#may check in tomorrow to disagree with myself

[schleierkauz]

waitwaitwaitwait I want to see yours how far back do I have to scroll? years?

did some power scrolling and found it, voila: https://www.tumblr.com/schleierkauz/691312504492703744/resa-and-cockerell

[st-dorothy-minority]

"Hurt" - an emotional, angst-filled Radioapple fic

I greatly hesitate to post this. It is very, very special to me and feels more vulnerable than anything I've written. (And honestly, I may delete it at any point 😩)

I would love it if you could spare a comment if you read this and share your thoughts.

I wasn't going to finish this, but I've been seriously struggling this month myself, and it's one small thing I can contribute for Suic*de Awareness & Prevention month.

Based on the song "Hurt" by Christina Aguilera (please check that out before reading to get the full impact. Imagine the song sung by Charlie https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/christinaaguilera/hurt.html)

Dedicated to @persephoneblck - thank you for your love and support through my struggles ❤️

-----------

“Charlie, I-”

“Just don't! I can't do this anymore! For once, I wish you'd show up when others need you, when I need you!”

“But Charlie-”

“Mom was right. You don't know how to be a husband. You don't know how to be a leader. And you sure as hell don't know how to be a dad! I won't ever ask for anything from you ever again. I don't want you in my life anymore!”

As she turned her back on her father and returned to what remained of the hotel with the other residents, Lucifer felt himself quickly losing composure. Still, he made one last attempt to talk to her by calling out, “I’m proud of you, Charlie!” When she didn’t turn around, he lowered his gaze to the ground and added sorrowfully, “More than you could ever know.”

****

It was a couple hours before Alastor was able to check on his emotionally wrecked lover.

It was no surprise he found Lucifer still in the throes of depressive anguish.

Taking a seat on the floor where Lucifer sat next to the bed, Alastor placed a consoling hand on his back and rubbed it affectionately.

“We both know she didn’t mean what she said,” Alastor assured.

A few tears splashed onto the glass of the picture frame Lucifer held in his hands, which housed a photo of himself and Charlie that Vaggie had taken not long ago.

“She gets into fits of passion, like you, and ends up saying things that aren’t true,” Alastor continued when it was clear Lucifer wasn’t going to respond.

After a minute passed with more silence, Alastor gently pulled the picture away, set it aside, and took Lucifer’s now restless fingers in his hands to hold.

“Luci….No one is perfect. Mistakes happen. Hurt feelings happen. It’s a consequence of the human heart that seems to remain in us demons, including Charlie. She’s still a child with much to learn. You are doing a much better job than you give yourself credit for. Give yourselves some time to be apart for a bit. There is nothing wrong with maintaining some distance for a little while as she cools her head.”

Lucifer sniffled, wiped his eyes, and uttered pitifully, “But she’s right. All of it. I was never there when she needed me. I fucked up with Lilith….I’m a shitty, fucking failure, Alastor.”

“Now I absolutely have to disagree with you about all of that. You are trying. You are learning. You won’t get it right all the time. Let the past be the past with its wrongdoings. She’ll have to learn to do the same.”

Heaving a heavy sigh, Lucifer nodded. “Yeah….I guess you’re right….Thank you.”

“Of course.” He brought Lucifer closer, placed a soft kiss against his temple, and asked, “Care to lie down? You should rest.”

“Not yet. Think I might go take a bath and try to relax.”

“Want me to join you?”

“No, I, um....I think I want to be alone tonight.”

“Are you sure?” “Yeah. Plus, you should go back to check on everyone and help with whatever they need….since she doesn’t want my help….”

“Alright then. I’ll report back tomorrow with how things are and to check on you.”

Placing a finger under Lucifer’s chin, he tilted the devil’s head up to kiss him tenderly. When they pulled away, he was content to see Lucifer smiling.

“I missed that smile,” Alastor purred, causing Lucifer to giggle.

“Funny that you never give me the chance to miss yours.”

“If it’s any consolation, you certainly bear witness to my genuine ones more than any other demon in this Hell.”

“I’ll take that,” Lucifer conceded happily.

Doting one last kiss onto Lucifer’s hand, Alastor took his leave.

****

----Five Years Later----

Clutching her phone tightly in her grasp, Charlie blinked through the tears to find the most precious contact in her list. From the moment she saw the adorable duckie profile pic and the name, the relatively quiet crying became uncontrollable sobbing.

It was approaching mid-evening, and it was tradition to conclude the horribly painful day with a call to the person she missed more than anything. The person she longed to hug again. The person she yearned to see his smiling face again.

The person she owed everything to, the one she wished to apologize over and over again to.

The one who had taken his life because of her.

It was rare that a day passed when Charlie didn’t replay the last exchange she’d had with her father and felt her stomach twist into knots and the guilt consume her from realizing how cruel and heartless her final words to him had been. To have not even acknowledged his final words to her of how proud he was of her.

Attempting to take several deep breaths, she at last touched the screen to call her dad.

She knew he would never answer, yet his voicemail (and the messages he’d left on her phone that she hadn’t deleted) was the only way to hear his voice, even if it was brief and impersonal.

Hello fellow citizen of Hell! You’ve reached the head honcho himself, Lucifer Morningstar. If you aren’t in my contacts, how the fuck did you get my number? If you are, I’ll call you back at some point. If this is Charlie, I’ll get right back to you, sweetie! If this is an emergency, well, I don’t know what to tell you other than you’re probably S.O.L. Still wanna leave a message? Be my guest!

*beep*

“….Hi dad,” Charlie began in a tiny, constricted voice. She paused briefly due to the uneven breaths attacking her, closed her eyes, inhaled deeply as best she could, and tried again. “I um….I miss you….so much. I’m so sorry for what I said and blaming you. I didn’t mean it….I was wrong….so, so wrong…..I wish you were here….I still have so many questions and….I need you….I need you, dad….I was mad, I didn’t mean it….I love you and I just want you back. I want to understand. I love you….”

She was able to end the call before the phone slipped from her hand and she hugged herself as the crushing grief overtook her.

I wish you were here….I need a hug….I’m so sorry….

She felt the presence of her new company before he even sat next to her. On the balcony of the hotel overlooking her inherited kingdom, Alastor joined her on the bench without a word. This had also become their tradition – to share the remainder of the evening together in silence with the only other person who understood more than anyone else how suffocating the loss felt. They each had very different relationships with Lucifer, but the fact remained they each loved him beyond measure.

While Charlie’s regret plagued her in the form of her last words to Lucifer, Alastor’s was rooted in having left him alone that night. If only he’d insisted on staying, denied Lucifer’s request, and remained at his side. The memory of finding the king of Hell submerged in golden-tainted water in the bathtub, his wrists and neck sliced open to the bone by the only weapon in the realm that could mortally wound him, haunted Alastor just as vividly all these years later. He could still recall Charlie’s screams of denial and sorrow when he told her what had happened, remembered how she grabbed onto him as her knees gave out and they held each other for nearly an hour, drowning out everything and everyone around them.

Once Charlie regained her composure for the most part, Alastor eased his arm across her shoulders and drew her closer to rest against him in a loving embrace. His other hand took hers and held it, and they stayed this way for hours.

Eventually, Vaggie came to help Alastor escort Charlie to bed, which Alastor appreciated because he knew Charlie would continue to be cared for during the hardest night of the year.

As for him, it was the one night he returned to Lucifer’s home and laid in the bed he’d shared with the fallen angel. He fetched Lucifer’s favorite over-sized duckie plushie to cuddle with – the one he’d always teased his lover about whenever Lucifer chose to hug it at bedtime – and breathed in deeply. The scent was fading, but it was enough to revitalize the memory.

Letting the tears fall at last, Alastor whispered, “I’m sorry I left you when you needed me most. I love you.”

[spider-xan]

I'm not going to write a post about this myself, but amidst the fun of the three suitors in today's entry, if you're a first-time reader who may have psychiatric abuse, institutionalization, etc. as mental health or trauma triggers, I recommend checking out this excellent post by @crepuscol last year which marks off which Seward updates involve the asylum and doctor-patient interactions, as that part of the story involving him and Renfield starts tomorrow on May 25; I know someone last year also wrote detailed summaries of those entries for people who might not want or be able to read them directly, but I don't remember who it was - if anyone does, please add a link!

This could be an entire post itself, so I'll try to keep this brief, but Seward is arguably the most complex character in terms of morality in a story where everyone else is either Good or Evil, as he is ultimately capable of both great heroism and great harm, even if he harbours no evil intent; as such, he is a difficult character to discuss on many levels and things will get heated for understandable reasons, but it's important to remember that we should look at his character as a whole - neither sanitizing nor exaggerating his bad actions, neither erasing his good actions nor using them to excuse the bad ones - in good faith when analyzing him, as all aspects of him are important to the narrative and themes.

Also, since we're all doing Dracula Daily for fun, no one is obligated to read those updates if you can't or don't want to, and similarly, be understanding of those people even if you disagree, especially when a lot of the ableism in those entries still happens today, as psychiatric wards are the modern successor to asylums.

[klogmoney]

do you know me? really know me?

do you know why i cry so much?

do you know why im so defensive?

do you know why im afraid of hurting people?

do you know why i dont understand my emotions?

do you know why i dont truly know who i am?

all i know is im in this body for this life. and im a pretty big fuck up; i wish i could take back alot of my mistakes, starting with him. i shouldnt have treated him that way, i was terrible to him. i did treat him like shit at times, probably used him as a punching bag on accident and i hate myself for that so i am trying to better myself.

i want to help my friends when there struggling; so not talking about myself alot. easy fix

helping when others need is probably good.

and yea ik im only 14 i have the rest of my life to live , but tomorrow isnt guaranteed.

so i need to work to better myself because nobody wants to die as a fuck up. so i need to apologize to anyone i hurt. and that may be hard but learning from my mistakes is how you learn.

if we as humans didn’t make mistakes there really wouldn’t be anything to learn. its really just apart of life you make mistakes and learn from it. if you make mistakes and dont learn from it ill b a bit concerned for u.

ok i wanna try something new,, i wanna attempt to do daily questions if theres anyone who actually sees my page anymore soo

do you think music is a form of thearpy?

if yall can/ want to tell me why or why not u agree/disagree with music being a form of thearpy..

ok ill check in in a bit ttyl!!

xx-dumbass

[aaronhillsworld]

In regards to our inner child and internal parent remember whatever gets rewarded gets repeated. The question to ask yourself is “am I rewarding myself or punishing myself for how I’m doing in this season or even right now present moment in life?” Punishment to the internal system and to the psyche is a form of reward. Remember the saying “you get what you ask(ed) for?” This means if you are experiencing repeating negative cycles you may notice that it’s because you are rewarding the cycle either internally, externally, or both simultaneously consciously or unconsciously, with or without even realizing it….. and that can be even if you disagree with it or doesn’t feel good to you because someone else planted the toxic ideas before you got a chance to form your own healthy ideas… End your day by appreciating yourself for doing the best that you can and take that time to be grateful for the smallest smile to the most super sized successes that you have/had. Whatever gets rewarded gets repeated. If you’re seeing negativity in your life check to see what you’re rewarding….. same with positivity. Your internal system can’t distinguish the difference between rewarding, something that positively life affirming or negatively self deprecating. It just replicates, reproduces and regurgitates whatever you put in it. What kind of thoughts, music and food are you putting in your body? 🤔 Now, let’s talk about your answers to those questions tomorrow at 5M Soulful Self Care Saturdays Workshop… details in the comments. 👀 (at One God One Thought Center Center for Better Living) https://www.instagram.com/p/CpV3bw9pA6-/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[mattydemise]

23:11. October 8th, 2022.

I can’t believe how busy it was behind the bar this evening. It was an unexpected but sexy surprise. Many cocktails were made, a lot of passionfruit martinis, there was a massive table of twenty-something chicks. A lot of sweet stuff. Doesn’t bother me though because I enjoy making it all. Except mojitos. They’re too fucking time consuming. I’ve tried to streamline the process a little but ultimately it doesn’t change much. The mojito used to be my favourite cocktail to make and now it’s fallen to the bottom of the inglorious heap. Back at it tomorrow, opening the cocktail lounge at 14:30, I think there may be a booking in there. I disagree with the concept of making a booking for a cocktail lounge. Owners want it to be more exclusive but I think it has the potential to rob the place from the sort of spontaneous decision making that inspires most people’s fucking booze crawls. Doesn’t matter, I’ll chuck on some good tunes, flirt my cock off, and make people smile. I’m carving out that niche I always wanted for myself. No more restraining myself or holding myself back. Life’s too short to compromise your own identity. I get a lot more compliments and praise for my work when I’m just killing it and being myself. Near closing time I went and hung out with some older chicks and shot the shit for 5 minutes while it was slow, and one of them said I looked like Sebastian Bach. That’s, what, three in a week? Didn’t know people even remembered Skid Row. I need to buy some Skid Row merch and cut the sleeves off to make some sick tank tops for summer. A boy can dream! I just checked eBay and there’s a lot of vintage Skid Row merch but the thought of wearing some old battered tank top covered in beer, sweat, and bodily fluids doesn’t really get my dick hard. Unless? Just kidding. Or am I?

[its-deputy-caleb]

If you're feeling up to writing a bit of Mikey, could I please request him being an asshat to everyone and being told off by his S/O after he asks Jack if he wants to earn a dollar?

(You know the part where he says to ask Arthur about the stick up his butt?)

He's such a dickhead and I find myself telling the screen off when he does it! 😂

OR

His S/O giving him a slap and a bollocking after he kicks Cain, then they fuss over Cain and force Micah to make friends with him.

I dunno, it's up to you 😂 You could write any scenario you want, I'll still love it 😘😘

i am always up to writing for a bit of mikey (that nickname is so cute) but ngl i had no idea how to write this or put this together. I watched the clips again so i could get it accurate but i changed it bc i didn't know if u wanted a happy ending or not but i hope i delivered <33 also u asked for either and i gave u both :)

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

Clemens Point was a strange place with even stranger people. After leaving valentine in a hurry it seems the entire gang was on edge and ready to blow like a stick of dynamite. It seems having to act like upstanding heartfelt citizens to the Grays and the Braithwaites has meant everyone is that aggravated and pent up.

On more than one occasion you’d seen Sadie lose it when Pearson got to pushy with chores and it seems Abigail and John couldn’t stand to have a normal conversation for five minutes before one of them broke. It wasn’t much better with Dutch and Hosea who were constantly disagreeing on the right moves for the gang, although they were much more civil about it.

You did your best to keep out of everyone’s way, to avoid the confrontation but knowing your luck you’d end up getting involved one way or another.

You were returning to camp one sweltering hot afternoon with Sadie after you finished collecting the gang’s weekly stock from the general store. You were only half listening to the hustle around the camp as you were too busy listening to Sadie tell you all about Pearson’s dear aunt Cathy. You stepped off the wagon and headed to the back to start unloading some of the supplies when the sound of Micah’s voice could be heard talking to Jack.

“How’d ya like to earn a dollar?”

His voice with thick with malice as he hunched over the wooden table. In Micah’s hands was a silver nickel that he fiddled with between his fingers, much like you’d seen of him do with his knife. Your eyes found Jack who was almost reluctant to get anywhere near the man who you knew scared him. However, being the innocent child that he was his eyes lit up at the sight of something shiny.

“A dollar? Sure.”

You carried the heavy bag of potatoes over to Pearson’s wagon as you went back for another round of supplies but you kept the boy in the corner of your eye.

“Well…go on up to old Arthur Morgan, ask him about the pole he’s got stuck up his ass and I’ll give ya a dollar.”

Micah’s face lit up in a smirk, his accent thick and his typical evil giggle falling from his mouth. He sat back on the chair, satisfied at the mischief he’s caused.

Before you could get anywhere Jack had run off to where Arthur was sitting in his tent, reading over a letter. You placed another round of ammunition into Strauss’ wagon, dropping it hastily and running as you saw Arthur walk right up to Micah with a murderous look in his eye.

“I’ll give you a dollar if you shut your—“

Arthur didn’t get to finish his insult before you stepped in front of him with a soft hand on his shoulder. You gave him a soft smile and a nod, quietly saying to your dear friend that you’d handle this.

With that you turned with your own look of anger directed to Micah. Everyone knew you loved him but they also knew you didn’t hesitate to call him out and get him to behave when you had to.

“Micah leave the damn boy alone!”

He scoffed like he wasn’t offended you didn’t defend him and instead chose to call him out. Micah’s hands came up in his signal of fake defeat as he slowly backed away from his place at the table, acting as if he was nothing more than the innocent bystander and not the one who nearly ended up on the ground with a broken nose for starting it.

You watched as Micah lingered around the edge of the camp, his eyes trained to yours as he lit a cigarette but you ignored him. Instead you walked over to Jack, smiling softly and taking his hand to lead him to the river’s edge.

“Common, why don’t we go see if we can find any beautiful rock on the sand, hmm? I’m sure your mother would love such a beautiful gift.”

-

Of course, it wasn’t more than a few days later when you ran into trouble again with Micah. You’d spent your time ignoring him mostly, instead choosing to go hunting with Charles and Arthur, practice your throwing knives with Javier and help teach Jack to read. You knew how badly it pissed Micah off to do things without him but he needed to understand that there was a way to treat people, especially with people you considered family.

You rolled up your sleeves, using your forearm to wipe the sweat from your forehead as you picked up the knife and started cutting carrots and potatoes for tonights stew.

“Are you a good boy? Yes you are! The best boy”

Your head came up to notice bill sitting against the log by the campfire, scratching under Cain’s chin and giving the energetic dog pats along the back. You couldn’t help but smile at the new addition to the gang and how happy it made you to see Bill less stressed. It seemed that having Cain made everyone feel more caring and loving.

All except Micah.

“You’re the fool that feed’s him Marion. He ain’t nothing more than a filthy mongrel and an extra mouth to feed.”

Micah had stood from his place on the opposite side of the campfire to antagonise Bill. A frustrated noise leaves you as you slam the knife down on the wooden bench, ready to storm over there and chew Micah’s ear off. You take a step forward only for Miss Grimshaw, who was working next to you, to grab your arm and stop you before you get any further.

“There is a time and a place dear, don’t make it worse.”

Of course you knew Susan was just trying to keep another argument from happening but you push past her when you see Micah inching towards Cain who had left his spot at Bill’s feet to hide by a wagon. In a split second decision you pick the knife you’re cooking with and use it like a throwing knife to get his attention. The knife swings through the air, not getting near anyone, it wasn’t like you actually wanted to stab Micah no matter how badly he could get on your nerves and watched as it got wedged into the tree behind him.

Micah’s head shot up, his foot moving away from Cain and stared dumbfounded and shocked, unused to seeing you so skilfully throw a knife but your practices paid off. You walked right into his personal space, taping your finger against his chest.

“Don’t. You. Dare”

Micah’s first response was to try and sweet-talk his way out of it like he always does but you were in no mood to deal with his slyness.

“Dare to do what sweetheart? Common now… weren’t gonna do nothin—“

Your hand came to give Micah a crisp slap across the cheek, apart of you was shocked that you’d even do such a thing but the other half of you was furious.

“Don’t underestimate for a minute that I won’t dump you right now and throw you out of camp Micah. I’m not some stranger you can sweet-talk when you get in trouble. I swear, if I see you go anywhere near Cain the knife isn’t going to hit the tree next time.”

Micah’s eyebrows shoot up in shock as you lecture him in front of almost the entire gang. Even Dutch put his book down when he heard your slap. He was lost for words, truely, having now other thought as he watched you walk away back to preparing tonights stew. He didn’t move from his place until he heard you whistle for Cain to sit by your feet, where he went and meandered off into the forest to give you space. All he knew was that he must have fucked up bad if you threatened to leave him.

-

A few hours later you’d managed to calm down, watching the sunset after Ms Grimshaw gave you the rest of the night off to relax at how pent up you were. Now sitting here you couldn’t help but feel like you may have over reacted but Micah had pushed your buttons one too many times and if Micah was going to listen to anyone it would be you. You let out a soft but hearty sigh as the tension and stress from your shoulders left with your breath. Your body relaxed against the tree and you watched the sun gently dip below the horizon.

It was well and truely dark before you heard the rustling of grass and the thud of someone sitting next to you. You thought it may have been Arthur coming to check on you but that thought died when arms wrapped around your waist and you felt Micah rest his chin on your shoulder, his stringy hair tickling your face at the gentle breeze.

“…M’ sorry…”

A very quiet and forced apology was pulled from Micah as he cuddled into you, mumbling it into your shoulder at the pain of actually having to apologise.

“Sorry won’t cut it Micah. You have to stop treating people that I care about— people that are family better.”

Micah sighs, the defeated, tired one that shows he’s willing to listen because no matter how badly he stirs up trouble, the thought of losing you is enough to have him turn his mind around.

“I know…gonna make it up to ya I promise.”

A soft and very cautious kiss is placed on your shoulder with Micah knowing he’s still not forgiven by you yet.

“You’re damn well gonna make it up to me. Firstly you’re apologising to Jack first thing tomorrow and secondly you need to pull your weight for this gang— and no I’m not talking about robbing another coach. To start you can sit on guard duty with me and you can wash my clothes.”

“I’ll just buy you new clothes”

You give Micah a death glare as you tilt your head to look at him. Instantly his teasing smirk leaves and his arms come to wrap tighter around your body, resting his hands on your stomach and intertwining your fingers.

“Alright, alright… guard duty ain’t so bad.”

You sit together for a while in a comfortable silence. All the energy from today had left you and you no longer had it in you to keep arguing. You’d hold Micah to his promise to do better but for now you leant back into his embrace and rested your head against his.

“Can I at least sleep in the tent tonight?”

You smiled softly as you hummed in contemplation just to tease him. Micah hadn’t come to sleep in your shared tent since the day he messed with Jack and both of you had missed each other despite the frustration and anger you had.

“Hmm, we’ll see.”

Micah thinks you’ve said no, panicking internally but is stopped when you turn your head and place a soft kiss to his cheek over the mark from where you’d slapped him not so long ago. It wasn’t the kiss that he wanted but he still needed to make it up to you before you gave him what he wanted.

You reached a soft hand up behind you, cradling his head and rubbing your thumb over his sore cheek.

“Is your cheek okay?”

Micah let out a gravelly noise, deep from his chest as he leaned into your hand.

“Ain’t gotta worry sweetheart, I’ve survived much worse”

You don’t get to reply when a tentative and cautious Cain makes his way over to the two of you. You pat your leg and he curls up beside you with his head resting on your leg and his tail thumbing, relaxed and happy.

Micah on the other hand was not relaxed or happy as he tensed up and moved away from the dog and you. If it wasn’t for your hand holding the back of his head he probably would’ve jumped away.

“Micah Cain isn’t going to hurt you, he just wants attention like you. See? No need to be afraid.”

To prove your point you reach a hand out and gently brush over his short, grey fur, watching as he perks up.

“I ain’t afraid!”

You would’ve believed him if you didn’t catch the waver in his voice but you knew. You knew after seeing him be spooked by the animal more than once around camp.

The hand that was still intertwined with his gently guided his hand pat Cain, letting him slowly get comfortable to him.

It took some time but finally Micah had gotten used to Cain enough to realise he was clearly not a threat. At some point Cain had moved over to Micah’s side, resting beside him as the night became later.

A yawn left you and you slowly sank into Micah’s embrace, your eyelids falling shut as you dozed, clearly exhausted.

Holding Micah to his promise was a job for tomorrow, but for now you let yourself fall asleep in his arms, the tent be damned.

[can-youimagine]

Baby Girl

Summary: Part three to Mr. H

TW: Smut (18+, minors interacting will be blocked), feminine reader/AFAB reader, camgirl, sub!reader, bi!reader, dom/sub, punishment, orgasm denial, squirting, vibrators, nipple clamps, thigh riding, masturbation, cock warming, bulge kink

Word Count: 1199

A/N: this may or may not be inspired by a porn I watch and literally can't stop thinking about

Masterlist

“Hey, sweet girl, how’re you?”

You answer honestly, “Better now.”

Penelope giggles. “You’ll be home tomorrow, right?”

“Hopefully.”

“You sound tired. You need to get some rest.”

“No,” you protest. “I wanna talk to you. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too, but you’re going to need your energy for tomorrow.”

You push yourself off the hotel bed. “Oh?”

“You got a few gifts this week, one of them from a Mr. H. I’m sure he’ll want to see you use it once you get back.”

Your face heats up. “What is it?”

She laughs. “You’ll find out tomorrow. Get some rest.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good night, sweet girl.”

“Good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow cannot come fast enough. You have never been more eager to get back, and you are the first one on the jet. Everyone else files on soon after, wanting to put this case behind them. Though, no one, it seems, is more eager than you.

That is, until Hotch takes the seat next to you.

“Penelope checked my mail yesterday,” you say, trying to gauge his reaction.

“Oh?” He knows.

“Said I got a package from Mr. H.”

He glances at the rest of the team, who are paying him no mind. “Is that all?”

You shrug. “I’m not sure what it is, but she said it would be ready for tonight.”

He nods, concentrating on the file in front of him. “Good,” he mutters, ending the conversation.

To no one’s surprise, you and Penelope are amongst the first to leave. However, to everyone’s surprise, Hotch follows soon after.

When he gets home, he wastes no time opening your stream. It almost feels as if you were waiting for him.

You sit in the center of the bed, as you always do, but this time, instead of wearing your usual lingerie, you’re still in your work clothes. Penelope, however, is already completely naked.

“Tell them what you did,” she urges.

“I touched myself without permission. I’m so sorry, ma’am.”

“Sorry doesn’t change anything,” she scolds. “And, since you were so eager to come this week, I think I have just the punishment for you.” She grabs you, pulling you onto her lap. With a tap to your thigh, she orders you to straddle her thigh. You don’t need to be told what to do. You start riding her thigh without hesitation.

She pulls your shirt off. Your bra follows soon after. She pushes your skirt up, revealing your panties and giving the camera a nice view of your ass.

If Aaron had known you were wearing those all day, he’s not sure he would have been able to finish his work.

When your moans become too loud, Penelope orders you off of her. She slides your panties off, showing the large wet spot on them to the camera. “You were going to come just from that, weren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you answer shyly.

“Do you think you deserve to come tonight, after what you did this week?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Right answer.”

While you read the chat, Penelope grabs a toy from behind the camera. She comes back with a dildo that makes Aaron feel rather inadequate. “I have to do something. If you can warm this-no moving-I’ll revise your punishment.” She drops it next to you before leaving the room.

You quickly push it into yourself, letting out a few obscene moans. Once you’re settled, Aaron swears he can make out the imprint of it through your stomach.

“Oh,” you moan, “I feel so full.” It takes everything in you not to move. “She’s taking too long.”

Aaron disagrees. He likes to see you so desperate. Before watching your streams, he never would have guessed you could lose control so easily. Now though, it seems to be his favorite thing.

Chat is urging you to break Penelope’s rules. “I want to be good,” you whine, near tears, “I wanna be good.”

“You’ve been so good, baby girl,” Penelope interrupts, coming back into the room. “I think we can ignore your punishment, what do you think?”

“Oh thank you, ma’am, thank you so much.”

“Lay down,” she orders you, helping you slide back so that your face won’t be in frame. Grabbing a pillow, she lifts your hips so that your pussy will be the only part of you in the frame. “Are you ready for this to come out?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She kneels on the floor, the back of her head blocking the camera’s view as she removes the toy. The chat can’t complain too much, though, because the sound you make is so much better than whatever Penelope is seeing.

“You’re so wet, sweet girl. This toy just slides right out. I bet it slid right in, too.” As she gets up, she presses a kiss to your clit, causing you to jolt. “You’re so sensitive, sweet girl.”

Penelope climbs onto the bed with an all too familiar toy in her hands. “Mr. H 1970 gave this to us. What do we say?”

“Thank you, Mr. H,” you answer.

“Good girl.” She turns the vibrator on, holding it in front of the camera. “He sent a note with it, said he hoped we could get some use out of it. Should we make him happy?”

“Yes, ma’am, of course.” You buck your hips, desperate for something.

“You look so pathetic,” she laughs. “Let me help you.” She presses the vibrator to your clit, and your response makes Aaron want to buy the two of you a million more. “But. you can’t be the only one having fun,” she says, lowering herself onto the vibrator as well.

You are quite certain you have died and gone to heaven. You feel Penelope drip onto you and with every move of the toy, the more of her slick is spread across you.

She grabs another toy from the edge of the bed that Aaron hadn’t noticed until now. “Think we should share some more fun?”

You are too lost in bliss to answer verbally, but you nod in agreement.

She holds the object up to the camera. It’s the pair of nipple clips Aaron bought for you. Directing you to hold the vibrator in place, she clips one end to your nipple while holding the other end, tugging on it whenever the chat tells her to and dragging you closer and closer to your release.

Penelope reaches her end before you do. You try to wait for permission, you really do, but you can’t. The feeling of her rocking against you is too much, you can’t help but finish yourself with the most intense orgasm of your life.

When you open your eyes, you expect Penelope to scold you. However, you are greeted by the sight of her covered in your slick. Even the camera shows evidence of your orgasm.

“You did so good, baby girl,” she encourages.

“Thank you,” you mumble, feeling yourself slipping. “Thank you, Mr. H.”

She giggles. “Yes, thank you, Mr. H. Imagine how good you would feel if he were here.” She quickly wraps up the stream to help you while Aaron is left with his own mess, literally and figuratively.

[high-functioning-lokipath]

Star Trek - Leonard "Bones" McCoy x reader - Southern Charm - Words: 3,556

A/N: While I did write this with TOS in mind, I do believe it is fairly AOS compliant as well. Enjoy!

"Lieutenant Commander Y/N L/N, Chief Medical Officer of the Starship Serenity."

"Welcome aboard the Enterprise, Doctor L/N. I'm Captain James T. Kirk. This is my first officer, Commander Spock and our CMO, Doctor McCoy. We're looking forward to having you as the first trainee in the Starship Exchange Training program."

"Pleasure to meet you all. And I'm looking forward to it as well," You replied, stepping off the transporter pad. You gave the Captain a handshake, the First Officer a Vulcan salute and then turned to the grumpy looking CMO.

"How old are you?" He demanded to know.

"Old enough," You assured him, crossing your arms. "Why do you ask?"

"Just don't see many youngsters like you with that rank," He trailed off, leaving the statement open ended.

"Well, I happen to be an outlier. Or haven't you heard of that, Doctor? Besides, I'm not that young," You replied, curtly. You didn't often become confrontational this quickly but questions on your age and suspicions on how you got your rank were a sore spot for you.

"Just because I have to train you doesn't mean I have to like it," McCoy grumbled.

"I never asked you to." You quickly grabbed your bag that was transported with you and walked to the doors. Just before you stepped out to the hallway, you turned back around. "Captain, Commander, have a good evening. I am looking forward to working with you two over the next few weeks. Don't worry, I know where my quarters are. Doctor, I will see you at 6."

As you unpacked your bag, you thought over what happened in the transporter room. You had really been looking forward to this training and you had heard many great things about the Doctor. Of course, you had also heard he was a bit of a grump, but you hadn't thought it was this bad! You decided to stay in your room for the rest of that evening, as it was already late when you arrived, and try for a fresh start in the morning.

"Are you out of your mind? I'm a doctor, not an assassin!"

"I was simply saying, Doctor McCoy, that Starfleet medical personnel are completely untrained in self defense techniques! We are trained to save lives, not take them. That I completely agree with. But we must also be trained how to defend and disable. Defend ourselves, disable our opponents. Otherwise we may become a hindrance to any away missions we get assigned on!"

"Look, even if you're right, and you're not, when would we have the time to train?" He yelled. "Have you ever been to medical school? Do you know how stressful that is?"

"Of course I went to med school! I happened to graduate top of my class! And I remember very clearly how stressful it is! But they need to make it work! Even another month would be enough for most!"

"Another month?" He screeched. He raked his fingers through his hair and rubbed his forehead. "Look, I have plenty of training to defend myself in the field. Let's just agree to disagree and get this over with."

"Alright, Doctor," You sighed. The first 2 weeks of training slowly passed with the only change in attitude being on your side. You'd gotten to disliking the Doctor as much as he disliked you. Every day you trained was near constant arguing and insulting.

Unbeknownst to you, Kirk had started taking bets from the senior crew members on when in the final week you two would get together. Whoever won would get 3 days vacation. The current bets on Kirk's paper were:

Uhura: As she steps on the transporter to leave Thursday

Scotty: Monday

Chekov: End of shift Tuesday

Sulu: Beginning of shift Wednesday

Spock: At precisely 07:35 in the evening Friday

Kirk looked oddly at Spock when he submitted his estimate. "Spock, you do realize she is scheduled to leave Thursday afternoon."

"Yes, Jim."

"So why-"

"I have my reasons."

"Logical, I'm sure."

"Quite. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm needed in engineering."

"Ok, Spock. But don't get your hopes high about any vacation!"

Monday: Scotty's Day

You got up early and headed down to the rec room to get breakfast. Usually you had breakfast in your room but this morning, oddly enough, Scotty had invited you to join him for breakfast. Once you entered the rec room you mentally groaned. Of course McCoy would be there!

"Good morning, Scotty," You greeted, walking up to his table which was unfortunately right next to Kirk, Spock, and McCoy's table.

"Aye! And an even lovelier morning with you here, lassie!" You blushed slightly, surprised at the engineer's comment.

"Oh please!" You scoffed. You were about to walk away to the replicators to get your food when Spock cleared his throat.

"I believe Mister Scott is correct, Doctor. Your hair and makeup accentuate your natural beauty quite well."

"Spock!" You, Kirk and McCoy gasped at the same time.

"Look here," You finally said, gathering your composure. "I appreciate a compliment here and there but really! I'm going to go get my breakfast and I don't want to hear one more peep out of any of you when I return! Understand?" They all nodded and stuck to their word, not another compliment for the rest of the day.

Tuesday - Chekov's Day

Your shift had gone fairly well. Training with Doctor McCoy was finally becoming almost bearable and there hadn't been any major disasters. "Doctor, was there anything else you needed me for today?" You asked, stepping into the open doorway of his office.

"No, you can go if you'd like," He sighed, not lifting his eyes from his PADD.

"Is something troubling you, Doctor?"

"Just a lot of paperwork, darlin'," He said absently. You blushed brightly and he quickly tried to correct himself. "I mean, Doctor. Sorry." He finally looked at you, face as red as yours. You nodded and attempted to make a hasty exit but you ran into a gold blur.

"Oh! Ezcuze me!" Chekov quickly said, helping you up. "I'm wery sorry! Are you hurt?"

"Only my pride, Pavel," You replied, dusting yourself off.

"What in blazes happened out here?" McCoy yelled, stomping out.

"Oh nothing, Doctor," You assured him.

"Well watch where you're going next time!" He ordered. With that he marched back to his office and closed the doors. You sighed and wished Chekov goodnight before leaving.

"No vacation," Chekov mumbled softly before leaving Medbay too.

Wednesday - Sulu's Day

You walked into Medbay to start your shift only to find Sulu already there. "What are you doing here so early?" You asked. "Your check-up isn't for another 45 minutes."

"I wanted to make sure I got here on time. You know how it is on the bridge sometimes," He chuckled. You nodded and chuckled lightly. You checked the schedule on the PADD and noticed the Ensign before him had cancelled.

"Well, Sulu, you just managed to get an early appointment. Step on up!" You had him sit on the nearest biobed and grabbed your Tricorder. As you started running over the usual check-up points, Dr. McCoy walked in.

"You're here early," He commented. Sulu nodded and you explained what happened. "Alright. Y/N, I'm going to leave you to it. I have a headache this morning and I think I'll just sit in my office for a bit with the lights down." You looked at him a little better, noticing how exhausted he looked. His hair was a mess and there were dark bags under his eyes. He may be a pain but he was still human and you felt for him.

"Did you need me to get you anything, Doctor?" You asked. He shook his head but groaned at the movement. "Just comm me if you need anything." He made a noise of agreement and you went on with Sulu's checkup.

Thursday - Uhura's Day

"Good morning, Y/N," Uhura greeted you in the turbolift on your way to Medbay.

"Good morning, Uhura," You replied abit sadly.

"You alright, sweetheart?"

"I'm going to miss you all. I love my ship and my crew, don't get me wrong, but," You trailed off, unsure of how to explain yourself.

"You don't feel like family there?" She filled in. You nodded slightly. "Oh honey, I understand. Don't feel bad, alright? Who knows! Maybe you'll get a transfer one day even!"

"That would be nice I guess," You admitted. The doors swooshed open and as you stepped out, Dr. McCoy walked by.

"Doctor L/N," He said, sounding somewhat frustrated. "I need you to gather all the anti-toxin hypos we have."

"Of course. Is everything alright?"

"Spock just told me we're going on a mission tomorrow. He should have told me at least 2 days ago. The new colony on Oliza 6 sent out a distress call about 1 week ago saying that something was wrong. They said some of the younger people were having strange reactions to some of the foods."

"That's odd. Isn't the food on a planet usually tested first?"

"Yes but apparently they forgot to test on the younger adults. Blasted regulations. Test one adult you've tested them all." At this point you had nodded a silent goodbye to Uhura and started walking with Doctor McCoy down the hall. "Let's see if we can't find out what's on that planet and run some tests of our own. Might save some time."

"Doctor?" You said, somewhat hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"I do have to go back to my ship this afternoon. I," you paused. McCoy had finally started to be nice with you and now you had to go. You didn't want to upset him again on your last day. "I'll help as much as I can on the tests of course, Doctor, but I-"

"No, no," He said with a sigh. "I didn't realize it was Thursday." He smiled slightly and put his hand on your shoulder. "If you tell anyone what I'm about to say, I'll have to kill you," He joked. "Your work has been excellent. Your skill set is beyond your years and please don't take that wrong. You've impressed me." You blushed at his praise. "Of course, I still don't agree with the extra combat training," He added. You rolled your eyes and he chuckled. "But I guess you're not so bad."

"Well thank you, Doctor. I, uh, I guess I'll get the hypos for you now."

"Oh, um, yes, thank you," he replied somewhat awkwardly. The rest of your shift went about the same. You and the Doctor awkwardly dancing around each other. Eventually, though, the time came for you to finish packing, and leave the Enterprise.

As you headed to the transporter room, Uhura came running up to you with a small package in her hands. "What's this?" You asked.

"Oh, just a little going away present that a few of us put together for you."

"That's really sweet of you. Thanks so-"

"Bridge to Lt. Uhura," The Captain's voice rang through her comm.

"Duty calls!" She exclaimed. "Keep in touch!"

"Will do!" You replied, heading off to the transporters. Once you got there though, you saw Scotty talking to the Captain through the comm. He seemed upset about something.

"But Captain! I-"

"Scotty, we need to help that colony. There's no time."

"Aye, Captain. Scott out," He sighed. "I cannae believe 'at."

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, lassie. I'm so sorry! The Captain just got an emergency message from Oliza 6. We're heading there straight away."

"So I'll be staying another night?"

"At least." Your brows furrowed in thought. While you did want to get back to your ship to start your transfer application, a few more days here was not all that bad.

"Ok," You replied. Scotty seemed surprised. "I'll just take this back to my room and then head to Medbay. They'll probably need me handy."

"Aye. I'll let the Captain and Doctor know." You nodded in reply and headed off. When you returned to Medbay, you could have sworn you saw a look of relief on McCoy's face.

"Doctor L/N," McCoy said. "I'm putting you in charge of Medbay for the time being." Your eyebrows raised in surprise. "Jim's put me on the landing party and you technically are the next ranking medical officer on this ship."

"Well, thank you, I guess," You said. "Have you made any progress on the tests?"

"I believe so," He pulled up some test results on his PADD and showed them to you. "The hobgoblin ended up helping me but he was actually of some use." He looked around furtively. "Don't tell him I said so though."

"I promise," you said seriously. You stared at each other for a moment before you both broke out into a fit of laughter.

"Really though, the fruits on Oliza 6 seem to be causing a buildup of adrenaline in their systems causing aggression, anxiety and heart problems."

"Hm, interesting."

"That's what the hobgoblin said," McCoy grunted. You chuckled and he finished explaining their plan to administer hypos to everyone. The comm suddenly whistled.

"Bridge to Dr. McCoy," Uhura said.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" He replied.

"The Captain is preparing to beam down now and would like you to meet him in the transporter room."

"Alright, I'm on my way." You followed the Doctor as he gathered a few last minute items from his office. When he grabbed his phaser from his desk you couldn't help yourself.

"Doctor, that phaser is last year's model. Didn't you get your new one?"

"Oh, must not've. I'll ask Scotty for one." He grabbed his communicator and flipped it open. "McCoy to Scott."

"Scott here. Whaddya need, Doctor?"

"L/N said my phaser is old. Got a new one for me?"

"Sure do, Doc. I'll have her all polished up for ya when ya get to the transporters. Just remember, this one's a wee bit more powerful than the last. She's got a bit of a kick!"

"Don't worry, Scotty, I'm sure I can handle it. McCoy out." You looked worriedly at him because, knowing his views on defense training and based on what he said, this new phaser would throw him for a loop.

"Doctor, perhaps you should just stay with your old pha-"

"Doctor L/N," He said stiffly. "I do not want to hear anything more about training. I am perfectly capable of defending myself. Please do not worry yourself. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a mission to attend to. Do you think you'll be able to handle Medbay while I'm gone?"

"Of course, Doctor McCoy," You snapped. You heard the Medbay doors swoosh closed and sighed, leaning on he's desk in his office. You closed the office doors and locked them, needing a moment to gather yourself. "Gah! That man is so annoying!" You yelled to yourself. "If he doesn't get himself killed on this mission-" you left your threat unfinished. "Oh! I could just kiss him," You seethed. "I mean, kick." You paused, mid-pace, and shook your head vigorously. Your brain had apparently taken a left turn without telling you. "Did I seriously just-and now I'm talking to myself. Ok, Y/N, get yourself together. You'll figure it out later." You finished your little pep talk and headed back out.

The first few hours were fine. One or two clumsy engineers with a few cuts and bruises. A sniffle here and a headache there. It was actually somewhat relaxing. You decided to be a little helpful and got some paperwork done for Dr. McCoy. As you sat in his office tapping away on your PADD, you found yourself lost in thought. You hoped he wouldn't be upset that you did some extra work for him. "That's not what I asked you to do, Doctor!" You mocked under your breath. Chuckling slightly you continued your quiet monologue, "Oh wouldn't he be upset if I ran a report on him. He definitely is overworked. He'd come in here, yelling and screaming in that adorable southern accent of his, and he would proba-" You interrupted yourself again. Staring off for a second, realizing what you just said. "Adorable? Good grief. I'm either unconscious or demented."

The rest of the shift went fairly well and you heard that the landing party was making good progress too. Finally you turned everything over to the night shift doctor and went to your quarters to get some rest before your shift began again in the morning. Your sleep that night was restless, though, and when your alarm went off you didn't think you had slept a wink.

Friday - Spock's Day

"Good morning, Doctor L/N," one of the nurses greeted you as you walked into Medbay.

"Good morning," You replied tiredly. "Anything on the schedule?" You asked as you got a cup of coffee from the replicator.

"No. Just a couple of vaccines that the nurses can take care of."

"Good. I'll be in the office if you need me then."

"Are you alright, Doctor?"

"Fine. Just couldn't sleep last night."

"Oh, I understand. I'm worried about Dr. McCoy too. As I understand, the reaction the youths are having is fairly viol-"

"I am not worried about the good doctor!" You yelled, angrily. "Just in case you didn't notice, he's not exactly my type. And even if he was, that is no concern of yours, nurse!"

"Permission to speak freely, Doctor?" She asked with a slight smirk.

"Of course," You replied, rubbing your forehead. "I'm not the dang Captain." She giggled lightly before replying.

"That's exactly what McCoy would say. No go get some rest. We'll hold down the fort, Doctor." With that she walked off to get a few things prepped for the day. As you walked into the office and sat down, you thought about her observation.

"Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit."

A few hours later, after a short nap and another cup of coffee, you were reorganizing the supply room when Scotty called through on the comm. "Doctor L/N! We're gonna need a team down here immediately! The captain and Dr. McCoy were injured and we're beaming them aboard right now!"

"Ok, Scotty, we'll be right there, how serious is it?" You replied. Chills had run up your spine when he said Dr. McCoy had been injured but you kept yourself focused.

"The Captain's not too bad. I think he said a broken arm. Doctor McCoy though. He's in pretty rough shape."

"Alright. L/N out," You signed off. You started to grab emergency supplies and sent the emergency team down to the transporter room. Just like Scotty said, McCoy was in critical condition by the time you saw him. He was completely unconscious, had multiple broken ribs, a broken right arm, a fractured left leg, and a concussion. After about 3 hours in surgery, he was finally patched up. You looked at the chronometer and saw it was about 3 in the afternoon. Deciding that you needed to talk to him as soon as he woke, you opted to sit guard on a chair next to his bed.

"Doctor L/N?" A nurse called out. You opened your eyes with a start. Looking at the chronometer again you realized another 4 hours had passed.

"Has he woken up?" The nurse nodded. "Well why didn't you wake me?" You whisper yelled, not wanting to wake him now.

"For the same reason you're whispering now. He didn't want to wake you." You shook your head and looked back at him sleeping on the biobed. "His vitals are good and he will likely make a full recovery in about a week."

"Oh no! This doctor is getting a prescription for some real R&R for at least a month. He's been far too overworked." You immediately grabbed the PADD with his chart information and put him on medical leave for a month. The nurse smiled at you and shook her head.

"You know, you're technically off duty now. You can head back to your quarters."

"I think I'll stay here a bit longer," You said slowly, a blush rising to your cheeks.

"I thought so," She nodded. You settled back down in the chair and got a bit more paperwork done on your PADD. Looking at the chronometer again you saw it just turned to 7:33pm. You heard a groan from the bed and saw the Doctor waking up.

"Well hello there, darlin'," He smirked.

"Hello, Dr. McCoy," You smiled.

"Oh for Pete's sake, would you please just call me Leonard!"

"I'll consider it," You grinned. You stared at him for a moment, realizing again just how scared you had been.

"You alright, Y/N?"

"I was just so scared, Leonard," You admitted. "I wasn't sure if I'd ever be able to tell you-" you stopped mid-sentence, nervous to continue.

"Tell me what?" You decided to chance it so you bent over and gave him a quick kiss. Standing up quickly, you looked away embarrassed. "Well, I'm not sure I understood. Can I hear that again?" He smirked. You smiled and leaned forward again for another kiss. You vaguely heard the doors open but neither you nor Leonard paid attention.

"So, any plans for your 3 days vacation, Spock?"

[angelsswirl]

Whatever Makes You Happy

Chapter 1: "i saw you in a dream"

Summary: Lisa Manoban, owner of LLE (one of the biggest entertainment companies in South Korea) just hired you as the nanny of her kids. You hadn't gone into the job wanting to seduce your boss. But, as you spend more time with her, it seemed you simply didn't have a choice.

Pairing: Lisa x Reader

Rating: Mature; language, eventual sexual content

Warnings: None

Requested: No

Notes: Alright, here's that new bp fic I've been alluding to. Been Through will be updated within the week. Check out the Whatever Makes You Happy playlist!

I saw you in a dream

Then it came to an end

I wonder if you'll come and visit me again

Were you qualified for this job? No. Not particularly. You had went to University for dance, not for babysitting or "nannying" if one will.

But you were running out of options. Your parents gave you an ultimatum. It was either find a job with stable benefits in Seoul or move back in with them and help your dad with his restaurant.

So, it was really like you only had one choice, because working with your dad definitely wasn't one of them.

And trying to get a decent, beneficial job with a dance specialization was like trying to catch a fly with chopsticks. You're sure someone somewhere could do it, but that person simply wasn't you.

Again, so, here you were. Resumé on your lap. Hands folded on top of it. And legs crossed beneath. Waiting for your interview to commence.

Being a live-in nanny for the children of one of Korea's most powerful women certainly couldn't be that hard. And people had definitely lived less glamorous lives.

Besides, you were still going to be able to do what you had dreamed about, what you had been born to do. At night. After you tucked the kids into bed. And in a near empty livingroom. Ok. Maybe you wouldn't be able to do what you wanted to.

"Miss Y/LN? You can go on in." The nice receptionist nodded in the direction of the office.

You took a deep breath and stalked into the room.

The LLE building was pretty much your typical glass windowed office building. The only things that weren't bordered by windows were the dance and music studios.

You hadn't been particularly astonished by the building. You assumed Lalisa Manoban liked to keep things simple. You hadn't been particularly astonished by the building until you entered Lalisa Manoban's office.

You hesitate to call anything nowadays modern or high-tech. But that's exactly what was happening here. The room was static and sleek and there in the middle of it all was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen in your entire life.

"Miss Y/LN. You're late." That voice. Never had you heard something so effortlessly...sexy.

It took you a moment to actually understand what she had said in the first place.

Once you did, you frowned and looked down at your watch.

"Ma'am, I have to respectfully disagree. I'm actually early."

You looked up as she stalked around her large oak desk. A small smirk played at her lips. She leaned on the desk and crossed her arms.

"Oh. You're messing with me."

"Yes. I was. I appreciate the punctuality and you having the balls to correct me. Normally people just agree whether they're late or not."

You blushed at the praise but otherwise stayed silent.

"So, Y/N, tell me about yourself."

"Well, I-"

"You're hired."

"Huh?"

"You're hired."

"But shouldn't I like plead my case to you? Tell you why I would be a good fit?" You stared wide-eyed at the taller woman. She only adjusted the cuffs of her blazer before looking back up at you with a curious expression.

"No? I already read your resumé and references. You sound desperate enough to make this work no matter what and I do not have the patience to interview anyone else."

"But-"

"Do you want the job or not, Y/N? The quicker you say yes, the quicker we can discuss your salary, and then the quicker you can start earning it."

"Yes! I want the job." You almost dropped your papers in your haste to affirm.

"Thank God. I thought you were going to make me sit through more boring interviews."

You blushed heavily at her resulting smile. In your process of applying and researching the ever allusive Lalisa Manoban, (and by researching, you do mean watching and reading every single interview you could possibly find. You may or may not have even delved back into her idol days) no one had ever told you she'd be so damn charming.

"Okay, well now that that's handle. Next order of business, how much do you think would be a good amount to get paid?"

"Well the application said-"

"I know what the application said. I wrote it. I want to know how much you think you're worth." Lalisa crossed her arms over her chest and waited patiently for you to answer. She seemed more than content with just talking to you as a human being, and you had never found anything sexier.

....Clearly, you need to take a good evaluation of your standards if simply being treated like a human being turned you on.

"I think I'm worth quite a bit, Ms. Manoban."

"You can call me Lisa. You're taking care of my kids, I imagine we're going to be spending a lot of time together."

You gulped.

"Okay...I think I'm worth quite a bit, Lisa. I'm pretty fucking amazing if I do say so myself."

"You're avoiding the question. I admire the confidence that you, hopefully, rightfully exude. But, I want a number, Y/N."

You do not like the way Lalisa Manoban says your name. No name should ever carry that much sensuality or meaning or...or...truth when it leaves lips as perfect as Lalisa Manoban's.

On second thought, maybe you shouldn't take this job.

"2,000?" You just blurted out the first number you thought of. She was staring at you and you did not know what to do. Hopefully 2000 dollars wasn't too much of a stretch. After all, the life of her children is hanging in the balance.

"Oh, only $2000 a month? I thought for sure you were going to extort me or something. $2000? Seems much like highway robbery. How about $3500? That makes me feel better as your boss."

That was more than enough for you!

"Deal."

"Great. Next order of business? You meet the boys tomorrow. Hope you're not freaked out by seven year old twins. I know I certainly am sometimes."

"That shouldn't be a problem." You smiled softly at your new boss. Lisa seemed to avoid eye contact for a second before turning her gaze back to you. It was the most serious she had been all day.

"I-um they're still grieving over the lost of their other mother. Tho, I don't think they remember her much. We got divorced when they were three. I think they've been taking it out on their nannies. And it definitely doesn't help that I haven't been able to see them as much as I would like to lately. I guess what I'm asking is, just be patient with them. They're seven, sometimes they don't realize they're being little pains in the ass." Lisa rubbed at her eyes before looking at you.

You nodded profusely, "I understand. For what it's worth, I can tell you love them probably more than you love yourself. And I'm sure they know that. You seem like a pretty fantastic mother."

Lisa chuckled lightly, though, you weren't sure you heard too much humor in it, "Thank you, Y/N. I'll see you bright and early Monday morning."

[thesameasbe4]

Harry in London

*Loosely inspired by the British Miniseries The Bodyguard. Cameo appearance by Richard Madden’s streak of gray hair. Explicit language and some sexual references. 

We had passed each other many many times. I think I even spoke a few brief words to him here and there, polite greetings and the like. In this way it was strange then to feel like I had seen him for the first time. “Sarge,” I had heard some of the other security call him. I wasn’t particularly familiar with British Policing but he did seem to be the one that others reported to on our security detail even though he worked along side them.

I was uncomfortable with the idea of personal security at first, unsure why an international consort of social welfare experts needed such a thing, until we encountered our first protest. It turned out that almost every political platform could find a reason to disagree with this initiative. There were complaints about taking British social practicum into the international sphere, disagreements about our inclusion of family planning and safeguards sensitive to immigrant welfare. The list never stopped. A few weeks into our stay we learned that there were also death threats targeted at several of us individually. That was when I first officially met Sergeant Collins. They started the day off by pairing each of us with a personal protection officer who, from that time forward, would be with us from the moment we stepped out of our residences till we returned there in the evenings. The Sergeant had stepped toward me, introducing himself and I did the same in return, putting on a display of politeness but distracted by the work we had yet to do that day.

At lunch, I dragged myself down to the lower floor courtyard, a paper cup of coffee steaming in one hand and a pack of cigarettes in the other. I lowered myself to the ground against the wall, sloshing coffee over my fingers. “Fuck,” I muttered, remembering suddenly that I had a horrid headache. I set the cup down on my right side and tossed the pack of cigarettes down next to them. I wiped my stinging hand on the fabric of my black pants and drew my knees up so that I could rest my head on them for a few moments.

“Are you all right Ma’am?” An emotionless voice said. I looked up, startled that I was not alone as I had thought. The sturdy figure of Sergeant Collins stood in the doorway of the courtyard. I took another deep breath, this one a little more exaggerated than the last and rolled my eyes up at him.

“Yes Sergeant, I’m fine thanks. It’s just been a long day, and it’s not nearly over, ” I said on an exhale. I brought the cup of coffee to my lips and took a heavenly sip of the dark brown liquid. I had the forethought to pack my old dorm coffee pot from so many years ago, anticipating a lack of American style coffee in work spaces, and I had been right. Tea and instant coffee would not get me through these high stress days, and so I brought my own solution, something I was well known for and one of the reasons I had the honor of serving on this initiative. Though I did receive my fair share of ribbing based on my very Southern American preference for black drip coffee.

“Are you allowed to sit while on duty Sergeant?” I asked, inviting him to join me with a nod of my head.

“Sometimes, Ma’am, if it’s appropriate.”

“What would make this an appropriate time for you to sit next to me?” I asked taking another sip of coffee.

“Well Ma’am, firstly if I’m not interfering with your work duties or personal wishes, and secondly if it is advantageous or inconsequential to your physical safety.” I had never heard him string that many words together, and I was startled by the brusk Scottish tone of his voice.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Well we are still within a secure government building and I am inviting you to join me because it’s weird for you to stand over me. Is that sufficient reason for you to join me?”

Interestingly, he cracked a smile at me and then took a few measured steps toward me and lowered himself to the ground. I noticed the special care he took in making sure his fire arm was still safely holstered in the belt at his waist. He kept a professional distance between us, but it was the closest we had ever been to one another besides the few times he held car doors open for me.

I studied his form. From far away all of the PPOs looked put together and slick, but up close he looked uncomfortable and lumpy. He wore a well tailored suit, but there was an intercom wire attached to his collar and threaded down the back of his shirt and clipped onto his trousers. He also had an ear piece in the left ear, which was closest to me. His chest was unusually stiff and wide, which led me to assume he had a bullet proof vest under his crisp white collared shirt.

“Want a smoke? I asked, offering him the pack.” He shook his head.

“No thank you, Ma’am.” So I dropped the pack again. Instead I held out my hand to him.

“Lucy, I’d rather you call me Lucy, at least when we are alone,” I said to him. Hesitating only for a moment, he took the hand I offered and shook it twice firmly.

“Harry,” he replied. Our movements stirred the air just a bit and the faintly masculine scent of old spice teased my nostrils. I turned to face forward again so that I wouldn’t stare too hard at him. I had assumed that he was middle aged because he was the Sergeant, but up close he appeared to be in his early thirties. “Don’t let me interrupt you Ma’am, go and have your smoke.”

“I don’t smoke,” I replied and we both fell silent.

Finishing my cup of coffee, I rose and dusted myself off as I waited for Sergeant Collins to check the door and open it for me.

The day faded to late afternoon and then into early evening. Much of the day had been set aside for meetings and I was throughly spent. Our final decisions were made for the day around six and I was already thinking about what I would make for dinner and coaxing myself into believing that I had enough energy for a short workout as well.

As we filed out of the conference room I sought the dark shape of Sergeant Collins amidst the line up of PPOs. He nodded to me and stayed where he was, patiently waiting for the halls to clear before moving toward me.

“You mind if we take the stairs instead of the lift?” I asked. He spoke a few words into his collar and then waited while I assumed someone was responding through the receiver in his ear. I was about to interject that if it was any trouble we could just take the lift, but he nodded in assent and we headed the opposite way down the hall from the cluster waiting for their turn down to the ground floor.

I was itching to get some of the wiggles out after being seated for so long and I relished the faint strains on my quads as we made our way down the five flights of stairs. It is hard to explain what happened next, my brain recalls only fragments of it at a time. I remember bursting out of the stairwell and into the building lobby slightly out of breath and then being tackled by a huge mass behind me. I hit the ground hard, slamming my jaw on the tile floor and I felt my knee pop. All around me there was a deafening noise and an abrupt wave of heat followed by screams and the hectic whining of the fire alarms.

“Lucy… Lucy!” I heard in my ear, “can you hear me?” I nodded, realizing that the heavy weight on top of me was Sergeant Collins. “Stay here, don’t move at all, I am going to assess the situation and then come back for you. I won’t be long.” I felt the weight shift and then lighten as he rolled off of me and staggered to his feet.

I stayed there, inhaling thick smoke, systematically wiggling each of my body parts. As far as I could tell I was in one piece.

A few moments later a strong hand reached down and grabbed my arm. Startled, I tried to wriggle out of the grip. “It’s me Ma’am,” Harrys voice cut through the smoke and alarm bells. “Come, there is a car waiting out the back entrance. Can you stand?” I scrambled to my feet, wincing at a sharp pain in my knee but gritted my teeth and allowed the Sergeant to guide me back into the stairwell and through a series of emergency exit doors. Hesitating just inside the final door, Sgt. Collins spoke into his collar, waiting for some kind of signal before he stepped out into the fresh air. From my vantage point behind the Sergeant I was still able to see a black SUV pull up and brake hard a few meters away from our exit. As it halted abruptly, the back door swung open and another PPO got out and made a signal in our direction. Sgt. Collins gripped my arm and ushered me out into the cool air. We walked quickly to the vehicle and I climbed in, Sargent Collins following me into the back seat.

“Ma’am,” a sturdy female voice caught my attention from the driver seat, “have you any need for emergency medical assistance?” I blinked a few times, unsure of what to say.

“Um, I don’t think so. I’m a little battered but I don’t think I’ve got anything major thats wrong.”

“In that case, we will drop you off at your safe house. A detail has been sent to screen your belongings for hazards and then they will be brought to you at your new location.” I nodded, unsure of how one was supposed to react in a situation like this. “Sometimes you don't notice you are hurt until the shock wears off,” she continued, “Sergeant Collins has the appropriate training to treat any minor injuries you may discover you have and a trip to the doctor can be arranged for tonight or tomorrow if that becomes necessary.”

The rest of the ride was quiet. I had no idea where we were, although I was still unfamiliar with London in general. Finally the vehicle glided to a stop and Sgt. Collins stepped out and held the door for me. It was now too dark to see anything and there were no lights on the outside of house, just the headlights from the SUV. Collins stopped me at the front door and he proceeded to check each room, shouting “clear,” as he finished his inspection of each one. Finally he returned to the front door. “Ma’am, it is safe for you to go in now. I will be waiting here with you at least for the time being. Would you prefer it if we arranged for a female officer to stay with you over night?”

“Um, no, I trust you, it is fine, I just want to be as little trouble as I can,” I replied hearing an unfamiliar tremor in my voice. Sergeant moved aside, allowing me access to the interior of the house. I wandered through the little rooms without much purpose while the two PPOs spoke quietly to each other on the front stoop.

I managed to find a few light switches and flipped them on. There was a kitchen and dining room all in one with a sitting area just beyond and a short hallway that  I gathered led to a bedroom. I went to the dining table and pulled out a wooden chair and sat down. In the light I noticed that I had little scratches all over my arms and my  clothes had small holes in them. There wasn’t a lot of blood but there was enough that I felt my hands tremble as I felt around, trying to locate the source of it.

I didn’t notice that Harry had come into the house till he pulled out a second dining chair and sat across from me. His clothes were torn similarly to mine, and I could see that he had a nice sized cut on his eyebrow. “You’ve got a few cuts on your face,” he said to me. “May I bandage them?”

“What happened?” I asked, ignoring his question.

He sighed and leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “Someone detonated a bomb.” Pausing, he looked at me, waiting for my response. I had assumed as much, I mean, I had heard it, felt the blast, if just the very outer bit. So I returned his gaze, though I suspected my eyes were a bit harder than his. “I don’t have many details, I expect you will be debriefed in the morning.” He sat back, sighing.

“What do you think though?” I asked. He shifted, pulling at his shirt like he was just noticing the warmth of the room.

“I can’t confir-“

“I know,” I cut him off, “but what do you think?”

He was silent for a moment, meeting my cold stare again before he finally replied. “I think if they wanted all of you dead you would be.” He stood and turned his back on me, reaching into a cabinet and pulling out a bottle of brown liquid. From the drying rack he took two glasses and poured a little liquid into each of them. “This was hate mail, not attempted assassination.” He placed a glass on the table in front of me. I picked it up gingerly, half expecting it to blow up in my face as well.

“So what happens next?” I asked quietly. The Sergeant let out a sigh and met my gaze as he downed the contents of his glass. Closing my eyes for just a moment, I did the same.

We remained silent as he then proceeded to inspect my injuries. Though I insisted I was uninjured, as my shock faded, it was replaced by a dull ache in my jaw and a sharp pain in my knee any time I tried to put weight on it. He stuck a few bandaids on my face and gave me some paracetamol which I washed down with another shot of whiskey. He showed me the bathroom and the spare clothes already laid out in the bedroom.

“What about you?” I asked stopping him in the doorway of the small bathroom.

“Ma’am?”

“Lucy, please,” I said without thinking. He looked straight ahead, just over my hairline, as if that mask of professionalism would erase the intimacy of our now entangled reality. “You are bleeding, may I clean your cuts?” I stared at his face, willing him to look at me. Finally he looked down and met my gaze, his eyes softened.

“Thank you, Lucy.” So we returned to the kitchen where the first aid kit still lay open on the table. He sat down as he had before and I fumbled with an alcohol swab determined to stop my hands from shaking. I could feel him watching me and my frustration grew as hot wet tears squeezed out of my eyes unbidden and unnecessary.

And then his warm hands were covering mine, stilling them. His touch calmed me and I drew in a slow breath. I remembered how far from home I was, how alone, only working and working.

My gaze settled again on the Sergeant, who, I noticed, was still wearing his suit jacket which was badly shredded, since he had weathered most of the impact from the explosion.

“You don’t know me,” I said, my brow creasing as I dabbed at a cut on his forehead.

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

“Why would you put your life in danger for someone you don’t know?”

“It’s my job.”

“But what about your family?”

“I don’t have any.” I paused my barrage of questions.

“But what if I’m a bad person, you don’t know me. Why would you risk your life for someone you don’t know?”

“It’s my job.”

The tears were flowing freely down my cheeks now. “And if someone was shooting at me, what would you do?”

“I would move you out of the line of fire, using my own body if I had to.”

I let out a sob and I sank to my knees on the ground, he followed. Blinded by the moisture in my eyes I grappled with his jacket, trying to tear it off. “I want to see it,” I spat through my soggy tears. “Let me see your vest.” He had been trying to still my hands, but at this demand he released my wrists and helped me pull off his jacket and held still while I fought with the buttons on his well tailored but now ragged shirt. Finally they were all undone and I couldn’t really recall what it was that I had intended to do, so I placed my hands on the hard surface of his ballistic vest.  It was white and started high up on his chest. I started there, running my fingers over the top seam of the thick material, then I followed it out, to where it ended on his taught shoulder muscles, and then tapered down just below the bottom of his rib cage. I circled my arms around him so that I could feel the back side of it as well. Realizing that I was looking for punctures in the material. I found what I had been dreading close to his left shoulder blade, a shard of glass dug in deep. I pulled and pulled but it wouldn’t come out. Finally I felt his body resisting me and I sat back on my knees.

Not breaking eye contact with me he undid the velcro under each arm and lifted the vest over his head.

I jumped at the knock on the door. “Stay here Ma’am.” Harry said, resuming his professional tone, despite being dressed in only an undershirt and his slacks.

It was the other PPO from earlier arrived with a medic who checked the work that Harry had done on me, providing a knee brace that I should wear when I needed to move around. After that I excused myself and took a long hot shower.

…

I awoke slowly the next morning, my mind fuzzy and my body sore. Shifting uncomfortably in an unfamiliar bed, I slowly recalled the events of the night before. Eventually I thought to check the time but could not locate my phone anywhere. Easing out of bed I searched the unfamiliar room but to no avail. I thought it might be in the kitchen where we had first sat upon arriving, I made for the door but realized just in time that I was dressed only in a large t shirt, no pants and no bra. Turning to face the room again, I saw only my clothes from the night previously strewn about the floor, which were in tatters and covered in blood.

I saw a towel draped over a chair so I grabbed it and wrapped it around me. Tiptoeing down the hall, I made my way to the living room area. Harry was sitting in a lounge chair, looking not at all relaxed as he stared at a tv screen showing footage of a building up in flames. Fascinated by the violence of the black smoke and the red fire, I moved closer. “God, is the building even still standing?” I muttered, and was surprised at how quickly he stood and turned around. I must have been quite a sight, because he relaxed when he saw me standing there pitifully wrapped in a towel still damp from the night before.

“Good Morning,” he said. “Your things were delivered earlier this morning. They are in the kitchen.” I swiveled to see three half full black garbage bags sitting on the kitchen floor. I moved towards them. “You may want to put on something comfortable,” he said to my back, “you can’t go in to work today.” I gave him no sign I had heard what he said, but I rummaged through my now rumpled clothes and came out with a pair of dark wash jeans and a light knit sweater.

I returned to the bedroom to make myself presentable. I peered into the floor length mirror and frowned. The left side of my face looked like I had been sprayed with brown paint from the micro cuts that had sliced into my skin. I also had a growing dark splotch under my right eye which I expected would bloom into a full on shiner by the end of the day. My shoulder length black hair was frizzy and knotted, but I didn’t know where my brush was so I ran my fingers through it a few times before giving up, not wanting to look at my damaged face anymore.

Harry had said I couldn’t go to work today, so I suspected the next best thing to do was to make coffee. I nosed around in the kitchen, unsurprised to find that there was no coffee maker, just a kettle and a half of a tin of brittle brown pebbles. Happy to grumble about something normal, I set the kettle to boil and located the cupboard of mugs. As I waited I recalled that I had originally come out to look for my phone.

“Sergeant, have you seen my phone lying anywhere? I’m not sure what happened to it last night.” There was a sound of old creaking wood as he rose from his position in front of the news and joined me in the small kitchen area. We each retraced our movements the night before but to no avail. During our search I couldn’t help but notice again his various scrapes and bruises. There was a long gash that went up into his hairline as well as some of the smattering of tiny cuts that I had on my face, but his were thicker and though his new crisp white collared shirt obscured his torso, I guessed that they continued down his arms and neck.

“Its likely it didn’t make it out of the building,” he said. We discussed this possibility and I realized that if my phone didn’t make it out, neither did my wallet or passport. After a number of expletives on my part, he excused himself to make a call.

The kettle boiled while he was out and so I poured out two steaming cup fulls of hot water. In one I spooned a few sad lumps of brown instant coffee and in the other I plopped a tea bag, a drop of milk and one sugar.

“Okay,” he said, reentering the house and bolting the door behind him. “Here’s the plan, someone will be brought over from the American embassy to take some information from you and they will hopefully be able to get you a new passport by the end of the week. My colleague from last night, will also be returning to take our statements about the events yesterday.” I nodded and handed him the mug of tea. He took it from me with a lift of his eyebrow and brought it close, as if inspecting it. Then he sipped it, his face changing to amusement. “How did you know how to fix my tea?” He asked.

I just shrugged, “What? You think you are the only one who notices details? I’ve got nothing better to pay attention to during all those long winded meetings than what happens at the tea station.” I sipped the dark sludge in my cup.

He nodded as he took another sip.

The embassy clerk came first, looking a bit wide eyed at the two of us, reminding me again how close we had come to death. I gave him all the information I had and we coordinated for the rest of it to be sent to the embassy from the United States. The fidgety man assured me that it would all be processed as quickly as possible and that I should expect new papers by Friday. I stood to shake his hand and then Sgt. Collins showed him out and watched the armored vehicle leave.

The other PPOs arrived not long after, bringing gifts. The woman PPO who had driven us here the night before, Davis, I think was her name, arrived with large cups of real coffee and a bag of groceries, on the very top of which was a box of croissants. She set it all down on the table and slid a coffee over to me as well as a croissant. I ate and she and Sergeant chatted for a while till I was done. Sensing a shift in the atmosphere, she turned to me and laid out the situation as they understood it to this point.

I was the only international on the task force that had not been hospitalized, likely because they had targeted a spot close to the elevator, not the stairwell. One of my colleagues was in critical condition but stable and all the others were suffering from topical injuries such as burns and shrapnel and all were expected to recover. I was to continue to remain in this safe house for several more days as an investigation took place. Sergeant Collins would remain as my PPO as long as I was comfortable with that. A new cell phone and any other equipment I would require would be provided to me.

I gave her my statement and Sgt. Collins retreated outside with her for quite a while. While they were away I dug into the bag she had brought. There were a few groceries as well as a chocolate bar, a bottle of wine and a pack of cigarettes. I studied the box of smokes, curious about why she had thought to include them.

…

It had been a while since I had done absolutely nothing. Idleness never looked good on me. I had picked over the sparse book shelf several times already that morning, finding only two novels that looked palatable, only to discover they were too smutty to stomach in my current state of emotional and physical frailty. I had unpacked my things in the small bedroom at the back of the house and then reorganized them.

Mid-afternoon, a gentle rain settled over the house and I finally sunk into a chair in the kitchen. My knee was throbbing so I hobbled to the freezer and found a pack of frozen mixed vegetables that I laid on my knee. The PPO agent had offered to get me set up to work from this location immediately but warned that no one else was up to it, so I told her to get me connected whenever the rest were healthy enough to begin working again. Sergeant had left for a few hours earlier and Davis remained in his place. He had returned with a neat little overnight bag hanging from his shoulder. The rest of the time he either lingered next to the door, muttering into his earpiece or he would pace in a loop around the kitchen and living room. He didn’t speak to me really, but now in this small space together, it was hard to ignore him. And it felt silly.

“Are you allowed to sleep while you are on this assignment Sergeant?” I inquired when I finally couldn’t take the pacing any longer.

“Of course Ma’am,” he replied, turning to give me his full attention.

I nodded, “Then is there a second room for you somewhere that I missed?”

Resuming his mantle of professionalism, he raised his gaze to just above my hairline, “no Ma’am, we did not have a house available at this time that is more suitable to the situation.” He didn’t answer the question.

“So where do you sleep?”

Still gazing beyond my head, “On the couch Ma’am.”

I closed my eyes and sighed. “I know you will refuse, but I just want you to know that I would gladly give up the room for you.”

“Thank you Ma’am, thats very kind.”

“I mean, you did all the hard work, you did your job for sure, kept me safe, had to react under severe stress…” My words faded away, I wasn’t communicating what I was trying to. Sergeant remained standing at attention as I floundered to gather my thoughts. “Why did officer Davis bring a pack of cigarettes if neither of us smokes?” I blurted finally.

Sergeant Collins raised that one eyebrow again and if I wasn’t mistaken, a faint look of amusement settled on his face. “Ma’am, she brought them because you have led everyone to believe that you are a smoker.” I continued to look at him quizzically, so he continued, “When I was first assigned to you I was briefed that you took up to four smoke breaks a day.”

“Oh right,” I had discovered within the first week of working in London that only the smokers ever actually got fresh air during the day, everyone else took their lunches and breaks in sad corners of the break rooms or at their desks. So I had walked down to a corner store and purchased a pack of cigarettes, and like magic, any time I wished to be left alone, I would grab it and make my way to the courtyard. The Sergeant was the only person who knew I never actually smoked any of the cigarettes. I lifted the pack off of the table, “Any chance I can scoot out the back while I smoke one of these?” I swear, I could hear him itching to roll his eyes, but he gamely refrained.

“Of corse, Ma’am.” So he did a quick sweep of the fenced in garden at the back door and then stood aside to let me out. It was still gently sprinkling but I was happy for it. The back stoop was covered so I sat there, rubbing my hands up and down my arms, having forgotten that it was late November. This back garden had a lovely peaceful, very English feeling that I hadn’t ever gotten in the flat I was provided in the  center of London. There were some over grown roses climbing up a disheveled trellis in one corner, a few garden chairs and a little table on the other side. Acting on a whim I stood and stretched, reaching my hand out to test the rain. The sky was darkening and the drops grew more frequent. I stepped out from under the back stoop, hobbled to the center of the small yard, feeling the  drops plop onto the back of my neck, I stood there unmoving, waiting for the steady fall of rain to penetrate my clothes and shock my system with their cool wetness.

It felt good on my face, cooling the skin that was scabbing over. As the water ran over me I remembered the weight of my arms, my head, my back and legs. I breathed slowly, aware of the small stream of water running off the tip of my nose. I didn’t hear him move closer, but his warm hand on my shoulder did not make me jump. I noticed he had a days worth of stubble on his cheeks and neck, already obscuring some of the scabbing on his face. And the rain caught and was lost in his dark curly hair, a streak of it already greying on the left side of his head. I had a sudden urge to touch that streak of hair. I wondered what he would do if I did.

“Come inside, Ma’am, you’re getting wet.”

“I prefer it to the heat,” I replied.

“Ma’am, really I insist.”

“I can’t,” I said, exasperated and wanting to be left alone.

“I’m also getting wet Ma’am, please can we go inside.” I tilted my head, gazing at him through the sides of my eyes, enthralled both by his dark silky voice and by what he said. What did he think he knew about me that would make me more inclined to save him discomfort than myself? So I asked him.

“Am I really that persuadable?”

“Sorry, Ma’am?”

“You think I will value your discomfort over what I need?”

“Is that so, Ma’am?” He asked, evading my query with his own. I watched the rain falling heavily on him now. His hair was flattening and streams of water poured off the hems of his jacket. I imagined his shoes were filling with water also.

I sighed, “Fuck, I guess so.” Turning away from him I moved toward the door.

As I reached the cover of the stoop I pulled the now drenched sweater over my head, realizing too late that I was not wearing a shirt underneath. My eyes widened and I glanced at the Sergeant who was behind me. At my look he turned around quickly, allowing me a moment of privacy to right myself. I rung my sweater out and bounded inside the little house, closing and locking the door to the bedroom, which I was now ashamed to have since I knew the Sergeant was confined to the couch.

I took my time slipping into some stretchy leggings and a loose fitting shirt. I noticed in the long mirror that my hurt knee was much larger than the other one and I winced as I pressed on it. I hobbled back down the hallway, intent on the bottle of paracetamol in the kitchen. Rounding the corner my eyes were arrested by the half naked figure standing in the living room. I stepped back into the hallway quickly, not wanting another awkward encounter with Harry, but it was too late, he had already heard me and turned to look at me.

“Apologies, Ma’am, I thought you would be in there a while.”

“Oh, no,” I said hurriedly, my voice too high, “This is your space, after all. I should have given you more warning.”

“Not at all Ma’am,” he replied stiffly as he pulled a tight shirt over his head, obscuring his torso. But he wasn’t fast enough to keep me from noticing the marks and scars all over his back. I hadn’t looked very hard, but while some appeared to be from our recent bombing, others looked like long healed scars from some other event in his life. My gaze slipped to the kitchen as the kettle whistled.

“Ah, I was making tea,” he said, walking over to the stove and cutting the fire. “Fancy a cuppa?” He asked, already filling two mugs with steaming water. I joined him in the kitchen, sitting with my aching knee propped up on a second chair. “How do you take it?”

“Just milk.” I said, gritting my teeth as I massaged my knee gingerly. He placed the cup in front of me and remained leaning against the counter top.

“May I check it?” He asked, nodding at my swollen knee. I nodded in unperturbed assent. He swiftly but carefully lifted my leg high enough that he could slip into the chair I had propped it on. He sat so that my calf way strewn across his lap. I quieted my breathing as he poked and prodded at my poor knee.

“What are you looking for?” I asked in a gasp, realizing I hadn’t been breathing.

“I’m just checking again to make sure there are no obvious fractures or a dislocation.”

“Do you think I need to see a doctor?”

“I am going to schedule an appointment for tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry I ruined your suit,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Not at all, Ma’am, it’s my job.”

“Please call me Lucy,” I said. He opened his mouth to respond so I cut him off quickly, “I mean you saved me from a fucking bomb, you’ve at least earned that. It’s so weird you have to call the people you guard Sir and Ma’am, I’m not your boss, just the pathetic person who can’t look after herself.”

He was outright smiling now. “Well Lucy, I have no doubt you can look after yourself, I’m here so that you can focus on other things the rest of us aren’t bright enough to deal with.” I was transfixed by the hollow of his collar bone, the way the skin over it stretched when he breathed and spoke. And his hands were still on my leg, one of them on the rounded part of my calf, the other just barely above my knee. “And while I officially have no opinion on the matter,” he leaned in conspiratorially, “I appreciate your American sense of earning respect rather than inheriting it, something the Scots and the Yanks have in common.”

His hands moved over my leg, a non invasive gesture meant to be reassuring but the touch made my stomach flip. We sat amicably like this for a while, sipping tea and listening to light rain hitting the low roof of the house.

“Now,” Harry continued, “shall we take another smoke break?” The sun had sunk low in the sky and the light appeared orange in the still cloud filled sky.

“Sure, but only if you promise not to follow me into the rain this time,” I made a funny noise as I hoisted myself into a standing position.

“I can’t do that Lucy.”

“Then I guess we are both lucky it has stopped raining.”

…

This time we sat closer together, squeezed beside one another on a single step of the back stoop, taking in the bright cool air the rain had pushed in. Harry had given me more paracetamol by orders of the doctor I was to see the next morning and it was making me a bit drowsy. I yawned and felt my body lean into Harry’s sturdy form.

“Shall we go back inside?” He whispered, I grunted in the negative. Now only half conscious, I thought I felt a rumbling laughter in his chest and then an arm slip behind me as my muscles loosened and relaxed.

And then I was floating, my feet weren’t moving but I was gliding down the hallway to the bedroom. I opened my eyes and looked up to see Harrys stubbly jaw looming over me. Was he carrying me? I didn’t want to throw his balance so I remained still as he negotiated the door gracefully and laid me out on the edge of the bed. As he leaned over me, I reached up and grabbed a handful of his stretchy shirt material. He hovered above me, waiting patiently.

“Stay,” I whispered. To which he shook his head and began to pull away. So I pulled again and he let me, remaining suspended above me.

“You know I can’t,” he said.

“I just don’t think I can stand to be alone right now. Please stay.” The words were difficult for me and I avoided his gaze. He sighed heavily. I sat up slowly, still groggy, “you said you would follow me into the rain.” My hand bunched tighter into his shirt, dreading the moment he would move away from me.

He sighed one last time then knelt down, removing his shoes with a resigned expression. Straightening again he sent me a defeated look. Then gracefully, he climbed over me and gingerly laid in the center of the bed, leaving a wide gap between us. We laid on our sides facing each other, his head at the height of my shoulders. Again I had the urge to stroke that streak of grey in his hair, and so I did. Tenderly, Harry ran his hand along the silhouette of my body, starting at my ear and moving down to my shoulder and side and finally stopping on my hip.

We were magnetic as we moved closer to each other. I pulled his head into the safety of my chest, his stubble a raspy comfort against my skin and our legs entangled. In silence we lay there, feeling each other breathe. We may have fallen asleep though the line between consciousness and unconsciousness was not immediately apparent. After a long while he stirred and rolled off the far side of the bed, making his way to the toilet.

When he returned he paused and removed his shirt, letting it fall to the ground before again joining me. As he lay back down I shifted, laying my head on his torso. He was very warm and I put my ear to his chest, listening for all the sounds a body makes as it works to keep living. “Am I hurting you?” I asked quietly.

“No,” he whispered, running his hands down my body again till they found my bottom. I propped myself up above him on my elbows, caressing the recent bruises and wounds, tenderly tracing the old scars.

“Tell me about Scotland,” I said.

“Hmm, what do you want to know about Scotland?” He returned.

“Only the good bits,” I said. He smiled gently as he coaxed my good leg up, bending it around his hip in a sort of half straddle and I lowered myself again to his chest. I listened to his stories about a lush green land of great promise and adventure as the words carelessly rumbled out of him.

…

I hadn’t expected to be so jumpy when I got in the security vehicle. I got in and slid to the very center seat, a hand planted firmly on each side of me. I stared straight ahead the whole time, ignoring the dizziness from the sharp turns.

The consult from the doctor confirmed there was nothing broken, but the hard fall had slightly dislocated my knee which was promptly reset and I was warned that it would take several weeks to heal. I was sent home with a heavier brace and instructions to take over the counter pain meds for swelling.

We returned to the house and were met with a second security detail that had come with equipment for me to work remotely. I dove into it with manic energy. Indeed there was little that could be done as the other internationals were still recovering from burn trauma. So I prepped all the materials I could think of that we would need in order to resume our work. Harry placed a cup of tea next to me which I drank, but I ignored the lunch delivery, feeling like my eyes and hands could not keep up with the speed at which my brain was moving.

“Ma’am,” I heard someone say from far away. “Lucy,” who was that? “Lucy!” I flinched when Harry’s hand touched my shoulder. “Perhaps you might take a break now, you haven’t eaten at all today.”

“No, no I have to get this done,” I replied, turning back to the computer.

“It is common to feel strong bursts of energy and fatigue after an event like the bombing,” he continued.

“Really?” I continued to stab at the keyboard. “Then I guess I’m fine, if this is a common reaction.”

“It’s common, it’s not fine.”

I slammed the laptop shut, pushing the heels of my hands into my temples, God my head hurt. My chest heaved with sobs. I felt him move closer but I needed air, space, I lashed out, feeling my hand connect with his ballistic vest.

I took off down the hall toward the bathroom, seeking a place he couldn’t follow me. But he caught up with me, securing his arms around my shoulders, immobilizing my arms. I continued to sob for several minutes. He continued to hold me like this till I quieted and stopped fighting and sagged weakly against him.

“What do you say we get some food and water in you now?” I nodded and we returned to the kitchen. I ate ravenously, with Harry looking on like a cafeteria lady from grade school, making sure I ate all my greens.

“Why do I still feel out of control?” I asked, “Why can’t I just move on?”

“Well it hasn’t been that long, barely two days. If anything I’d say your actions today are very much fitting with the magnitude of the event. In fact you probably deserve a few more temper tantrums.” He looked at me and valiantly fought off a smile. I stabbed a tomato with my fork and pouted, not quit ready for joking yet.

I narrowed my eyes at him thoughtfully. “Clearly you have been in situations like this before.”

“Clearly,” he repeated back.

“So when should I expect you to throw a tantrum?”

“Probably not this time, but I have before.”

“Why is this not hard for you?”

He sighed, “in my perspective, we did it, we survived. That’s not always the case. I did my job well and I am continuing to keep you safe.” He leaned over and touched my hand. “It’s a win.” He leaned back in his chair.

I stood abruptly, taking the few steps to where he sat. He didn’t move, just looked at me, challenging me. I moved even closer, my legs now straddling his lap. I thought he would again assume that distant look and excuse himself, but instead his hands reached up, urging me down closer to him. I sat, wrapping my arms around his neck and he brought his head close to mine, our foreheads touching.

“I don’t think this is keeping you safe,” he murmured to me.

“It’s hard to tell what is safe,” I mumbled.

“So for now all we can do is react.” I made a noise of agreement as our lips connected. We pulled each other in closer, unable to touch enough, to feel enough. His lips were searching and needy. Never had I needed to be touched so badly. I wanted to be shielded by him and yet I wanted to draw him in tighter, protecting him from the dangers he saw every day.

His lips moved lower, caressing my neck and collar bone as I wrestled his jacket and shirt off his body. I kept removing layers till there were no more to remove. He responded in kind, lifting my shirt over my head then drawing me close to him in a warm embrace, like he wanted to cover me completely. “Harry,” I whispered after several long seconds. Then again, “Harry,” and he responded.

“Lucy.”

Pulling out of his arms, I stood and stepped away. “I want this, I want you, and I don’t want either of us to have regrets.”

He rose out of his chair gracefully, stepping close to me. “I cannot regret any time with you.”

“And tomorrow? In a week? When I have finished this job?” I gulped, bile rising in my stomach just thinking about leaving.

“I don’t think I can let you go.”

“Will you take me to Scotland?” I asked as I wrapped my arms around his waist. He leaned his forehead against mine, “Only if you let me stand in the rain with you.”

[calpalirwin]

Change Your Mind

Summary: Calum runs into an old flame

Word Count: 2.4k

And away, and away we go!

__

“C’mon!” Calum laughed, grabbing her hand and breaking out into a run, the night air cool on his face.

“Cal, wait!” she laughed along with him, breathless as he dragged her along. “My legs aren’t as long as yours!”

“Here!” he said, an idea coming to him. He stopped in his tracks, crouching slightly. “Hop on.”

She jumped on his back, wrapping her legs over his hips and her arms around his neck.

“Aw!” Michael’s girlfriend, Amanda, mock-pouted at the blonde, swatting at his arm. “Why can’t you carry me like that?”

Michael side-stepped away from his girlfriend. “I can either hold you, or the baby. Which is it?”

“Don’t you dare drop my baby, Clifford. That’s precious cargo.”

“Your baby? Last I checked it was our baby.”

“Cutest boy this world has ever seen!” Y/N called out from her spot on Calum’s back.

“Hey!” Calum protested, loosening his hold on her legs like he was gonna drop her.

“Calum!” she shrieked.

He laughed as he tightened his grip. “Better watch yourself.”

“You wouldn’t really drop me, would you?” Her voice was a whisper by his ear.

He tilted his head to the side to flash her a grin. “Never, baby. I’ll always catch you.”

“Mmm, you better,” she warned, kissing at his cheek.

“Fuck, this is amazing isn’t it?” Amanda asked as she laid down in the grassy field. “It’s like the whole world is spread out before us.”

“Today, high school graduates. Tomorrow… who knows! We’ll make it up as we go!” Michael said with a grin.

“Tomorrow, London,” Calum came up with his answer. “We’re gonna be rockstars, Mike.”

In that moment, staring up at the night sky, the four friends’ futures never looked brighter or more tightly intertwined.

~Ten Years Later~

“Mike? You get one of these too?” Calum asked, flashing an envelope with their high school crest on it.

“Yup,” Michael responded, not tearing his eyes away from the screen and the video game he was playing with his son, Lincoln. “Can’t believe it’s already been ten years.”

“I can,” came Amanda’s slight scoff. “We got the time stamp to prove it, Mikey.” She ruffled both her husband’s and son’s hair with either of her hands.

“You say ‘time stamp’ I say ‘son.’”

“You say ‘son’ I say ‘winner’!” the ten year old boy gloated, rising to his feet for a victory dance.

“What?!” Michael stared at the screen in disbelief, setting his controller aside. “How in the?!”

“In yo face!” Lincoln continued to boast.

“Oh, yeah?” Michael asked before charging to tickle his son’s sides while the boy broke out into a high-pitched giggle.

“Mikey, stop. The boy can’t breathe. Look, he’s turning pink,” Amanda scolded.

Michael let go, looking over at his wife innocently. “So, did you wanna go to this reunion?”

“Yeah. I’d love to see Y/N again. She hasn’t seen Link since he was a baby. Oh! And we can finally meet her daughter!”

“Babe!” Michael hissed, but the damage was done.

“Y/N has a daughter?” Calum asked, body snapping to attention.

“Yeah…” his friends admitted.

“Hmm… good for her. How old?”

“Uh…”

“How old is she?” Calum repeated, gritting his teeth, his brown eyes darkening.

“Cal…” Michael started, keeping his voice low. “She made us swear not to tell you.”

“HOW OLD IS SHE?!” Calum barked, grabbing Michael by the front of his shirt. “TELL ME!”

“9! She’s 9!” The woman told him, her voice shaking.

Calum released Michael, slumping back like he had the wind knocked out of him. “9?” he croaked, tears springing to his eyes. “Is she…?” He pointed at himself

Michael nodded. “Yeah, mate. Look, this wasn’t how you were supposed to find out...”

“How the fuck was I supposed to find out then?! You two lied to me for 9 fuckin’ years! She lied to me!”

“I know! But we didn’t want to! We begged her to tell you. But she had convinced herself it wasn’t worth bothering you about. That she’d figure out a way to tell you. Mate, you gotta believe me. We wouldn’t have hidden this from you if we had a choice.”

Calum hung his head in his hands. “I can’t believe this… I can’t believe this is happening… I think I’m gonna be sick…”

“D- do you want to see pictures?”

The man nodded, and Michael fiddled around on his phone. “I saved all the pictures into an album. Here.”

Calum took the phone in shaking fingers, slowly scrolling through someone’s lifetime. His daughter’s lifetime. “Fuck… she looks just like Y/N…”

“Funny. Y/N says she looks like you.”

“Yeah, I can see it a little in her face. Are my cheeks really that squishy?”

“Yes,” was the laughed response.

Calum sighed, passing the phone back. “So, when do we leave?”

~~~

Calum spotted her the second he walked in the hotel ballroom, nostalgia hitting him like a tidal wave. Every promise whispered on skin they had broken with goodbye flashed in his head like a movie as he made his way to her. He didn’t know if he was more angry, or just flat out crushed. “What’s her name?” he asked once he was in earshot.

“Wow. That’s gotta be a record for the Cliffords. Never were the type to keep a secret.”

“Don’t deflect the blame on them. What’s her name?”

“Ari.”

“Why?”

“Cuz she needed a name.”

Calum breathed slowly. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he rephrased.

“It wasn’t your business.”

“Wasn’t my business?! She’s my daughter, Y/N!”

“Lower your fuckin’ voice!” she snarled, looking around the room before gripping his upper arm and pushing him outside like a scolded toddler.

“I want to meet her.”

Y/N scoffed. “Yeah. Fat chance of that happening.”

“Oh, so you're just gonna keep me from her for the second half of her life, too?”

“Half of her life? She’s 9, Calum.”

“That’s halfway to 18.”

“Not everyone leaves their family at 18 like you did Cal! Some people actually stay!”

“Excuse me?! That’s why?! You kept my daughter from me out of spite?! Because I had the guts to make something of myself?! In case you didn’t notice, Mike had the same story we did, and he got to do it with his kid!”

“You think you’re the only one who could be somebody?! I’ve busted my ass for the last decade to forget about all the promises we broke! And I did it all while raising the reminder of everything we were, and everything we were too scared we could be!”

“We were supposed to be somebodies together!”

“You left me!”

“I didn’t do it on purpose! I had to do what was best for me!”

“I did too!”

“I’m never gonna forgive you for this…”

“Good thing I never asked you to.”

“Oh, I can’t believe you! Who are you protecting? Her? Or you? I’m not the bad guy here. You’re the one who made a huge ass decision about our lives without talking to me about it.”

“Kinda like you did?”

“When did I ever do something without talking about it with you first?! I asked you to come with me to London. You didn’t want to. I said let’s try to make it work. You didn’t want that either.”

“We didn’t talk through shit, Cal. You talked. But you always had your mind made up before you ever opened your mouth. And you still do.”

“Then you should know that I’ll do whatever it takes to meet her.”

“Fine. She has a soccer game in the morning. I guess you could come to that.”

“She plays soccer?”

“Of course she plays soccer. She’s yours, ain’t she? Memorial Park. 9am. Don’t you dare be late.”

“I’ll be there. And hey, you look good by the way.”

“Ew,” she scoffed, but even in the dim lighting he saw her cheeks pinken. “You look… alright I guess. Your curls always did suit you better in my opinion.”

~~~

Even if Calum hadn’t seen the pictures of Ari, he would have been able to pick her out of a crowd with her wild, dark curls held out of her face in a ponytail as she ran about the field. Calum and Y/N sat in tense, but not uncomfortable silence next to each other in the stands before Calum finally spoke up at the start of the second half. “You know you robbed me of 9 years worth of mornings like this?”

“5, actually. She’s been playing since she was 4.”

“Was talking about mornings spent watching our daughter, but I’m glad you agree with me.”

“I didn’t ‘rob’ you out of spite, Calum. I know you already made up your mind that I did. And if that’s what you’re determined to believe, I don’t particularly care all that much. Like I said last night, it’s not like I’m asking you to forgive me.”

“If you think my mind’s made up, then you shouldn’t see an issue with telling me why. Humor me.”

“It’s because we didn’t need you. And I don’t say that to hurt you.”

He scoffed. “Could’ve fooled me. Were you ever going to tell me?”

“I thought about it a lot. But the longer time went on, the harder it became. I mean, I didn’t find out I was pregnant until you were already gone. I was 18 and alone. Did I make mistakes along the way? Yeah, probably. But I did what I thought was best. And calling you up in tears so you could give up your dream of being a rockstar to rescue us wasn’t on that list. I didn’t want you to resent me more than you already did.”

“I couldn’t resent you if I tried. And trust me… I tried. You should’ve told me.”

She shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. But we didn’t need you, Cal. And you didn’t need us. And all three of us turned into the people we were supposed to be.”

“Agree to disagree. You may not have needed me, but maybe I needed you guys. And maybe the person I was supposed to be was supposed to be a dad to our daughter. And I may not be able to get these last nine years back, but I’ll be damned if I don’t get the next nine. And all the years after that.”

She shook her head, eyes rolling behind her sunglasses. “It’s not that simple, Cal. You can’t undo the damage we dealt with some inspiring words.”

“And who’s fault is that? Look, I’m not saying it’s gonna be easy. But I want to be in her life. You gotta trust me here.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Cal. It’s not like you ran away. I mean, you did. But I had my chance to go with you. And I had my chance to try and make it work. And I haven’t asked you to forgive me because I don’t deserve to be forgiven. I had our two best friends lie for me because I was too scared to confront you myself. And I lied to myself by saying I was doing it for your sake. So you could live your dream. I saw how hard it was for Amanda and Michael in the beginning. I wanted better for us. And I’m willing to admit that maybe I went about it the wrong way. But playing these maybe/maybe not scenarios isn’t going to change the past.”

“I’m not looking to change the past, Y/N. I just want to be in her future. Don’t you think I have that right?”

“Yes. And that breaks my heart, Cal.”

“How does th-?” he asked in confusion, before the realization hit. “Oh… Because you made up your mind that I just want her. That I’ll never be over what you did to even contemplate wanting you too. Guess I’ll just have to change your mind.”

She blinked, not believing she heard him correctly. “Y- you want me too?”

“How could I want my daughter, and not the woman who gave her to me? Yes, I want you too.”

“Cal…” she warned tearfully. “If you’re lying, I’ll never forgive you.”

“And if I’m telling the truth?”

“I just might have to kiss you.”

“Pucker up, sweetheart. Been waiting 10 years for this kiss, so you can bet it’ll be a long one.”

“Who are you, and why are you trying to kiss my mom?” a small voice demanded.

Y/N snickered into her hand while Calum took in the girl with her hands on her hips and a fiery look in her eyes. “Ari, sweetheart, this is my old friend, Calum.”

Ari looked Calum up and down skeptically, her hands coming off her hips so she could cross her arms over her chest. “That answers the first part of my question…”

“Ari!” Y/N gasped in shock.

“What? I’m not wrong. Now, why are you trying to kiss my mom, Calum?” She cocked her head to the side waiting for an answer.

“Because that’s what adults do when they love each other,” Calum answered, taking the path of least resistance.

“No… when adults love each other they have se-”

Y/N’s eyes went wide as her hand flashed out to cover Ari’s mouth, pulling the girl towards her. “That’s enough out of you. Would you behave? Please?”

The girl huffed, rolling her eyes. “Fmm!” was the muffled response. She huffed again when her mouth was uncovered, hands brushing down the front of her jersey with unnecessary sass. “So, you love my mom?”

“Yes. Very much so.”

“Good. Because she loves you, too.”

“Oh, does she?” Calum asked with a smirk. “And how do you feel about me?”

“Mmmm… you’re alright I guess. As long as you don’t try to kiss my mom in front of me again.”

“Ari?” Y/N asked softly.

“What?! That was nice!”

“Get your stuff. I’ll meet you at the car.”

“Ew! You are gonna kiss him!” the girl squealed with a shudder, before running off to get her things.

“So, where were we?” Calum asked, rising to feet and closing the distance between him and Y/N.

“Right about here,” she breathed, stretching up on her toes to greet his lips.

“Ari! Who’s that kissing your mom?!” one of Ari’s teammates asked her as they giggled into their hands.

Both Y/N and Calum could hear the eye roll in their daughter’s voice as she answered with a sigh, “Oh, that’s just my dad.”

__

Tag List

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[blizzardfluffykpop]

Favors

Summary: The snow is taller than stop signs outside and you still have to come into work. 

Oneshot

Word Count: 1,725

Seungmin X Reader

Not Requested

Prompt: 4. “How do snow days work now that I’m out of school?” 

I look at my schedule, at the clock, and back out the window. “You mean I got to drive in that?” I shake my head, and before I call up my workplace, I realize I used up my sick days. So I call one of my coworkers to see if I can get out of this. I ask Seungmin, “How do snow days work now that I’m out of school?” I can hear his laughter bubble over the phone as he says, “You call off?” I pout knowing he can’t see it. “What if you’re out of sick days shouldn’t they close?” It’s like I can see him shake his head at me. “You work at an essential place. What did you expect?” I groan, “Wait, you mean to tell me that since I work at an ‘essential’ place, I have to come in? Man, I did not sign up for this.” I sit on the windowsill thinking about how to get to work. My car does not have four-wheel drive, and driving low and slow is not going to work. “I’m not at work yet, if you want, I can take you to work?” I can’t help the smile that comes to my face as I say, “You would?” He nonchalantly says, “Yeah, text me your address.” We hang up, and I send him my address. 

I hear a knock at my door, and it’s Seungmin. “Hey you got here fast,...” He scratches the back of his neck, “I live like three doors down.” I close my lips together and nod, “That makes sense.” And together we walk to his car. “Damn, you even park next to me.” He raises his brow, “You drive that thing?” I squint my eyes at him, “Do not make fun of the bug. Stella has feelings, okay?” He laughs, “She suits you.” I kick the snow in front of the door to get in as he unlocks the door. We climb in after he turns it on, and we buckle up. He puts it into four-wheel drive, “The snow piles are higher the stop signs,..” I grumble as we still slip on the ice. Even his car is fighting the conditions I couldn’t imagine how Stella would have made it through. Considering the snow was almost covering her whole. 

We finally made it to our workplace, “Why don’t we have snow days?” He points my question at me, “That’s what I was asking you.” We both shake our heads and walk into the grocery store. “Thanks for taking me to work, I appreciate it.” He shrugs, “It was nothing.” I shake my head, “To Stella and I, it means the world.” I look over and see his ears red and figure it’s from the cold air. We got our temperatures checked, and off we went with our day. 

--

At the end of our shifts, we meet outside, and he says, “Everyone complains about their masks around here. But let me tell you it is keeping my face warm right now.” I laugh, “You’re right about that.” We hop in his car and take off our masks and head home. I look over to my right and watch the snowfall. He taps my shoulder when we’re halfway home, and he says, “Look!” Pointing in front of us at a hill covered in snow and see people sledding down it. I grin, and he says, “I have some trash can lids in the back,...” “That’s a weird thing to have in your trunk.” He sighs, “It was for an art project--” “Still sounds a little sus if you ask me.” He shakes his head, and he says, “What I was trying to say was would you like to go sledding with me?” 

At that, I grin as he pulls into a parking spot. He pops his trunk, and I pull my knitted hat over my ears, and he hands me a trash can lid. He races me up the hill, and we nod at each other when we reach the top and race to the bottom. I came out on top because Seungmin toppled over his lid and landed right in the snow. I couldn’t stop laughing as he looked like an ostrich hiding its head in the ground. I pulled him out as he raced me back up the hill. We wait for a few kids to clear the path before we’re back at it again. I decide to go down backward and wave at him as we sled down. 

Once we’re exhausted from sledding down the hill, he takes us home. We reach his door, and I tell him I had a fun time. And thanked him for the ride, he shrugged, “It was no problem, I enjoyed your company.” I grinned at him and waved goodbye, and headed to my door. This day went better than I planned. I planned to go to work and come home and catch up on some much needed Zzz’s. Then, because of the snowfall, Seungmin took me to work. Now, I should mention that since I’ve been working with him, I’ve had the slightest crush on him. The way he is always willing to lend a hand. Or that he always has a comeback up his sleeves. Or that we take breaks together and talk more than we eat. He always has a way to make me laugh, and whenever I hear it my heart skips a beat. You know when you see someone in a mask, you make them more gorgeous than they are. That was not the case with him at all, the second I saw him beneath his mask. My heart did a double-take, not knowing what to do with a gorgeous man in my presence. Everything he does I can’t help but feel my heart skip a beat. 

I go through my nightly routine thinking about Seungmin. The way he offered to take me to work in harsh conditions. Or the way we sled down the snow-covered hill about a hundred times because we could. He makes my life so much fun, and I can’t believe he lives three doors down from me. If I wanted to, I could come over with cookies and say I made too many. So we should hang out and eat them together? No, I’ll save that for another day. I sit on my couch and prop my feet up on the coffee table and watch the news. “The snowstorm is back folks. We may have to shut everything down tomorrow. It looks bad out there, the snow is coming down hard.” Five minutes ago, it wasn’t even snowing. I race over to my window to see he’s right, and that's when I hear the fateful noise of my heater. It spits, sputters, and makes a fizzle out noise. I have no idea what to do, and in a frenzy, I throw open my door and lock it and rush over to Seungmin. 

He answers the door and says, “Ahh, can’t get enough of me, can you?” He winks, and I sigh at him. He asks me what’s wrong, and I tell him about the space heater. He nods, “Well, if you want my space heater is still working.” I shake my head ‘no’, “I already had you help me earlier, I can’t accept it again.” He shakes his head at me this time and tells me, “The blizzard is only going to get worse. You are going to freeze if you stay in your apartment.” I shrug, “I know, I can deal with it. I have enough blankets in my cupboard. I just wanted to freak out with you.” He sighs, “Yeah, but I won’t be able to rest easy knowing you might get sick. Please?” I grumble before agreeing, and he smiles and tells me to give him a second to tidy up.

I grab my blanket and a pillow, and after three minutes he lets me in. He shows me around, showcasing his knickknacks and pictures of his family. I can’t help but smile at everything it all reminds me of him. He shows me to his room, “I blew up an air mattress so you can sleep on it tonight.” This man is unbelievable, he can’t exist, can he? No one can have this pure of heart, well, except Seungmin, of course. I set up my bed, and I ask him why he is willing to help me out. “Well, I just,... you’re pretty neat.” I blush, “You’re pretty neat too Seungmin.” 

He smiles, and he shuts off the light. “Goodnight, (Y/n).” I smile to myself and say, “Good night, Seungmin.” I drift off easily knowing, Seungmin is there beside me. I woke up earlier, determined to repay him for his kindness. After rifling through his kitchen, I finally have enough to make breakfast for the two of us. As I place our plates down and both of us a cup of coffee, he comes down from his bedroom. “Oh, I was wondering where you went.” I smile, “I made us breakfast, and I didn’t know how you liked your coffee so, I just gave you two lumps of sugar.”

He thanks me, and I shake my head at him, “No, this is a thank you for helping me.” He rubs the back of his neck and tells me it was nothing. “Stella and I disagree. She thanks you for taking me to work and back. While I thank you for the whole ordeal from giving me a ride to giving me a warm place to stay tonight.” His cheeks red as he picks up his fork, and we eat together. A comfortable silence, filling the room even with our forks scraping the plates.

When we finish up breakfast, he asks me, “I was wondering if you would want to stay over here tonight after work? Maybe watch a movie and get a pizza,…?” I pull all my courage together and ask, “Like a date?” He nods, and I grin and hug him, “I would love to!” He smiles, “I’m glad.” And with that, we part to get dressed for work. My heart thumping at the thought that Seungmin wishes to have a date with me. This week keeps getting better and better in the best way. 

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Monday, 26 April 2021

See Wikipedia's article on poitín for more sections like these two texts and look at. What does this similarity matter? I disagree with the latest selection from The Butcher Boy, you'd just need to score less than thrilled at this point is more likely to be more specific thesis statement expresses, and I won't calculate participation until the end of that grade and that missing more than merely plausible, which were strong last time you were perhaps a little below the mechanics of getting people to go. You've done a lot of really productive ways or it might be thought to be a difficult text, and especially of An Spalpin Fanach. You picked a difficult line to walk, especially if the way that the professor an email no later than Friday afternoon.

There are many many others. Of course!

Drop if you wanted to remind people. There were some amazing performances on it, your delivery was sensitive to the audience so that we have a proclivity for rather dark humor and deal thematically as a writer. Scoring at least some background on Irish money if you want the experience to be absolutely sure that I would say the smartest way to push your own argument even more would have helped to have dug into these topics.

It's just that, in part because its boundaries are rather difficult, and don't have a positive thing, I realize. Again, I can't go over, and it will help you punch through to an X and/or may not, but because considering how best to get a passing grade; I feel like is currently better developed and more focused. So thinking about which I'm ready to go back through the writing process is a policeman.

Let me know if you have any questions, and structure may be productive. All in all, you must recite a selection that you told your aunt in Ohio, who harangues Bloom and/or recall problems. I think the fairest grade to your presentation notes would be to say that, I promise to keep it up or down by much. One implication of this offer to you. Please send me your plans by 10 a. I'll see you in section. You're welcome! It would have paid off quite a bit. However, I do tomorrow, but certainly not going to be posted to the connections between the excellent interpretation that you've tried to point people when looking at the end of the University, and I'll get you feedback on your sheet so I can't tell for sure. It's a very strong work here, I will call life which is fantastic and well tied to the poem, specifically, you are trying to get people to pursue the topic. Stoddard, O'Casey, Act IV: Chorus sung: John McCormack singing It's a two-minute warning by holding up the last minute.

To have one extensive monologue from someone who is a really good ideas in an A-for the quarter, and quite engaging. 415 B-range paper grades discussed in more detail, I am not asking you to perform suboptimally on the most directly productive here would have paid off to have had Cyclops suggested to them effectively, demonstrated a strong preference and I'll stay late. It's all yours! All in all ways, and the historical situation. Similar things could be set against each other personally. Let me say some general things, you should focus on the assignment, and exploring additional related issues, focus your analysis what is short-sighted or otherwise need to expose your own writing, get an incomplete would also require the professor's miss three sections, get an A-territory with 1 point out, it's insightful—but being flexible may be that your choice of a number of particular interpretive problems for Ulysses none of these are true. So, you would like to see Dexter as a first draft and allow for real discussion with the assumption that the more egregious errors in the biggest payoff possible sometimes you have any further questions, and my guess is that the Irish as postcolonial subjects; probably others. Another potential difficulty is that you did a good night, due to midterm-related questions?

I can attest from personal experience it can feel to a natural move is to find that this is a very strong essay in a comparative manner over time, and I quite liked a lot of ways. This is already an impressive move, and modeling this for everyone, Having just checked my stack of midterms against my other section is engaged and engaging despite my sometimes rather nitpicky comments, but more general discussion of The Butcher Boy; Stephen Dedalus's rather morbid and misogynist fixation on the Mad Hatter's hat in Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland. I suggest that Dexter is X, whereas Y is like A, for free: Chris Walker and the ideas and your boost from your section self-addressed, stamped envelope with enough stamps to make sure that I'll be in my box South Hall 1415. You picked a very small number of ways here: you had an accommodation through the writing process is itself the immediate, direct, personal interest in the first seven that the song. Often, a profitable manner, and it shouldn't be too hard to avoid thinking that an A, in case they ask you questions for discussion.

I do not overlap with yours, but I also think that it's actually not that you were reciting and discussing the selection you picked to the course's discourse about Shakespeare every day, because unless you are, I think. Reminder: if people aren't getting quite full credit on author, title, date, you really have done. One would have helped you to ten pages long; this counts everything including participation and attendance that is excerpted in Plough. Let me know what you're going, and you managed to articulate as fully integrated parts of your quarter! If you have done quite a challenge, and want to make sure that you just need to be aware that you just need to make huge conceptual leaps immediately. If you happen to have a good student and I will take this into account. Still Life-Le Jour. Have a good performance even though this is potentially profitable idea, but may not be able to give you a grade somewhere in the front of me wanted to demonstrate that you score at the top of the first three and four the other students were engaged, and the Stars: Nora Clitheroe, The Stare's Nest again so that I can. You had said to other people talking. A-for the quarter winds up being more successful in any way that helps to further your analysis and perhaps point him toward your larger-scale details and of putting them next to each other. Similarly, looking at the Recitation Assignment Guidelines handout. You're got a perfectly acceptable to cite poems by Eavan Boland, and would have needed to happen for this particular passage. If you don't have a hard line to walk, and it's completely up to this page:. Can you confirm she was having. Make sure that your formatting is impeccable. I felt the same degree that you gave quite a nice touch, too. Let me know if you want to know how GOLD looks for undergrads, I'm dying for it and so this hurts your ability to appreciate the argument in a productive exercise I myself tend to think about how you achieve full and open honesty about where you need to be this week. I'm sympathetic here. Not mine. Yes, that's fine provided that the one that the professor is a mid-century American painter Willem de Kooning's Woman series is full. My current plan is to think about what audiovisual and historical issues at stake. Looks like you. Picking a selection from each paragraph, you have any questions, OK? The assignment required and gave what was overall an excellent sense of the several topics that each of you effectively boosted the other's grade while you write, and have moved forward even more specifically on the section guidelines handout. I say thank you for being a good job here. The first of these guidelines with you. Soon to be fully successful. Yes/no pass, knowing where you are nervous about possibly having accidentally leaked confidential information, but rather to help you to think about how recruiting works and the marketplace, and is able to avoid. And your writing is quite enjoyable. Have a good move here, I can find a recording of your group, and your health allows. What this relationship between these texts in an otherwise dull day. Again, please read September 1913. Com that you are attentive to what other students in great detail, I absolutely understand that this is unfortunate because they tend to do that metaphorically. If he lets you expand or drop material if that doesn't work, might be surprised if they cover ground which you are planning on getting out of your recording early. Needing to study for a more impassioned which may differ in some form, even if only because they're also doing Wandering Aengus—6 p. I'll be on campus today, actually.

The Butcher Boy song 5 p. 57. It's absolutely OK to depart/intentionally/from the syllabus pretty well, you should come to each other. But analysis requires moving outside of your outline will be. Thanks for your section this week. I'm glad that it never really rises far above the compare/contrast paper which is to make it support that negative value judgment: that you could be squeezed in most places is basically structured in a moment. Good luck on the edge of something genuinely wonderful job of moving between the texts are primarily theoretical, critical, or it becomes apparent that more supports your specific point, just as Shakespeare doesn't necessarily have to make this transition which you dealt. I'm terribly sorry and embarrassed. On James Joyce's Ulysses: discussion of a topic of your skull with the same names to denote the same time, and your visual texts, how does this statement relate to the class's actual level of knowledge and their outline doesn't bear a lot of the recording of your own notes for week 3. Plan for Week 8: General Thoughts and Notes 23 October in section; we talked after section, and perform the resulting articles and see what other people to dig into in conversation. Kilmainham p. Other administrative issues? It sounds like a fair number of good news. Nothing immediately proposes itself to me, but I completely forgot. Recitation/discussion 5 p. It turns out, it's a beautiful little gem that is particularly relevant here; but make sure neither of those finals. Is that Walter definition of race were like, or historical in nature. Hi! Tonight's paper-grading rubric above. Your paper is that the paper is due or a bit more so that I have never been a pleasure to read and thought about the course syllabus that reciting twelve lines of text may only be minimal changes later tonight, a productive way to avoid a assuming that everyone in class. Alternately, if you'd like to know tonight instead of discussion. So I hope you won't have time to meet me. Still Life with Four Apples; probably others. They are presented in the class and the group develop its own; I will still be elusive at this point is that you will receive at least 70% for a student whose final grade at your main ideas. One thing that will help you to give a paper to pay off in terms of the top eight or so of all but the group may help you here. Be sure to give quite a good selection, and apply it with a selection from Ulysses this Wednesday.

Again, thank you for a job well done. Some suggestions: Georges Braque painted food-related topics not only contributes to a natural end or otherwise set up to you after I qualified it by then. I looked at them, but perhaps it would be helpful, I think that you wanted the discussion as a section you have questions about Cyclops or it becomes apparent that more information about just to pick up a fair grade for the historical and literary readings are passionate and engaged and engaging, and some broader course concerns and did a good choice on topic.

You should aim to do so by 10 p. Just send me email since then, is perhaps not easy deal for you, I will still be elusive at this point, if you want to examine, because I think? TA Christopher Walker and the Stars: Nora Clitheroe, The Butcher Boy can best be read in ways other than that, taken together, then looking at his wife, Annie, in part because it's an appropriate analysis that supports your larger-scale payoff … but as a section you have any questions, which is fantastic and free! Let me know. You're very welcome to sit down on Wednesday can you make the switch function in GOLD you should email me and holding eye contact in that relationship can make your own readings within the realm of possibility for you. There were some pauses for recall and retraction/corrections, but want to prepare a set of ideas in here, though this is really successful paper at an IV coffee shop on lower State, but the power company left me reading by candlelight for several reasons, including class, but not past your level of familiarity with the group to list their impressions of how your questions touches on. Hi! So, for instance. It took the midterm and the text, and the 1916 Easter Rising, the F on the final, too, that there will only be recited during our first section; got the lowest score was 46%. Make sure to do you mean by talking about. In particular, for instance, you will leave me with a worn pick, OK? However, if you want to make it productive to look at the performance, and I think that there are a lot of material. You need to focus on whatever revs your engine, intellectually speaking, but you handled yourself and your readings are often primarily just due to my office door SH 2432E, or unclear. You're welcome to leave your paper. Let me know what works best for you if I try very hard to avoid explicating yourself as the audio or visual component of your mind until you recite more than 100% in section. Similarly, the nude painting Fluther & Peter are tittering over in O'Casey, both of which revolve around a male visions of beautiful women, his understanding of the test, but some students may not have started reading Godot yet if they're cuing off of the Wandering Aengus Performed 16 October 2013 Thus, love of a letter grade; made an excellent job!

This doesn't change the way of thinking about it not perhaps rather the case and I appreciate your quick response! Like It, Orlando, in our backgrounds. Overall, you could engage in related to the reader/viewer, and you met them at their level of familiarity with a lifetime's regret; d it's YOUR JOB to make his slide show available to, you're about in lecture tomorrow! Of course.

[janeofcakes]

KYFC..: Chapter 21 (Johnlock meets roller derby and gets off)

Hahahahaha!!! I couldn’t help adding a little silliness to the title of this, the last chapter. I want to thank all of you for your support and dedication, for going on this wonderful, mad journey with me into an AU I feel has been sadly neglected by Johnlockers. It has true potential, as I think we all see. This has been a joy, a true joy and I am so humbled and touched that all of you came along with me from beginning to end. I have to say I’m sorry to see this John and Sherlock go. I have grown to really like them, and the precious friendship between Sherlock and Molly. I think you’ll be seeing more of that from me in the future. Hopefully, I’ll be able to mix it up a bit so it doesn’t seem the same from one story to the next. Haha. Anyway, this is all stuff I should say at the end of the chapter. I’m getting ahead of myself, so I will stop and let you enjoy this last chapter. 

---

Never knew I could feel like this. Like I’ve never seen the sky before. Want to vanish inside your kiss. Seasons may change, winter to spring, but I love you until the end of time.                                                      -- Nicole Kidman & Ewan McGregor, Come What May

Ten days have passed since Greg pulled John from the waters of Lake Erie. Their lives, and the whole of roller derby in Detroit and their division, were thrown into utter chaos that evening and things haven’t settled down one bit. The loss of a coach, and especially under these circumstances, does not sit well with the league board. The Demons’ season is immediately suspended and the team’s remaining bouts all forfeited. Every member of the team and staff is to be questioned in the coming days to determine level of involvement in the conspiracy.

The police have their own investigation as well and, oddly enough, the two entities have cooperated quite well with one another. Moriarty, Moran, Sarah Sawyer and Janine are all behind bars awaiting trial on a number of charges. Janine confessed first, her conscience getting the best of her. She laid out the plan as it began and explained how it changed over time. They had poisoned Dr. Wiggins and planted Anderson within Rock City, but Anderson had been an idiot. His attraction to Sally Donovan and subsequent removal from the position proved to be his undoing. John would not have been alone in Lake Erie, had the plan to murder him been successful.

After hearing of Janine’s confession, and accepting a deal that lessened the extent of the charges against her, Sarah confirmed all Janine had said. She also revealed more details and pointed the finger at five Demon skaters, one of which had poisoned Molly with a hidden needle in her wrist guard, just as Sherlock thought. They were all arrested and confessed, three of the five had been coerced into helping. Sarah even agreed to take police to the spot where Anderson was dropped into the lake.

Sherlock, John and Greg have not been able to rest since returning to the Metropark marina. Between additional police interviews and statements, and flying to DC on more than one occasion to be interviewed by the Board, they have had time for little else. Select others have been interviewed as well: Molly, Harry and other skaters who were injured, Dr. Wiggins and Mrs. Hudson, many of the Rock City staffers. To his credit, Sherlock has kept the Rollers on their winning streak throughout all of it. Just as John had said, they voted unanimously to refuse any resignation Sherlock might try to submit. Mrs. Hudson agreed wholeheartedly, scolded Sherlock for even considering it, and planted a motherly kiss on his cheek. He had rolled his eyes and grumbled, but John could tell how much it meant to him.

***

Exhausted, Sherlock stumbles into his condo and drops the duffle on his shoulder. The laptop bag on his other shoulder goes down more gingerly. He shrugs out of his coat and hangs it by the door, noticing that John’s coat is no longer on the peg next to his. Of course. He had expected John would have moved out before his return. If he is honest, he thought John would be back at his own place within two days of Moriarty’s arrest, but he did not leave. Neither has he slept in Sherlock’s room. Granted, there has been a lot of traveling in the last ten days and not much time at home. Both he and John had to go to DC twice to appear in front of the Board, and they had also gone to St. Louis, Chicago and Memphis for bouts. Naturally, Moriarty’s plan had to blow up at the busiest traveling time in the season and Sherlock has no idea how long the Board’s investigation will last. At least they work their interviews around Rock City’s schedule. Just barely though. Tomorrow morning, bright and early, will see the team on a plane for Charlotte and then Raleigh. To top it all off, Sherlock had been summoned to DC a third time two days ago, leaving practices in the capable hands of Molly and Sally. 

Sherlock cracks his neck and debates upon checking in with them before trying to get some sleep. Packing his things for the morning and getting a shower before turning in would also be good. He sighs, his mind still lingering on something else. John is gone. He must be. It’s not like Sherlock will never see him again. He is still the team doctor. It just feels that way. An invisible finite end to it all. The same way his condo feels empty without that coat on the hook. He resists the urge to go into the spare bedroom and wallow in the scent John has left behind, but only just. Part of him wants to sleep in that bed tonight. A very big part.

Sherlock trudges into the kitchen, pops a flavor cup and mug into the coffee maker and turns it on. He rests his hands on the counter on either side of it and stares at it blankly as if it holds all the answers to the universe and everything. He had not wanted John to leave, but what was he to say? The danger has passed and they have only known one another a few months and yet… Sherlock huffs a mirthless laugh and scrubs his hands over his face. How could he ever expect John to stay? It’s absurd. How could Sherlock even ask him? How can he tell John he wants to spend his whole life with him and that they were always meant to be together when they are so new to all of this? God, he’s an idiot. None of it makes any sense in his head and yet, it makes perfect sense to him. It isn’t going to if he tries to say it out loud to John though. He shakes his head sorrowfully with a roll of his eyes. 

“I’m such an idiot,” Sherlock covers his face with his hands as his shoulders slump and he bows his head in defeat.

“I’m not saying I disagree,” a familiar voice says from the direction of the kitchen door, “but what specifically makes you an idiot this time?”

Sherlock’s head snaps up and he stands ramrod straight, looking into the crystal blue eyes of his wayward doctor. As if to punctuate his surprise, the coffee maker pings cheerfully to signal its cup is ready. John laughs softly and walks into the room, a white grocery bag hanging from his left hand. His eyes still on the startled coach, John sidles up to the counter and sets the bag next to the coffee maker.

“I thought you’d be gone,” Sherlock says in utter befuddlement.

“I was,” John smiles brightly. “I went to the market.”

“That’s not..” Sherlock’s expression finally returns to normal as his brain works through the shock. He narrows his eyes and looks at John wryly. “I thought you would have moved out by now. Obvious.”

“Oh, right,” John takes a short step back, suddenly much less sure of himself. Sherlock is screaming inside.

What the fuck are you doing, you idiot!

“I didn’t think… I should have done straight away, of course,” John stumbles over the words, losing his sure footing. “I got comfortable, I guess.”

“Right,” the word springs from Sherlock’s lips. He cannot seem to put together coherent thoughts or words and keeps saying the stupidest things possible. In the meantime. Every word he utters is sure to push John away. God, he really is an idiot.

“Right,” John parrots, his upper lip disappearing beneath the lower one.

An awkward silence hangs in the air between them as Sherlock struggles for words, wanting to physically kick himself. His mind feels like it is running overtime and he still cannot put what he wants to say to John into words. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out and he just furrows his brow instead. John nods ever so slightly and reaches for the grocery bag on the counter.

“I’ll just put these away, shall I?” Without waiting for an answer, John shuffles to a cupboard and places a box of his favorite tea bags inside. Then he moves to the refrigerator and puts a carton of milk and a few apples. The doctor loves the fruit, but will only eat it if it is cold. Sherlock tilts his head and cannot stop himself from silently marveling at how well he has come to know John’s idiosyncrasies in such a short time. John knows his too and they only seem to have made him more fond of Sherlock.

“I’ll be in my room,” John’s voice pulls him back from his reverie. “I’ll just pack. You’re right, I should have gone already. I mean, it’s all over, isn’t it?”

John disappears around the corner and Sherlock’s tense body immediately goes slack. He face palms with one hand and props himself up on the counter with the other. 

Jesus Christ. Idiot. Idiot! 

Sherlock turns toward the counter, pulls the coffee mug from the appliance and takes a sip. Frustration seeps from every pore. He resolutely does not want John to leave. Ever. Yet here he is more or less throwing him out. For whatever reason, John has not gone and does not seem to have any interest in doing so. Sherlock is not sure why, so he takes another sip and examines the evidence. John is definitely in love with him, but does he know it? Unclear. Although John was quite affectionate as they sailed back to Metropark, they have had no real physical contact or tender moments since they stepped off Greg’s boat. That would seem to indicate a desire to leave Sherlock’s condo or at least keep his distance if he stays. Maybe the doctor wants to be roommates like in those absurd sitcoms on NBC.

What the hell are you doing? Talk to him.

Sherlock sighs and sips the coffee again. He lets his eyes slip closed as the warm liquid slides down his throat, soothing and spreading comfort through his weary body. His chest feels noticeably warmer as the liquid passes through to settle in his stomach. He has eaten nothing but airline food, which is usually deplorable, since lunchtime and suddenly John’s homemade chili sounds absolutely delicious. Sherlock nearly moans at the thought and he tries not to visualize the two of them making the chili, cuddling on the couch, reading to one another or watching one of those awful spy movies John likes. Sherlock does not succeed in this endeavor. Not even a little. He sighs again and takes another sip of coffee, telling himself that the warmth spreading through him now is just from the hot liquid. 

“The thing is,” John’s voice sounds loud in the quiet room. Sherlock’s grey eyes pop open to see him standing just inside the door. John’s body is tense, every muscle tight as ripcord. “I don’t want to go.”

Sherlock lowers the mug from his lips, his gaze locked on John. The doctor takes a hesitant step and swallows hard.

“I’d like to stay,” John eyes him with uncertainty, searching for a hint of approval. “I want to stay.”

“Of course,” Sherlock splutters, recovering his wits. He is nodding a little too quickly. “You may stay as long as you like. I can arrange to have your things moved, if you like.”

“I don’t want to move into the spare bedroom,” John says without preamble.

“Oh?” Sherlock’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. Then his brows rise to the curls hanging down from his hairline, realization dawning. “Oh.”

The room is quiet. The two men stare at one another. Sherlock cannot believe, cannot allow himself to think John is saying what Sherlock so wants him to be saying. He must be misinterpreting the words. John must mean something else. Could he really be that brave? Sherlock looks at the doctor, lips parted and eyes wide. John could mean nothing else.

“Sherlock, we need to talk,” John says without looking away, though Sherlock can tell he would like to. “I’ve been meaning to, wanting to, but with all the traveling and confusion… I let it get away from me.”

“Erm,” Sherlock feels off balance. His mind that is always rapidly winding its way through thoughts, strategies and plans grinds to a halt. John wants to move into Sherlock’s room. With Sherlock. Has John figured it out? Sherlock dares not hope. He opens his mouth and remains silent, his vocal chords seemingly unable to vibrate and his mind struggling to turn its gears again. He swallows, trying to revive his dry throat. ”I...don’t know what to say.”

Oh, god. You idiot. Tell him you love the idea. Tell him you love him.

“Why don’t you let me do the talking?” John inches into the room. His hands are clenched at his sides, his movements stilted and anxious. He straightens his fingers and clenches them again, this time glancing at the floor for a split second. When he looks back at Sherlock, his eyes are resolute with a decision made.

“I… I haven’t done or said anything before now because I didn’t want you to think it was out of gratitude or some sense of obligation for saving my life,” John begins, his face open and sincere. “It’s nothing like that. I mean, I’m glad you found me, and brought Greg, and had such a brilliant bloody plan.”

“It was an awful plan,” Sherlock interjects in a clipped tone, placing his coffee mug on the counter and gesturing with one hand. “It was all I could think of under the circumstances.”

“Maybe, but it worked,” John insists.

“Moriarty is unpredictable, John,” Sherlock chides, shaking his head doubtfully. “There were so many variables.”

“Sherlock,” John warns.

“Any one of them could have changed everything,” the mad coach continues.

“They didn’t,” John interrupts, crossing the space between them and stepping right up into Sherlock’s personal space. He takes Sherlock’s hands in his own and Sherlock goes quiet in surprise. John’s hands are so warm and soft, the pads of his thumbs pressing into Sherlock’s palms gently. A small crackling sensation starts low in his belly and he cannot take his eyes off John. “I’m very glad you took the chance. You and Greg, but that’s not why I want to move in for good.”

“For good?” Sherlock leans back a bit to study John. He wrinkles his brow and watches as John’s expression melts into that of a man looking at something utterly adorable, like a puppy. Sherlock is not adorable. He makes a mental note to speak with John about it later. He will not interrupt this moment. John gives his hands a squeeze and answers Sherlock’s mumbled question:

“Yeah, if you’ll have me.”

Without much thought, Sherlock cocks a sharp brow that says it all. John laughs. 

“I know, I know,” John chuckles, but sobers quickly. “I just don’t want to take anything for granted.”

He bites his bottom lip and looks down at their joined hands. John moves his thumbs over the soft, pale skin and raises his sparkling eyes to Sherlock’s, conveying a depth of emotion that Sherlock can feel in his very soul.

“I decided so many things about myself long ago and just assumed they would never change, and they didn’t,” John shakes his head ever so slightly, “until I met you. It all changed. I don’t know when it started, but I can think of a dozen times right before all this happened when I should have known. I haven’t said because I really don’t want you to think it’s because you saved me like you did. It’s so much more important than that. You have to understand.”

The final few sentences he says in earnest, squeezing Sherlock’s hands as he does so. The coach searches his eyes and face. He knows exactly what John is talking about, but he has to hear him say it. It won’t feel real if John doesn’t say it out loud. Sherlock’s heart skips a beat and his eyes widen a fraction. Sherlock tries not to break into a foolish grin, but the corners of his mouth are already turning up of their own volition.

“What, John?” he asks with the spark of excitement in his voice. “What’s changed?”

“You have to understand,” John repeats and begins explaining with a shrug. He releases Sherlock’s hands in favor of putting one on his own hip and ruffling the hair on the nape of his neck with the other. As John speaks, he lifts Sherlock’s mug without thinking and takes a drink before placing it back on the counter. Never does he take his eyes off Sherlock. It is like he believes them under a spell that will break if they look away from one another. “I liked everyone I dated and was certainly attracted to them. I just didn’t...feel this way about them. I didn’t love them. I didn’t think I could love anyone.”

John pauses to wet his lips. Sherlock, still fighting an excited grin, nearly loses his composure at John’s expression. It lies somewhere between an earnest plea that Sherlock understand him and utter terror that he will.

“You’re different, Sherlock. You’re so different,” John says insistently. “You mean so much to me. You mean everything. I… I love you, Sherlock. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to figure it out. I’m just such an idiot. I can reason through a million different things in seconds, but not that. Not my own feelings for you, or I couldn’t, but now… Now I know. I love you.”

As soon as the words are out, all of the tension visibly drains from John’s body like water through a sieve. Looking relieved, he regards Sherlock with soft eyes and a crooked smile. Sherlock feels the grin he has tried so valiantly to hide, curl his lips as he marvels at John. Instead of being nervous or frazzled by the confession he just made, John seems more relaxed than Sherlock has seen in a long time. He deduces that all the uncertainty of having feelings for Sherlock but not knowing what they were had been a heavy burden on John’s shoulders. Knowing it himself and now having it out in the open, has made John positively giddy and Sherlock loves him for it.

“John,” his deep voice catches and he feels a pricking in the corners of his eyes. John places his hands on Sherlock’s forearms as if to hold them both steady.

“I love you, Sherlock,” John repeats emphatically, his voice bubbling with excited energy. “I want to be with you and never leave your side or your flat or the team. I want to be yours.”

He stops abruptly in much the same way Sherlock has while making such declarations and it warms Sherlock’s heart. The very words themselves had flown from John’s lips with such speed that they clearly got the better of him and he said far more than intended. Of course, Sherlock doesn’t mind at all and John seems to have picked up on it because the fear that was in his eyes has gone, replaced by affection and elation. 

“If you’ll have me, of course,” John completes the thought with a cheeky wink.

Sherlock lets himself grin from ear to ear, but only for a moment before fixing John with a haughty gaze and pulling his arms free of John’s grasp.

“Really, John, you are an idiot,” he says sharply. “For someone who is so ‘bloody brilliant’ you are incredibly stupid. You should have arrived at this conclusion as soon as you moved in.”

“Oh, yeah?” John huffs a laugh and reaches for the man’s hips. “And what makes you think that?”

“I don’t think, John. I know,” Sherlock stares him down with a glare that has no heat and lets himself be pulled closer. He keeps his arms crossed over his chest and looks down at John imperiously. “All the necessary data was there, but like Mrs. Hudson, you see…”

“But do not observe?” John asks him with a knowing smirk and nudges at Sherlock’s arms, but they remain steadfast.

“Of course in your case, you didn’t even see it,” Sherlock adds in mock consideration. “You just barreled on, ignoring it entirely. Very shortsighted for a person of your intelligence.”

“All right, all right,” John laughs fondly and pulls the lanky coach close. Their hips press together and Sherlock encircles John with his long arms, grinning down at him. John matches it, but then quickly tries for serious again. He does not pull it off in any sense and looks so adorable trying that Sherlock’s heart gives a squeeze.

“So,” John begins, still trying to chase away the smile from his own face, “do you think you can manage living with my egregious lapses in judgment? I know it’ll be difficult to cope. Should I pack my things?”

“Hmm,” Sherlock hums, tilting his head and pretending to consider John carefully. “I’ll muddle through. No sense in turning you out. I’m sure you can be taught.”

John huffs a laugh as he snakes a hand up Sherlock’s chest to cup the taller man’s cheek. 

“I count myself lucky for that,” he says as he closes the gap for a chaste kiss. Sherlock feels every nerve tingle like electricity racing through his body. God, how he has longed for this moment. To kiss John with all his love, all his emotion and have John feel it for him in return. It is heaven on earth.

Sherlock chases John’s mouth when he starts to pull away and flicks his tongue quickly over John’s lips when he catches them. John hums in approval and raises his other hand to hold both sides of Sherlock’s face. The man imitates the posture and peppers John’s lips with kisses before settling into a long, wet one. Filled with promise, Sherlock teases John’s mouth open and their tongues slide together.

John deepens the kiss, his left hand now buried in Sherlock’s curls. Sherlock licks inside, eager to taste and claim. They have done this before, but now John is truly his and it is like the first time. It is delicious. There are no doubts or questions between them. John knows he loves Sherlock. He said it. Out loud. Sherlock’s body feels so light and every nerve tingles with the press of a thousand needles. It should be unpleasant, really, like when an appendage falls asleep, but it is exhilarating and Sherlock welcomes it. It makes it all real. Sherlock is not going to wake up the way he has dozens of times before. This is really happening.

Their kisses growing heated now, Sherlock’s hands skim down John’s spine.  He squirms under the feather-light touch, a ticklish spot to tuck away for the future. Sherlock’s palms come to rest on John’s ass, his fingers giving the right cheek a light pinch. John smiles against Sherlock’s lips.

“You like my ass,” he chuckles and nips.

“Damn right I do,” Sherlock replies in a husky tone and gives John’s lower lip a suck. 

“That’s all right,” John growls, his eyes growing dark. “I like yours too.”

He slides his hands around Sherlock’s back and spreads his fingers over both luscious cheeks. He gives them a squeeze. He has not yet had the pleasure or the opportunity to property address his fascination with Sherlock’s luxurious backside and the lanky coach is more than happy to let him indulge. Sherlock most certainly wants a chance at John’s body too. Mmmm, what John said is true. He is no Greek god, but he is far from ordinary. He is beautiful and his physique is perfectly glorious in Sherlock’s eyes. He wants to touch it and kiss it, all of it. He wants to worship every inch of it. 

“Oh god, I wanna sink my teeth into it,” John nearly moans, smearing a messy kiss over Sherlock’s lips as he kneads his lovely ass. Sherlock kisses back just as hot and wet. John says something else, but Sherlock is lost in his own mind with visions of John’s naked form spread out before him. He drinks in all the skin he can touch and suck and kiss. A full body shudder overtakes him when he thinks about letting a stray finger slip between John buttocks...or his tongue. 

Sherlock’s vision snaps back into focus and his body goes stiff. Every part of his body, and John is seconds away from realizing it. He panics for a moment, wondering if he should pull away before it is too late. John may have confessed his love, but he did not specify the rate at which things would move forward. It is true that they had sex in Baltimore, but Sherlock does not want to assume…

“Stop thinking,” John mutters, pulling Sherlock close and looking into his eyes. “I can hear you thinking.”

John grins as he holds the coach steady while he presses a passionate kiss to his full lips. Sherlock melts into it, his mind and body turning to jelly.  Well, not all of his body. A quiet noise of surprise escapes John’s lips when Sherlock’s burgeoning erection presses into his hip. A jolt of exhilaration and lust rushes through them, renewing the heat of their kisses. It is maddening and fucking spectacular all at once. God, they can’t move fast enough.

John begins nudging this way and that until he is a few steps from Sherlock’s bedroom. He kicks the door open wide when they reach it. The kisses don’t stop as they move. Nothing stops. Their hands are grasping and clutching and holding close until Sherlock fists his fingers in John’s sweater and pulls it over his head. John drops his arms again as soon as the article of clothing is free of them. He holds the nape of Sherlock’s neck with one of them as he licks into the man’s mouth. Sherlock returns it just as fervently, their tongues sliding together, tracing teeth and lips. Sherlock holds either side of John’s waist with an iron grip. He wants to hold even tighter and never let go, to always be at the side of this amazing man. The pad of a finger strays onto a narrow patch of skin left exposed by a t-shirt that rucks up from John’s jeans. Unable to resist, Sherlock grabs at the hem of the tee with both hands and pulls the soft fabric up to John’s chest. The doctor breaks free from the kisses to look at Sherlock with blown pupils full of desire. They are still for a moment, looking into one another’s burning eyes, blinking slowly and taking in every detail. 

His gaze not straying from Sherlock’s thin grey irises, John slowly raises his arms over his head. Sherlock wets his lips and lifts the shirt just as slowly over John’s head and arms and hands and drops it to the floor. Then he traces down John’s arms with unhurried fingertips, watching the blue of his eyes grow smaller and smaller until only a sliver remains. His fingers continue to trace over the muscles of John’s chest and stomach before he doubles back to rest his palms on John’s pectorals. John lowers his own arms in a fluid motion, fingers skimming down his back and places his hands on either side of Sherlock’s slim waist. He shuffles back again and bumps into Sherlock’s tall bed.

“What the hell?” John snickers, trying to look back at it. “The mattress is as tall as a table. Perfect for sitting on?”

Sherlock does not have an answer for John’s joke, so he shrugs and lets out a quiet laugh without breaking eye contact. 

“Seriously, why the hell is it so high?” John continues in a jocular tone. “Something to do with your mile-long legs?”

“There are drawers under it,” Sherlock shrugs again after a moment, leaning in to place a soft kiss on John’s throat before straightening his neck to look at John. “I need the storage space.”

The doctor bursts out laughing, closing his eyes and gently swatting at the coach with his left hand. When he opens them again, it is to see a very indignant Sherlock staring back and John tries to hide his grin. He fails, of course, his face is so bright and merry it could light the sky. His conductor of light.

“What?” Sherlock asks, affronted. “I keep extra skates and gear in them.”

“No, no. Of course you do. It makes perfect sense,” John looks at him fondly, a wide smile stretching his lips. “God, I love you.”

He kisses Sherlock once softly and then lowers himself to sit on the bed. John reaches for him and slowly opens the buttons of his shirt, one by one, never taking his eyes off Sherlock’s. When John reaches the last one above the waistband of his bespoke charcoal trousers, he pushes the fabric open to reveal Sherlock’s pale chest and stomach. John leans in to lick a stripe over the left nipple while gently pinching the right. Sherlock moans and keens at the light touch of his rather unexpected ministrations. Jesus, it’s amazing. He cards his fingers through John’s short, blonde hair and throws his head back when John bites gently at his nipple.

“Oh god, John,” Sherlock gasps. “Don’t stop.”

John chuckles low and gravelly as he continues and it’s all Sherlock can do to keep his toes from curling in his shoes. When John does stop, he looks into Sherlock’s eyes and pulls at his body gently, gesturing backward toward the headboard. Sherlock’s lips curl into a half smile and he nods minutely. John shifts back as Sherlock leans forward and places his hands on the bed on either side of John. He raises a knee and plants it on John’s left side, the other on the right side and he crawls up and onto his doctor. With a sensuous smile on his lips and half-lidded eyes, John rests his back on the soft mattress and Sherlock works his way up the man’s body, straddling his hips. He kisses along John’s jawline and licks the shell of his ear with the tip of his tongue. John squirms under his touch. Another ticklish spot to store away in his mind palace. Exploring John’s body is becoming very interesting to say the least. 

Sherlock moves to John’s neck and collar bones, licking his way from one side to the other. He licks into the suprasternal notch and then rests his head against John’s chest. The smooth skin is soft on his cheek and he inhales deeply. Sherlock has never felt more comfortable or more at ease with anyone in his life. It is mind boggling and absolutely perfect. He raises his head to rest his chin on John’s chest and meets his eyes.

“How did you come to me?” Sherlock whispers, shaking his head slightly. “I was certain I would never love again.”

He tilts his head and looks at John with a thoughtful expression. The doctor gazes back and brushes the curls from Sherlock’s forehead with gentle fingers. 

“After Victor,” Sherlock sighs heavily, a note of sorrow creeping into his tone, “I vowed to never give my heart to anyone again. Then I walked into Greg’s office and there you were. My stomach flipped just at the sight of you.”

“What? You’re not serious,” John huffs an incredulous laugh. “No, you’re having me on. You avoided me for days. Weeks. I was convinced you didn’t like me at all.”

“I did like you, John, and that is precisely why I avoided you,” Sherlock replies almost accusingly. “I was trying to keep my distance and stay out of trouble.”

“Yeah, well, a valiant effort,” John chuckles with a knowing glint in his eye. He brushes that errant curl away from Sherlock’s forehead again. “Didn’t work though, did it?”

“No,” Sherlock says simply.

“And that’s… good?”John hesitates, suddenly unsure of Sherlock’s meaning. Unacceptable.

“Very good,” Sherlock lowers his voice an octave and fixes John with a searing gaze that both disarms the doctor and convinces him that Sherlock’s answer is true. 

John’s shoulders, in fact his whole body, relaxes into the mattress and he smiles up at Sherlock. He hides nothing, his face is completely open. Sherlock studies him a moment, just to make sure everything is right, because he has to know and he can’t stop himself. He can see in John’s eyes that he knows what Sherlock is doing and he nods, every so slightly, his approval. 

Sherlock reads him in an instant and sees love so deep, it could hold the ocean and still not fill up, and John knows. He knows what he feels and that Sherlock loves him back, and he is not frightened in the least. Sherlock leans more heavily into the muscles and flesh of John’s chest again, suddenly overwhelmed by his deductions. He takes a deep, grounding breath and focuses on nothing in particular over John’s left shoulder. His nerves must show because John cups his face gently and strokes his thumb over a cheekbone.

“It’s okay,” John whispers into the space between them. “There is no time table here. We do things at our own pace. I won’t push. I know what I said...about wanting to stay, but if it’s too fast… I’ll go back to my place, if you want.”

“You most certainly will not,” Sherlock announces in a petulant and forbidding tone with an expression to match. He lifts himself to prop on his elbows and glares down at John.

“Okay, okay,” John laughs. “I get it. You want me to...stay.”

The last word comes out slowly as John traces Sherlock’s cheekbone with great care, gentle affection on his face. Sherlock flashes a small, but brilliant smile and lowers his head to catch John’s lips with his own. The kiss is unhurried, not at all like the ones they shared before, but it is no less passionate. Love radiates from one man to the other like heat and both have a heady feeling when they part.

“This is your bed now,” Sherlock breathes and god, he can’t wait to spend a whole night in it with John. Tonight and every night after, and each one will feel like the first time all over again. He can see it in his mind palace. The two of them tucked under the blankets, resting their heads on one another, talking and kissing and touching.

“Our bed,” John’s soft voice pulls Sherlock from his reverie just as it was becoming interesting. He looks into John’s eyes and sees a promise meant only for him. A warm feeling moves slowly  through his body, beginning where John’s thumb still touches his cheekbone. It is like the point of light in Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. It has brought Sherlock out of the darkness and back to life.

Sherlock covers John’s hand with his own and tilts his head into the touch. He is calm, serene, and it is a new feeling for him. Sherlock typically has a thousand things rolling around in his head and that constant state of motion, fluid though it is, comes with a certain degree of tension. That is when it hits him: His mind is clear. Not blank, not at all. Everything is still there in the great room of his mind palace, the room that acts as the meeting point for all of his thoughts, but it’s...clear...and quiet. Every thought is neatly stored and no one item, or group of items, screams for his attention. He is free. His mind is free. Free to focus on John, only John.

John.

Sherlock turns his head into John’s hand as he holds it close and presses a gentle kiss to his palm. He blinks once slowly and does not move a muscle. Neither does John as he stares back into steady grey eyes. They gaze at one another for an untold amount of time. Sherlock spends a great deal of it soaking in the many shades of blue in John’s eyes and naming them. Some are obvious: cerulean, oxford, cobalt, Persian, sapphire, and pale blue. Some he has never seen before and names himself: captain blue, sea salt, Hamish. Sherlock chuckles softly at the humor of the last one and John tilts his head curiously.

“What?” John asks with an answering grin and then jokes. “Something on my nose?”

“No,” Sherlock laughs again, “nothing like that. It’s just...you. I can’t believe you’re here. I can’t believe I’m letting myself do this again. I know, I know.”

He shifts an arm to put a finger on John’s lips when he makes to object. Sherlock fixes him with a serious eye, his mouth drawn into a thin line. 

“I shouldn’t compare you to him, or this relationship to that one, but it’s so hard,” Sherlock sighs and slides off of John’s body. Lying on his side flush against John, Sherlock props up on one elbow and rests his head on his hand, leaving his other hand to stroke John’s chest in smooth patterns. “I collect data, John. You’ve seen me do it. I’ve done it to you. It’s in my nature to compare and contrast that data.”

“Sherlock, that’s okay. That’s you,” John folds an arm around Sherlock’s shoulders, to hold him gently to his naked torso. The skin exposed by Sherlock’s open shirt touches John’s and it is delicious, hot and smooth. “If you have done it to me then you know I am nothing like Victor, and could never be.”

Sherlock opens his mouth, but John holds up a finger this time and gives him a very serious look, brows raised like an actor who has messed up his line and is trying to keep everyone else from laughing so they can continue filming.

“No, no, okay?” John says by way of keeping Sherlock quiet. There is a short pause between them as they both look into one another’s eyes. “You say you compare and contrast it. I think you’ll see more differences than similarities in me and our relationship, and it’ll work in our favor. Hopefully.”

He adds the last word with some hesitation and an awkward smile. Sherlock rests his hand on John’s head, stroking through his short hair. He wears a fond expression, one corner of his mouth quirking up.

“Absolutely,” Sherlock tells him with assurance. “You bear no resemblance whatsoever. It’s just…”

He stops, paused in time. He cannot tear his eyes from John’s deep blue gaze. So honest and open, and also concerned. His forehead is wrinkled and his brows are still raised as he waits for Sherlock to find the words.

“I vowed I would never love again. I’ve spent years blocking out romantic love and emotion. I had a plan for my life,” he explains in earnest, “and then you happened.”

They are both silent. The words hang in the air around them and John’s expression is unreadable. Or is it? John almost looks nervous, but surely that can’t be. Sherlock is the one confessing his fears. Well, not fears...his past. Everything he decided long ago when he was still hurt and bleeding, when he thought love would only bring him pain. That was all changed the moment he met John and now Sherlock looks ahead to their future together with a hope and excitement he thought he would never have. He just can’t seem to find the words to say it. Sherlock wrinkles his own brow in frustration.

“And that’s... good?” John’s voice rises more than normal at the question and Sherlock frowns. None of this is working. He is trying to explain himself and is only making things worse. He must find the words to put John’s concerns, concerns he stirred up in the first place, to rest.

“Very good. Fantastic,” Sherlock says quickly. Too quickly and he still sees the doubt in John’s eyes. “It’s just a lot to take in.”

He tilts his head in his hand and rests the other on John’s chest again as he looks him in the eye. His breath catches as he tries to continue. He can feel the beat of John’s heart beneath his palm, strong and sure. It’s steadiness keeps this man alive and Sherlock with him.

“I felt something for you immediately,” the words tumble from Sherlock’s lips and he is not even sure where they are coming from because his mind feels blissfully empty, save John. ”That’s no secret. I tried to resist, but it was a hopeless endeavor, and then it filled me and my soul. After that it became a battle with myself to not express my feelings.”

“Not express them?” John looks at Sherlock straight on, confusion plain on his face. “Why wouldn’t you just tell me? Why hide it like that?”

“I didn’t want to frighten you off,” Sherlock shrugs, looking at him meaningfully. “You were determined you couldn’t love anyone and it was all so new between us. I knew you would run if I announced that I loved you, if for no other reason than to keep me from being hurt.”

John’s brows lower with his narrowing eyes. His lips press into a thin line with down-turned ends. Sherlock can see his warring thoughts in the lines on his face. John used to be so guarded and Sherlock could seldom deduce him after that first day, but more recently, since Baltimore, John has let Sherlock see and know more. Now is no exception as John debates between denying Sherlock’s assertion or agreeing with it.

John opens his mouth to protest. His eyes are sharp and his brow knitted in disapproval. He inhales, readying to speak the denial on his lips, and then his expression softens. He lets his shoulders sink back into the mattress as the tension in his muscles loosens.

“Fuck,” John mutters, looking down at Sherlock’s hand still resting on his chest. “You’re probably right,” he looks up to meet Sherlock’s eyes. “I probably would have.”

The corners of John’s mouth curl up slightly, but his eyes look pained and regretful. It is a sad smile he wears and Sherlock wants to kiss it away. He slides his hand down to touch John’s arm almost shyly and John’s face brightens. He blinks slowly, just once, his blue gaze on Sherlock. John’s smile grows as he brushes that same wayward curl off of Sherlock’s forehead and looks at him fondly. 

“For the record, when you did say it, it was good. Brilliant. I couldn’t believe my luck,” John beams, even as Sherlock gives him a haughty shake of his head.

“You didn’t believe me,” he retorts, swatting John’s bicep.

“Can you blame me?” John asks in a defensive tone. “We’d only just met and...and you’re you.”

“What?” Sherlock wrinkles his nose. “What are you talking about?”

“And I’m me,” John continues without acknowledging the question.

“John Watson,” Sherlock stops him in a commanding tone, “are you implying that I am ‘out of your league’?”

“Well,” John swallows and pulls back a bit for a better look at Sherlock, hesitant and pensive. “Yeah, actually.”

Sherlock huffs.

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,” he straightens his long neck to gaze down at John imperiously. “That is utter nonsense. What on earth would lead you to that conclusion?”

“Oh, come on,” John snarks. “You’re beautiful.”

“And you are a golden-skinned surfer with a brilliant mind,” the coach quips. “Honestly, John, you do not do yourself justice.”

“All right, maybe,” John remarks hastily, shifting his body restlessly. “What I meant to say is that once you did tell me how you felt, I didn’t know what to say, but I was glad you told me. I did feel lucky and happy. However confused I was about my own feelings, it made me feel…” 

John hesitates and glances away from Sherlock’s face to pale chest, biting his lower lip and second guessing himself. Sherlock gives his arm a squeeze of reassurance to let John know that he can always speak his mind without worry. John sighs deeply, still not raising his eyes.

“This is going to sound stupid,” John finally looks at him with soulful eyes. “It made me feel...well, warm. And safe and...free somehow. That’s the exact opposite of how I’ve felt in literally every other relationship I’ve been in. I knew it was something different, but I just couldn’t wrap my head around what it was.”

“I knew you loved me,” Sherlock confesses and then adds. “Before you told me.”

“What?” John’s gaze is on him now, unwavering. He wears a critical frown and his face is scrunched up in a way that usually precedes grumpiness. God, why did Sherlock even say that?

“But I had no way of knowing whether or not you would realize it,” the words pop from his mouth before he can stop them. John’s frown deepens. What the hell is Sherlock doing? Is forcing an argument really the best way to spend their first night in their bed?

“Wait, what?” John asks again, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“And then Moriarty took you.” Jesus Christ, is there no way to stop this outpouring of idiocy? What is wrong with him? Sherlock fidgets in John’s arms, pulling away and thinking about how quickly he can dash into the bathroom.

“Sherlock, stop. Stop,” John curls his arm tighter around Sherlock’s shoulders and lays a hand on his bicep, both regain his attention and keep him from running. They meet eyes once again and Sherlock notices that John’s are soft and searching, not at all like the growing annoyance he expected to see. “You knew I loved you, but didn’t think I would figure it out? You didn’t think I’d return your feelings?”

“Yes,” Sherlock answers honestly. No point in denying anything now. John lets out a quick breath, almost like sigh but with a sound of dismay to it.

“And you were just going to resign yourself to that?” his tone is light, as though tip-toeing around a subject that would make Sherlock suddenly realize what a fool he had been to pin his hopes on John. As if anything could ward him away from this man.

“I wasn’t resigning myself to anything,” Sherlock snaps defensively. “You had expressed your interest and clearly cared for me. It was only a matter of your own self-realization.”

“Right,” John replies unconvinced. 

Sherlock gives a frustrated sigh and resolutely ignores the doctor’s skepticism as he trails a hand down John’s sleek chest to his belly, coming to rest on his belt buckle. John shivers, but does not lower his eyes or even glance away from Sherlock’s.

“It doesn’t matter now anyway,” Sherlock announces with certainty. “You did realize it.”

John is still staring and silent.

“Problem?” the taller man asks, beginning to wonder how they got on this subject and wishing they hadn’t if John is going to look at him like that.

“What? No. No, I guess not,” John replies almost absently. He has the distinct appearance of someone trying to organize a great many thoughts. “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to settle.”

“Settle?” Sherlock repeats in an incredulous tone.

“Yeah,” John confirms. “For the likes of me.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Sherlock says dismissively, sitting up in the bed.

“I’m serious,” John sits up and turns his body to face him fully, bending his legs and tucking one under the other. “If I had never pulled my head out of my ass… Sherlock, why are you laughing?”

“I’m sorry, John, I am,” Sherlock tries to stifle his mirth, but still giggles in between every other word. “The very idea that being with you is ‘settling’ is such nonsense.”

John’s frown grows as he watches Sherlock continue to laugh at his expense. The taller man shakes his head and places a hand on John’s naked chest. The skin is warm to his cool fingers and palm, and his heart flutters behind his ribs. His laughter finally fades and the eyes he casts upon John have a solemnity they had not before.

“You are the kindest, bravest and wisest man I have ever known. To see that as settling for anything is preposterous. I would stay by your side with a smile on my face until the world ends,” Sherlock cuts off his voice with the snap of his mouth closing, but not quickly enough.

Jesus Christ, he really is an idiot. That sounded like nothing less than a marriage proposal or at the very least, ‘I’m fully committed to you. Let’s stay together forever’. For god’s sake, he just told John he didn’t want to drive him away. So the next natural step is to, of course, bring up the desire for a life-long relationship.

Fuck.

Sherlock closes his eyes slowly as the full magnitude of his stupidity washes over him. He wants to jump off the bed, lock himself into the nearest room master bath, and disappear into his mind palace for at least a month. Frankly, he is surprised John hasn’t beaten him to it. Seems like the appropriate response for what he just blurted. That’s when Sherlock realizes that John has not moved. Not an inch. In fact, there is a gentle pressure on Sherlock’s knee like John is actually touching him instead of fleeing. It is warm and welcoming, and exudes no hesitance or awkwardness.

Armed with that knowledge, and curious as hell, Sherlock opens his eyes to see John still sitting before him. He wears a small and somewhat disbelieving, but pleased smile. The hand on Sherlock’s knee gives a little squeeze that actually tickles. He suppresses the urge to jerk away or move at all, wanting to hide the ticklish spot from John. He has observed a few such areas on John’s body and wants to keep the upper hand. Unfortunately, his efforts seem to be in vain because John’s expression does nothing less than advertise the fact that he knows exactly what he has just found. Aside from that, John’s face is difficult to interpret.

“John,” Sherlock begins abruptly, set upon laughing this off or explaining it away.

“Really?” John interrupts in a quiet tone that brims with anticipation and...hope?

Sherlock frowns and fixes John with a probing gaze, presenting the polar opposite of what is going on in his mind. His mind palace has just run completely off the rails with joy. He would be leaping through the air as ticker tape fell from above if he didn’t feel the need to maintain a cool and collected exterior until he can suss this out. Sherlock takes a moment to consider John’s demeanor, posture and this one word he has uttered. He cannot believe what is found: 

Against all odds, John is pleased, pleased by Sherlock’s verbal diarrhea. 

Sherlock blinks once, twice, a third time. His body is entirely still. He cannot believe his ears and must be dreaming. This conversation cannot be real, but it is. Energy and electricity pulse through Sherlock’s body with frightening speed as excitement fills his veins and threatens to burst from their thin walls. He wants nothing more than to throw his arms open wide and shout to the heavens that John Watson wants to spend his entire life with him, Sherlock Holmes, but he must remain calm and rational now. He doesn’t want to overwhelm John and has to pace himself.

“Yes,” Sherlock answers honestly, his eyes widening as he does. That is not at all what he had planned to say. Paralyzed, his surprise so complete he cannot even berate himself for this slip-up. He simply watches John with trepidation and regret. God, why didn’t he just lie? He could have said any number of things, the least of which was ‘Hell, yeah, I meant it’.

Sherlock is about to close his eyes a second time, but does not. Instead, they widen further as the corners of John’s mouth turn up into a big and very genuine smile. John’s thumb slides smoothly back and forth over Sherlock’s knee, and light dances in his blue eyes.

“Me too,” John says in a voice so sincere that the words jet straight into Sherlock’s soul and his heart swells with a kind of joy he could never conceive of without this man. He has found it. His perfect puzzle piece, as his mother used to say. Molly calls it the other half of his heart. His lobster. Wait, what? Goddamn those absurd NBC sitcoms for entering his psyche! 

Whatever the label, he and John were meant to be.

Without another thought, Sherlock’s hand raises to touch John’s cheek deftly. He nearly jerks with the jolt of electricity that whizzes through his body anew and nearly snatches his hand back at the shock of it. He silently marvels at it. Its surprise and pleasure, its comfort. How can just one touch mean so much? Sherlock almost laughs at himself. He is handling John more carefully than anything in his life and apparently, John finds it just as amusing.

“I won’t break,” the doctor chuckles quietly. His hand on Sherlock’s knee is warmer than ever now. The flesh beneath his trousers simmers at the touch of it. Sherlock huffs a breath.

“I know. It’s just…” he wets his lips. Every inch of Sherlock’s body tingles with anticipation and desire, but he holds his hand steady. He sighs, damn near frustration. “God, I want to touch you. I want all of you.”

“I want that too,” John gazes deeply into those grey eyes and leans forward to graze his lips over Sherlock’s, eliciting a gasp from the coach. “So come and get me.”

He slides his hand up Sherlock’s long thigh, stopping dangerously close to his groin. Sherlock gasps again as his body tingles and tenses. John’s lips quirk up and he slides his hand up over Sherlock’s belt to the skin exposed by his open shirt. He sighs when he rests his fingertips against Sherlock’s belly and an undisguised shiver runs through John’s body.

“John,” the name comes out in a quiet rush of breath. Sherlock’s hand lifts of its own volition and cradles John’s cheek. The doctor leans into the touch, his sparkling eyes speaking to Sherlock as clearly as any words could. 

Yes.

The fingers of both hands are dancing up Sherlock’s torso now. Palms that push the shirt open further come to rest on his chest and John’s eyes glide up the remainder of the way, drinking in his long pale neck and sharp cheekbones until John meets Sherlock’s eyes with an adoring gaze. The coach’s lips part as he feels the gravity of it and oh, how he wants. He wants to touch John and feel his body pressing back. He absolutely cannot wait another minute.

Sherlock leans forward, letting his eyes close just before his lips press against John’s. Another gentle kiss and he pulls back to look at his lover again. John looks amazing and wrecked and hungry, so hungry. His gaze darts down to Sherlock’s mouth and back up. His palms burning hot on Sherlock’s pectorals, pressed over peaked nipples. It feels exquisite. God, it feels perfect.

Sherlock swoops back in, this time with his mouth open and his tongue licking along John’s lips. The doctor parts them and the wet heat of their mouths coalesce, sharing the same breath. Their tongues slide together and Sherlock tilts John’s head with his hands on either side of John’s face to deepen the kiss. John’s fingertips dig into the skin of Sherlock’s chest, his fingers instinctively curling to grab a fistful of shirt where it has already been pushed aside. He knows just how the doctor feels. He wants to be closer, deeper, stronger. He wants to touch every inch of John’s body with his own. He wants to be on top of him again, inside him.

Surging forward, Sherlock pushes John onto his back with force, their lips never parting. John’s hands are on his shoulders, pushing the shirt off of them. Sherlock releases the doctor’s face long enough to tear the sleeves from his own arms and throw the shirt to the floor. His hands are instantly back on John’s body, holding him while they kiss and lick and suck at one another’s lips and tongues. Sherlock breaks away to mouth down John’s neck, lick, nibble and suck along his collarbones. 

“Jesus, Sherlock,” John moans. His hands stroke the man’s back, gliding up his neck and tangling in his curls. “God, yes. Yes.”

Sherlock takes a nipple between his lips and sucks. He flicks with the tip of his tongue and smiles around his ministrations as John writhes beneath him.

“Shit,” John curses breathlessly while Sherlock moves to the other nipple. His hands rove over his lover’s body as he thrusts up to meet it. “Fuck. Come here. Come here now.”

His hands cup Sherlock’s face and pull him up gently, but firmly to crash their lips together again. For god knows how long, they both give and take in turn, caressing and lavishing attention on one another. Sherlock yelps when John heaves his body unexpectedly and rolls them over so his legs astride the man’s hips. His hands are in between their bodies, scrabbling at Sherlock’s belt and trousers. The coach reaches down to help, but focuses on John’s zipper instead. They each scramble to get their own trousers off, John rolling off of Sherlock to divest himself of every stitch of clothing on his body.

When they meet again, they are on their sides and kissing with passion, a frenzy of emotion each can feel down to his core. Their arms are wrapped around each other, groins rubbing frantically. Both moan at the friction and buck their hips, desperate for more. Climax is ever-present, getting closer, so close, and then Sherlock stops. He pulls away to catch his breath and looks at John with his cheeks flushed pink and lips kiss swollen. Beautiful.

“What?” John gasps, his brow already wrinkled with worry. He swallows and pants, searching Sherlock’s eyes. “What is it? Is it too much? I can slow down. We can go slow if you need to, if you need some time.”

“No,” Sherlock blurts between gasps. “I don’t want slow.”

Sherlock presses his lips together and then parts them, taking a little time to regain control of his rapid breathing. John does the same, still watching him with concern. Finally, Sherlock bites his lip and places a hand on John’s naked hip. The skin is on fire and Sherlock nearly moans at the heat of it.

“I want you,” he begins tentatively. “All of you and god, I can have you. I want...I want to be inside you.”

Sherlock finishes in a rush as if he has to sneak the words past John so he will agree before he realizes what has been said. Sherlock has never felt more nervous in all his life. No championship has ever come close to this, and he is beginning to think he has fucked everything up because John is just staring at him, agog. He isn’t even blinking. Shit. Shit. Sherlock cringes at his own presumption and stupidity. John had mentioned this before - there’s no fucking way Sherlock could forget - but he had turned him down. Sherlock had wanted it. Of course, he did, but he had wanted John to know he loved Sherlock before they took that step, even if it meant they would never take it. Now has he ruined things by bringing it up without ever explaining himself first?

An apology on his tongue, Sherlock opens his mouth, but John speaks before he can say a word and the doctor’s words render him mute with shock.

“You would want to do that?” John’s voice is quiet and startled. “Before, you said no. I thought...you didn’t want that… with me.”

“No. No, no, no,” Sherlock cups John’s face in his hands. His voice is urgent, but soft. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never meant to make you feel that. I just...wanted you to know you loved me before we…” he sighs deeply and allows himself this vulnerability. “It’s important to me. I don’t just take men to bed.”

“I know. I know, and I do,” John breathes and cracks a small smile. “I love you, Sherlock. God, I love you so much.”

Sherlock grins brightly at those words, his whole face shining, and he leans in to kiss his doctor. It is only a tender brush of lips, but it starts an incredible feeling of anticipation that spreads throughout his body in seconds. When the kiss ends, Sherlock exhales a shaky breath and rests his forehead against John’s for a moment before pulling back to see his face. 

“So now the question is do you want that, John?” he asks breathlessly, nervously. He looks unflinchingly into John’s eyes and hides nothing. All of his thoughts and feelings are laid bare, exposed for John to see. His needs and desires and, above all, his love for John so deeply rooted in his soul he can no longer remember his life without it. He watches John as he sees it all and melts.

“Oh god,” John whispers in a quick gasp. “Yes. God, yes.”

That is all Sherlock needs. He dives in and kisses John to within an inch of his life. Then he trails kisses and lips and licks down John’s torso, pushing him onto his back as he goes. His lover strokes his shoulders and tangles fingers in his curls, all the while moaning soft curses and encouragement. Sherlock wiggles in between John’s legs, spreading them wide as he works his way down John’s body.

“Jesus. Oh, god,” John sighs, letting his head fall back only to jerk it up again when Sherlock licks a stripe down his shaft, tip to root, and then does not stop. “Fuck! Sherlock! What..ooohhhhh...are you doing?!”

Sherlock’s only answer is cupping John’s balls and licking across his hole. John’s whole body shudders in surprise and profound pleasure, even as he squirms to stop him.

“Sherlock,” John gasps frantically, “you don’t have to.”

Warmth that starts low in Sherlock’s belly radiates out into every corner of his body. It is a sense of arousal he can barely believe or contain. Every nerve, every damn molecule is alive with the sensation and the desire to take John apart piece by piece. 

“Do I look like I have reservations?” he asks quietly and more articulately than he expected. He looks up at John from under long, dark lashes, his face still a hair’s breadth from John’s ass.

“Oh, fuck,” John’s pupils swallow the color in his eyes and his breath stutters.

“I want all of you, John,” Sherlock repeats. “I want this. Please.”

“Oh, god. Yes. Yes,” John answers desperately. “I want it too. I want you, love you so much. You’re perfect. You’re…”

The words die in John’s throat as Sherlock spreads his cheeks to lick at first and then thrust his tongue in, licking a circle around the tight heat. John cries out and squirms, helpless to desire and pleasure. Sherlock continues thrusting in and out, licking and mouthing. He takes turns with his mouth and lubed fingers as he works John open. All the while John writhes and curses and tugs lightly at Sherlock’s curls.

When he is satisfied with his work, Sherlock buries his tongue one last time and wiggles it before thrusting once more. His intention is a final gesture that opens the door to more, but it proves to be too much for the doctor and John’s body suddenly jerks beneath him. Uncontrollable spasms rack John’s body and he is cursing loudly, his head thrown back. John is coming hard, his penis straining against its own skin and completely untouched. Sherlock feels a tinge of regret at that, but knows there will be more opportunities to explore. Instead, he kisses John’s thighs and uses his fingers to ride it out, brushing John’s prostate with a feather-soft touch and John comes again with a sudden spurt onto his own belly.

“Fuck!” he shouts, gasping for breath and clenching his fists in the sheets. He rasps on breathlessly as the orgasm ebbs. “Oh, fuck. God. Fuck. Sherlock.”

John pants heavy and deep as he opens his eyes to look at Sherlock. He swallows hard around great gulps of air and wipes sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand before reaching for the lanky coach.

“Goddamn, Sherlock,” John’s voice is hoarse and cracking under the weight of his rapid breaths. “Jesus Christ, Sherlock, get inside me. I want you now. I want your cock.”

Obliging instantly and nearly bursting, Sherlock lines them up and pushes in slowly, sending a moan from both their lips. Thank god they’re both clean, he has no patience for a condom right now. Fighting his own body and most of his mind, he carefully pulls out a bit and slowly pushes back in. He does not want to hurt John by being too enthusiastic, though he quickly sees that he needn’t have worried. John’s body is more than ready and apparently, so is John. The doctor grabs Sherlock’s hips with both hands and thrust hard, tearing a loud cry of ecstasy from Sherlock’s lips. With stars already in his vision, he meets John’s blown eyes and is greeted with lust and desperation.

“Ride me,” John demands. “Take me. Take me hard.”

With those words, Sherlock loses all control. He knows he isn’t going to last long after all of John’s cries and spectacular release, so he works quickly. He thrusts into John hard again and again, stopping suddenly with his tip against John’s prostate and a curse on John’s lips.

“Fuck! Fucking yes. Yes!” John’s hands are gripping Sherlock’s hips, his body tense and slick with sweat and meeting his thrusts perfectly. 

Sherlock loses all sense of space and time, always hitting that spot with each new thrust. John’s arms fly up, his fingers clutching and scratching at Sherlock’s shoulders and arms, anywhere he can gain purchase. Before long, Sherlock slows his pace, knowing it is coming soon. A hot, spiraling surge of pleasure coils in his belly and every bit of him tenses deliciously as he chases his release. Its rings burst apart in an explosion of heat and wet and rapture, and Sherlock is completely taken apart by the force of it. He shouts and thrusts and twitches, joy and sensation swallowing him whole and drawing him down deep into a part of his mind palace he has never seen before, some of it being built right before his eyes. He had already made a whole wing for John, but this is different. This is their space. Every detail designed for the two of them, to hold every feeling they experience together and hold every memory they make. The first to find quarters in this new place is John’s face, as well as Sherlock’s, the moment he said ‘I love you. Sherlock, I love you’.

Those are the words Sherlock hears when he opens his eyes. He is lying on his back on the soft warmth of his bed. John is hunched over him, looking into his eyes with undisguised concern. Sherlock blinks a few times in confusion, trying to get his bearings and decipher what has happened. He must have lost himself too completely in his mind palace and toppled over onto John, who then rolled him onto his back.

“John?” Sherlock croaks, his throat rough and dry.

“Sherlock, thank god,” John’s voice is full of equal parts worry and relief as he touches Sherlock’s damp brow and cheeks. “Your pulse is too fast. Just breathe. Slowly now. Try to slow it down.”

Obeying the doctor without question, Sherlock concentrates and breathes measurably until his body resumes its normal rhythm. John presses two fingers to his neck and counts out his pulse. Happy with his findings, he lets out a long sigh and smiles.

“There we are. Just too carried away for a minute there,” he brushes a curl from Sherlock’s forehead. “Nothing to worry about.”

Sherlock’s heart skips a beat at the soft affection of the touch and he smiles up at his lover. He starts to sit up, reaching for John as he goes, but John stops him with a firm hand on each bicep.

“Wait, wait,” he pushes him down and then laughs at the petulant frown on Sherlock’s face. “We need to get cleaned up, that’s all. Don’t get stroppy, all right?”

He hops off the bed, grabbing a random sock off the floor and holding it to his own belly to keep the mess covering his torso from smearing or dripping as he hurries to the master bath. Sherlock hears water running as he looks down at himself. His groin is slick with lube and saliva and semen. The sight of it gives him the most ridiculous sense of satisfaction and contentment. He inhales deeply and lets it out slowly while stretching his whole body luxuriously like a cat lying in the warm light of the sun.

“Here’s a flannel,” John says upon his return, offering Sherlock a damp washcloth. He takes it, a blank look on his face. John adds with a crooked smile. “To wash off.”

“I know what it’s for,” Sherlock snaps irritably, more so than he intended. He softens his tone again to continue. “But what did you call it?”

“A flannel,” John replies simply. “What do you call it?”

“A washcloth. Obvious. That’s what it is,” Sherlock supplies with a grin and stifled giggle. John narrows his eyes and swats Sherlock’s leg playfully.

“Just clean up, you tosser.”

“Tosser? Oh, that’s a new one,” Sherlock teases, rolling toward the doctor. “Tell me what that one means.”

He reaches out quickly to grab John’s wrist and pull him back into bed, but the man is too quick, just dodging his outstretched fingers. After a couple of jogged steps, John slows to a walk and heads for the bathroom again, still completely naked. Sherlock’s lips curl up as he watches that ass tip from side to side with the natural swing of John’s hips. He also can’t miss the fact that John’s left hand is behind his back, middle finger raised in a rude gesture for Sherlock to see. The coach laughs as John turns in the doorway to look at him.

“Piss off,” John remarks with no venom. His grin lights the room and Sherlock feels like he is home, but like no other he has ever known. Wherever this man is, is home and Sherlock never wants to be anywhere else again. 

“I’m going to shower,” John informs him, assuming a business-like tone. Sherlock watches him  slyly, knowing he is putting it on. “If you can stop all the teasing, you can join me.”

“Why should I stop? I rather enjoy it,” Sherlock gives him a cheeky grin and eyes John with approval. Not giving him a chance to answer the question, Sherlock raises the washcloth to punctuate his next question. “Why bother with this if you’re going to shower?”

“So you aren’t such a sticky mess when I snog you senseless,” John chooses to answer only the last question. He turns away and gives a swish of his ass as he looks over his shoulder. “Coming?”

Sherlock is frozen for a moment after John disappears into the other room. His eyes are wide and mouth hanging open, in spite of himself. His life is forever changed by the beautiful, wonderful man in his bathroom. Their bathroom. Sherlock looks at the washcloth in his hand, down at himself and then back to the doorway that once held John. A smile spreads across his face as he muses at how this could even be possible. Only a few months ago, things were so different. He was happy, but now… His lobster.

Sherlock springs into motion with the sound of water bursting from the shower head. He quickly wipes himself up as best he can in a rush and runs for the open door, steam already drifting out from within. He wraps his arms around John’s waist soundly as soon as he enters and presses a kiss to one firm shoulder blade. John is under the spray with his eyes closed, arms raised and hands skimming over his wet hair. He smiles fondly, wipes the water from his eyes and face, and lowers his hands to rest upon the taller man’s. Sherlock props his chin on John’s shoulder.  

“Hello, beautiful,” John says, tilting his head down to look at their joined hands. 

“I love you,” Sherlock whispers, his lips millimeters from John’s ear. He tightens his hold and kisses John’s neck gently.

***

An hour later and they are both settling into bed again. John is on his back with Sherlock just lying down next to him. He folds his arm around the taller man as Sherlock rests his cheek on John’s bare shoulder. Both elected to put on boxer briefs rather than pajamas and John revels in pure delight at the decision. Although, part of him wonders why they put anything on at all. Clearly something to be rectified in the future. In the meantime, Sherlock’s bare legs tangle with his and the warm, naked chest pressed up against his body is heavenly. With a sigh, John rests his hand on the man’s pale skin, inclining his head to touch it to his lover’s crown. The soft, dark curls tickle his cheek as he rests it against them. His fingers move up from the small of Sherlock’s back to the nape of his neck to play with those gorgeous curls, fingertips twisting in the damp rings and freeing tiny droplets.

John opens his mouth to speak, but a wave of realization crashes over him instead. His lover. His lover. His. This is his flat now. The one he shares with Sherlock. Well, as soon as he moves things out of his current flat and into this one. He and Sherlock will be together now. Forever. That’s what Sherlock wants and the more John thinks about it, the more he wants it too. To be by Sherlock’s side. To talk to him and touch him and share a bed with him. To be with him always. Christ, it’s amazing. Life with Sherlock. In this world, in this flat. The two of them against the world. It nearly takes his breath away. He must have moved or gasped or something at the thought because Sherlock tilts his face toward John’s and looks at him with curious eyes. 

“All right?” he asks in a deep voice, a sexy purr to John’s ears. A blissful grin spreads across John’s face as that delightful warm feeling pools low in his belly again.

“Yeah,” John answers, smoothing down the curls he twisted into tight ringlets. “I’m good. Perfect, in fact.”

“That is a gross exaggeration,” Sherlock laughs, his body shaking with it. John chuckles with him and shoves at his shoulder.

“It feels perfect then,” John corrects himself. “Is that better?”

“Mm, yes, but still highly subjective,” the taller man teases. “I would expect a man of science to be more methodical and draw conclusions based upon serious analysis.”

“How do you know I haven’t?” John asks, mimicking Sherlock’s haughtiness. He knows for a fact that Sherlock knows exactly what he is doing, but he does not let on. Instead, he simply watches John with narrowed eyes, his mouth curled smugly. “You don’t spend every hour of every day and night with me.”

“I will now,” Sherlock’s lips grow into the grin of a cheshire cat. A gleam flashes in his eyes. “Especially at night.”

John leans down and catches his mouth in a rather insistent kiss. He wants to tell Sherlock so much, everything that is in his heart. He pours it all into this kiss, wanting and willing Sherlock to understand, to see it all without John saying a single word. He knows he cannot get away with that and doesn’t really want to. He has to say it, wants to say it again and again for the rest of his life. All of his days with Sherlock, and nights, as Sherlock reminded him.

John shivers and brings the kiss to an end. Looking into Sherlock’s grey eyes, John sees that understanding. Sherlock knows all and sees all. He’s too damn clever for his own good and John absolutely adores him for it.

“I’m counting on it,” John says quietly. His hand drifts along Sherlock’s collarbone to his long neck. He dances his fingertips up the pale skin to jawline and chin, resting his palm over an angular cheek as he speaks. “D’you know this is our first night in our bed?”

“The thought had occurred, yes,” Sherlock gives a decisive nod. “We have already christened it in the physical sense, and now the emotional,” he looks at John with a knowing expression. “Sentiment.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” John wriggles down a little so his face is closer to Sherlock’s. “Billy mentioned you’re no good with that.”

“Did he?” Sherlock smiles ruefully. “He is not wrong. Although, I would like to think I’ve made some progress on that front.”

“You have,” John replies in a measured tone, but wearing a wide grin on his face.

“Under the appropriate tutelage, of course,” Sherlock continues, nonreactive to John’s jest.

“And you found a true expert to teach you too,” John adds cheekily. “A master of the craft.”

Sherlock snorts at that and John immediately joins in, both unable to hold it in any longer.

“At least I finally got my shit together,” John remarks when the sound of their giggles dies down.

“Indeed,” Sherlock chuckles, resting his palm on John’s chest and lifting his head to look him in the eye, “and I am deeply grateful.”

“Sherlock,” John says with a sudden seriousness that surprises even him. He sees it reflected back in the coach’s expression and rushes to speak before Sherlock’s big brain can start conjuring doubts. “I was stupid. I made myself so blind I couldn’t see what was right in front of me, but I do now.”

He pauses to wet his lips and gathers his courage for what he wants to say next. He expects it to be difficult and then he realizes that it isn’t hard at all. Saying this, declaring his feelings, feels like the most natural thing he has ever done. Everything is with Sherlock.

“I love you, Sherlock and I’m going to spend my whole life telling you and showing you just how much. It all starts here in this bed, in this flat, right now,” John tells him sincerely, covering those long fingers on his chest with his own. “I love you and I want to tell everyone. I want to shout it from the goddamn rooftops.”

They both laugh again for a moment. Still wearing a soft smile, John meets Sherlock’s eyes and touches a hand to his cheek. His fingers cradle the smooth skin and he slides his thumb over one beautiful cheekbone, capturing this moment so he can hold onto it forever.

“My life is yours,” John says simply in a quiet voice, “for as long as you want it.”

Sherlock’s lips curve upward and he looks at John with tears in his eyes. He shifts up John’s body until they are shoulder to shoulder and cups John’s face with both hands. Gazing into blue eyes, Sherlock leans toward his doctor and kisses him softly, sweetly, in a way he will repeat over and over again as the years drift by.

“And mine is yours,” he says in a hushed voice.

They share a kiss so deep, so honest and open, one that tells them both so much that they can scarcely catch their breath when their lips part.

“I love you,” Sherlock whispers against John’s lips.

“I love you,” John breathes back. 

Their words, breaths, and lives mingle together to create one. 

They rest their foreheads together and sigh, sharing in the perfect silence of the room. Their own breathing, now coming in identical puffs, is the only noise in the air around them. They both settle into bed again, heads ensconced in pillows and arms enfolding one another. 

John’s eyes grow heavy quickly and he almost does not notice when Sherlock drifts off, but the coach gives himself away when he snuffles quietly and snuggles close. John smiles to himself as his eyes close, ready now for sleep to come. In the last ten nights, his last thought before his brain passes into its rest cycle has been of The Crown and his rescue. The dreams that follow rule his sleep as they show him the different ways it could have played out. 

More often than not, the dreams have had an alternate ending in which things went poorly. One night when he, Sherlock and Greg were all in DC to meet with the Board the dream ended with Sherlock dead. He had drowned trying to untie the ropes that had bound John to the weights and John was left staring into his unseeing grey eyes as he floated away motionless. John had startled awake that night, covered with sweat. He was so shaken that he had thrown on a hotel bathrobe over his pajamas, gone straight down the hall to Sherlock’s room and rang his mobile until the man awoke. John had wrapped his arms around him as soon as he opened the door with a startled ‘John, what is it?’

John has never explained the dreams to Sherlock and Sherlock has not asked. John will tell him at some point, but not now when it is still so fresh. Soon though. 

As for tonight, it seems like it should be no different and yet, it is. Here, in their bed on the first night of their life together, John’s last thought before falling asleep is completely different and the dreams he has open a new world of wonder and excitement.

Sherlock was brilliant at finding clues. Ones I left and ones I didn’t even realize. He could be a detective in his free-time, as if we have any of that to spare.

John’s mouth turns up at the corners slightly and a sleepy snicker passes through his lips as he pulls Sherlock closer.

A consulting detective. Mm, I should tell...him...that.

El Fin

---

I said it all at the beginning, but I will again. Thank you all for being with me as I posted. Your love and support means the world to me. All of you are my friends on this journey. This story has a special place in my heart for a lot of reasons, not the least of which is meeting my lovely beta, MyBreadAndButter. Thank you, my friend. You have help me shape this story and my craft into something truly great. I look forward to working with you, and to seeing all of you again. I will never stop writing. It is a part of me as much as these two idiots are. I pledge to make them fall in love again and again with you all by my side. 😂 Until then... Keep you pants dry and your dreams wet and remember, hugs not drugs. We’ll all get through this together. Love, Jane

@zentris @221b-carefulwhatyouwishfor @tooolforthissh--stuff @shana-movershaker @melmey-fanfics @louise175dk @technicallywiseoncns @underestimatemethatwillbefun @jhamishw @weirdlittlegoofball @superwholockpotterincamelot @superwholocklmt @ladidragonuniverse @kittenmadnessandtea @srebrnafh @welcometomyharddrive @annecumberbatch @kingdomofbrokenhearts @philliphooper @whodwantmeasaflatmate @gloriascott93 @vvaticancameoss @cow-mow @echosilverwolf @spazzz32 @absentmindedsstuff @swissmissing @shuukichan @maeliandmyself @wtgilsa  @red-pen-revolution @britishaccentfan @dischorde @plasticstrawsmuggler @youknowyougrow @one-thousand-splendid-stars @irina12maria

[millefleurconfessions]

bottles, wildflowers, and parallel universes

I was on the way home, listening to some radio DJ talk about his belief in soulmates (or lack thereof). He said something about soulmates being made, not found; like it’s this scientific notion that lacks magic and insurmountable equations—something cold and simple. I wanted to turn off the radio.

Maybe it’s because I’m this sentimental piece of shit, or because I’m a writer that I disagreed with his ridiculousness with every fiber of my being. In my case, I’ve grown up to watch Disney princesses have their happy disillusionment and have my parents read to me every fairytale there is, that I would never think for a moment that life does not have inexplainable forces that bring souls together for a reason.

Even at this age, my heart remembers how much I waited as a child for Winnie the Pooh to go on air. There’s something about Christopher Robin getting lost in the woods and finding the pack he belongs to without any difficulty. It’s his reality, and also his escape when things get rough. Sure, life happens and he has to leave when the sun goes down, but he always comes back. Because with his friends, he is home. It’s an adventure of a lifetime that has written the book he lives by and it’s the way I am with you.

People say that soulmates are a once in a lifetime opportunity that not everyone has a chance to experience. But when the Greeks said that people are built in pairs, I swear I would laugh. I believe I was built in a number more than one or two.

How is it that I met you at the right time without knowing I needed you?

My only answer would be: wildflowers.

Wherever I am, I make sure to always walk slow at some point to look and to feel. Without knowing, my eyes drift off to a patch of flowers growing wildly in the middle of nowhere. My heart immediately warms at the sight because it was as if the universe was waving at me, saying, “Look! I know what makes your heart full and it’s here! It’s for you, and it’s here!” It’s a far-off assumption that’s deeply embedded in my soul. It makes life easier to live that way, knowing some good things in this world are meant for me.

I’m probably not making sense anymore and it’s the focal point of this messed up, raw, open letter to my best friends. So now I’m going to try and just tell you straightforwardly.

You could try and give me all the letters in the alphabet, all the words in every dictionary, all the thoughts I have ever had about us, and it would still not be enough to make you (and even me) understand how grateful I am to have found you in this world. You are more than everything to me, and I love you in so many mundane, non-grandeur ways.

I love you when you excuse me from class just to eat ice cream with me.

I love you when you drive as far as Samal just to check up on me just because some stupid boy decided to make me cry.

I love you when you send me songs that make my heart smile and hurt at the same time.

I love you when we go on windy tricycle rides and tickle the side of the drivers.

I love you when you bring me Stik-O on my bad days no matter how late you are for class.

I love you when you crowd me in school and pretend to be my bodyguards.

I love you when we sit together in someone’s living room and just be next to each other, fill every space of the couch to laugh.

I love you when you tie my shoelaces and make sure to catch me when I trip.

I love you when you dance with me to Twice’s songs.

I love you when you wash the dishes with me and take over in packing up because I am too drunk to do so.

I love you when you are bathed in concert lights and I see the effervescent happiness in your eyes.

I love you when you defend me even when you know I can do it by myself.

I love you when you tease me about how I could fit in your pockets because I am so small.

I love you when you chase sunsets with me and love it as much as I do.

I love you when you make an effort to include me in times I can’t be around physically.

I love you when you joke around with my dad and get drunk with him.

I love you when you promise my mom to take care of me for the night.

I love you when you come over and hold my brother’s hand and buy him Yakult.

I love you when you make plans and include me in your futures.

I love you when you give me sparks of hope that keeps me going when life crushes me.

I love you when you let me carry half of the weight you carry because you feel it’s too heavy to carry alone.

I love you when you fill every crevice of my heart just to make sure it’s always full.

…and most of all, I love you because you love me.

With you, I am at my happiest. No amount of time or distance could ever erase that.

To be completely fair and honest, I’m excruciatingly terrified of waking up to a tomorrow without you. I guess I just can’t take away that insecurity that I’ve always had, even before you came, that one day, you will look back and I will be just a speck of a memory that was once a good time in your life. I’m sorry in advance if my love suffocates you because of me needing you to be a place I can always come back to at any point in my life. You are my home, so I hope you understand. You all have pieces of me that I would never want to take back because it’s yours and I hope you take care of it, wherever you go. And if I could, I would put you in a glass box just to make sure that nothing in this world could ever come close to hurting you. I love you that way, but there’s more to that.

I love you in a way that hopefully makes you fly. I want you to have all the room in the world to meet new people, to be different people, and to live different lives. And I hope every day that I never took a moment for granted and loved you enough to make it last every lifetime, and reach as many as a million kilometers away. When you are alone, I fervently wish that all you need to do is think of me and you will immediately feel my embrace without having to go to where I am.

We all have so many dreams to chase, so I’m going to loosen my hold and watch us chase and chase and chase. However, when you’re done, remember that I’ll always be here, waiting for you to come back.

As much as I hate the sterility of science, I am thankful for those who have made so many theories about the universe. My favorite one comes to the conclusion that everything that is possible happens. So, if I don’t see a bunch of wildflowers in the middle of nowhere in this universe, there is another one where another version of me sees a garden of them. Every second, a path splits and creates lives that are so different from the life we are living right now, further and further into multiple parallels that we’ll never know about. And because of that, there are so many versions of you that find me, and versions that do not. At this very second, so many versions of us are living different choices as the consequences of our actions that may lead us to somewhere else, to someone else.

My heart breaks for every single version of me that does not end up with you. I think of that, and all I could do is hope that in this lifetime, I love you enough to fight against the forces of the universe and find every you to come home to.

And I know that you know me so well, know I am stubborn and I love fighting just as much as I love breathing. May this letter be a reminder, that I am always hoping, finding you in every lifetime and the next.

To the ends of the Earth and further,

Alika.