#hes also just labeled a puppy for being a soft tender man

[elvenscout]

The himbofication of Jayce in the Jayvik community is honestly so frustrating to see.

It feels like the fandom took the idea of Jayce being a big ol' puppy for Viktor (& Mel) too far and removed his canonical intelligence.

This man can be an idiot sometimes, but hes not some big, dumb uwu himbo. He's only an "idiot" bc of his naivity and his ignorance, of which he tries to learn from time and time again.

Throughout season 1 he constantly makes the wrong decision bc of ignorance, or from naively trusting the wrong people because he believed in the good in others.

And while Jayce drops everything for Viktor, this is only up until the point he believes the Viktor he knew is gone, and is now committing atrocities that his Viktor never would have done.

He's a man trying to do his best and constantly failing, but never giving up even amidst all his failures. He's someone who loves science and found understanding and an equal for the first time in his life with Viktor, and never imagined he would lose that.

Yes he would do anything for Viktor, but not at the expense of the world. He surrenders himself in the end bc he failed and he can only hope that he alone will be enough to change Viktors mind. Even if this means he has to die to change his mind. He wants to save Viktor, because he knows this is not him. Because he wanted his Viktor back.

And anyways, he was initially labeled a "puppy" toward his romantic interests in the sense of puppy love: pure and innocent and naive love. He has heart eyes for those he cares about, and trusts them completely, because in his mind, why shouldn't he? He's someone who just wants the best for everyone, and can't imagine how others don't think that way. He has to unlearn this in the cave, when he's forced to reflect on how everything went so wrong.

Jayce can at many times be naive and ignorant, but he is not a himbo.

He's an intelligent, compassionate and flawed individual who wants to believe in the best in others, and has to learn that's just not how the world works.

[fullmetaldevil-blog]

Stitched Au. Short: Every ‘Dog’ Has His Day.

OK This was a crackpot idea that popped into my head while I was at work. A customer was wearing a shit that read “It’s all fun and games till someone get’s a cone” featuring a dog with the infamous ‘cone of shame’. My thought’s devolved from there...Am sooooooo not sorry. 

On with the show~

Batim Stitched AU short: Every ‘Dog’ Has His Day.

A small grocery store was enjoying it's day with a few customers coming and going from the shop with their various fixings for their meals. Allison and Benny were amongst the small crowd frolicking within the market. Benny happily helped push the shopping cart for Allison while she paced back and forth within the isles grabbing various groceries for the week. Benny admired all the different food items that were being placed within the cart and couldn't help but be curious as to their uses. He would bombard Allison with various questions about the foods and she would answer them to the best of her ability. They turned down the cleaning and pet isle for which Allison promptly retrieved some cleaning products and was checking their labels. While she was busy Benny looked around until another customer caught his attention.

It was a older gentleman whom was holding on to a small dog while talking to an employee, the animal had a strange white cone around it's neck and appeared to be wearing a bandage around it's leg. He couldn't understand the purpose of the cone since the animal was wearing a bandage. He knew bandages were used to wrap around any cuts or injuries to help them heal but what was a cone for?

His gloved hand gently grabbed onto the bottom of Allison's coat and he gently tugged getting her attention. “Allison, what's that around the dog's neck?” he gestured to the animal in question.

She followed Benny's gesture to see the dog and the cone around it's neck, she gave a small look of pity before answering Benny's question. “That cone is placed around a dog's neck to keep them from scratching or biting at an injury. It's usually given to them by a vet to make sure they heal properly.”

Benny tilted his head in confusion. “What's a vet?”

“A vet is someone who ensures the care of animals., In short they are a animal doctor.”

After Allison's explanation Benny returned his attention to the dog and he seemed to be staring at it. Allison lifted a brow slightly cause it was like she could hear the gears in his mind turning as they processed the information. Much to her surprise a mischievous grin grew across the demon's face before he spun in place facing her giving her his undivided attention.

“Can we get one?” The toon inquired.

“Get what?” Allison looked at the toon dumbfounded and at the same time curious as to what he was up to.

“Can we get a cone please?” He leaned towards her giving her his best puppy eyes.

If there was ever a moment when something felt off to Allison it was that very moment. It was unlike Benny to suddenly ask for something out of the blue. A small smile graced Allison's lips as she bent down to the toons eye level staring at him directly in his pie cut eyes. “Alright what are you up to?”

“Well Tom is at the doctors getting his check up and shots. You said a Vet is a doctor so I wanted to get Tom a cone so he doesn't mess with where he gets his shots. I want to make sure he heals up properly.” The toon wrung his gloved hands while rocking on his heels causing Allison to lift a brow.

“Benny, a Veterinarian is a animal doctor not a people doctor.” Allison chuckled standing up. She looked at her little devil and felt that something was off, but couldn't place her finger on it.

A mischievous smile nearly split Benny's face in two. “I Know.”

If Allison were a toon a small light bulb would have lit above her head as she realized what the toon was up to. The little devil was planning on 'playing' with his father figure. He wasn't completely subtle about his intentions but she was able to read him clearly enough. She let out a overly dramatic sigh playing along with the toon's antics. “Fine. We'll get him a cone, after all we don't want him pestering where he got his shot. He's old so he needs time to heal.”

Her answer was instantaneous as Benny happily latched onto her leg thanking her for going along. With renewed vigor they raced to the end of the isle with the pet supplies and searched about the section for a cone large enough to fit a full grown man. Allison spotted the cones and grabbed one that she felt would suit the toons needs and even lightly rolled it to gauge it's size. It was perfect. With their desired object secured and a mischievous grin on both their faces the duo hastily retreated to the registers to make their purchase. Just before the registers Allison stopped and grabbed 2 rolls of film for the camera, cause there was no way she was not going to capture her husbands reaction on film. The cashier looked at both woman and 'boy' with concern as the two were giggling throughout the entire transaction. With their purchases in their possession Allison and Benny ran to the car putting the groceries away hopping in the car hoping to beat Tom home.

The drive home was a quick one as Allison took every shortcut she knew to get home. Much to the conspiring pair's relief there was no truck in the driveway meaning Thomas had yet to come home from the doctor. Benny transformed to his Ragdoll from to grab all the groceries in a single trip and also freeing Allison up to open the door. The groceries were put away in record time before the two broke off to set up their 'positions'. Benny retreated to the living room and placed a blanket and extra pillow on the couch knowing full well of Tom's habit of taking a small nap in the evening hours especially after being gone for a good chunk of the day. Allison giggled from her view in the kitchen watching the plushtoon make up the couch as well as hiding the cone within his hammerspace. Not wanting to fall behind herself, Allison grabbed the family camera and made sure it had a fresh roll of film. S huge grin graced her face at the thoughts of her husbands reaction, she couldn't wait to see how the events would unfold.

An hour later the low rumble of an engine alerted the family within that their last member of the home had returned. Benny eagerly rushed to the door to let Tom in and even though the man was tired he happily scooped the toon up in his arms entering the home.

'How'd it go? Everything ok?” Allison inquired as she walked down the hall from the kitchen meeting Tom in the hallway kissing him on his cheek.

“Fantastic” Tom grumbled sarcastically. “I was starting to think I was a human pin cushion after awhile. I have never seen so many needles before and I got stuck so many times I lost count. My arm is sore for all the stabbing and the worst of all was the shot to the rear. My butt was sore then entire drive home.” To emphasize his point Tom rubbed the spot on his rear where he had gotten a shot and scowl at how tender the location still was.

“Well how about you relax for awhile while I finish up dinner?” Allison lifted Benny out of Tom's arms gesturing to the living room.

“Honestly that sounds like a good idea.” The man tiredly smiled before drifting into the living room.

Tom lifted the blanket and set it aside crawling onto the couch and winced slightly from the tender spot on his bottom but relaxed into the couch and he tucked the pillow underneath his head. As if on cue Benny wiggled out of Allison's arms and joined Tom by the couch. The toon grabbed the blanket and with Tom's help he crawled onto the mans chest with the blanket pulling it over the both of them. It had become a sort of routing for the pair to enjoy a small nap in the evening hours together, it was their way of enjoying the others company.

It wasn't long before Tom was out like a light while Benny pretended to be sleeping, the toon kept a watchful eye on his father until he was sure the man was out. Once he was sure he was asleep with the slow rising and falling of his chest, Benny waved a hand over Tom's face anticipating some sort of reaction. When there was none except for soft snores, Benny moved ever so slowly as to not disturb his dad's slumber managing to get himself in a sitting up position to access his hammerspace. He slowly opened the void and pulled out the cone and fiddled with it trying to figure out how to properly close it.

Allison whom had been watching from the kitchen joined the struggling demon in helping him properly close the cone and showed him how to put it on. With gentle hands they slipped the cone around Tom's neck and gently tied it off to keep it from coming off. Once the cone was in place Allison helped Benny off Tom's chest setting him down then she went to retrieve her camera. Benny was struggling to contain his laughter while Allison paced around his dad taking photos of the sleeping man. He painted an amusing picture of his sleeping peacefully with a large white cone around his neck. Allison gave Benny a thumbs up indicating she was done and hastily retreated to the kitchen while Benny himself made it a point to vacate the room, for he knew what would happen when his dad woke up.

The house was in blissful silence and tranquility for nearly a full hour allowing Allison to finish cooking and she even had the time to make a small dessert as a treat for Tom being so willing to go to the doctor's on his own. Benny had taken the time to fortify his bedroom in anticipation of retaliation from Tom. The silence was roughly strangled by a colorful string of profanity and curses that radiated from the living room. The man's shouts were loud enough to make the other members of the household flinch in response.

Allison put on her best 'concerned face' and rushed to the living room to see her husbands reaction to the cone. “Tom?! Everything ok?”  The sight before her nearly made her facade crumble as she stood frozen in the doorway.

Tom struggled with cone trying to reach the knot that prevented his release. His fumbling with the knot devolved with him simply trying to yank the cone off his head and grew even more frustrated that he couldn't do so. "Goddamn it! What bright eyes thought this shit was funny?!" The man swore trying to pull the cone off.

"Aww don't be mad Tom. He was looking out for your well being." Allison tried to comfort the enraged man while she got behind him to help him untie the knot while Tom grumbled more curses under his breath.

"So tell me why I have a dog cone on my head." Tom grumbled schooling his temper.

"Like I said he wanted to make sure you didn't fuss over your shots and check up." Allison repeated finally managed to untie the knot and pulled the cone off Tom's head for it to be taken by the man.

Tom gestured to the offensive item. "These are for dogs when they come back from the ve....." Tom's voice died as realization hit him, his eyes growing wide before his head snapped in the direction of Benny's room. "BEEEEENNNNNNNNNYYY!!"

Tom tore down the hall like his rear was on fire and charged right into Benny's room earning a shocked squeak from the toon. The plushdemon's room was completely covered in his inky threads which were only made as a defensive mechanism, which at the moment screamed his guilt. All the threads he had placed to try and slow Tom down did nothing to the man as he charged right through them. He grabbed the toon by his back and dangled him in front of his face where the two were eye to eye. His scowl slowly teased into a grin as Benny smiled at his dad sheepishly.

"How was the vet?" Benny squeaked.

Tom's mouth twitched as he realized he had been pranked by his little toon and that the little demon was playing innocent despite all the threads he created to keep Tom away. "You mean the doctors, and it was fine. I got my shots and check up like a good boy."

Benny happily smiled at Tom "Yay! Then that deserves a treat!" He swayed in his dads grip happily. He was hoping that by acting oblivious to what had transpired in the living room he would get off Scott free.

Tom's brow lifted before a mischievous grin split his face. "Oh I deserve a treat all right." His tone made Benny freeze staring at him wide eyed, it was then the toon knew he was in trouble. Tom tossed the plushdemon on the bed earning a 'oof' from him when he landed and before he could react Tom pounced on him tickling him mercilessly. "Keep in mind dolly boy that dogs have teeth and can bite back." Tom laughed while working the little toon over, Benny's laughter filling the air.

Allison stood in the doorway watching her husband 'punish' the toon by means of tickle torture. It was nice to see the two of them playing pranks on one another and having fun. Even though their dinner was getting cold, the warmth of the room from both husband and demons laughter was more then enough to make up for it.

[magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics]

Experiment #4 - Request

Requested by: you know the sinners.

Summary: Sherlock and reader hold a Series of Experiments in which they test out several smutty theories with practise. Who thought science would be so fun?

Pairing: Sherlock x reader

Word count: 2,973

Warnings: Rough smut - un-protected, over-stimulation, oral, fingering.

A/N: Dear lord from Heaven, please forgive me.

Enjoy!

| One | Two | Three |

“(Y/N),” Sherlock called, “I need you to hand me the silver knife inside of the freezer, please.”

“I’m literally at the other side of London!” She argued through the phone.

“Oh, don’t worry, there’s no hurry.” She hung up and Sherlock breathed out a laugh as he placed his phone at the tiny coffee table by his side.

“You really think she’s coming?”

“Of course she is. She never fails.” Sherlock answered confidently, and then both of them waited patiently for her arrival.

As predicted, she got there in record timing. Sherlock was utterly impressed at how fast she had gotten to Baker Street, but he didn’t let it show.

“I told you.” The detective cocked an eyebrow sassily.

“Sher, what the…? Mycroft, hi.” She fixed her hair nervously. “You didn’t tell me your brother was here.”

Half a second after, Lestrade strolled through the door, as well as John. “Sherlock, what is it?” Lestrade asked as he entered the flat.

“I was at the other end of the city!” John complained.

“Apologies, dear fellows.” Mycroft spoke solemnly as he stood up to kiss (Y/N)’s hand and bow as a greeting to the two men. “My brother and I made a bet I’m afraid I lost.”

“What kind of bet?” Lestrade inquired, alternating his gaze between the two Holmes.

“I bet him that my colleagues would get here as fast as possible if asked.” Sherlock explained with a smug grin on his face.

“Why?” John asked. He was done with Sherlock and his annoying experiments.

“Because he wanted to prove that his colleagues are more loyal than mine.” Mycroft said as he took his wallet out. The man took the exact amount of money and handed it to his brother.

“Yeah, you know… Us colleagues are loyal as can be… right, boys?” (Y/N) muttered. John gave her the typical puppy eyes that meant he knew the impact of Sherlock’s label on her, but didn’t say anything related to it. “I guess you don’t need the knife, then.”

“So you don’t want to discuss the case?” Lestrade inquired.

“And you don’t want to consider coming on holiday with me and Mary?” John furrowed.

Sherlock chuckled and shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Gavin, I already solved the case and the files are on the desk. John, I have plans for the holidays but I will join you eventually. (Y/N), I don’t need the knife but do stay here. Any questions?”

“No.” John breathed out a heavy sigh and left after a dry good-bye. Lestrade followed soon after taking the files and (Y/N) remained frozen in the exact spot of the flat in which she had been standing.

“Dear brother, please leave. My assistant and I must resolve some things.” Sherlock commanded his brother, giving him a fake smile.

“I must return to the palace anyway. Good to see you, (Y/N).” Mycroft nodded her way and then left, closing the door behind him.

Sherlock took a confident step towards (Y/N). His hands were inside his pockets and his messy curls fell over his face. His smug smirk had changed to a warm smile, and his blue eyes were tender.

“I’m sorry I made you come all the way here in so little time. Mycroft was very insistent.” He apologised.

“I know for a fact that he didn’t have to insist that much. You take any chance you can to have him lose.” (Y/N) commented calmly.

Sherlock chuckled and nodded. “I can’t let him win.”

“I know.” Sherlock tilted his head.

“Is everything all right?” He asked carefully.

“Yes, why do you ask?” Sherlock thought his answer for a second before dismissing it with a head shake.

They remained quiet for a few seconds in which Sherlock stepped even closer. He cupped her cheeks, making her look at him and his beautiful, cold eyes before he pressed a soft kiss on her lips.

(Y/N) knew she had to back off, set her limits straight and clear for once and for all what their relationship was. He had called her a colleague, therefore she would behave like so.

“What’s wrong?” Sherlock asked. His breath fanned over her lips.

“I was just trying to figure out which case is this related to.” She answered instantly.

“I didn’t know you needed a case to…”

“And I didn’t think you’d forget our thing is professional-only.” She interrupted. Sherlock took a step back in utter embarrassment.

“If you need a case, then check the top papers on the middle drawer. You’ll find them… stimulating.” Sherlock ordered.

“I hope it’s not pornography.” She joked, trying to alleviate the tension she had created on her own.

“I don’t need pornography, John does. But I’m afraid he took all of it to his new house with Mary. I wonder what she thinks of it.” Sherlock commented; as he fought the urge to stare at her tiny figure bending down to get the papers.

“Maybe they watch it together.” (Y/N) suggested, taking a black folder out of the drawer and opening it. “Died during intercourse,” she read out loud, “husband is guilty of murder, life insurance, unhappy marriage, blab la blab la.

“The man is innocent, but I can’t prove that he is because they believe he killed her on purpose.” Sherlock explained.

“So you want to kill me to prove a point. Why am I not impressed?” She put the folder away.

“Unimpressed.” Sherlock corrected, “I don’t want to kill you; I just need to make sure he is an innocent.”

“Do you take sex-related cases to get laid?” (Y/N) inquired suddenly, making Sherlock chuckle.

“No, although it is a great perhaps.” Sherlock answered and then walked over to the kitchen. “Cup of tea, dear?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.” (Y/N) replied, joining him and sitting at the nearest chair. “Tell me a bit more about your idea.”

-

Not only had Sherlock asked shamelessly to try and over stimulate her. He had also asked her to try a brand new position, one known for being distant. Whatever was in the detective’s mind was far for romantic.

Of course, (Y/N) knew they weren’t in a relationship – she had clarified it before – but she expected a bit of passion nonetheless. Sherlock had shown her a side of him that promised to grow into something more; but apparently, Sherlock Holmes would continue to be the cold man everyone knew and despised.

(Y/N), however, was willing to take whatever was given, even if it was only sex for the sake of science. Her love towards Sherlock was far too strong to push him away completely; and that decision had taken her to his room, where she was bent down with her arse up and aligned with Sherlock’s hips.

“Remember our safe word?” Sherlock inquired.

“Of course I do.” She blurted; it was hard to talk with her head so close from the pillows.

“Good.” Sherlock said nonchalantly.

He leaned closer and started placing a black mask in front of her eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Eyes can blind the rest of the senses,” Sherlock explained as he tied a not at the back, “in fact, old witches used to take their eyes out in order to have better senses. If I want you to over stimulate, I must blind you, just so you focus on the rest of the stimuli.”

“So Christian Grey possessed you, great.” She joked. Truth was, she was nervous and was trying to distract her mind from the on-coming events.

She felt tickles in her stomach, and her core has started to get a bit moist at the though. Her mind was dizzy and her heart was fighting against the anxiety that forced it to beat faster. Her palms were sweating and she had started biting her lips in anticipation.

“Don’t be nervous, I won’t hurt you. I promise.” Sherlock begged calmly.

“If you do…”

“We’ll stop this forever.” Sherlock finished, “I know, and I would never think of hurting you.”

Although his words were soft and calming, (Y/N) couldn’t help but to feel doubtful. Sherlock was a good man, but after stating that there was no connection between them other than the colleague one… Well, (Y/N) wasn’t feeling that comfortable anymore. Not that she wanted to push him, or anything, but because one doesn’t take of a colleague the same way one takes care of a loved one.

As far as she knew, if Sherlock’s life was in danger, she would give hers in exchange; meanwhile, if her life was in danger, Sherlock would try to find a solution that didn’t involve his own life.

“Ready?” Sherlock’s words dragged her out of her thoughts.

“I was born ready.” She stated.

A cold hand travelled from her hip to her wet lips. He caressed every inch of skin on his way, creating goose bumps that traced the exact path he had traced. A slim finger slid between her fold, teasing her, all the way down to her clitoris in an agonizingly slow pace.

Her back arched instantly, giving Sherlock a better view of her. His finger slid up and down her folds multiple times, making sure her wetness spread evenly before moving on to the next step.

Once she was wet enough, Sherlock slid the same finger inside of her, making sure to go as deep as he could. (Y/N)’s back arched even more and her head fell to the front as she let out a heavy sigh.

Sherlock moved his finger inside of her, looking for the right spot and, when he found it, he pressed it slightly, just enough to make her tense. Then, he took his finger out and slid another one in.

He moved that last finger out and then slid both of them in, going further and faster. (Y/N)’s walls clenched slightly around his fingers. She was wet and warm – welcoming. Sherlock groaned softly at the feeling of her.

He moved his fingers in an out, touching her sweet spot over and over again, making sure not to hurt her, but still going a bit rough. (Y/N)’s breathing became heavier as a thin layer of sweat started forming on her forehead and back.

With his free hand, he caressed her bum all the way to the arch of her back. He used the right amount of pressure to give her chills. Then, he slipped his fingers in and then out one more time before his lips touched her wet folds.

He swirled his tongue all over gently, taking his time with each part. Then, he slid his tongue inside her, moving it in circles. His hands had travelled to each one of her butt cheeks, holding her hips just so she didn’t move away because of the arousal.

(Y/N) started moaning, surrendering to his touch. Sherlock licked her completely, and then pulled away a bit and then thrusted into her; he then repeated the same action over and over again. (Y/N)’s face fell to a pillow, which she bit harshly in order to contain herself for a little longer.

Sherlock pulled away. He rubbed her clit once again as he prepared to thrust into her.

“You know…” (Y/N) panted, “Girls have more than one sensitive part.”

Sherlock chuckled. “I know.”

Without further notice, Sherlock thrusted into her. (Y/N) cried a loud moan, lifting her head as her back arched once more. He had been careful, so she wasn’t hurt, but it had been rough either way.

His hands travelled to her breasts, pinching her hard nipples as he continued to pound into her. Sherlock had never been so rough with her, and it was both exciting and frightening.

The darkness in which (Y/N) was submerged was a huge add up to the whole situation. Sherlock was right, she felt everything ten times more than she did when her eyes were uncovered. She was drunk with him.

Sherlock pounded further, pushing her hips forwards which made her face bury in the pillows. Sherlock was groaning, moaning and panting as he got off with her. He was using her, but at least he was being careful, and it was so good that (Y/N) couldn’t really think of anything else.

Sherlock moved one hand from her nipples and to her clit. He rubbed circles around it as his other hand continued to stimulate her nipples. (Y/N)’s moans were constant and each louder than the other. Her mouth was numb into an O and her eyes were shut tightly under the mask.

Her hands were clenched around the soft fabric of Sherlock’s bed-sheets, her feet were curled and her back was arched. She pushed her hips back, crashing against his.

Sherlock moved his hand from her clit and up to her arse. He squeezed her cheek roughly and then rubbed it to ease the pain before slapping it. Sherlock was letting himself go wild, and (Y/N) was nervous to see how that ended.

He was pounding into her, overwhelming each and every single one of her senses. Her mind was dizzy, unable to contain the dripping orgasm that got to her. Sherlock’s hands were tight around her hips and his lips were biting marks at the back of her shoulders.

She was trembling, trying to pronounce the safe word. It was nearly impossible, but she tried her best to remember it and say it; not because she wanted him to stop, but because she felt like she would faint soon. Her heart was beating faster than ever, she could hear her blood pumping, and the air inside her lungs didn’t feel like enough.

“JOHN!” She shouted, but Sherlock didn’t stop. Her voice wasn’t loud enough. “JOHN! JOHN! JOHN! GOD, JOHN!”

Sherlock finally recognized his friend’s name as the safe word and stopped abruptly. (Y/N) took in a deep breath and then she fell to the pillow, unconscious.

-

“Was she… Shouting my name?” John inquired. He was checking (Y/N), minutes after she had fainted.

“That’s our safe word.” Sherlock replied nonchalantly. His eyes were glued to her.

“Why did you choose my name as your safe word?” John insisted.

“We both know that the only way to stop me is by ruining the mood.” Sherlock explained, “When will she wake up?”

“I don’t know, but you should let her rest.” John said, “And you should also reconsider this whole… Series of Experiments.”

“Why would we? It’s science, John.” Sherlock whined. John rolled his eyes and dragged Sherlock out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Sherlock, sex isn’t supposed to be… THIS!” John argued in a whisper, “You’re supposed to do it with someone you have feelings for.”

“First of all, (Y/N) is someone I estimate dearly; second of all, there’s people out there who do it just because they…” Sherlock argued but John interrupted.

“People like Irene?” The detective nodded, “It’s different. Besides, I’m sure she only played with those who she felt attracted for. I’m not saying that you must be in love, but there has to be some kind of deeper affection that just… colleagues.”

“What is wrong with being colleagues?” Sherlock cocked an eyebrow.

“(Y/N) is someone who deserves more than that, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I am fully conscious of that. What is your point?” John groaned in desperation.

“Unless you are planning to give her the full spot by your side, I’d say you stop playing with her. She doesn’t deserve to be your… Your toy!”

“She is not my toy.” Sherlock stated.

“Then what is she?”

-

(Y/N) stretched as she woke up. She had forgotten all about her experiment, and it wasn’t until she felt Sherlock’s cold hand on the lower part of her back that all of the memories returned to her.

“Did it work?” She asked with a raspy voice.

“It did.” Sherlock answered.

“You don’t sound very convinced.” She flirted.

In fact, Sherlock wasn’t convinced at all. John had made him think things through, and he had gotten to the realization that there were limits to be set, boundaries and maybe even rules. But first of all, they had to label whatever was going on between them.

“The experiment worked perfectly. I proved a point and you still breathe.” Sherlock spoke numbly.

“Then what is causing you trouble?” She asked, finally opening her eyes to meet with his.

Sherlock looked strange. There was something off about him; something sad and embarrassed, but (Y/N) didn’t know what it was. In fact, she started fearing that she had ruined things.

“We must talk.” Sherlock whispered.

“All right, let’s talk.” She granted, trying to get up. She noticed Sherlock had dressed her with one of his silk shirts. “What is it?” She asked as she sat up in bed.

“What are we?”

Masterlist.

Sherlock Tags: @resurrection-huntress @oaisara @charlottemalfoy @zena-dukmak @just-a-blog00 @wefracturedmotivation @beccamullz @newts-fan-case @sugarshai @vancepter @roseyhxnt @thisisjessicatalking @foureyedsiopao @nicole-pierce @captain-sherlockomg @kissed-by-white-wolf @samanthasmileys @love-charmer-sketch @givemeamemoryicanuse @diesintheshower @demonminnion3 @thatmoodindigo @sexyporntime @jennajoseh @destiel5100 @peachyoshi64 @1enchantedfantasy1

[confidenceatitsfinest]

The Fire Was Screaming Out Your Name (And I Watched You Burn) 

Pairing: Jikook

Warning: very very slight mention of gore and drugs

Chapter 1

I finally got to writing chapter two after months! I am so sorry for the wait but I hope you enjoy the next chapter. I will try to update this earlier than I did this time.

Chapter 2 [Crossposted on AO3]

Jungkook woke up drenched in sweat. Another nightmare. He shouldn’t be surprised. Sleeping beside Jimin always seemed to quell his fears, stop the streak of horrors that plagued him every night in his cold bed, but last night was an exception.

He took a few shuddering breaths to calm himself. He looked over at Jimin who was still sleeping soundly and sighed at the sight. A swell of unusual contentment bloomed in his chest and no matter what he said to himself, he couldn’t crush that feeling of utter longing. Jimin was always painfully beautiful, but even more so when serenity washed over his features and smoothed out the firm hostility of his normal expression.

Jungkook knew it was way past the time they were supposed to be up and operating again, but he couldn’t bring himself to wake the older. So he lay beside him, watching like the loyal guard dog he was. Or thought he was. Jimin had never bothered to put a label on him – he did everything and anything – and Jungkook didn’t find the need to persist on asking for a name. It didn’t matter what he thought though, it was Jimin’s decision after all and he’d follow his orders all the way down to hell.

Jimin’s eyes suddenly snapped open, shocking Jungkook enough to make him gasp out loud and his muscles to tense.

“I’m sorry, hyung. Did I wake you?” He kept his voice as steady as he could to not betray the anxiousness he actually felt. Jimin always had that effect on him.

“No, it was about time I woke up anyways.” Jimin’s own voice was eerily calm, devoid of any emotion. But Jungkook could here the little lilt of satisfaction. His special privilege, after years of remaining under Jimin’s care and protection, was the ability to detect every tiny nuance of any kind of emotion Jimin expressed.

“Jungkook-ah,” the older’s tone snapped him out of his thoughts, “Did you sleep well?” It was an ordinary question to many, but to Jungkook, it had a meaning far deeper than the surface. A meaning that only held a meaning when between the two of them. He deemed it worse to lie because Jimin could always tell if he lied. It was the way he shifted his line of sight just slightly to the right or the twitch of his fingers against his thigh.

“For the most part…” Jungkook chose his words carefully.

“But?” He should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to escape Jimin’s perception. There was no use trying.

“But, I had another bad dream. It’s nothing worth concerning yourself over.” With that, Jimin walked up to him slowly, cold eyes meeting his and he struggled not to look away. Even after so long, Jungkook couldn’t look at him directly for long.

“Don’t tell me what I should and should not be concerned about. I know best.” Jimin hand shot up to grip his chin, tight enough for finger marks to be left behind and tight enough to make Jungkook to lower his gaze in an attempt to placate him.

“I apologize, hyung. I didn’t mean to imply that. I just meant…that my trivial sleeping problems should not hinder your business.” He felt Jimin’s hold on him slacken and the touch travel down to the sensitive spot just below his jawline. His breath hitched as Jimin’s thumb pressed into the soft skin of his neck, right above his pulse.

“Say, are you scared of me, Jungkook?” He shook his head the best he could while Jimin’s hand was still wrapped securely around his neck. One wrong move and the mafia leader could crush his windpipe under his palm. Not that it would’ve mattered to Jungkook. His life had always rested in Jimin’s hands and if he wished to blow out his flame, so be it.

“Do I make you nervous? If you lie again, I’ll have no choice but to punish you.” Jungkook felt small. He wanted to squirm in unease but his body betrayed him, too used to the strain of keeping his composure for hours on end (eighteen hours was his record, that one time Jimin had him act as a sniper).

“Just a little bit, hyung.” Jungkook tried his best to prevent himself from melting when Jimin started to gently stroke the spot just under his ear.

“Why is that?” A twinkle of amusement danced in Jimin’s eyes.

“I don’t want to disappoint you.” He wasn’t lying. He’d never forgive himself if he let Jimin ever feel as much as an ounce of disappointment in him, would hurt himself for lowering Jimin’s expectations.

“Ah, you’re not scared of dying? Of me killing you so, so easily?” The pressure against his neck was back and forcing its way to the top of Jungkook’s senses.

“No.” The soft not anymore never left his mouth.

Jimin let go of his neck, leaving a dull throbbing in his wake. He pat Jungkook’s cheek softly, satisfied with the daily manipulation of his most loyal subordinate, his sweet little puppy, his deadly Jungkookie. A wry smile tilted the corners of his mouth up, eyes flashing with an emotion Jungkook couldn’t decipher.

“You should be, Jungkookie. You should be terrified of me.” He sounded resigned and Jungkook furrows his eyebrows slightly at that. Jimin hadn’t done anything too extreme that had traumatized him more than the things he’s seen with his own eyes while he was still crawling along the icy streets.

“Hyung treats me well.” Jungkook’s voice was barely above a whisper, not daring to defy Jimin’s words but also implying why Jungkook could never be truly afraid to stand beside him. The older does treat him well, better than he treats his other subordinates for whatever reason and Jungkook would like to keep that special treatment for as long as he can.

“Is that so…” Jimin pressed a finger against the junction of his neck again, where he’d left the distinct fingerprints on the previously unblemished skin. He dropped his hand and said nothing as he leaves Jungkook alone in the room.

Silence enveloped the room at Jimin’s exit and the sun pours into the room again, as if the sun too was afraid of the older’s presence before. It’s a shame, Jungkook thought, Jimin hyung would be beautiful in the sunlight.

He made the bed quickly and closes the door as gently as he could as to not make a sound loud enough to echo through the halls. He walked his way to the kitchen where he often had breakfast with the cooks and servants. He knocked on the wooden door gently and once it opened, he was squeezed with strong arms.

“Jungkookie! I missed you! How’s my favorite little assassin?” Jungkook laughed, hugging the taller male back just as tightly.

“Hi Jinnie hyung, I haven’t seen you in a while.” He had a different kind of love for him. He was the one that gave him the affection he craved when Jimin wasn’t around.

“Too long if you ask me. Come on, I have this new recipe and I want you to try it first.” Jin pulled him in by the wrist and sat him on a chair beside Yugyeom and Mingyu, the two apprentice chefs under his oldest hyung. They both pat him on the back with warm smiles and immediately dove into conversation.

At times like these, Jungkook feels normal, like he isn’t constantly surrounded by splatters of blood and whiffs of drugs, like he’s just a normal young adult with a job and friends that care for him. Even if he dreams about that alternate life sometimes, he still wouldn’t trade his current circumstances for the world. Because in that other dimension, he’d never have met his precious Jimin hyung, he’d never get close enough to see the sparks of fire in his eyes, he’d never get a touch of that smooth skin, he’d never get to watch those marks on his own body fade.

A steaming bowl of beef stew was placed in front of him and his eyes sparkled in appreciation. He nodded his thanks to Jin before immediately blowing on the spoonful and tasting the glorious first bite.

Jin looked at him expectantly, “How is it?”

“It’s amazing hyung, really. The best I’ve ever had.” Jungkook wasn’t lying. Nobody else has ever cooked for him. Growing up in a corrupt orphanage where he had to scavenge for food himself and being kicked out onto the streets at the tender age of sixteen had enhanced his gratefulness for someone like Jin in his life.  

Jin ruffled his hair affectionately and returned to stirring the soup he was going to serve for lunch.

“Hey, Kook, how was your last job?” Mingyu had a thinly veiled expression of concern crossing his handsome features.

“It was fine as always, Gyu, don’t worry.” He flashed his friend a soft smile to reassure him.

“You can’t just tell us not to worry, we’re your friends! And boss always sends you on the most dangerous missions!” Jungkook put a finger to his lips, silently telling Yugyeom to lower his voice.

He knew that if Jimin even had the thought that Yugyeom was defying him, one of his best friends would die. He didn’t have the luxury of being a favorite like Jungkook was.

“I know…but I can do it. It’s the least I can do for him after everything.” Mingyu and Yugyeom could not argue against the sheer devotion.

Jungkook took steady steps towards the study room down the hall. Jimin had called for him earlier with nothing but a demand to meet him after lunch.

“Hyung, it’s me.” He opened the door and stepped in. Jimin was leaning back in his office chair, black hair slicked back and eyes hooded.

Jungkook immediately noticed the glass of whiskey on the cherry wood desk.

“Jungkookie, do me a favor.” It was a command behind pretty words. A wolf dressed in sheep’s clothing. That didn’t stop Jungkook from handing his whole existence to the other man whole-heartedly.

“Anything.” If Jimin noticed the deeper meaning, he didn’t show it.

“I’m meeting with a potential business partner tonight. You will be accompanying me tonight.”

Jungkook felt the need to clarify, “I will be attending as your bodyguard, hyung?”

“No,” Jimin swirled the amber liquid in the glass and took a sip, “This time, you’ll be attending as my equal.”

“H-hyung?”

“Not today, Jungkook-ah. Do you want hyung to get hurt?”

“No.” And he didn’t. He would never forgive himself. He would die before he let anybody harm a hair on Jimin’s head.

“Then you must call me by my name. Go on, try it.” The slight smile on the older’s face indicated that he was amused.

“Ji-Jimin hyung.” Jimin shook his head in disapproval and Jungkook felt himself shying away from the eyes directed at him.

“Jimin.” The name rolled off his tongue easily, in familiarity, as if another version of him had no qualms about saying Jimin’s name so casually. If it was anyone else, he was sure their head would be rolling on the ground before they could open their mouth to say another word.

“That wasn’t so hard now was it? Good job. Just remember that for tonight.”

“Yes, hyung.”

“Ah, humans are such creatures of habit,” Jimin’s eyes got distant and Jungkook wondered if he thought of himself as something other than human, “You may leave.”

Jungkook dipped his head in respect and slipped out of the room, leaving Jimin to stare out the window.

Later that evening, Jungkook returned to his room to find a suit laid out on the bed for him. It was different from his usual mission uniform. This one was evidently more polished, with cuff links and a tie clip. He took a quick shower in his personal bathroom and slipped into the clothes Jimin had chosen. Everything fit as perfectly as usual.

He styled his hair the best he could, tried to do the slick-backed look Jimin liked to sport but ended up going back to his usual, bangs falling just above his eyes.

“Jungkook, you ready to go?” A deep, muffled voice came from the other side of the door.

“Yeah, Tae, tell Jimin hyung I’ll meet him by the car.”

“Will do.”

Jungkook ran his fingers through his hair one more time, put on the wristwatch Jimin had given him for eighteenth birthday, and closed the door to his room.

Jimin’s chauffeur opened the door for him, Taehyung and Yoongi would follow in another car as a precaution, and he slid in beside the other man.

“Ah, Jungkook, you look good.” Jimin reached up to straighten his tie.

“Thank you, hyung.”

“Remember what I taught you?”

“Yes…Jimin.”

“Good boy.”

They sat in relative silence, Jimin staring blankly and Jungkook wringing his hands in his lap. He wasn’t used to going to these kinds of negotiations. He normally worked behind the scenes, not in these formal situations.

A hand on his wrist stopped his ministrations, “You have to relax, Jungkook. You know, they can smell fear. Do you know why I believed you when you said you weren’t afraid of me this morning?” Jungkook shook his head.

“Because I can smell fear too and I could tell you weren’t scared of me.”

“I’m not scared, hyung, I’m just nervous. This is important to you and I don’t want to ruin anything.” Jungkook was well aware this deal was more volatile than Jimin let on with his constant façade of nonchalance.

“Trust yourself that you won’t and nothing will happen.” To outsiders, these words may just seem like a piece of advice, but to Jungkook it was the closest to verbal comfort that Jimin has ever shown.

Neither of them said anything more until the car stopped in front of a warehouse. Jimin stepped out of the car first and held his hand out for Jungkook to take. He looked up in slight confusion. Right, equals.

Jungkook walked pressed against Jimin’s side, their hands brushing, “Don’t speak unless I give you the signal to.” An ominous feeling tugged at the back of Jungkook’s mind but he bushed it aside as nerves.

With that, they walked into the lion’s territory.

[lachryprose]

June 24, 2019

"A Festival for the Broken-Hearted”

  A quarter after six in the evening, a white sedan arrives at a waterfront. There, hundreds of families are milling around, enjoying the modest breeze of January. Child-friendly rides are in regular operation. Vendors are selling popcorn, balloons and an assortment of toys in vivid red and white stands. Game stalls are also found scattered in the open. 

   Somewhere in the middle, a technical team is busy assembling a stage for some sort of band performance. It would certainly bring delight to anyone who would see such a boisterous place, overflowing with festive activities and untrammeled merriment. 

   But for some, it’s the closest place to shun their thoughts with noise.

  “Late as usual.” A young lady named Sierra remarks dryly. Her eyes emotionless and static.

  “Not bad, isn’t it? Ten minutes earlier than last time!” Beams a man as he wipes the sweat on his face with a handkerchief.

  Sierra turned sharply to the man, with a stare so piercing, it made him uneasy. Looking at her eyes, she must’ve been lost in sorrow for days.

  “Is it not always the case? Franco?” Her tears are threatening to flow any moment now.

  “I-I’m sorry, I’ll try to make it up to you.” A fretful look flashes on Franco’s face.

  Unconvinced, Sierra goes back to amusing herself with the distant horizon. It has been a month since the two had spoken to each other. 

   Around them, children are playing. Near an ice cream cart, a little girl of about 5 years buys a vanilla soft serve, along with a little boy, some inches taller than her. When they leave, the girl looks distractedly at a balloon stand. She doesn’t notice her ice cream falling from its cone. Finding it splattered on the ground, she grabs it with her small hands and puts it back. But the boy takes the cone and throws it in the garbage bin. The girl cries pitifully but the boy gives her his ice cream and she stops sobbing. 

   An impenetrable silence bridges the channel between Sierra and Franco. But with much concern, Franco revives the conversation. 

   “Do you think I’m boring?” He knows the answer might horrify him, but he needs to hear the words to find rest from his racing mind.

   Sierra’s eyes close, and her gaze found the concrete floor as she opens them.

   “Have you ever thought about the end of this tunnel?” Sierra’s eyes are weary.

   “If you imagine a tunnel, you would only see darkness upon entering. Your senses will crave for some light, of course. But there’s the sky, and we’re outside aren’t we?” Franco lightens the mood.

   There’s no change of expression on Sierra’s face.

   “But, on a serious note, no. Because endings don’t exist as long as you live in the story.” 

   Somewhat inflamed, Sierra says, “And if there’s only a few chapters left? What do you think will happen to the characters?” 

  “They’ll find a way to begin a sequel.”

   Something behind Sierra catches Franco’s attention. “Wait for me here. Don’t leave.” Then he darts away.

   Her gaze follows him. He goes to a food stall to buy a pair of pink cotton candies, a tray of nachos and two bottles of soft drinks. From a gift shop, a stuffed bear holding a flaming red heart attracts him. He buys the toy before going back.

   Franco spots an unoccupied bench nearby and calls for her, “Hey, my sweet Sierra! We can sit over there, come on!”

   They both sit quietly. Franco offers the food to Sierra but she only gives it with a cold stare. He’s crunching loudly, as though to annoy her, for which he is quite successful. Sierra glowers at him but somehow manages a smile while her fingers are fishing some nachos. 

  The sun nearly touches the edge of the ocean. But the crowd still thickens by the minute. At the center, more and more people are swarming as the stage is approaching complete erection.

   Franco pulls out the stuffed animal from the gift box, and he says to Sierra, “If you won’t take my apology, would you perhaps, listen to my new friend here?”

   He changes his voice.   

   “Hello, miss! Can I take your hand, please?” He imitates a young girl’s irresistible voice. But Sierra looks at him incredulously. Franco frowns, so she holds the bear’s paw with her right hand, which he wraps around his left. 

   “Would you please adopt me and take care of me? I swear I’d be a good boy. I know this guy here is a jerk,” Franco yanks the bear’s hands toward himself, as if to fend him away. “that is quite obvious with his impishness and lame jokes, but do you know he loves you very much? And I can love you as much as he does!” 

   Sierra bursts in laughter, revealing her smile and gleaming teeth, as beautiful as the moon, as sweet as honey, as tender as love itself. 

   “Why, of course, young one. Aren’t you the most adorable bear out there?” She says in a gentle, earnest tone.

   “But this, I’m too certain to know, you are the most adorable person out there! Not to mention the most beautiful!” Franco accentuates with a glint of contentment in his eyes.

   A warm smile crosses Sierra’s face. For a short-lived breath in time, the electricity of their eyes recharges the connection they might have lost. A thousand words are being told through that stare, and, as it turns out, it is enough to understand that nothing could get any better than coming back to the arms of love. 

   “And nobody knows you better than he does.” Franco continues.

   But the bitterness of truth invades the sweetness of the moment and breaches its veil. 

   “You do know, but I don’t think you understand me.” Sierra mumbled.

   Confused at most, Franco asked, “I don’t?”

   She stands upright and said, “I just don’t see the point of it all. There are better things that deserve our time, better than something aimless, vague and immensely variable.”

   “Variable? But isn’t everything variable? We can never be sure of what unfolds next as we the turn the pages of our book. We can never figure out where things will lead no matter how keen and measured we are in observing the roads we’re taking. All we have to do is to believe it will work out.”

   “Tell me how am I supposed to do that? If we keep fighting over things that should have consolidated our relationship? And I’m not sure anymore if we should call this a relationship, because even that is purely existential!”

   Downright bewildered, a surge of anger begins to stir inside of Franco. He swings his head sideways in disbelief.  

   “So what are you asking for?” He speaks as calmly as he could.

   “What am I asking for? Oh god!”

   “Sounds to me like you want us to be in a legal relationship with a nice emblazoned label on our foreheads to mark us boyfriend and girlfriend when you said it yourself that it is impossible to tell your family right now!”

   “That is absolutely the reason why I think it’s pointless! Our parents don’t recognize what we have! ”

   “But you know we could be patient to wait a few more years until we tell them, right? Unless you get so infested with your pet-peeves you forgot that I was one of them?”

   “No! That’s not it! We’re going against the current here, and I don’t think I could ever bear to go any further if we’ll never figure out what to do with the rest of our time!”

   They are beginning to draw attention to themselves as their voices grow into moderate screams. 

   “No! But you promised me! And it was only a few months before!”

   “Oh god! You and your childish whims!”

   “Childish? I believe that promises should be kept! And it was you who made it in the first place! Everything you say matters the most to me!”

   “That’s barely a promise! Oh god! Why can’t you just give it up so we can both move along?”

   “Wait, what do you mean give it up? No, I-”

   “JUST GIVE IT ALL UP!”

   A long, uncomfortable silence drowns their conversation. Only after a few minutes passed does Franco makes sense of Sierra’s last words.

   “So, do you really want to end it?”

   “I’m sorry.”

   “Why?”

   Both upset, their eyes loses contact with each other. The question remains unanswered in midair. They try to settle their gaze on something else to relieve themselves of discomposure. 

   Near the promenade’s edge, a pair of mischievous boys are frolicking around. Having seen a stray puppy, they hold their toy swords in battle position and starts to brandish those at the poor animal. The puppy, trembling in fear, attempts to escape them, but gets hit in the head for each try. Meanwhile, a woman of about thirty walks nearby and seems to have been looking for someone. She spots the boys and sees what they’re up to. She could’ve been their mother or guardian because she pinches their ears and scolds them but it is already impossible to hear with all the noise in place. 

   Franco holds Sierra’s hands with much passion and sincerity, “I’m trying the best I could, Sierra. And if that isn’t enough still, I swear I would do anything you ask of me. I never wanted someone as much as I wanted you in my life. I have no other words to explain this, but, I love you. Please, I really do. Please be a permanent part of my life.”

   “But I don’t want to be a part of this. Not anymore. I’m sorry, Franco.”

   “But I love you. Give me this one chance.” Franco catches her gaze, and, without hesitance nor any concern of people watching them, kneels on the ground and closes his eyes as though he is about to recite the most solemn prayer he has ever made. 

   “Stand up, don’t make a scene.” 

   “Please?” 

   At the central plaza, music starts to wind its way from the large speakers to the wide unmasked sky. The crowd has grown larger since the last half-hour.

   A subtle risk for Franco, he invites Sierra to come closer to the stage. The emcee introduces the sponsors, the organizers and the line-up of the bands. 

  The first band opens the concert with a full-blown pop song which energized the crowd and got everyone jumping to their feet.

   Franco shouts and nudges Sierra. “It’s fun, isn’t it?”

   Sierra stands there wearing a frown. 

   “Feel this moment, let the music fill you up.”

   “Yeah. I might.”

   The first band plays a couple of electro-pop songs before the second one comes to the stage. The following band is set to perform indie music.

   During one of the slow-tempo songs, Franco faces Sierra and takes both of her hands. Gradually, his eyes fall to a distant universe as his lips are sensing her’s in the sporadic darkness. Until, at last, they met in the moment’s most intimate second. There is no music playing, but only one that their hearts has written and engraved into each other’s stars.

   Love, beyond any circumstances, is still love.

   When the daze left their eyes, they both wake in the sound of the band playing an emotionally-touching song. 

   Sierra manages a genuine smile that can melt hearts. True as it can be, but her eyes are screaming freedom. She wants to leave. But Franco holds her tight, never wanting to let go. She shrugs and finally, her tears fill the emptiness of her words. 

   “I loved you. But, I’m sorry.”

   The noise booming everywhere softens to a dead, impregnable silence to Franco’s ears as he watch Sierra squeeze her way through the crowd, occasionally getting bumped by someone who’s lost in the concert’s pleasure. 

   When he makes it out of the last line of concert-goers, Franco sees Sierra scurrying towards the parking area. He initially thought that she’s after his car, but, shockingly, she enters the car next to his. A black, glossy sedan, looking fresh from the showroom, perhaps. Wondering who drives the car, he sees a man with a smoke on his mouth. 

   Sierra, on the other hand, is oblivious of Franco’s presence and kisses the man as if to tell him to bring the engines back to life. He stares at them right until the windows closed and the car speeds away. 

   Lost in thought, Franco looks back at the live performance. The current artist sings a ballad fit for his shattered heart. Mingling back to the crowd, he loses himself in the midst of several other souls resonating in the music’s pure emotion. 

   “And if this is the end... Then there is no beginning to wait.”