his daze, recalling Doug as a regular at a bar kurt and he frequent, before nodding, grabbing the bottle of lube from the nightstand and tossing it to Doug. He slicks up his cock and nudges it back at his reddened rim. “Do you want your ass fucked, kurt ?”

kurt moans around the cock in his mouth, his eyes falling shut at the thought.

“Dude, pull out, I wanna hear him say it.” Doug says, grabbing lightly at Greg’s shoulder. Greg rolls his eyes, but does what he’s asked, leaving the tip of his cock tracing kurt’s swollen lips. “Answer me, bitch. Do you want me to fuck your tight little ass?”

Swallowing thickly, kurt nods, his lips brushing against Greg’s dick as he does so. “Yes. Please.” He rasps out, his voice raw and fucked out already.

“Good boy.” Doug smirks, shoving the tip of his cock inside kurt’s ass. kurt’s head slams back into the mattress, crying out at the intrusion. “Put that cock back in his mouth. Shut him up for a bit.” Doug suggests, and just like that kurt’s mouth is filled again, muffling his moans and screams as his ass stretches around Doug’s cock.

When he’s completely stretched and filled, Doug lets loose, fucking hard and deep in his ass and both feeling and hearing their skin slap together wetly. “Yeah, fucking take this dick in your ass, slut.” Doug growls, keeping his pace punishing and relentless. “Choke on that cock while your ass takes a beating.”

kurt whimpers out his full mouth and nods as well as he can in acceptance.

“Come in his ass, man.” Someone suggests, and Doug smiles.

“Is that what you want, bitch? Want my hot come filling up your ass?” kurt simply whines, though inaudible with his mouth stuffed full of cock that keeps dipping deeper and deeper in his throat. “Well, you’re gonna take my come, bitch. All of it.”

Doug’s thrusts speed up, and he’s scratching at kurt’s thighs as he gains the traction he needs. Without warning he’s moaning his release into kurts ass, spilling his come inside his fucked hole until he’s entirely spent. As he pulls out he orders, “Keep that come in there, slut. It’s a prize for being such a good fuck toy.”

kurt’s ass clenches, holding the cooling come inside of him as he awaits his next fuck. As kurt chokes around Greg’s cock one more time, Greg pulls out of his mouth and grunts as he rapidly strips his cock in front of kurt’s face. He arches slightly into his own grip, breathing out, “Keep your mouth open” as he finishes himself off. kurt does as instructed, slamming his eyes shut as the first hot splash of come lands across his left cheek. A few more streaks paint his face, tagging his eyebrow and spilling across his tongue and lips.

When Greg is finished, he crawls off the bed gingerly, leaving kurt coughing violently into his disjointed shoulder, come sliding down his face. He blinks repeatedly, making sure none of it bleeds into his eye from where it’s webbed so gorgeously along his long, dark eyelashes. kurt’s chest heaves with exhaustion at his first lull in his role as a fuck doll, stretching out against his bonds again and rotating his sore wrists.

kurt’s eyes have glazed over slightly as he catches his breath, and he finally unclenches his ass. blaine shifts to the side to get a better view of where kurt has been used so well, come lazily slipping out of his fucked asshole. blaine moans quietly at the sight, watching the slow trickle of pearlescent liquid as it makes its way down the crack of kurt’s ass.

“Okay, give him a bit of recovery time, guys.” blaine demands, pushing his back off of the wall and shooing them off with a small gesture, deterring the few that have started to step forward to take their turn with kurt. They all murmur bitterly but obey, and blaine approaches the bed, throwing one leg between kurt’s. “Hanging in there, baby?”

kurt nods, smiling briefly. “Like a champ.” A streak of come floats down his cheek, and kurt cranes his head to wipe it off on his shoulder.

“You’re doing so good for me, baby.” blaine croons, stroking his fingers along kurt’s sweaty forehead and into his curls. kurt grins, nuzzling into blaine’s hand lovingly. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” kurt mumbles out, his voice cracking with the abuse to his throat.

blaine presses a kiss to a dry, come-less spot on his forehead. “Ready?”

“Mmhm.” kurt hums.

“All right, I’ve done my fucking waiting.” Fraiser yells, stalking toward the bed.  “That whore cunt is screaming to be fucked, and I’m gonna destroy it.” He insists, head jerking to blaine and daring him to deny his words. blaine winces, and looks to kurt whose lips twitch almost into a frown, but gives a small nod.

“Fine, Fraiser. Just don’t hurt him.” blaine threatens, reclaiming his place against the wall next to the bed. “I know where you live and I have access to many sharp things. They won’t find the body, I guarantee it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Fraiser mutters, lining himself up with kurt’s wet folds. “You wanna get cuntfucked, you pathetic little slut?”

kury keeps his breathing as level as possible as he nods once, clenching his hands again in the cuffs.

“Let’s see how easily your slutty cunt takes my cock, huh?” With that, Fraiser is plunging inside of kurt’s pussy, groaning at the slick friction around his cock. “God, so fucking open. You could probably fit two cocks in your stretched out pussy, couldn’t you?” He pesters as he fucks into kurt with aggression and determination.

kurt can’t even bring himself to answer as his pussy is rammed into over and over by Fraiser’s relentless thrust. All he can manage are little huffs of air and scratchy whines and whimpers clawing their way out of his chest.

There’s a muttered, “His mouth is too empty,” and a tanned pretty boy from a party blaine attended earlier this year, named Steven, clambers onto the bed, sitting on kurt’s chest. He aims his cock at kurt’s mouth, the fat head dripping with precome and slick with what must be his own spit. “Feeding time, baby.”

kurt blinks up at him innocently, the muscles of his throat shifting with a gulp. Realizing he isn’t about to get any further assistance, he lifts his head from the mattress with difficulty as the force of Fraiser’s thrusts cause his head to jerk in every which direction as his bound limbs restrict any other personal motorization. He manages to gain enough stability to latch his tongue on the head of Steven’s cock and pull it into his mouth, suckling at the tip of him to start off.

He works over the cock dutifully, his tongue peeking out the corners of his mouth as he sucks over and around the cock. Little moans and sounds of pleasure vibrate around the shaft as Fraiser lifts kurt’s hips and begins nailing his thrusts just right into what blaine can tell is his g-spot. Fraiser grunts as kurt clenches around the cock in his pussy as it’s pleasured and abused simultaneously.

blaine doesn’t exactly know how he feels when Fraiser calls out, “I think the slut needs another cock, don’t you guys?”

There’s a general hollering of agreement and a loud moan from kurt as fingers point at each other in the background. Eventually Luke steps forward again but heads for the cuffs at kurt’s ankles.

“Can’t very easily be double-fucked without his whore legs spread in the air for it.” He explains, making quick work of the buckles and freeing kurt’s legs. As soon as the restraints are removed, kurt’s legs creep upwards in the air, his knees hovering at the height of Fraiser’s chest as Luke joins the other three on the bed. “Let me get under him, dude.”

Fraiser grunts his assent, sending one last shattering fuck into kurt and causing kurt to scream and gag around Steven’s dick, before pulling out and shifting to the side.

“That’s right, you little cockwarmer.” Luke drones, getting onto his back and grabbing at kurt’s hips until he raises them, allowing Luke to slide under him. “You’re gonna open yourself up for all three of these cocks now, aren’t you?”

Swallowing down his jealous lust and squeezing his cock, blaine hands the lube to Luke to prepare himself for the sensitive channel of kurt’s ass. As Luke lines up his cock with kurt’s entrance, he teases the rim. “Open up nice and wide, baby.”

All the response he gets is a choking sound as Steven buries his cock inside kurt’s throat again, followed by a deep, muffled, rough moan. Luke’s hips curve upward, slipping his cock into Blaine’s stretched ass a few inches. “Oh shit, such a well-fucked slut. Taking my cock up your ass like a pro.” He manages a couple more inches before their position denies them any deeper penetration.

Luke’s hips grind upwards as his cock fucks shallowly into kurt a few times, letting him adjust to the feeling, before gesturing to Fraiser. “Fill him up.”

Fraiser’s face contorts in devilish pleasure, shuffling on his knees and jerking one of kurt’s legs out to the side as he slips between them, straddling Luke’s thighs and being presented with a very empty pussy. His hands press against the creamy skin of kurt’s inner thighs, pushing outward. “Spread those fucking legs, twink. Give us your dirty little holes.” He growls, and kurt pulls off of Steven’s cock to pant into his shoulder. kurt’s legs splay outwards obediently as his mouth is jerked back by Steven and his throat is inhabited once more by cock.

“We’re gonna plug up these fucking slut holes.” Fraiser says, rocking his hips forward and entering kurt’s pussy. kurt cries out mutedly as he’s penetrated by both cocks at once, balancing out a rhythm between them as they alternate fucking into him and pulling out, assuring that he is always filled to the brim.

kurt falls more pliant than ever as the three huge cocks all fuck into him at once, grunts and husky moans filtering through the room, the slick slide of skin and sweat and lube creating a filthy melody that draws in the others.

The remaining guests surround kurt on the bed, two of them kneeling at his sides with Duncan heading to the top of the bed where one of kurt’s hands is bound in the brown leather cuff. He guides his hardened cock into kurt’s captured grip and instantly begins to fuck himself in and out of kurt’s fist, getting himself off in kurt’s hand.

Free hands stroke over the expanses of sweaty skin that aren’t obstructed by bodies, kurt’s quivering stomach receiving the harsh, calloused fingers of so many fingers. kurt’s body is jostled to and fro as the men fight for his skin, his holes, his sighs and his moans.                                                                                                        

blaine can count the beats of each cock thrusting into his boyfriend.

Throat, Pussy, Ass…

Throat, Pussy, Ass…

Each dick claiming every hole, his legs spread wide open and his eyes clenched shut in the overwhelming atmosphere and experience of his body being fucked open in so many different ways.

Steven’s thrusts suddenly go staccato as his hand flies to the tip of his cock, stroking up and down as he comes to his release, groaning as his come fills kurt’s stretched lips and open mouth and feeding kurt the come straight from his cock. kurt chokes and sputters as the substance fills his mouth unexpectedly, but he swallows it down quickly.

blaine whimpers pathetically, grabbing his cock and pumping it lightly in his fist as he observes his boyfriend’s utter submission. Another painful throb courses through his dick as he sees Duncan’s cock twitch and pulse in kurts grip, painting kurts fingers and cheek in Duncan’s come.

Whines and whimpers continue to escape kurt’s throat as more hot come hits his skin, everyone seeming to come to the conclusion that their playtime is coming to an end. The two boys at his sides begin jerking off roughly, spilling more come onto his chest and coating him thoroughly. One by one, breathing accelerates and drops as each of their orgasms take over, until Fraiser and Luke remain, still fucking into his two holes with gusto.

Come drips off of kurt’s skin and leaves wet streaks behind, drying slowly and jolting in various directions as his body is fucked up and down on the mattress, making crooked designs on his skin as it runs. kurt’s legs shake with the desire to come himself as well as the overuse of his body. blaine can hear the squelching in kurt’s ass from Doug’s come that’s already filled his hole.

“I think it’s time to fill up this little comebucket and give him what he wants.” Fraiser shares. “Gonna fill up this slutty cunt until it’s overflowing. And you’re gonna take every fucking drop, bitch. Every. Fucking. Drop.” He commands, punctuating his words with heavy thrusts.

“About to fuck your ass full of my come. What do you say to me?” Luke asks, his voice breaking off into a moan as his cock pulses into kurt’s ass and shoots hot come inside of him.

[illuminating-dragons]

Dreams and Visions (12/51): Party at the Yard

Time Period: BBC

Chapter Summary:  Sherlock and John go to a party thrown by Scotland Yard, and some misunderstandings are cleared up. Set a month after ‘A Matter of Family’. 

Read it on AO3

“Why are we here?”

“Well, several hundred years ago, our ancestors made the decision to procreate—”

“Sherlock, I will not hesitate to murder you in front of people.”

“Even at the Yard? Doctor, you’re slipping.”

John glared at his partner, who smirked back.

On an ordinary Saturday night with no case to distract them, they would have gone back to Baker Street and used the time to watch bad telly, catch up on their blogs, etc. Now that they were a couple, they often included cuddles (which Sherlock called 'physical bonding ') or simple make-out sessions (Sherlock didn't have a name for those) to the mix.

But when were their lives ever ordinary?

This Saturday night was being spent at the Yard's spring party. Why was this party being held? John couldn't tell you. Greg had sent them a text, and they were going. That was all Sherlock would say.

It wasn't that John disliked the people at the Yard. Some, like Greg (and Dimmock somehow) were friends outside of the crime scenes and interview rooms. Others like Johnson and Bradstreet were acquaintances that he enjoyed talking to, although they didn't try to spend time together outside of work. There were a few rare birds like Donovan and Anderson who he actively disliked, but they were easy enough to avoid even in a small room like this.

It was just that...well, they'd been busy all week and John, if he'd had his own choice, would have rather stayed at home and had some 'physical bonding' in front of the telly with some takeaway. Why not?

But Sherlock had decided to be sociable, and really, Sherlock rarely asked for this kind of thing. Why not go along?

Sherlock looked at him sideways. "If you don't want to stay we can leave," he said seriously.

John shrugged. "If you want to stay that's fine. I just want to know if I'm going to have to make a hasty exit if my partner  gets caught snooping through old cold cases or something."

Sherlock chuckled. "I'm planning nothing of the sort." He put a wiry arm around John's waist, stooping a bit to do so. "I just thought it would be a change of venue from our usual rendezvous."

Sherlock hated calling their dates 'dates'; he'd do it if pressed, but 'rendezvous', 'outings' and 'time together' were his preferred terms. It was only after one too many glasses of wine at Angelo’s that he’d confessed that he thought those words sounded more ‘romantic’. John never let on that he knew.

John leaned his head against Sherlock's shoulder. "You know you don't have to keep coming up with new places to...rendezvous, right? I'm perfectly happy with what we already do."

Sherlock didn't answer for a moment. "I know, John. But we rarely spend any time with your...friends, as a couple. I wanted to rectify that situation."

John couldn't help it--he barked out a laugh. "Have you been reading those magazines again?"

Sherlock's vehement shake of his head didn't fool him for a moment.

"Idiot," he said fondly. "Tell you what, as much as I love showing you off, if you don't really want to stay we can leave. We can go for drinks with Dimmock and Greg some other time, you know."

Sherlock shrugged. "That's not completely necessary."

"We'll do it, if you want," John said firmly. "Why don't we mingle for a while and then pretend we've got some write-ups to do? Then we can go home."

"Why don't we just leave right away?"

"That's rude, dear." John rolled his eyes fondly at Sherlock's distasteful expression. "Go on, talk to Greg, he looks a bit lonely. I'll go see if Bradstreet wants to talk about his daughter again."

Sherlock groaned. "He always wants to talk about that ridiculous baby."

"Well then I'll oblige him," John replied. "I'll see you soon, then?"

To his surprise Sherlock drew him close and kissed him. "Of course, my dear John," he said. "And then we'll go home."

There was something about the promise in his voice that made John shiver. He did his best not to show it, but by the amused look in Sherlock's eyes he hadn't succeeded.

Had Sherlock actually meant…well, what he seemed to have meant?

"Right," he said, "I'm going to look for Bradstreet."

John managed to—well, not quite forget, that would be nearly impossible, but he did put Sherlock's hint out of his mind as Bradstreet chatted enthusiastically about his daughter. Bradstreet was one of the few men John had ever met who'd campaigned successfully and enthusiastically for paternal leave. Now that his daughter Abby was six months old he was back at the Yard, but it was currently only part-time and there were rumours that he was planning to retire and go into something less dangerous.

Bradstreet confirmed this.

"I can't bear to think of missing her life," he confided to John over the punch bowl. He was holding a picture of the baby, with clouds of blonde hair and her father's huge green eyes. "I mean I get it, people balance jobs and kids, but Margie's job pays quite well, and I'm thinking if I stay home with her then we'll save on childcare, won't we?"

"If that's what you want to do, you should talk it over with Marge," John answered. He'd no children, of course, but he could understand the love in Bradstreet's eyes. "If she agrees...you're a brilliant policeman, Bradstreet, and it'd be a shame if you left, but this is about what's best for you and your family."

Bradstreet's eyes shone. "Thanks, John. And for goodness sake, Arthur is fine."

John shook his hand. "Best of luck to you and your family, Arthur, no matter what you decide."

He could tell from Arthur's relaxed stance as he walked away that he'd made his decision. Sometimes you just need a bit of a shove to do what you already know you want, John reflected, thinking of the help he'd gotten to go after Sherlock.

Thinking of his partner, he turned and nearly walked straight into Donovan.

"Sorry," he said, and tried to move past her.

Donovan stayed put.

"Excuse me," John said, and once more attempted to move around her. This time she deliberately blocked his path.

"Oi, what's the idea, Donovan? I'm trying to—"

"Where's your boyfriend?" Donovan asked. Her lips were twitching, like she could see the last hider in Hide-and-Seek but didn't want to give the game away just yet. "Shouldn't you be attached to his hip?"

John rolled his eyes and turned around.

"Better hurry back to him before he gets bored," Donovan called, just loud enough for John to hear over the music.

John turned to face her. "Excuse me?"

"Come off it." Donovan was smiling now, and there was a pity in her face that John decidedly didn't like. "How long have you two been together now, hm? Three months?"

"Three months on Tuesday," John said evenly. "What exactly does that have to do with you? Or anything?"

Donovan stepped closer. "That's quite long for the Freak's attention span."

John's hands curled into fists. "Shut up, Sergeant."

She shook her head. "I'm trying to help you, Doctor."

"Really? How is that?" Against his will (he was a grown man and could look after himself, thank you very much) John started looking around for Sherlock. He was standing near the far wall, talking to Greg. He wouldn’t be able to hear John from that distance without attracting attention.

"How much longer do you think he's going to let this go on?" Donovan challenged. "I'm sure you're a nice little distraction for now—I don't think he's ever managed to keep someone into his bed for this long—"

She stopped and raised her eyebrows at John’s cough. John cursed himself. How had he fallen for that?

"You two haven't—there's no way, you're both grown men!"

"This is none of your business," John hissed. No one was watching them, but he felt his face grow hot. Thank god for ridiculously loud music.

Donovan raised her eyebrows. "Well, you might last longer than I thought. Unless when he does take you to bed you disappoint him."

John said nothing. He had nothing to be ashamed of as far as his sexual prowess, although he was certainly more used to being with women than men. But there was still that worry, that concern that although the physical side of things had been progressing slowly and with great enjoyment on both their parts, that if they went all the way that Sherlock would find him wanting. Because what was he, really, almost four years older than his partner, scarred and...ordinary.

"So you already know," Donovan said. "Or at least you suspect." She moved closer. "John, why would he want to be with you for the long term? You're nothing like him—you can't keep up with him any more than we can. What can you possibly give him that will keep his attention? He's no Prince Charming now, that's clear as day. What's he going to be like when he realizes that you're boring?"

John couldn't help it. He flinched back a bit.

"Better to go now, don't you think?" Donovan asked soothingly. "He's cruellest to those who disappoint him. you've seen that. Don't let him find out those things on his own. Make some excuse. I can help you find a cheap flat if you like—"

"That is enough," Sherlock hissed.

John spun around to find Sherlock towering over him, glaring at Donovan, face twisted in a snarl.

"Don't you dare speak to him that way." While Donovan had kept her voice low, Sherlock raised his, drawing the attention of people nearby. John wanted dearly to look at his feet, but just then Sherlock shifted his gaze to him. The anger bled out of Sherlock's eyes, but the passion remained.

"Why are you letting her speak like this, John? You're wasting your time and allowing Donovan to waste her breath, though I suppose the latter's not so terrible..."

John didn't reply. He was having trouble holding Sherlock's gaze, and it wasn't due to the height difference that sometimes caused a crick in his neck, in both their necks. If he was taller maybe Sherlock wouldn't have to worry about that.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows as he searched John's face intently. "You...you don't actually believe that, do you?"

"Believe what, exactly?" John asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

Sherlock stared at him in astonishment. "You...you do, don't you? John, how could I possibly be bored by you?"

Now there were definitely people staring. John swallowed and lowered his gaze. "Of course you'll get bored of me."

Sherlock didn't answer.

"It has nothing to do with you," John said hurriedly, hoping to erase some of Donovan's cruel words. "I just know...look, I'm ordinary, okay? I'm not exactly handsome and I'm too soft and I'm too quick to believe the best of people and I'm everything you consider weak, and I'm not saying that I want to change myself but...we're not really matched for life, are we? Definitely not as lovers. So don't fret about ending it, whenever you want. You've made me happy, Sherlock, and I hope I've done the same for you, but if you get tired of me just tell me, alright? Promise me you'll do me that courtesy?"

John drew in a deep breath and continued to stare at the floor. Dimly he realized that the music had stopped playing and that meant everyone had just heard that and he shouldn't have ever said that in front of people but the words couldn't stop once they started coming because they'd been in his head for so long, even before they became lovers, and...

In an instant Sherlock had yanked him close, wrapping around him so completely that John could no longer tell if anyone else was in the room, could only feel and see Sherlock.

"Shut up," Sherlock ordered, his voice muffled in John's hair. "Shut up, don't you dare...don't you DARE say things like that."

John struggled, but he didn't really want Sherlock to let go anyways and he didn't want to crush his own hopes with movement.

"How could I ever be bored by you?" Sherlock said wonderingly, stroking a hand through John's boring blond hair. "John Watson, you surprise me every day."

Startled, John tilted his face up to look into his partner's eyes. "I do?"

"Of course you do," Sherlock said with a strangled laugh. "You've surprised me from the day we met, with everything you are. That's quite a reliable trend at this point, wouldn't you say? And more to the point—" he kept his arms firmly around John even as he tried to step away, "there's so much more I want to do with you, all around the world, in London, at home. There's thousands of things left to learn about each other. I want to see what you're like in two months, in two years, in two decades. I want to see what you become, and what we become together. All those possibilities, how could that ever be boring?"

John bit his lip hard. You are an soldier, and you don't cry.

"Then I suppose there's the important matter of my being in love with you." Sherlock's voice had gone softer, deeper. "And I'm not under any false illusions, John—I see who and what you are, more so than most people, wouldn't you agree? I'm in love with the person you are, for everything you are, even the parts of you that you despise." He put a hand on John's cheek, caressing him. "How could you ever be boring?"

John's eyes apparently decided that soldiers do cry after all.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock said urgently. "What's happened, what did I do?"

John dragged him down and kissed him. It was strange, all those people who said that John was the one who had the way with words. On a computer screen, maybe. But somehow Sherlock had known exactly what John needed to hear and had said it despite their audience, despite his 'reputation', despite every single factor raised against men who want to be sentimental.

John couldn't think of how to say anything back even half so well.

They'd made their excuses after that, leaving to a cheering crowd. Sherlock hadn't let go of John's hand the entire way home, and insisted on sitting right next to him, curled close in the back of the cab.

When they reached their silent flat, John attempted to let go of Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock didn't let him, and pinned him against the wall instead to kiss him more thoroughly than he had at the party. John moaned into the kiss, tightening his free hand into Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock broke the kiss first. "Why didn't you answer Donovan's question?"

John tried to collect his thoughts. "Which question?"

"If you'd cut her off there she would have stopped inquiring," Sherlock answered. "Why didn't you tell her why we haven't consummated our relationship?"

John shrugged. "It's not any of her business."

"But it has nothing to do with you, I told you I wasn't ready," Sherlock said, frowning.

"And that's none of her business," John replied. "You're not the only one who can defend their partner, you know?"

Sherlock studied him. "Ah," he said with some surprise. "You haven't been ready either, have you?"

John bit his lip, worry curling in his stomach again at the thought of baring himself completely, physical and emotional insecurities on display. "I'm just...I want to be good for you."

Sherlock leaned in and kissed him again, slow and sweet. John leaned against the wall, trying to stay upright.

Sherlock kissed up his jaw. "And what if I said I was ready now, John? More than ready?"

John shivered. "I..." then he realized something. "You said it."

"Said what?"

"You said that you loved me," John said. "Back at the party. That's the first time you've ever said it aloud instead of just agreeing with me."

"Is it really?" Sherlock looked contrite. "But you knew it, didn't you?"

John smiled and took a deep breath. "I should have," he answered. "I should have believed it every time you told me, every time you've shown me, but...I don't think I've believed it until now. It felt like—"

"A dream?" John nodded, nestling his face against Sherlock's shoulder.

“I suppose neither of us can be blamed for thinking that,” Sherlock murmured.

They held still for a moment, arms around each other.

"John, are you ready?"

"Yes," John said, and there was no more doubt, no more worry that he would give in because it was expected of him. Sherlock was ready, and so was he.

"Then let's go to bed," Sherlock said, his deep voice carrying a new note, the same promise from the party but made much stronger. "There are many ways of showing love in the…physical sense, John Watson, and I think we should explore them, don't you?"

John laughed. "Together," he promised, and kissed him.

[reilovely-blog]

Love Is A Sickness Full Of Woes

"Sherlock watches how the ex-army captain’s blue clad eyes sparkle as he speaks on the phone, the easy, bright smile decorating those lips as he throws his head back in laughter at something she (Jane, or Jeanette, or Jenny or something equally inane) says.

And he falls even deeper.

And he wonders if he’ll ever stop.

Loving him.

Wanting him.

He wonders if he will forever dream, for the one day-that maybe... someday… he would finally see him; that he would finally love him. "

Sherlock watches how the ex-army captain’s blue clad eyes sparkle as he speaks on the phone, the easy, bright smile decorating those lips as he throws his head back in laughter at something she (Jane, or Jeanette, or Jenny or something equally inane) says.

And he falls even deeper.

And he wonders if he’ll ever stop.

Loving him.

Wanting him.

He wonders if he will forever dream, for the one day-that maybe... someday…  he would finally see him; that he would finally love him.

-

Greg Lestrade pursed his lips, taking a distracted sip of his cold coffee as he stares at Sherlock and John in thought. He can see the obvious affection the younger male has for John, just from the way his eyes immediately drift to him when he walks in, and the small, sad look that he wears when he thinks that no one is looking- it’s a look Greg knows far too well, having seen it many times back when Sherlock was still a teenager, suffering from loneliness of the ostracisation his intellect brought. It’s a look that still gets him every single time, heart aching when he remembers the days he couldn’t do anything but try to be there for his drug addled charge, running gentle fingers through ruffled curls as he quietly sobs and asks why him.

He remembers telling Sherlock back then- the day the genius comes home with tears streaming down his cheeks because his so-called boyfriend had dumped him with accusations that it was his fault anyway because if only he wasn’t such a freak- that there was nothing wrong with him, and that one day, one day he’d find someone who could accept him as he was.

He almost wishes he could take it back now, because Sherlock did find that someone in John, and was hurting all the more for it.  

Greg thinks he can almost hear the fluttering of the consulting detective’s heart- the heart everyone believes to be non-existent- when the blonde slides up to him with a wide grin. And when Sherlock nonchalantly agrees that they are done and could leave soon because John has a date, even though the case hasn’t been solved, he finally understands just how much Sherlock really loves John.

But he also knows that Sherlock has never believed his love to be reciprocated.

He wishes that Sherlock could see- not just look, but to actually see- the way John’s eyes light up as they land on him, the way his smile brightens, widens even more when he’s around; the way he cuddles up close to Sherlock when he sits by him- bodies pressed together from shoulders to toes.

If only he could see…

Because the inspector can, and what he sees, is that John loves Sherlock, just as much as Sherlock loves John.  

-

Sherlock stirs from his flu induced sleep when he hears the door of his room squeak in the fog of his mind, groggily blinking at his uninvited guest. Bleary eyes register his intruder as John when he leans over him and whispers his name, a fond but worried smile on his lips as he slides a cool palm beneath his bangs. He reaches out and pulls John down beneath the covers with him, burying his head into the warm jumper clad chest, just as he always wished he could do, inhaling that comforting scent as he lets out a quiet hum of bliss.

And he thinks that this must be another dream, because it feels like heaven with John in his arms- unreal, beautiful, perfect- because why would John come to him in the middle of the night?

But it’s not till he feels a tender kiss gingerly pressed to his cheek, accompanied by a husky goodnight as he drifts off, that he realizes it’s only a dream, because this can’t be real, not when John doesn’t love him back- he just doesn’t.

When Sherlock next awakens, to dull grey clouds, the smell of freshly brewed rain, and no John by his side, he feels a strange tug of disappointment at his heart. And he can’t help but be angry- not with John, no, never with John- but with himself. Because he shouldn’t be disappointed, he just shouldn’t, not when this was all he’d expected, and he hates himself- his pathetic, vulnerable self- because it hurt more than he thought it should.

He tries not to dwell on it as he storms out into typical London weather, the constant shower of icy rain prickling against tender skin. His clothes are rapidly getting soaked through, but he doesn’t stop; doesn’t turn back even when he knows he’ll have to account to a very irate John later.

The crystal droplets relentlessly slap down on him, bruising, but the sharp bites are numbing, and Sherlock is grateful for that, because he doesn’t want to cry, doesn’t want to hurt anymore.

But they come anyways- the tears- but he’s too tired; just too sick and tired of all this longing and loving and despair, that he just breaks down, lets the tears fall freely as he’s getting drenched.

When he finally decides to return to their flat, his lips are already turning blue, teeth chattering as he shivers uncontrollably. He fumbles with his keys, cursing when they slipped through his unresponsive fingers. The door flies open at the commotion, just as he bends down to pick them up, and he’s met with a very flustered John, blue eyes dancing in anxiety and relief as they land on him.

Head swimming as he straightens, Sherlock tries to focus on the worried male in front of him, lips forming incoherent words as he attempts to string appropriate words together through the mush his brain is reduced to.

“Why…” are you upset?

But that’s all he manages, darkness abruptly overwhelming him as he crumples forward- into John’s surprised arms.  

“…Sherlock!”  

-

Hot. It’s so hot... He tries to move away from the suffocating heat, to move somewhere safer, but all he sees is the leering darkness, and he can’t move- not while he can’t see, but the heat was moving closer, and the fear that gnaws at him is spinning his mind out of a calm control, into a panicked state.

He tries to peer through the darkness, but everything that’s there is just nothingness, and the panic is escalating when he realizes that he doesn’t remember his whereabouts, or how he ended up in this place. He can’t breathe; the heat is burning, scorching his flesh, but still he can’t move, and no one can save him- and he’s too young, he doesn’t want to die yet- he can’t die.

Not when he hasn’t confessed; not when he needs to tell him that he loves him.

He scrunches his nose in confusion, irritation prickling his mind because he knows he’s missing something important, knows that he’s forgotten something that should never be forgotten.

Him... who...?

But try as he might, the heat is distracting, and he can’t think, can’t remember who he needs, and- “Sherlock...”

He hears the voice- faint, but it comes again, and a face flashes through his tortured mind. He feels enlightened, as if a great burden has been lifted from his chest, and he sucks in a shuddering breath as the air steadily starts to trickle in. The heat doesn’t hurt as much anymore, replaced by comforting warmth, and he feels safe.

Because now, he knows where he has to go- who he has to return to.

-

“John…”

“Sherlock? Sherlock, love, can you open your eyes for me?” Even through the haze in his head, he knows that he knows that combination of smells; of honey and milk shampoo, of tea, of home, and more importantly, he knows those hands- the one that is currently grasping his, tightly squeezing, and the other that is running soothingly through his hair as if trying to gently rouse him.

“John?” He squints through the sudden light invading his senses as his eyes flicker open, relaxing when his vision clears enough for him to make out the weary figure of his flatmate. John breathes in relief, smiling at him when he sees the sharp focus on him– he’d never thought he’d miss that scrutinizing so much, not till he was faced with days of scrunched, shut eyes in fevered dreams at worst and glassy, uncomprehending  eyes at best.

“Oh Thank God, I was just about to bring you in if you still didn’t wake up. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.” He automatically replies, even though he doesn’t feel fine- not that he’d ever admit that- pushing himself up to a sitting position on trembling arms.

“Only you could get a fever of over forty one degrees and still say you’re fine. I swear, I almost had a heart attack when you collapsed on me. You’ve got to stop doing this, Sherlock.” John sighs as Sherlock sniffs disdainfully, eyes crinkling in worry as he reaches up to slide a cool palm beneath the bed of riotous curls.

“I’m fine, John, if you’re just going to stand there and smother me with your worrying and nagging, I suggest you take your leave now.”

“Oh don’t worry, Sherlock. That was the end of me being nice. This is the part I start yelling.” Sherlock groans, looking like a petulant child as he slumps with a dark scowl, flinging an arm dramatically over his eyes.  

“John-”

“No, I don’t care, you’re listening to me. You know, for a genius as brilliant as yourself, you can be such an idiot at times. Why you would think it was a good idea to leave the flat at all, let alone into the pouring rain, when you’re sick, is absolutely beyond me. Honestly, I leave you alone in bed for like half an hour tops, and next thing I know, THERE’S NO SHERLOCK HOLMES IN BED.” John throws his hands up in exasperation, glaring at the shocked detective.

“W-What?” Sherlock stutters, arm falling from his face as he gapes at John, mind whirling with the implications of what he just heard. John lifts a sardonic eyebrow, peering suspiciously at him, as if trying to gauge some deeper, underlying meaning behind his question.

“What do you mean what? Are you trying to deny that you disappeared on me? Because I know what I saw, I’m not an idiot, contrary to your beliefs.”

“No, not that. Your last sentence. Say it again.” Brows furrowed at the urgency and light hint of desperation underlying those words, John pauses, arms lowering in confusion as he stares at the detective worriedly.

“Uh, I leave you alone in bed for half an hour and you disappeared on me?” He finally ventures, carefully, uncertain as to how the words would be taken. He doesn’t know how else they could be taken, simple words as they were- or at least, he thinks they are simple, but who knows what goes through that great mind of his.  

“You left me alone in bed?” John’s starting to get worried now, frowning apprehensively at Sherlock, now sitting upright in bed, back straightened with tension and blinking uncomprehendingly at him.

“I just said that, yea. Sherlock, are you sure you’re alright?”

“For half an hour?”

“Well, more like twenty minutes but yea, I had to run and grab some medication from Tesco’s, since you used them all up in some experiment of yours- I’m still angry with you for that, by the way.” Sherlock tuned out the rest of what John was saying, mind still drawing blanks as he tried to process what it all meant- it felt important, it was important, but he just couldn’t quite figure it out yet.

He left me, alone, in bed for twenty minutes. Was he with me before that? How long was he with me before that? Does that mean… But that doesn’t necessarily mean that he was with me. He could have just been routinely checking in on me. And even if he was, he was probably not with me- of course not, John wouldn’t be with me, why would he, he’s not gay-  

“You left me alone in bed for twenty minutes?” Sherlock winces as the words fell unbidden from his lips anyways, cursing inwardly at the disbelief and hope tinting those words- and Good Lord, he was repeating himself- was he always so obvious when it came to John?

God, it’s no wonder that crimes of passion were so ridiculously easy to solve, if love was going to turn people into such bumbling idiots.

And worse still, he knew better than to even attempt to blame this on being sick- this, this was all John.

“…You’re repeating yourself, Sherlock. God, how hard did you burn your brain? Maybe we should go to the hospital.”

“No! No, I’m fine, John, promise. I just- I thought- you weren’t there when I woke up.”

“Yea, I just told you, I had to…” John says slowly, trailing off as he took in the vulnerability in the way the brunette held himself, the barely hidden hurt in those gorgeous eyes as he looked away from the scrutiny, throat bobbing in a hard swallow before he gave the smallest of nods in acknowledgement.

No… that’s not right. It’s…

“Oh,” John breathes out, stunned with the realization dawning on him.

That wasn’t simply acknowledgement- it was embarrassment; it was shame.

“You thought… that it wasn’t real.”

“It? What do you mean?”

“Me. And you… in bed.” John flushes, deep crimson rapidly climbing his neck when the detective’s eyes widen in shock, jaw dropping comically.

“No, no that’s not what I meant. Oh God, that came out wrong. Not that I wouldn’t- I’m not trying to suggest- I mean, I know you’re not interested and-” He rambles hurriedly, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him because Dear Lord, he was an idiot and he was going to ruin everything and-

“But I am!”

“… What?” He can’t help but blink in surprise when the exclamation stops him short, cutting across his panicked thoughts, and he thinks he must have fainted, or something, because he swears he just heard Sherlock say that he was interested.

In a romantic (sexual?) relationship with John.  

“I am. Interested, that is.” But there it was again, and disbelieving as he is, maybe he’s not dreaming after all, because he’s not that desperate to try and force dreamlock to confess that he was interested twice, and in hindsight, Sherlock did drag him into bed after all.

Huh.

“But you’re… you said you were married to your work.”

“Yes, well. I changed my mind.” Sherlock rolls his eyes, huffing in indignation when John lifts a sceptical eyebrow at him.  

“Oh, come off it, John. Don’t tell me I’m not allowed to change my mind.”

“I do admit that even I personally never thought I would ever find someone… People are so unbearably dull after all, but you, John. You are the most singularly interesting person I have ever met, and I find myself constantly surprised by you. I think I can safely say that I have never been or will be more interested in someone in my life.” He continues in a much quieter voice when John continues to stare at him, eyes flickering down to the ground so he wouldn’t have to see his reaction. He doesn’t think it could be anything good anyway, even though taking John’s words into consideration, it really could be- was more likely than not, in fact- but he doesn’t dare to hope.

“But- But you’re Sherlock Holmes, Mr ‘sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side’! I didn’t think… You said you were a high functioning sociopath.”

“Something you know not to be entirely true, John.” Sherlock says, and the words must have come out much softer than he’d intended, further gentled with the small and exceptionally fond smile he doesn’t realize he has on, because John smiles back, and it’s every bit as tender and just so John that Sherlock falls in love all over again.

Dear God, I love him.

He can only stare at John helplessly, forcing down the desperate whimper that wants to escape (even just the idea of him whimpering is absolutely unacceptable), because no one has ever looked at Sherlock the way John has, and the thought of being without John- of a life without John, he thinks, cannot and will not be a life at all.

“…I do, don’t I.”

And Sherlock is looking at him with so much emotion, so much suppressed hope, that his breath catches in his throat and John doesn’t even stand a chance, the words slipping out before he gets a chance to think about it.

“I love you.” Sherlock freezes, muscle tensing as his face starts to shut down, and John curses inwardly, almost apologizing and taking it back; almost regrets saying it because it’s just too much, too fast.

But then Sherlock practically pounces on him, lips pressed firmly against his, and he definitely doesn’t regret it- not when Sherlock is returning the sentiment, whispering it frantically against his skin with every chaste kiss he places.

Oh what the hell, he thinks, as long as he has Sherlock.

 ~Fin.~

[crctv-intelligence]

S1, E2: "Pilot: Part 2"

(Scene 1: Interstate 295) An areal shot tracks Mikayla's car as she speeds along the highway. Her black sedan blends in well, but still does the job of keeping up with the white SUV ahead of her. Her phone rings, and she groans as she presses her thumb to the main button to unlock it. "What?!" "Jo is gone, she got pulled off to help another operative. So can you tell me what the hell you're thinking about doing?" Garrett asks into the phone, his voice more irritated than curious. "Look," with her phone on speaker, Mikayla drops it into the cup holder before using her free hand to adjust the volume on her car speaker, The White Stripes being forced to become quieter as a result. "She told me to be a doer, so that is what I'm doing. You told me you wanted to wrap this before the Pentagon even had any idea of what's happening. That's what I'm doing. I mean what is this bullshit? You and Jo both say one thing but then the second I do it you start freaking out?" The camera cuts to Garrett as his desk as his hand slams down onto the tabletop. "Dammit, Mikayla! It is your first day, no one expects you to be Jason fucking Bourne." The scoff is heard on Garrett's end before the camera cuts back to inside Mikayla's car. "Jason Bourne is a fictional, selfish and greedy character who only cared about finding out his goddamn real name. I'm trying to save real people's lives. If you're not on board with that, find a new operative to harass." Garrett starts to stutter into the phone but the blonde haired beaut plucks it from the cup holder and hangs up before he can. "Jason Bourne? Give me a break." Mikayla turns the wheel to drive her car towards an exit ramp. (Opening Titles: INTELLIGENCE Created By: Candice Cornell) (Scene 2: Dulles International Airport) Alexander makes his way through customs, a friendly smile on his face for the duration of the process. Once through, he grabs his bag from the luggage carousel and makes his way outside. With the Lyft application open on his phone, he continues to click "Request A Ride". As each driver pops up, he cancels his ride before trying again. Finally he sees a driver he deems acceptable, leaving the ride requested as he waits with his back leaning up against the wall. His phone begins to ring. "This is Greg," he says as he answers. "Hey, it's Amanda, ya' Lyft driver. I'm parked behind a blue Prius. Do you see me?" Alexander leans forward and looks up and down the street before spotting a blue Prius parallel parked against the sidewalk. "I see the Prius, I'll come to you," he says, a smirk on his face as he makes his way over the the vehicle. A red Jeep is parked behind the Prius, that smirk still on his face as he enters the backseat. "Well hello, hot stuff," she says as she pushes the gearshift into drive and peels out of the spot. Her greeting and his reaction both indicate this is not the first time they're meeting and it's certainly no accident that he ended up in her vehicle. "Where to? Ya' didn't set a destination this time," she speaks to him, her thick Boston accent shining through. "You know what I like by now. Surprise me." (Scene 3: Hotel Room) The door swings open as Alexander and the woman kiss passionately, their hands battling in shared attempts to remove their clothes at the same time. "How's this?" she asks, her breaths almost pants as she struggles to speak between kisses. "You know me so well, baby. So fucking well," Alexander's white button up comes down his arms until the material drops on the floor behind him. The woman kicks the door shut with her foot before pushing him up against the wall. "Aggressive today," he notes allowed. "Well my best client disappeared for two goddamn months. I've been stuck with middle aged senators and even some of their curious wives." "Oh, shit..." Alexander moans out as he pops the button on her blouse before going to work on her bra strap. "You'll have to tell me more about that later." She bites down on her lip before standing on her tippy toes and whispering in his ear. "If you're lucky," she hisses as her hand grabs his crotch. His eyes roll back before she pulls him away from the wall and forces him back onto the bed. "Now lay still, suga." The zipper of her leather skirt comes undone as her red nails drag it down slowly. "I'm gonna take good care of you." As she dives onto the bed on top of him, the camera pans up to the ceiling. Moans and giggles and the sound of the bed shaking play in an audio montage while the lighting on the ceiling dims to indicate a time lapse. The camera pans back down to the bed where both Alexander and Amanda covered by the blanket. "So hear any crazy stories lately?" Alexander asks. She just gives her bare shoulders a shrug. "Eh, you know the usual. Cheatin' husbands, compromisin' morals for votes. All that lame Capitol Hill shit." Alexander sighs. "Come on, sexy. You know I can't write a book about that. I need juicy stuff. "Y'know, Greg," she begins as she rolls so her bare breasts are against his side. "You keep telling me about these book but I've still never read em'. Or even seen em'." The suspicion is in her voice, but he appears neither nervous or phased in any way. "Give me your phone," he instructs. "What?" "Your phone," he repeats. She rolls over in bed, her ass exposed to the camera as she leans over and grabs her phone off of the nightstand. She slips back under the blanket and hands the iPhone to him after unlocking it. He opens iBooks before typing a few things into the search bar. "Boom," he says as he hands the phone back to her. She squints as she looks at the screen. "A Parliamentary Affair by Greg Morgan" she reads aloud. "Wow, so you are legit." "Only when I can hear good stories for inspiration," he adds, trying to tease intel out of her. "Alright, fine." She sighs as she locks her phone and tosses it behind her. "There is this one guy. He gave me weird vibes. I think he might'a been secret service." "Woah, for real?" Alex asks, trying to sound surprised. "Yeah. He was just super serious, wound real tight. Had to blow the loser for ten minutes just to get him hard," she grimaces before shaking her head and continuing. "Anyway, he starts asking me questions. Like have I ever thought about killing the President? Has anyone I know ever thought about it? Would I take a bullet for him? Like super weird shit. And I says no, of course. Because I haven't and I don't and I wouldn't take a bullet for my own mother yet alone some political dingbat." Alexander laughs at that. For a hooker, the girl sure has a sense of humor. "Well how do you know he was secret service and not a wannabe assassin or something?" he asks. "Well I was thinking that at first, but then his phone rang. He answered the question 'Where are you?' with coordinates and call signs instead of like an address and name of a building." "Huh..." Alex says. Now she looks concerned and confused. "What?" She asks him. "Nothing... Hey, did he happen to have an accent?" "Yeah... Now that you mention it, he kinda did. I mean he spoke English but certain words sounded foreign still." "What country?" He continues with questioning. "Russian," she responds dryly. (COMMERCIAL BREAK) (Scene 4: Pub Interior) Amelia is seated at a bar, a shot delivered which she takes right away. She still wincing from the aftertaste when her phone starts ringing. "Fairborn," she says sternly into the phone. "You're cutting into my drinking time." The camera cuts to Alexander sitting on his bed with his feet on the floor in nothing but boxers as he looks at his watch. "It's like six in the morning over there, isn't it?" "I had a father and he died when I was eight. If you want to replace him, hop in line with all the other guys waiting to bone my mom." He chuckles as his head shakes. "Amelia, you are one crazy bitch." "Crazy bitches do well in our line of work," she pulls the microphone away from her mouth before lipping the words 'close' to the bartender. "So what's up? And make it good." "What would Russia have to gain from tensions between us and the states?" he asks. "Oh, your hooker friend identified a Russian and thought he was suspicious, huh?" His eyes roll as he shifts on the bed, adjusting his boxers. "Very suspicious. Asked her about killing the president." Amelia signs her signature on the bottom of a receipt before tucking her credit card into the pocket of her blazer and exiting the pub. Once outside, she lights a cigarette and holds the phone to her ear with her shoulder. "Killing the president? And he seemed legit?" "She thought he was secret service until I asked about the accent." Amelia puffs out a ring of smoke before flicking the butt of her cigarette. "She's not very bright, your hooker." The blonde man's eyes roll again. "Okay, can we please not call her that?" "I hope to God you're not developing feelings. Or crabs." "I'm not, I just-" "Good, because that shit still doesn't fly. Fuck whoever you want but when feelings get involved it's over. Remember?" "Yeah," he scoffs. "I remember." Alexander's tone sounds bitter, alluding to an event that must've happened prior to the beginning of the show. "You're my best agent," she says proudly as she tosses her cigarette onto the ground and stomps it into the concrete with the soul of her boot. "Keep up the good work. See what else you can find out about our Russian Secret Service agent." "Got it, boss." "Roberts out," she ends the call and slips her phone into her blazer pocket along with her hands, a shot following her from behind as she walks towards and eventually past Big Ben. We cut back to Alexander who groans as he collapses back onto the bed, still nearly naked as his head hits the pillow. (Scene 5: Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool) Mikayla and Garrett are sitting next to each other as the sun begins to set. "I can't believe I lost them," Mikayla says, sounding defeated. "I mean I was right behind them and then a damn semi just... cuts me off." Garrett pats her shoulder reassuringly. "Look, the important thing is that you got a plate number, you got a description of the car and suspects and you have that recording of their conversation. You did good, Mik." Her head falls back and her mouth gapes open. "Please, stop calling me that." "Why?" He holds his hands up, palms up to the sky. "That's what I've always called you, Mik." "I'm serious, Garrett. There are things about the farm that I will take with me wherever I go, no matter the op. And then there are things I'd rather forget. The thought of you and me actually being able to work is definitely on the list of things to forget or else I can't do my job." "You're right," his palms level out in mock surrender. "You're right, I'm sorry. I just... I missed you after I left. But I'm proud of you... For making it. I'm proud of you." "Thank you, Garrett." He pats her leg as he stands up and starts to walk along the pool. "Well I'm going to start heading out. Good work today. You've got this... You've just got to stay on it, okay?" She nods her head and smiles as she bows her head. "Yeah. Thanks again." "Anytime," with that, he proceeds to walk away. Mikayla sits and looks at her surroundings for a bit before finally standing. She's about to walk off in the same direction Garrett walked when her phone rings. The name on the screen reads 'Joanne'. "Hello?" she answers. "Waters, please tell me you're still in DC." She purses her lips and looks at the Lincoln Memorial to her right. "Yeah, Honest Abe says I'm still in DC." "Excellent," she says, sounding relieved. "How do you feel about running one more op while you're there?" The young agent shrugs before nodding. "I can do that. What's the op?" She begins walking as Jo continues to speak. "Suspicious behavior at Dulles Airport. Tracked the target to a hotel just north of it." "Well, send me all the intel and details and I'll head there now." "Nice work, Waters. I'll have one of the techs get it to you right away." The call ends and Mikayla gets to her car just as the details come in, including a picture of the suspicious man. The camera pans in to capture a close up of the man. That man is Alexander Fairborn. To be continued...