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seokra · 4 years ago

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IF YOU LET ME | PART 6 (JJK)

Series: If You Let Me

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, Hoseok x Reader, Hoseok x OC

Genre: Angst, Love triangle, Unrequited Love

Word Count: 2374

WARNINGS: None.

A/N: Jimin and Jungkook are the best boys 🥺. That’s all.

You wake up from the sunlight streaming through your bedroom curtains landing on your face. You stretch out your limbs and sit up, instantly regretting the sudden movement because you’re hit with a terrible headache, making you groan as you cradle your head in your hands. You rub your swollen eyes before you look around your room and spot a glass of water and a couple of pain relief tablets sitting on your bedside table. You immediately swallow the pills and chug the entire glass of water, and then you slowly start to get out of bed. You wince once you try to stand, forgetting about your swollen ankle. You slowly limp towards your door, opening it and you’re immediately met with the smell of bacon and pancakes, making your empty stomach grumble.

“Good morning, sleepyhead! How are you this fine morning?” Jimin greets with you his dazzling smile as you hobble into your kitchen.

“I feel like death,” you croak out, voice strained from all of the crying you did the night before.

Jimin chuckles at your response as he plates up the food. “Hungry?” he asks you as you sit down at your tiny dining table.

“Starving,” you reply.

Jimin sets a plate in front of you before he heads back to your kitchen. ��Would you like a cup of water or orange juice, Love?”

“Coffee, please,” you answer with a mouth full of pancakes.

“You got it!”

Jimin returns with a cup of coffee for the both of you before sitting down across the table from you. “I heard you had a rough night,” Jimin mentions, taking a bite of syrup covered pancakes.

You furrow your brows trying to remember the events of last night, but all you can remember is Hoseok introducing his girlfriend to everyone. Everything else is a blur after that. Your heart sinks at the memory and you start to feel tears sting your eyes, but before your emotions can take over, you blink them away and exhale a shaky breath.

“How did I get home last night?” you inquire.

“Jungkook took you home, do you not remember that?”

You shake your head, still trying to piece together your memory.

“He actually spent the night…” Jimin informs you.

“He did?” you question in confusion. “Why?”

“He said you asked him to stay,” he shrugs.

“Oh.”

“You really don’t remember anything last night?”

“Well… I remember Hoseok and…” you trail off, not able to finish the sentence in fear you might break down. Jimin solemnly nods his head, turning his attention back to his breakfast.

As you sit there pushing your food around, the image of Jungkook holding you flashes in your mind. The way he caressed your cheek to wipe your tears away. You look down at your bandaged ankle and remember Jungkook taking care of your injuries.

“Where did he go?”

“Hoseok-hyung?”

“No, Jungkook.”

“Oh, he had something to do this morning. He said he’ll be back to check on you later. For now, you’re stuck with me,” Jimin grins, causing you to weakly smile back. “So, what would you like to do today, Love? Should we go for a walk and get some fresh air?”

“I don’t think I can,” you say motioning to your injured leg.

“Oh that’s right!” Jimin laughs, throwing his head back covering his mouth full of food. “Jungkook told me about that. We can’t take your drunk ass anywhere!”

You roll your eyes at his teasing and continue to eat your breakfast.

“I guess we’ll spend the day in and put some ice on that bad boy.”

Jungkook’s POV

He walks up to his apartment door and is about to stick his key into the lock when it suddenly swings open. He’s met with Hoseok kissing Ryujin, trying to convince her to stay. She’s trying to squirm out of his hold giggling that she has to meet her friends for brunch. Hoseok spots the younger man from his peripheral and immediately lets go of Ryujin causing her to turn and face Jungkook, too, face flushed.

“Oh, hey, Kook,” Hoseok greets.

“Hi,” Ryujin shyly offers, pulling her hair behind her ear. Jungkook just stands there eyes wide.

“Call me when you get home okay, babe?” Hoseok says to Ryujin as she makes her way past Jungkook. She glances back and acknowledges Hoseok, waving goodbye before disappearing down the hall. Jungkook’s face falls into a scowl as he pushes past the older man.

“Whoa. What’s the matter with you?” Hoseok questions.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jungkook answers, briskly walking to his bedroom.

“Whatever, man.” Hoseok closes their front door and moves to sit on the couch.

Jungkook reemerges a few moments later with a duffle bag of clothes and toiletries.

“Where are you going?” Hoseok asks.

“I’m gonna be staying at Y/N’s for a few days until she feels better.”

“She’s sick?”

Jungkook walks out of the apartment, ignoring Hoseok’s question. Hoseok is left on the couch worried about your well-being. He pulls out his phone and immediately shoots you a text.

Y/N POV

You stare at your phone screen for a while. Heart breaking from seeing his name pop up. You contemplate on whether or not you should reply, but before you could, Jimin takes your phone out of your hands.

“Hey!” you protest.

“Ah-ah, no phones out while we’re watching a movie,” Jimin scolds. He places a bag of frozen vegetables on your ankle that has been resting on a pillow atop your coffee table. You cross your arms and lean into your couch as Jimin sits down and starts the move he’s chosen. It’s some indie comedy you’ve never heard of but he insists you watch it because the main girl is pretty.

When you’re focused on the movie, Jimin discreetly pulls out your phone and looks to see who you were texting. Brows pinch together in disapproval when he sees Hobi’s message. He rolls his eyes and exits the thread, stuffing your phone back into his pocket. He scoots over and rests an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him in a snuggle. You’re halfway through the movie when Jungkook enters your apartment.

“Hey,” he says as he places some bags on your kitchen counter.

“Did you get what I asked for?” Jimin asks as he bounces to his feet, walking towards Jungkook.

“Yep. Some chicken porridge and a tub of dark fudge ice cream,” he answers, holding up the contents in the bags.

You look down and spot his duffle bag. “Are you staying over again?” you question.

“Uh, I was planning on it. Yeah..” Jungkook sheepishly answers, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Un-unless you don’t want me to.”

“Oh, no. It’s fine. I don’t mind,” you shoot him a small smile.

“Great! Now that we’re all here, I’ll prepare the soup and you can join Y/N on the couch,” Jimin instructs Jungkook, who just nods his head in acknowledgement before sitting down beside you.

“How’s your ankle?” Jungkook asks.

“Oh, it’s still swollen, but I’ll be fine. Thank you for taking care of me last night. I’m sure I was a mess.”

“Yeah you were! Jungkook and I practically dragged you out of the bar!” Jimin chimes in, handing you a bowl of porridge.

“Shut up,” you huff.

“Kook, you should have seen the way she struggled to walk this morning!” Jimin practically falls over from the memory.

“Shut up!” you throw a pillow at his head causing him to only laugh more.

“Okay! Okay! I’ll stop,” Jimin holds up his hands in surrender as he gets comfortable in the armchair adjacent to you.

“You’re not eating?” you ask.

Jimin shakes his head, “Nope. The porridge is all for you. It’ll help detox all that alcohol you consumed last night,” he laughs.

“What about you?” you say, turning towards Jungkook.

“I, uh, I already ate.”

You roll your eyes at your friends before you bring a spoonful of soup to your lips.

Once you’ve finished eating, Jimin takes your bowl back to the kitchen and quickly washes it. When he returns, your head is laying on Jungkook’s lap and he’s absentmindedly petting your hair. He chuckles to himself, shaking his head as he plops back down in the armchair. You’re starting to feel the weight of the day on your eyelids and they start to flutter shut as the movie nears its end.

Jungkook’s POV

By the time the credits roll, Jungkook hears our light snores from his lap. He stops petting your hair and instead brushes a few strands out of your face. He smiles at the sight of your peaceful face. He wants to plant a kiss onto your cheeks and is about to when Jimin speaks, reminding him he’s not alone with you.

“So when are you gonna tell her?”

“Tell her what?”

Jimin rolls his eyes before quirking his eyebrow in a knowing look. “You know what.”

Jungkook stares back with his large doe eyes, mouth opening and closing trying to figure out what to say, but Jimin starts giggling at his flustered state. “Just don’t wait too long to let her know how you feel. You don’t want to miss your opportunity.”

Jungkook nods in acknowledgement before turning his attention back to your sleeping figure. He runs his fingers through your hair causing a soft hum to emit from your lips.

“How was she today?” he asks the blonde haired boy.

“She was okay. There were a few moments I could tell she was going to start crying but you know how she is. She fought it back and remained strong.”

Jungkook couldn’t help but smile a little at that. You hated feeling vulnerable and did everything you could to remain strong and it was one of your qualities he admired. He hopes that one day he’ll be able to break down your emotional barriers. He wants you to be able to be comfortable enough to let him see all sides of you, even your ugly sides. He wants to become your safe space. Someone you can count on to make you feel better, like a breath of fresh air.

“Thank you for coming over to keep her company today, Jimin-ssi.”

“I would have come over here today to check on her anyways, so no worries,” he waves off Jungkook’s appreciation.

Jimin stays for another movie with Jungkook while you’re still fast asleep. Some time through the movie Jungkook fell asleep, too. Jimin didn’t notice until Jungkook slowly fell over, head landing on your hip, lips slightly parted. Jimin chuckles to himself at how adorable the two of you look. He decides to take a quick photo of the two of you sleeping on top of each other before he grabs a couple of blankets for you both. He takes off the thawed out bag of vegetables from your ankle and cleans up your apartment a little bit before he leaves, setting your phone down on your coffee table.

Y/N POV

Your apartment is dark when you awake. You stretch your limbs and feel Jungkook shift, his head falling onto the couch cushion. He grumbles a little but stays asleep. You sit up and rub the sleep from your eyes, spotting your phone on the coffee table. You move to grab it and instantly squint your eyes from the light that emits from the screen. The time reads 00:43 and you have a few missed messages from Hobi. You decide to ignore them for now. You slowly get off the couch, trying your best not to wake Jungkook. Standing up, you wince a little at the pain shooting from your ankle. You hop on one leg as you readjust the blanket around his figure and slowly limp your way to your bedroom. As soon as you lie down, your phone rings.

Jungkook’s POV

He had woken up a little when he felt you move off the couch. He felt you fix the blanket over him and he heard you shut your bedroom door. He stays laying on the couch, staring at your ceiling when he hears your phone ring. Curious, he quietly makes his way to your bedroom door, slowly leaning his ear on to your door to hear who you’re talking to.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine, Hobi. what do you want?” you ask him, sounding annoyed.

“I just wanted to check on you, ‘cause y’know… Jungkook said you weren’t feeling well. Where is he by the way?”

“He’s asleep on the couch. Why does that matter?”

“You have him on the couch?” Hoseok laughs. “I’ve never had to sleep on your couch before.”

“Yeah, well you never stayed long enough to have to.”

“Would you have let me if I did?” he flirts.

You sigh. “How’s your girlfriend, Hobi?”

“Good I guess. I haven’t talked to her since she left my place this morning.”

“Don’t you think you should check up on her?”

“Now why would I do that when my friend is under the weather?”

“I can’t do this right now… I’m tired. I’m gonna go to bed. Good night Hobi.”

“Call me tomorrow, alright, Peaches?”

Jungkook steps back from your door, frustrated. He’s debating on whether or not he should barge in and ask if you’re gonna go back to Hoseok after everything he’s just put you through. He decides to leave you be. You sounded like you weren’t that interested in Hoseok’s antics at the moment, so be turns to leave, but halts in his steps when he hears you whimper. He quickly opens your door and you’re curled in a ball beneath your blankets, shoulders visibly trembling even under the layers. Jungkook hurriedly rushes to the other side of your bed cuddling you to his chest as you cry for the second night. He holds you tight in his arms until you squirm, gazing up at him.

“Why does he have to do this to me? Why can’t he just leave me alone?”

“Shh, shh. It’s okay. I’ll talk to him,” he promises.

You steady your breathing as you press your cheek into his chest. The two of you lay in silence until sleep takes over you again.

#jungkook x reader #hoseok x reader #jungkook angst #bts fanfiction #Hoseok angst #bts angst #bts smut #Jungkook smut #Hoseok smut #jungkook f2l #love triangle au #unrequited love #if you let me series

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tunedtostatic · 4 years ago

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galaxies of my heart

Vikady, also featuring Sana and a brief Krejjh cameo

CW: injury, aftermath of torture, painkiller drugs, brief domestic violence mention (not named characters), food, discussion of medical trauma & painkiller controversies

As she speaks, one of her hands makes what could be the beginning of a motion to reach for Arkady, then folds back into her lap. Arkady wonders if Sana gave her a crash course on Not Touching Your Loved Ones Without Warning After They’ve Been Tortured Because They Might Freak Out, or if that was something she already knew from her time as a medic. Either possibility feels depressingly plausible.

I finished my first tscosi fic! In which injuries are cared for, miscommunications are miscommunicated, assumptions are countered, and kisses are kissed. Title (and lyrics referenced in the fic) are from “space girl” by Frances Forever, even though it’s kind of a fluffy song relative to some of the subject matter, but not to worry, I have a permit [unfolds a sheet of paper that reads “I was working on my Vikady fanmix in the morning the day I started this fic and got it stuck in my head big time”]

Edit: I realized 9k is a little long to be easily navigable in post form so I archived this as well. I just learned when attempting to post a credited picrew that Tumblr is still hiding posts with links, but it’s at archiveofourown dot org, /works/31851859.

Edit the second: Re-reading “adrenaline makes you do stupid things” by jaggedwolf and I'm 90% sure I accidentally stole a couple things from there rather than the general primordial soup of my brain (the line "That can't be comfortable" and maybe the general concept of Arkady making sure she gets hurt before the person she's been captured with), so adding this to give credit where due to a really great fic that you should definitely read if you haven't already.

The first time Arkady surfaces, everything around her is still coated in a haze as though she’s dreaming. The room is quiet, and when she takes a sharp breath in, all of a sudden Violet is leaning over her, her hair swinging near Arkady’s face.

“You’ve got very dynamic hair,” Arkady says, or at least tries to say, and then she’s asleep again.

The next time she wakes up, she wakes up completely, although her mind still feels a little foggy. Her body aches, and—yeah, based on that ceiling, she’s definitely in the medbay of the Iris 2. Which means that they made it back to the ship, or at least that Arkady did—

Fear surges through her, and she peers back and forth. Her eyes land on Sana, who is sitting to the right of her bed, crocheting something that sprawls across her lap in chaotic loops.

Her intention is to say Sana’s name, but she can’t even make it through the first syllable, emitting a sound that sounds more like the “Ssss” of the litter of feral kittens Brian and Krejjh found that one time. Great job, Patel, you’d make a better hissing kitten than a first mate. Krejjh is going to have to stop calling you First Mate Patel and start calling you Feral Kitten Patel—

The thought of Krejjh is enough to make Arkady’s whole mind flinch. Krejjh—

The feral kitten hiss must have been loud enough for Sana to hear, though, because she’s dropping her crocheting to her lap, looking toward Arkady.

“Kady,” she says warmly, at the same time as Arkady croaks, “Krejjh—”

“Is fine.” Sana’s hand comes up to rest on the pillow next to Arkady’s cheek, a steadying presence, though she doesn’t touch her.

“They were with me.”

“They were.” Sana nods. “But they’re here and they’re not hurt. Hanging out with Brian in the kitchen as we speak.” She glances through the medbay door before her gaze bounces back to Arkady, and it’s such a familiar Sana kind of motion that Arkady feels the remainder of her panic fade slightly. Speaking of octopuses of myth and legend, that’s Sana, one mental tendril keeping track of the approximate status of each member of her crew at any given time.

“How are you feeling?” Sana continues. “Park said you were in a lot of pain before you passed out. Violet has you on a painkiller drip, but she’s using the minimum the way you always want. If you’re in pain, we can raise the dose.”

Arkady turns her attention more fully to her body. Pain and sensation are present, but muffled, as though they are far away. Ribs: hurt. Arm: hurts significantly. Legs: hurt, but only a little.

It’s bearable. “I’ve had worse.”

“Kady—”

“I’m fine, Sana. Just feels like…what do you call them…colors, purple, ouch…bruises.” She shakes her head, then stills with a wince. “The others?”

“Everyone’s safe.” Sana pats the pillow where her hand rests next to Arkady’s cheek. “Park found you and Krejjh before anyone laid a finger on them. He got out fine, too. You’re the only one who was hurt, Kady.”

Arkady studies Sana’s face. “How…bad is it?”

“Six fractures, no serious tissue injuries.” Sana’s voice is gentle but matter-of-fact. “We’re going to pick up some skeletal accelerators next time we’re on-planet. Violet thinks that with those in the mix, the worst,” she gestures to the cast on Arkady’s right wrist, “should be mended in about two months.”

Arkady closes her eyes. One day, everything is fine, the next, a few backwater IGR assholes get the drop on them, and now she’s going to be out of commission for two months.

Still. Better her than Krejjh.

The thought is an icily familiar one, although yesterday she was limited to the grimmer Better just the two of us than the others. Krejjh was tied up on the other side of the room, and when the IGR goons got bored beating on Arkady, or kicked her in the wrong place and just killed her, they’d move on to Krejjh, and there was nothing Arkady could do about it—

Arkady’s eyes fly open, and she turns her head to nudge it clumsily into Sana’s hand. Sana cups Arkady’s cheek in her palm, thumb brushing over her cheekbone, wiping away wetness. When Arkady exhales, her breath is shaky. Stupid. They’re all safe now.

“They didn’t hurt Krejjh?” Her voice doesn’t sound like her own, unsteady and small.

“They didn’t hurt Krejjh.”

“Can I walk? Before the two months?” Her voice is still so small. Stupid.

Sana brushes Arkady’s temple with her fingertips, her calloused palm still warm against Arkady’s cheek. “Violet says she thinks you’ll be able to use a walking cast in three or four weeks. Or a little earlier, depending on how quickly the accelerators work their magic.”

Arkady keeps her eyes closed. “Those aren’t cheap.”

“That’s what rainy-day funds are for.”

“Do we even have a rainy-day fund anymore?”

“I will shake Other Violet down for loose change if I have to, Kady.” Sana’s fingers caress her temple again, and there is steel in her voice as she says, “This is my ship, and when one of my crew needs something, I find a way.”

“I know you do.” Arkady opens her eyes, though she finds that her eyelids seem to have grown heavier in the intervening minutes. She blinks sleepily at Sana. “You’re such a good octopus.”

Sana beams. “Thank you, Kady! I…have some questions,” she adds, “but they can wait until later, I think.”

Arkady’s eyelids are so heavy, but there’s one other thing she needs to ask. “Vi’?”

“Violet’s okay, too. She’s been taking care of you since yesterday, but I shooed her off to get some sleep.”

Arkady smiles. “’nks, S’na.”

Sana smiles back. “We’re all okay,” she says tenderly, “and if anyone out there tries to change that, I will demolish them.”

Arkady nods against Sana’s hand, straining to keep her eyes open.

“We’re all okay, Kady,” Sana repeats, and Arkady lets herself slip into sleep.

There are hours of restless dreams, and a dreamlike interlude where someone gently shakes her awake, holding her head up and helping her drink a medicine cap of chalky fluid, before she slips back into dreams that finally segue into deep sleep.

There is quiet music playing the next time she wakes up. She can remember where she is this time, and she lies with her eyes closed for a minute, enjoying the sound of the instrumental jazz track she recognizes from Krejjh and Brian’s Infinite Space-Themed Playlist. In the darkness behind her eyes, she doesn’t have to face the fact that she can’t walk, or run, or kick, or punch, or protect the crew, or—

Okay, maybe the space behind her closed eyelids isn’t as restful as it could be. Arkady opens her eyes.

Violet is sitting beside her bed with one leg tucked up on the chair, reading a tablet. A few strands of hair have fallen from behind her ear to brush against her cheek, and she’s biting her lower lip the way she sometimes does when she’s focused on something. Brian’s little retro radio music player is sitting on the bedside table, continuing to ooze soft jazz as Violet lifts an absentminded finger to tap to the next page, then curls her hand back into her soft sweater.

Yeah, eyes open? Definitely an improvement.

She should probably say Violet’s name, regardless of how endearing it is to watch her read. Before she has a chance to do so, though, she must breath loudly or make some kind of noise, because Violet looks up, her face crinkling into a tired smile.

“Hey,” she says softly.

Arkady smiles. “Hey, Liu. Good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you, too.” Violet’s smile quavers for a second. “Really, really good.”

Arkady tries to make her voice reassuring. “Hey, I’m okay, Violet, huh? It’s gonna be okay.”

Violet rolls her eyes, a small smile blossoming on her lips. “You’re the one in the medbay bed, Arkady. I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”

“It sounds like you have been taking care of me.” Arkady smiles again. “Sana said you were here with me all night until she made you get some rest.” She thinks back, trying to pin down a faint memory. “I remember seeing you, leaning over me?”

“Yeah, you woke up really briefly last night.” Violet wrinkles up her forehead in that adorable way that she does. “You said something that sounded like, um…‘You’ve have hair’?”

Arkady grins. “Well shit, Liu, you sure do have hair, don’t you?”

Violet laughs, shaking her head back and forth. Her hair bobs around as though a breeze is passing through the medbay, and Arkady laughs too, then winces as the pain in her ribs flares.

Violet stills instantly. “You have some fractured ribs—”

“Yeah, kinda put that together.” Arkady tries to breathe with the minimum possible amount of motion.

The expression on Violet’s face makes it look like she’s in pain herself. “Would you like me to up the dose on your painkiller drip?” she asks softly.

“Nah.” Along with the flaring pain in her ribs, both of Arkady’s legs and her right wrist have that same itching, burning ache. The rest of her body is just sore, like she’s covered in bruises, which she probably is. “Uh, speaking of which, though. Could I get a rundown on what’s, you know, busted? Sana said I had…six? seven?...fractures, but we didn’t get into specifics beyond the two-month limit.” She grimaces a little at the thought.

“Six,” Violet confirms immediately, before adding, with an abashed smile, “I mean, not that that makes things that much better than seven?”

Arkady resists the impulse to laugh again, confining herself to a snort. “Can’t argue that point.”

“In answer to your question,” Violet begins, slipping into her calm medic tone of voice, “you have two cracked ribs and fractures to your left foot and right ankle. They broke your right wrist pretty badly, and I’m going to need to be very careful about injecting any accelerators there, especially if we can’t find an actual doctor on-planet to do it, so it might be a little more than two months before any, uh, heavy use, but you should have the hard cast off earlier than that.”

“Right.” Arkady inhales through her nose; exhales through her mouth. “Could have been worse, right?” At least she isn’t blubbering the way she was with Sana, but her voice still drops too small and quiet on the last word.

“It could have.” Violet’s own reply is almost a whisper, and Arkady silently swears at herself for her choice of phrasing.

When she looks up, though, Violet doesn’t look weepy.

She looks furious.

“Hey, you okay there, Liu?” Arkady stares at Violet’s clenched jaw and balled fists. “You look like you’re about to blow a gasket.”

Violet laughs a little, flexing her fingers and curling her hands more loosely back against her sweater. “Did you pick that one up from Tripathi?”

“That’s not a mechanic expression. Everyone uses that expression.”

Violet gives her a skeptical look.

“Okay, yeah, I may have picked it up from the captain. It’s still a normal-person expression, though.”

Violet chuckles, and they both lapse into silence.

This is nice, Arkady tells herself. Spending time with Violet is nice. It’s nice, it’s pleasant, it’s a way to distract herself from the itching, burning ache in her limbs and the creeping dread of knowing that if the ship is boarded, Arkady can’t even run, much less protect anyone else.

“Speaking of Tripathi,” Violet says with a smile, “I should give you an update on the latest, ahem, on-ship situation. Our captain has declared that next time she has a free moment she’s going to tear out that weird shallow closet in the hall next to Park’s room and put in inset cabinets for towels and stuff so Park and RJ and I don’t have to cross the ship for them. But when RJ found out, they said…”

Arkady tries to listen to Violet’s narration of Sana and RJ’s stalemate about the cabinets, smiling at the appropriate points while keeping a lid on the sinking feeling of knowing that for not days but weeks, she’ll be able to do jack-all do protect either Sana or RJ, or Violet, who is sitting here smiling at Arkady with love and trust in her eyes as though half the universe isn’t out to get them here in their one fragile ship that Violet wouldn’t even be on if Arkady hadn’t tricked her onto it in the first place—

She shoves the thoughts away, focusing on formulating a reply to Violet’s story. “Well, if it devolves into fisticuffs, Sana could take them, but if Sana calls a vote, I’m pretty sure Brian and Krejjh will side with RJ about the sheet music, and I don’t know what or whether Park would care.” She grins. “So, even odds.”

Violet snorts. “Well, I’ll keep you apprised, assuming none of the combatants wander in here to make their case to you themselves.”

“Medbay and a show?”

“On this ship? I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Arkady grins again. “I don’t know why Krejjh thinks being an outlaw is boring. The way we live, we practically produce our own shampoo.”

Violet snorts again before adding, in the kind of giggle-whisper Arkady most closely associates with grade-school gossip, “I can’t believe they got RJ into Sh'th Hremreh.”

“I know.” Arkady bites back another grin. “I mean, I guess we shouldn’t be surprised. Krejjh can be very persuasive.”

“If by ‘being persuasive’ you mean ‘talking loudly and enthusiastically about a piece of media until everyone in their general vicinity is compelled by gravitational media force to watch the thing in question,’ then yes, I guess you could refer to it that way.”

“I notice it hasn’t worked on you yet.” Arkady raises an eyebrow. “Or has it?”

“No, I have not dipped into Sh'th Hremreh.” Violet raises an eyebrow. “Yet.”

Arkady bites down on another chest-killing laugh before it can escape, glancing toward the radio on the bedside table. “Speaking of Brian and Krejjh creations. The notorious Infinite Space-Themed Playlist, huh?”

Violet smiles, gazing at Arkady tenderly. “You seemed a little restless in your sleep, and I’ve always hated total quiet when I’m sick, so I thought maybe it’d be nice to put on some background music.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Arkady pushes away an obscure flash of annoyance at the sentimentality of Violet taking the time to put on this playlist for an asleep Arkady as though something as trivial as music is a priority when Arkady is down for the count and Krejjh is doubtless drained from yesterday themself and the whole crew is going to have to figure out how to scrape by and cover piloting shifts and handle everything with no security officer and a stressed pilot and a tired medic and—

She shoves the annoyance aside, telling herself not to be an ass. There are literal studies showing that music is good for mental and physical health, right? And she sure as shit could use as much distraction as possible from the ache of her ribs and her ankle and her messed-up wrist. Having a playlist on is nice. This is nice.

Holst’s The Planets has come on, making for a somewhat grim background compared with the rest of the playlist, and Violet leans forward to jab irritably at the advance button until a benign rock song begins.

Arkady gives her an inquiring look, and Violet sighs, biting her lip again.

“I am so angry,” she says finally. “About what they did to you.”

“You and me both, trust me.”

Violet sighs, slumping in her chair. “You and me aren’t the only ones who are. Krejjh was pretty…shaken. Brian and Sana have been there for them, obviously,” she adds hastily, “and they’re doing fine. We can take care of each other. We are taking care of each other. The last thing I want to do is make you worry about us. But…” She trails off. “This isn’t just another day on the Iris. Not for any of us.”

“Well, that’s why the IGR does what they do,” Arkady mutters, closing her eyes. “Torture gets results.”

Violet sounds startled. “Every credible study in the universe has shown that torture doesn’t work. You said yourself—”

Arkady opens her eyes. “Torturing someone to interrogate them doesn’t produce reliable information. People know that. That’s not what it’s for. Torture is popular across the universe, through history, because it punishes people. Controls them. Their families. Whole societies.” She wouldn’t have to explain this to Sana. “When it’s on the table, you live your whole life under a threat. The actual torturing makes the people doing it feel powerful and good, and in the environment it creates, everyone else is easier to control. Win-win.”

Violet’s eyes have gone all huge and empathetic. “Arkady—” she whispers.

Something about that look always gets under Arkady’s skin. “Calm down,” she snaps. “I know you’re incapable of not freaking out when I talk about my childhood, but no, I’m not implying I was beaten up as a kid. The guards mostly just beat on adults; I think they knew that if they went after kids too often, enough people would’ve stood up against them regardless of losses. Or hey, maybe it was a vestige of human decency. Kinda doubt it, though.” She gestures vaguely with her good hand, careful not to pull at the IV. “I mean, of course I got beat up by other kids a few times, but just in a normal way, not in a torture way—Point is, yeah, I’ve known this stuff for a long time, but it’s not like you’re a stranger to it, right? You’ve spent your entire adult life under the IGR. You knew what was happening to some of the people who were disappearing.”

Violet is staring silently at her with that look of horrified concern, but hey, at least Violet’s overempathetic mind jumping directly to Cresswin as an explanation of Arkady’s knowledge on this subject is arguably preferable to her thinking through the percentage of Arkady’s life spent in Special Forces and then as an IGR guard herself, a train of logic that she finds herself hoping Violet doesn’t follow.

But that isn’t the right way to think about it, is it, her brain points out a moment later, the way it does whenever she considers discretely concealing the most hideous parts of herself from Violet. Violet is dating her. She deserves to know what she’s gotten herself into.

“It was never like…this,” she starts. “It was never me in a room with a helpless person, hurting them. But you know I was Special Forces during the war. You know I was a guard on Telemachus. Yes, I grew up on a prison planet and it’s all very sad but once you get over your latest shock about that—you’re a scientist, you can do the math and figure out that I don’t only know how this works from one side of it.”

Violet’s eyes are getting progressively wider, and Arkady drops her gaze to stare fixedly at her own hands. “They didn’t train us on the details of it; not…techniques. I mean, I don’t doubt they had people for that, but that would’ve been above my pay grade. But me, us, those goons who got the drop on us yesterday, we’re instructed pretty clearly in, ha, ‘maintaining control over a noncompliant population.’ Not like it’s just a few backwater goons breaking bones, either. When I was a guard—”

It isn’t even that her voice breaks, not really. It’s more of a stumble over the sudden realization that her voice should be breaking, or shaking, or anything other than steady and clear.

“When I was a guard, we all knew that some of the people we were guarding would be ferried to the more, ha, specialized options. Zone Z isn’t a secret.” Her voice, still flat, is rising. “And during the war��I can’t pretend that what I did in combat was better. I killed a lot of people, Violet. I killed a lot of people and they will never be alive again. You can’t say that that’s better than being a professional torturer. I can’t pretend that, and I can’t pretend some of my unit and some the people leading us…I can’t pretend that they didn’t do…” She stares down at her body. “This kind of thing.”

Silence. Arkady forces herself to look up.

Violet is staring at her in horror, but, for once, Arkady at least agrees that it’s justified.

She can feel herself breathing hard, and her face is wet again, which is frankly an indictment of her as much as anything else in this conversation. Crying to your girlfriend for sympathy about the horrible things you’ve done to other people isn’t exactly a good look.

“Look,” she says. “Some of this will haunt me until the day I die, and that’s good. It means I’m still human; it means…it doesn’t matter what it means. It’s what I need to do whether it means anything or not. I should be haunted. I think even Sana would agree with that.” She sighs. “I can figure out a way to live with this shit, and I do, but you signing up to…you know…see…someone who you knew was a smuggler and a killer doesn’t mean you thought through the implications of the IGR part of the equation before you asked me out.” Her voice is rising in irritation even though Violet is the last person in this medbay who deserves it. “I’m not the most mobile right now, but this is your medbay, I think you can find the door—”

“Arkady.”

Arkady looks up again. Violet is making steady eye contact with her. The horror hasn’t all gone out of her expression, but her voice is firm, not panicked. “I knew, when I started going out with you, that you had been a soldier with the IGR.”

“Okay, but you also assumed anyone who’d fought in the war was a ‘war hero,’ so you’ll forgive me if I have my doubts that you grasped what—”

“Arkady.” Violet’s voice is louder now, but still very level. “In case you need the reminder, I was fully aware of both your history and what the IGR was capable of the day I asked you out. You know, the day we were fleeing New Jupiter in a stolen IGR ship? That day?” A faint note of humor has entered Violet’s voice, though it disappears as she continues, “I’m going to leave for five minutes, to go to the bathroom and splash water on my face, not for good. I’ll have my communicator if you need anything.”

“Oh.” Arkady stares at her. “Okay?” she manages.

Violet walks out of the medbay, and Arkady stares blankly at the ceiling until her footsteps reenter. As promised, the hair around her face looks damp, but she looks calmer, more settled. She sets a glass of something on the bedside table.

“I brought you some juice, which you should be able to have now that you’re up and talking, but—” She sighs. “We should probably discuss this first.”

Arkady watches her.

“Arkady, I…” For the first time since her calm monologue before leaving the room, Violet looks uncertain, then presses on. “Like I said. I did know that you had been a guard with the IGR, and I did know more or less what that meant. And I knew—” She rubs her face with one hand. “Well, I didn’t know, it’s not like you can ever know with anyone, when I was a paramedic I saw cases of domestic violence where you never would’ve—anyway. I thought that I knew that you weren’t the kind of person who hurt people for your own satisfaction, and that felt like enough.” Her eyebrows crease together. “You make me feel safe. You always have.”

Arkady can feel her face beginning to get soaked again. All the things that she feels are careening around inside her, as though her heart is a ship in a bottle and somehow, within the glass, someone has conjured a storm.

“And it…sounds like I was right?” Violet lets out a breath that could almost be a shaky laugh. “You never…you’re saying you never did to anyone else…the kind of thing that was just done to you.”

She opens her mouth again, then hesitates, her words becoming slower and more contemplative.

“You’re right, though. I’m not sure I…that in the time after I’d realized the IGR was a lot less than less than perfect, I’m not sure I ever thought through the degree to which you, as a guard, would have been complicit in…those things. And…” She sighs again. “You’re right. I do think of people who fought in the war as heroes. I mean, I never really had a chance to—or, no, I can’t sit here and claim that I never had a chance. I never let myself think about how likely it was that some of the people fighting for us were…how did you put it. Specialized at things that make me sick even to think about. But also…”

She drops her gaze to her lap.

“I…I know that you killed Dwarnians. People. I know that a lot of soldiers killed a lot of people. I mean, that’s what war means, right?” She gives another shaken almost-laugh. “And I’m not—I’ve never been the kind of person who celebrates other people dying—”

“I know you’re not, Violet.” Violet is a biologist and a medic. Her work is the stuff of life, not death.

Violet slumps lower into her chair. “Yeah. But…because those deaths feel…felt…feel…partially justified to me, because the Dwarnians were trying to conquer us…maybe I let that make me forget a little that those deaths are still…deaths.”

She lifts her face, looking Arkady in the eye, and Arkady isn’t sure what she sees there. “Sometimes I wonder whether, irrespective of everything else about our lives—” Violet makes a swirly motion with her hand, as though to encapsulate the distances between worlds. “I wonder if you always would have been the kind of person who doesn’t lose sight of the death part.”

“Interesting theory, Violet,” Arkady says, once she can get herself to speak. “Doesn’t change that I was the one of us doing the killing.”

As she says the words, she realizes that they sum out to something snarkier than she intended, but there’s no bite to her voice, and Violet seems to register that.

“No,” she says simply. “It doesn’t.”

Arkady watches Violet in silence as she scrapes tendrils of drying hair off her forehead, straightening back up in her chair.

“Anyway. I’m not walking out that door, Arkady. You’re right, I hadn’t truly thought about what it meant that you were Special Forces. There are probably things about the war that I need to…well, I’ll probably never understand them completely, but things that I need to acknowledge.” She sighs. “But I meant what I said earlier. When I asked you out, I was asking you, not some hypothetical better you. Besides,” she adds quietly, “it’s not like I don’t have my own regrets.”

There’s a pretty big difference between ‘keeping your head down and getting a college degree’ and ‘actively killing people,’ but Arkady doesn’t feel like getting into it.

She lets herself sink back into the pillow. The room feels calmer, like the air on a planet after a storm.

No, it doesn’t, Violet said, and somehow, that feels like an anchor. Violet isn’t so horrified by the things that Arkady has done that she needs to pretend that they don’t exist.

“I. Uh. Okay.” Arkady attempts a smile, though she has a bad feeling that she’s making more of a weird grimace.

Fortunately, Violet doesn’t seem to mind, giving her a smile of her own that’s only a little shaky. “I’m glad we, uh, talked about this, but I’m guessing it isn’t doing your pain any good and I’m ready to shelve it for now if you are?”

“Shelving, uh. Sounds good.” Arkady nods vigorously. “Yeah.”

“Also, you owe me an apology for snapping at me,” Violet says calmly.

“Oh.” Arkady stares at her for a second. “I…shouldn’t have done that, should I?” Great job restating the obvious, idiot. “I…” Jesus Christ.

Violet is watching her silently. Arkady takes a breath.

“Violet, I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have snapped at you about something that had almost nothing to do with you. I mean, I shouldn’t shout at you in general, that’s broadly speaking a dick move, but in this particularly context I definitely, especially shouldn’t have—”

Shut up, shut up, shut up. What is a good apology even like? Sincere. Doesn’t make it about yourself.

“What I mean is—I’m sorry.” She bites her lip. "And, uh…thank you. For, um, not holding me to a lesser standard because I was hurt.” Or because I’m someone who has hurt other people. “Not that you should have to remind me I owe you an apology, but…” She squirms. “You had enough faith in me to know I’d. You know. Want to. So. Uh. Thanks.”

So much for not making it about herself. She coughs awkwardly. “So. Yeah. Uh. You sure there’s not anything…more that you want to talk about? Because I, uh, just freaked out and dumped a ton of my garbage right into your lap, and if there’s anything else you need to say, or ask, or whatever, I’m here. I mean, I kinda can’t go anywhere else right now, but—you know what I mean.”

“Thanks.” Violet smiles a little. Arkady nods, trying to smile back and hoping this one isn’t too grimacey.

Staring at Arkady as though deep in thought, Violet says, “I don’t think there’s anything else, right now. I still want you to talk to someone about…all this…at some point. It doesn’t need to be a civilian counselor. Just…someone. But…”

Violet bites her lip. Her pained look from when Arkady hurt herself laughing is back, if it even ever left. “You have multiple broken bones and you’re stuck in bed and in pain, and right now more than talking about anything I just want you to be able to rest.”

“Oh,” Arkady manages. Helpfully, she follows it up with, “Ah.”

Violet smiles again, then hesitates. “Though, there is—"

She is staring at Arkady very intently all of a sudden, and Arkady can practically see the gears turning inside her head. She feels her own body tensing, a runaway voice inside her warning her that reminding Violet about so much of her past all in one go might mean that this is the day Violet finally does walk out the door for good.

But when Violet speaks, it’s not about the part of the conversation that Arkady was expecting.

“So…you’ve always known that torture, um, works. Ever since you were a kid.”

“What? Yeah, I—you grow up on a place like Cresswin, you get a pretty firm grasp of what torture is used for, yeah.”

Violet is biting her lip as though in deep thought. “So…when I was on the Iris…and you’d just stopped pretending to be Kay Grisham, and I accused you of wanting me to get in the cryo chamber so you could torture me for information…you said ‘We don’t torture, it doesn’t yield reliable results,’ and then you said, ‘Also, it’s wrong.’ But you believed…you knew that torture did work.” Violet’s voice is slow, her face still screwed up as though she is working something out. “Even if not for the exact purpose I was accusing you of. So…when you said all that…the reason that you, the real you, didn’t torture, that the Rumor crew didn’t torture, is just because it’s wrong.”

“Gee, Liu, glad you’re having a warm, fuzzy realization about how heartfelt and wholesome it is that our crew doesn’t torture people.” Arkady’s pent-up dread gives way to a fervent eyeroll. “Have you met Sana? Like, held a conversation with her? At any point in time? For more than thirty seconds?”

Violet sighs in annoyance. “That isn’t what—” she fires back, then stops, her voice going gentle again. “That isn’t what I meant. Do you want to try to have some of the juice now?”

“Liu,” Arkady says, a slow grin spreading across her face. “Are you keeping a lid on the snarky repartee because I’m all injured and convalescent? Because if I can say anything I want while you nobly go easy on me, can I just comment that the way that you put cereal in your milk a little at a time ‘so it doesn’t get soggy’ is mind-blowingly—”

“You’re making me. Want. To be a lot. Less. Noble. About it.”

Arkady snickers, then smiles, holding out her bruised but less-busted left hand. Violet stops mock-glaring and reaches across Arkady’s body to take it in a careful, awkward clasp, smiling at her as though…

Well, shit, Arkady doesn’t know how to put it into words, or at least not into words that aren’t all dramatic and weird. Violet is smiling at Arkady as though Arkady is some wonder of the universe that Violet can’t believe she gets to have the privilege of seeing, like a star or a comet or…whatever it is that biologists rock their socks about, a really cool bug or something.

It’s weird and kind of overwhelming, but kind of in a good way, and Arkady just wants to sit here and hold Violet’s hand, and look at Violet, and let herself be looked at by Violet like the wonder of the universe that Arkady knows that she is not but that she could, as Violet watches at her, almost believe herself to be—

“Violet,” Arkady says, wrinkling her eyebrows. “How many painkillers do you have me dosed up on right now?” She squints at the IV bag above her, dropping Violet’s hand and trying to shove herself a little more upright against the pillows. “Also, does a convalescent gal get to sit up around here? I kinda want to try some of that juice, and maybe someday even do something horribly taxing like read an update on our ship’s computer systems.”

The corner of Violet’s mouth turns up in a smile. “I’ll raise the bed. Let me know where you want to stop.”

“Right.” Arkady lies back as the fancy Iris 2 medbay bed hums its way upright. “Okay, stop.”

Raising her head from the thin pillow, she tips her stiff neck back and forth, peering around the medbay, which looks pretty much the way it always does. Sana’s multicolored crocheting bag is slung over the back of a chair.

“Let’s see, I think there’s—” Violet leans somewhere behind her, pulling out a fresh pillow and reaching forward to tuck it gently behind Arkady’s head. “Better?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“In answer to your question,” Violet says, still in her calm, attentive medic voice as she continues to adjust the pillows, “you told me back when I was taking down medical info on the Rumor that you prefer minimal use of sedative painkillers, and even the Iris doesn’t have any of the good non-sedative intravenous stuff, so I’ve been using the minimum of the intravenous sedative painkillers and transitioning you to our standard orals. That should mean you’re less groggy, but also that we’re blocking less of the, well, pain, so let me know if you want me to adjust the dose. It’s not all-or-nothing; I can fiddle with it a little without instantaneously sending you to another dimension,” she adds, a note of warm humor in her voice as she sits back in her chair with smile.

Arkady blinks, still stuck on the first part of that. “You did?”

“Did…” Violet frowns, visibly parsing which of her words Arkady is referring to, before her face clears in understanding. “Did stick to the minimum end of the range I considered safe and reasonable?” She gives Arkady a look Arkady doesn’t quite know how to interpret, sort of alarmed and sad. “Your medical decisions are your own, Arkady. I’m not going to override your wishes just because I care about you and seeing you in pain isn’t easy for me. Or any other reason.” Violet’s eyebrows furrow. “No one should,” she adds, in that quietly defiant tone of voice that she uses when she’s declaring something and has realized that she wants the whole universe to know it’s what she believes.

“Oh.” Arkady swallows. “Yeah.”

“We’re coming up on the next dose of the orals in a quarter of an hour,” Violet says, her voice businesslike again as she checks her watch. “In the meantime, are you ready for juice?”

“I didn’t even know we had juice.” Arkady eyes the glass with interest.

“There was some concentrate in the pantry. When Tripathi and I sorted the food, we tucked some of it away in case someone got hurt and needed easy fluids.”

“That was very forward-thinking of you.”

“On this ship, not really,” Violet mutters, holding the glass to Arkady’s lips.

Drinking from the glass as Violet holds it turns out to be somewhat complicated and require both of their full attention, but once Violet sets it back down, Arkady leans back against the pillows with a smirk. “Hey, we’re dashing space rogues. A few bumps and bruises are all part of the job.”

“‘A few,’” Violet returns, but without rancor.

“It’s my job, Liu,” Arkady snarks back cheerfully. Between the juice and the strains of one of Krejjh’s actually-good Dwarnian jazz tracks and Violet’s reassuring presence next to her, Arkady is beginning to feel more like herself than she has in a while, the helplessness of yesterday starting to feel a little further away. Even the pain is…okay, the pain is still pretty painful, actually, a constant burn at the edges of her mind.

She hesitates.

“Violet?”

“Yes?”

“Could you maybe…” Arkady licks her lips. “You said you could fiddle with the painkiller drip a little, right? Because my shitty bones kinda hurt a lot and I wouldn’t mind if they, uh, didn’t.”

“I can do that.” When Violet meets Arkady’s gaze, her voice is calm and serious. “I’ll start with a small increment. It will take about thirty seconds to take effect. Does that sound good?”

“Yeah. Yes.”

Standing, Violet adjusts something.

Arkady waits.

“Do you feel anything yet?”

The relief is noticeable, the pain in Arkady’s chest and limbs cooling down a notch. “Better. Wow. Better.” Arkady hesitates. “You, uh. Said that that was a small increment? I think I could use another small increment.”

“Okay.” Violet makes another adjustment.

This time, the relief is almost total. Arkady stares at the ceiling, feeling tears of relief prick her eyes as the burning ache eases to almost nothing.

Everything feels a little foggier, too, but she’s still here, and able to form mental sentences, and the pain is all but gone.

“That’s good.” She bites her lip as Violet sits back at her side. “That’s really, really—the pain is almost gone. Now.”

Violet swallows visibly, staring at Arkady in relief.

Arkady feels a tear coalesce and run down her cheek, and Violet reaches forward with gentle fingers to wipe it away.

“I’m glad, Arkady,” she whispers. “I’m so glad.”

Arkady lets a long breath out, looking around the room again. It’s almost like being in a new room, a room-without-pain, during a new day, a day-without-pain.

“Sana will be glad, too,” she comments wryly as her gaze lands on the crocheting bag again. “She gets all twitchy whenever she manages to have good food or meds or supplies on hand and someone doesn’t use them.” She grins. “It’s her whole octopus thing. You know, I think I called her an octopus yesterday? Krejjh won’t shut the hell up about octopi now that they’ve found out they’re, gasp, actually real, so I guess I just permanently have octopi on the brain now, and I was thinking about how Sana has her whole multitasking thing where she’s got an eye on the status of the whole ship and everyone on the crew at all times, and—damn it, I should have called her a ghost squid. She would have hated that.”

Violet is giggling helplessly. “I can’t believe you called Tripathi an octopus.”

Arkady grins lazily. “Yeah, well, now she’s gotten to enjoy living with the mystery of what the hell I was talking about. Even sedative-induced grogginess has the occasional upside, right?”

Speaking of twitchiness, Violet’s twitchy question face is back, though Arkady can tell she’s trying to hide it.

“You didn’t override what I told you, okay?” Arkady says. “You didn’t dose me up, even when I couldn’t have done anything about it, because I’d told you not to. So I figured you wouldn’t take a mile if I gave you an inch.”

“Oh.” Violet sits back in her chair, looking at Arkady with that same expression she was looking at her with earlier, sadness and something else Arkady can’t parse.

Arkady sighs. “During the war. When you got injured, they knocked you straight out. It made it easier on the medics, I guess—no panicking soldiers, just unconscious bodies to take care of until they got better or didn’t. And easier on the medics meant less medics per ship, which made it easier on the brass. I mean, I guess that was why, though I wouldn’t put it past just being a power trip for some of them—”

“I know.”

“—but it isn’t like you can easily say when it was that and when it was—” Arkady blinks. “Huh?”

Violet sighs, her eyes dropping to her lap. “That’s not just a wartime thing. When I was a medic out by O-11, some of my colleagues used too much sedative on people they thought were being a problem. Or who…might be a problem. Aggressive, scared, not ‘compliant,’ whatever. Of course, if you paid attention to who they were more likely to think was a problem…”

“I’m guessing there were patterns?” Arkady offers.

“Yeah.” Violet bites her lip. “The irony was that…this was less of a thing out in the field, but pretty often when someone was actually in the hospital, they’d be denied painkillers because the staff decided they were lying or exaggerating. It was…” Violet twists her hands in her lap. “It wasn’t just those problems, either. When you have a lot of people living in poverty, the power dynamics with whoever is in charge of access to medical treatment get…bad. It was not a good situation, and I was—you know. There. Being part of it.”

Arkady blinks, staring at Violet. Maybe the reason she didn’t know how to interpret the look in Violet’s eyes earlier was because it wasn’t actually the panicky huge-eyed way she looks at Arkady what feels like every time Arkady mentions some detail of Cresswin, but a look of recognition.

“I never thought about what it would be like to be a medic under the IGR,” she says quietly.

Violet finally looks up. “Part of it was the IGR, but a lot of my older colleagues had come up doing the same thing. It’s like you said. Republics aren’t perfect, either.”

“Oh.”

Violet licks her lips, hunching further into her chair. “It’s like you said about the war. Yes, sure, once I wasn’t a trainee and it was me and some colleagues out on a call, we were never the ones who gave those injections, used more than was needed. But that doesn’t mean that the ones I was with were always great about other things, or that others weren’t…” She sighs. “Just because I didn’t do anything especially bad myself doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have…you know, tried to do more than I did.”

Arkady stares at Violet, considering offering her her less-busted hand again, but decides against it. If she were Violet she wouldn’t want someone pawing at her trying to offer comfort about something that can’t really be comforted.

Violet’s work is the stuff of life, she thought to herself blithely only a few minutes ago, somehow not thinking about how much being a medic had to do with death and utterly traumatic shit. And-or, apparently, standing aside while your colleagues hurt and traumatized other people and then having to live with that.

“Jesus,” she says.

“Yeah.”

They sit quietly for another few minutes.

“Well, on a lighter note,” Arkady says awkwardly, “when it comes to your current cool, awesome medic job with our little band of dashing space rogues…can I, uh, have some more juice?”

The worst of the haunted look slides off Violet’s face as she smiles. “Of course.”

When the glass is empty, Arkady does reach her less-busted hand toward Violet, tugging her forward when she takes it. “Come here.”

She thinks Violet might go for a kiss on the forehead, depending on how fragile she’s thinking of Arkady as being right now, but Violet kisses her on the lips.

Their lips move together gently for a few seconds, then Violet settles back into her chair, smiling. “Your lips are sticky.”

“Excuse me, Liu, but I feel I should point out that your lips are now also sticky.”

“Touché.” Violet grins as she stands up again. “How’s your pain? We should still be transitioning you to the orals, so I’m going to get that ready now.”

“Still good.” Arkady smiles, wiggling the fingers at the end of her cast as Violet heads for the medbay sink.

“I know you and Sana are going to grump at me and Krejjh at some point for covering you and RJ instead of running,” she calls, “and then grump at me even more for making sure they hurt me before Krejjh, but if it had to be us, you are lucky you got me as a patient instead of Krejjh, trust me. They got completely freaked out when we tried to introduce them to Necco wafer candy a few years ago and still make grim remarks about ‘humans eating chalk.’ Dissolved pills would not be an easy sell.”

She’s expecting Violet to banter something back, but Violet looks downcast when she returns to Arkady’s side.

After Arkady has knocked back the chalky goo, she watches Violet carefully as she returns to the sink. That look could be about any number of things, but Arkady has the strong feeling that she’s seen it before, the first time Violet was bandaging her up after her gunshot wound on the Gay Louisa.

“Are you mad at me?” she asks, hesitantly, when Violet sits back down.

Violet’s face crinkles up in concern as she looks at Arkady. “Mad?”

Arkady grins weakly. “You know, because I went out and got myself hurt again?”

Violet’s forehead smooths out, then re-crinkles itself a second later. “I—no, Arkady, I’m not mad that other people tortured you. Or, I mean, I’m mad, I’m—furious, but at them, not at you.” She pauses. “And yes, I’m…‘mad’ isn’t the right word, but…it makes me upset that you got badly hurt to protect me and RJ, and it makes me upset that you think it’s good for it to be you who gets hurt instead of the rest of us. But you know that the times I chastise you for getting hurt, I’m not angry at you. Right?”

She smiles on the last words, in that specific abashed way that she smiles when she’s asking for reassurance about something that she thinks is just her anxiety playing up and probably not something she should actually be worried about at all.

When Arkady just stares at her, though, a look of alarm passes into her eyes. “You do know that, right?” she asks in a smaller voice. “I would never be really angry at you for getting injured.”

“Oh,” Arkady says. “Yeah. Of course I know that.” Did she?

Violet looks like she isn’t particularly fooled. “Well, now you do.” She sighs, shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry. If—hypothetically speaking, I mean,” she adds, her lips twitching in the ghost of a smile. “If you’ve ever thought I was actually angry at you for being injured in a bad situation…I’m sorry.”

Arkady blinks at her, finally managing to muster a nod.

Violet smiles a little, reaching out and smoothing Arkady’s hair. “I’m not mad at you, Arkady. There’s nothing about you being hurt and in pain that I would ever be angry about.”

“Well, not nothing,” Arkady points out. “You just said that you were upset that I try to put myself between the rest of you and danger.” She can’t resist adding, “You know, my literal job?”

“Your job is being first mate.” Violet’s voice cracks slightly.

Time to see how prohibitive this wrist cast is. Arkady lifts her hand to Violet’s face, brushing a tear from the corner of her eye. “It’s a job with a lot of facets.”

Violet sniffs wetly, lifting her own hands to gently support Arkady’s wrist as she lowers it to her lips and brushes a kiss against Arkady’s fingers.

“I’m not mad at you for putting yourself between other people and danger, Arkady,” she whispers. “In fact, it’s probably one of the reasons I fell in love with you.”

Arkady can feel her face getting hot as she stares, dazed, at Violet. “But…”

“I think it was a very brave and good thing that you did yesterday, and it scares me and makes me angry how okay you are with getting hurt to protect other people. I can feel both of those things at the same time.” Violet smooths Arkady’s hair again.

“Oh.” Arkady clears her throat awkwardly. “I. Oh.”

Violet chuckles, reaching up to dash a tear from her own eye. “You know what I feel, right now, more than anything? I’m just glad to have you back safe with me.”

“Oh,” Arkady says again. “I. Um. Hhh.” Get it together, Feral Kitten Patel. “I’m…glad to be back with you too. Um. Really glad.”

Violet smiles through her tears, and they gaze at each other in silence for a while.

“You know,” Arkady says wistfully, “I’m not exactly thrilled I can’t use a gun, or a knife, or punch anyone, or—” She cuts herself off. “Uh, you get the idea. But what I really can’t wait for is to be able to scoop you up, carry you to bed, and hold you in my arms all night long.”

“I.” Now Violet is the one blushing. “You…”

Arkady smirks, and Violet seems to regain the ability to form sentences, reaching out and caressing Arkady’s cheek. “Well, the scooping me up in your arms part will have to wait a little longer, but you should be able to relocate to your real bed some time in the next few days, and then there’s nothing stopping us from a whole lot of careful cuddling.”

Arkady smiles. “Sounds like a plan.”

“As for right now…I can’t exactly crawl into bed with you,” Violet says, sounding regretful, “but we could try…”

Pulling the chair with her, she moves so that she’s sitting as close as possible to Arkady’s shoulder, then carefully lowers her upper body to the bed so that her lower left shoulder rests just below Arkady’s right one, her face nestled into Arkady’s neck. Her left arm is presumably squashed under her, but her right hand comes up to rest on Arkady’s shoulder, thumb gently stroking Arkady’s shirt.

“Liu,” Arkady says, trying not to laugh, “that can’t be comfortable.”

Violet’s mutter against her neck sounds almost sleepy. “You’d be surprised.”

“Whatever you say.” Arkady tips her head to lean her temple against the top of Violet’s head. “Are you gonna fall asleep like that?”

“No,” comes the immediate response. “Or. Actually, this is more comfortable than I thought it would be, and I shouldn’t leave you alone for more than fifteen minutes while you’re still on the drip, and alarms are fallible so maybe I should…” She raises her hand to her comm. “Violet Liu to Iris Cockpit.”

“Attem—”

“Hello, Science Officer Liu!” sings Krejjh’s sunny voice. “How’s the patient?”

Arkady can feel Violet smile against her neck. “She’s doing pretty good, Krejjh. Hey, can you send someone down here in twenty minutes to poke me awake? First Mate Patel and I are at risk of engaging in some romantic tandem sleeping.”

“Iiiii sure can, Science Officer Liu!” The grin in Krejjh’s voice is audible, and Arkady feels a lingering echo of fear fading from her mind at the sound of them alive and well. “Aaand I’ll let you get right to it. Krejjh out.”

Arkady snorts. “I have no idea why you’re eager enough to cuddle with me that you’re willing to risk getting shaken awake in situ by a pilot making disgustingly enchanted faces at how ‘cute’ we supposedly are.”

“It’s a high price,” Violet says solemnly, her voice sleepy, “but it’s a price I’m willing to pay.”

Arkady snorts again, trying to ignore the growing feeling of sunlit happiness in her chest. Violet’s hair is soft against Arkady’s face and her body is warm against Arkady’s side, and Arkady stares up at the ceiling, trying to comprehend how and why she has gotten ridiculously, disgustingly lucky enough to be here, now, with Violet’s hand curled around her shoulder and the steady rise and fall of Violet’s breathing against her.

In the kitchen, someone or something makes a subdued crashing noise, and someone else cackles loudly. Arkady can feel Violet’s amused sigh, and she smiles, letting her eyes drift closed.

“I hope you play this song someday,” croons the radio, “and think of Earth girl who loves space girl…”

A gentle current of air from the vents stirs a strand of Violet’s hair against Arkady’s ear, and she wriggles her head minutely to dislodge it before tucking her head back against Violet’s. As she closes her eyes again, the feeling of sunlit happiness is so strong that she wonders if she’ll be the one to stay awake even as poor tired Violet falls asleep. That would be ironic, wouldn’t it?

When Krejjh enters the medbay eighteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds later, they have to bounce back and forth from one foot to the other in silent agony for several seconds at the sheer adorableness of the sight of their crewmates cuddled together on the medical bed. First Mate Patel’s forehead is smoothed out in sleep, a smile on her lips, and even when Krejjh nudges Science Officer Liu awake and she disentangles herself from her girlfriend, Arkady curls her head into the indentation Violet’s cheek has left on the pillow, as though even in sleep she knows that any space that Violet takes up in the universe is a place where she will be safe and sound.

#the strange case of starship iris #vikady #arkady patel #violet liu #my writing #fic #tscosi

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hopelikethemoon · 5 years ago

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Inhale/Exhale (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: Inhale/Exhale Rating: PG-13 Length: 3700 Warnings: Mild Panic Attack, Recreational Drug Use (Marijuana), and Allusions to Sex Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set in Februrary 1998. Summary: Reader pulls the trigger on the DEA article.

@grapemama @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes @thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow @plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale @roxypeanut @snivellusim @lukesrighthand @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper @awesomefandomsunited @ah-callie @swhiskeys @lady-tano @beskar-droids @space-floozy @cable-kenobi @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes @findhimfives @pedrosdoll @frietiemeloen @arrowswithwifi @random066 @uncomicalhumour @heather-lynn @domino-oh-damn @cyarikaaa @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl @yabby-girl @xqueenofthecraziesx @punkass-potato @coredrive @pascalesque @theduchessofkirkcaldy @queenquazar @sabinemorans @buckstaposition @holkaskrosnou @yespolkadotkitty @seeking-a-great--perhaps

There was no coming back from this. Hell, you’d already crossed the point of no return when Javier had handed you those files for Christmas. The DEA had made it clear that they weren’t going to take this laying down — they’d already tried to bully both of you into silence.

And you hadn’t backed down.

They clearly hadn’t realised that you could almost die from childbirth and still come back punching harder than before. You weren’t going to let them silence you. You deserved credit for your contributions in the agency. Was that really so wrong?

“And you plan to run this as a three-part series?” You questioned.

Gregory Vickers sat across from you at your dining room table. He was a well-respected journalist. He had worked for years to uncover cases that were much larger than your fight against the DEA. Horrendous sexual assault scandals in the Navy. Government cover-ups. He’d made a name for himself by pursuing stories that weren’t for the faint of heart.

Javier shifted in his seat as you passed the article towards him. Your entire career at the DEA had been reduced to a neat stack of pages that peeled back the layers on the lies, cover-ups, and ploys of intimidation that had kept you out of the public Narcos casefiles.

“Three front page runs. March, April, May. All above the fold.” Gregory answered, folding his arms across his chest as he stared at you. “Two follow-ups either side of the April front page. I anticipate they’ll have an official rebuttal of the claims leveled.” He looked towards Javier then, before looking back at you. “Expect fallout.”

You tensed at his words, sitting up straighter. You only relaxed when Javier’s hand found yours beneath the table. He interlaced his fingers with yours, squeezing gently. “We’re ready for whatever they throw at us.”

“You’re certain your student isn’t interested in lending credence to your claims that they paid her to lie about an affair?” Gregory questioned, arching a brow at Javier then. “I’m willing to run that element, unverified, but you know they’ll counter it.”

“She’s part of an at-risk demographic,” You explained to him. “I would prefer to keep her name out of this, Mr. Vickers.”

“Well, if they bankrolled her, then the DEA knows who she is.” He adjusted his glasses, before resting his arms against the table as he leaned forward. “I’m just trying to make sure you realize what will happen.”

You drew in a deep breath, before exhaling slowly. Nancy had prepared you for this. She’d talked you through the process of managing your anxiety. You inhaled again. One. Two. Three. You exhaled just as slowly, focusing on the rise and fall of your chest.

Javier gave your hand three squeezes, leaning towards you to whisper, “Baby, why don’t you see if the coffee’s done percolating?”

“Hmm?” You questioned, turning to stare at Javier blankly. You had heard him, but you hadn’t really heard what he said. The drumming of your pulse in your ears was more than a little overwhelming.

Gregory cleared his throat, “Why don’t we take a break for a couple minutes?”

“That sounds like a damn good idea,” Javier said, knocking his knuckles against the top of the table.

“Would you like some coffee, Mr. Vickers?” You questioned.

“That would be lovely, thank you.” He offered you a warm smile as he nodded his head. “I’m going to take a short call in the car and I’ll be back in here in two ticks.”

“I’ll walk you out.” Javier said, releasing his hold on your hand as he rose to his feet. He reached over, giving you shoulder a squeeze before he followed Gregory out of the dining room. You remained sitting, staring straight ahead at the wall behind where he had been sitting.

This article had to come out. Come hell or high water, you wanted the DEA to pay for all the bullshit you had to put up with. The agency was a boy’s club and as long as they kept treating it like one, people were going to get caught in the crossfire. Women were going to get stuck in the crossfire.

They had taken a “risk” on you. You still remembered the bullshit hoops you had to jump through to get the assignment. No one wanted to go to Colombia — but you did. You were willing to give up the comforts you had in Atlanta, the menial work you had at the DEA office, in order to go to a highly undesirable situation.

Who knew what else was going on down there? Chris was allowed to operate, unchecked. You were almost certain you weren’t the only woman who came in contact with his misogynistic, sexist, vile bullshit. You pitied the women that weren’t in the position to call him out.

And you were certain not every agent was like Javier when it came to getting information out of informants. You’d seen some of the redacted reports that had come out of the Mexico office. The entire DEA was filled with monsters. Omitting you from the Pablo Escobar case was the least of things.

“Baby,” Javier started. You hadn’t even realized he’d returned. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?” He reached out and curled his hand around your forearm, dragging his fingers up and down the length of it. “Mr. Vickers is willing to push this off for another couple of months if you want.”

“No. I want it to come out.” You met his eyes, resting your hand over his on your arm. “I can’t drag this out for another year.”

“You were a million miles away just now.” He said gently, reaching up to cup your cheek. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m not gonna lie, there’s still… some residual stress related to this.” You gestured to the article sitting between you on the table. “But it’s gonna be okay, Javi. I think this is the sort of situation where a little anxiety is allowed.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, raking his fingers through his hair as he sank back in his seat. “I feel like my gut’s in a knot. This shit… it’s not fun.”

“Just remember, you were the one that pushed me into this. You gave me all of the tools to make this possible.” You pointed at him, before you leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “Why don’t you get coffee and I’ll go check on the girls?”

“Sounds like a plan, baby.” Javier winked at you, before you both parted ways.

“How’s it going out there?” Monica questioned as you walked into your bedroom. With the door that led out into the backyard, sequestering the girls and Stevie in your bedroom had made the most sense. If the dog needed to go out or Josie got to be too much, Monica had access to more space.

“I had a very small episode.” You admitted, shutting the door behind you as you crouched down to pet Stevie. She barked softly, jumping up to lick at your face excitedly. “There’s my pretty girl.” You cooed, sinking down on the floor and letting her flop onto your lap.

“Shit. Are you okay?” Monica questioned, propping Sofía up on her legs as she perched on the edge of the bed.

You shrugged, “It’s to be expected. There’s a lot of… emotions tied up in this situation.” Stevie seemed thrilled with the attention you were giving her, rolling onto her side so you could reach her belly. “Mr. Vickers is great, though. He’s super understanding.”

“Did… I get brought up?” Monica questioned, glancing behind her to check on Josie who was laying on the bed listening to a Read-Along tape.

“Yeah, but I told him you aren’t interested in having your name associated with this.” You gave her a look. “The last thing I want is your parents trying to contact you. There’s a whole world of trouble that could come from this.”

Monica nodded her head slowly, rubbing her lips together. “I never thought anything like this would ever happen to me. I still feel like an idiot for accepting the money, but I…” She bounced Sofía in her lap. “I never meant to cause you or Javier any harm. Despite what I had to do.”

“Water under the bridge.” You waved your hand. “Neither of us expect you to participate in this. It’s not your fight.”

“I really hope this works out.” She smiled at you. “Everything you have told me about Colombia… You deserve to be there, right alongside Steve and Javier.”

“I do.” You sighed heavily, turning your head when you heard the front door open. Through the bedroom door you could hear Javier’s muffled voice as he spoke with Mr. Vickers somewhere near the dining room. “I guess I have to go back out there.”

She gave you a sympathetic look. “When is the article going to come out?”

You dragged your teeth over your bottom lip, “From March to May.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah.” You pursed your lips. “It’s crazy. I’ll be a nervous wreck.”

Monica snapped her fingers, giving you a look. “Didn’t Chucho give you a gift at Christmas?”

You felt your cheeks burn with guilt. “Yep. He did.” You made a face, “I tried to broach the topic last month when the old man was lurching around because of his back.”

“It does wonders for anxiety.” Monica pointed out.

Your lips parted to respond, but a knock on the other side of the bedroom door startled you. “Baby?”

“I’m coming!” You called back, giving Stevie one more pet before you peeled yourself off the floor. “Maybe I’ll give it a try tonight.” You told Monica as you opened the door.

“Try what?” Javier questioned, his brows drawn together as you met his eyes.

“Weed.” You answered as you moved past him, pulling the door shut behind you. “Don’t look so scandalized. I’ll call your father.”

“That is the first time you’ve threatened to get my father involved in a conversation.” Javier snorted.

“We both know I’m his favorite.” You winked at him, walking side-by-side with him as you headed into the dining room where Mr. Vickers was waiting for you. “I’m so sorry for the wait.”

“Take all the time you need. I understand.” He assured you, offering a kind smile. “You’ve been put through an extraordinary situation. You’re allowed to need time.”

“I want this article to run.” You said firmly, gesturing to your copy of the article. “And whatever you need moving forward, I’m ready to deal with it.”

“You’re a strong woman.”

“I have three daughters.” You stated. “I’m doing this for them.”

Gregory rose to his feet, extending his hand to you, “I’m proud of you for coming forward. It’s not easy.”

You shook his hand, “You’ve been great. I hope this is beneficial to your career. We need more journalists who are willing to go after these entities.”

“It’s just the tip of the iceberg. I can assure you of that.” Mr. Vickers told you. “I’ve already received feelers for a much larger case. You’re the lynchpin.”

Javier curled his arm around your waist, pressing his lips to the side of your head. “She’s a goddamn marvel.” He said, before he shook Mr. Vickers hand. “Thank you for this.”

“I’m glad you reached out.” Gregory offered. “If only there were more men who were willing to speak up about what goes on around them.”

“I’m not a hero,” Javier insisted. “It was the right thing to do. I only wished I spoke up sooner about some of the bullshit that went on down there. It’s easy when there aren’t eyes on you to get away with murder.”

He nodded his head, “You’re onto something there, Mr. Peña.” Gregory looked towards you then, “Again, what you’ve done is incredibly brave. We’ll keep in touch as this progresses forward.”

———

You were going to have to call Chucho tomorrow to thank him for his Christmas gift. It had done wonders to help ease all the tension you felt in your body.

In fact — what even was tension? You held the smouldering joint between your fingers and took another deep inhale, turning your head as you exhaled.

Javier definitely needed to give this a try. He’d forget he ever had pain if he’d just… smoke some marijuana. He could get away with it.

After all, he was a hot professor hell bent on teaching his students how to dismantle the government from inside. Inside.

You snorted at your own thoughts. You sat the joint down on the plate you’d brought outside with you. You hadn’t had an ashtray in your house since… well, since you’d moved to Miami.

How had that been so long ago? Josie was almost five! Sofía was almost one.

Oh God, you were getting old.

But happy. Really happy.

You leaned forward on your elbows, smiling to yourself as you looked around your backyard.

Once upon a time, you wouldn’t have been able to wrap your head around having a house. You’d pretty much convinced yourself you’d live in apartments — alone — for the rest of your life. And then there was Javier

“Baby?”

Shit.

You fumbled with the joint, trying to hide it, but instead you accidentally burnt your hand. “Fuck! Hi. Are the girls asleep?”

His hands went to his hips, “They are. What are you doing?” Javier approached the picnic table with a curious look. “Are you smoking?”

“No—“

“What the fuck? I thought we both agreed to quit when Josie was born.”

“You need to bring it down… to a two, my love.” You waved your hand dismissively. “You’re killing my buzz.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He moved closer, picking up the joint and sniffing. “Weed? Really?”

You shrugged, “I am your father’s favorite.”

“I thought you were joking!”

You moved to kneel on the bench so you were almost eye-level with Javier. “You need to hush. I’m having a moment.” You cupped his cheeks and kissed him soundly on the mouth.

“Baby,” He urged as he pulled out of your grasp. “You are high.” Javier’s brows pinched together as he met your gaze.

Your eyes wandered and you laughed warmly. “So what if I am?”

“Oh my God.” He shook his head, keeping a hand at your hip. “How long has this been going on?”

“An hour?” You frowned. “Do you mean the weed or do you mean how long I’ve been crazy about you?”

His brows shot upwards, “Alright, come on. I think I’m gonna need to tuck you in too, baby.”

You giggled, “You can tuck right into me.”

Javier rolled his eyes, “Really?”

“You should get high too!” You grabbed at the front of his shirt, toying with the buttons. “You would love it. It’s so liberating.” You grinned at him, “There’s enough left.”

“I’m not smoking marijuana.”

“Your back won’t bother you. Your knees won’t bother you.” You danced your fingers up his chest, curling your hand around the side of his neck. “And then we can have a little fun. If you get what I mean.”

“You’re high. The only thing we’re going to do is get you to bed, baby.”

“But I’m horny.”

Javier’s jaw clenched tightly. “Bed. To sleep.” He convinced you to get off the bench, but not before you snatched up the joint and put it out. “When did my father give this to you?”

“Christmas.” You told him, tucking the joint back into the tin box he’d given to you. “He thought you might be willing to try it.”

“Not happening.”

“Even if it’ll make you feel better?”

“It’s illegal.”

You wheeled around then, hands on your hips. “I swear to God, if you try to flush my weed down the toilet I’ll…”

“You’ll what?”

You blinked, “I have no idea where I was going with that. Huh.”

“I’m not going to do anything to your weed.” He assured you, holding out your hand for him to take. “C’mon.”

“So sex is definitely off the table?”

“Yes, because you’re high.” Javier huffed, letting go of your hand as you wandered into the bedroom. “You’re going to bed.”

“I don’t want to sleep. I feel good. I’m gonna enjoy it.” You told him firmly, ducking into your closet to stow your stash, before you headed back into the bedroom.

Javier looked so disappointed. It was hilarious — so hilarious, in fact, that you started laughing.

“Your mustache looks funny when you frown.” You teased, moving towards him. You reached out and petted your fingers over his mustache, giggling again. “I love it.”

“Bed.”

“No.” You mimicked his voice, hands on your hips. “You’re such a killjoy sometimes, babe. We could be having so much fun right now. But instead you’re all.” You dramatically pouted.

“Will you at least lay down?”

You rolled your eyes, looking over at the bed. You considered it for the moment. “Maybe.” You looked back at Javier then. “Are you sure you’re not ‘in the mood’?” You questioned.

Javier arched a brow, “When have you ever used air quotes?”

“Five seconds ago.” You shot back with a smirk, moving closer to him again. “Come on Javi… You know it would be fun.” You ran your hands up his chest, before resting them on his shoulders. “You should really try it. I feel so good. Like I could just float up off the floor.”

“As tempting as it might be, I’m gonna have to say ‘no’, baby.” He gave your hip a squeeze, “Okay?”

“Fine.” You sighed dramatically. “But you’re going to have to leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“I told you. I’m horny.” You poked him in the chest as you pulled away from him, heading over towards the nightstand. “And if you’re not going to put out, I’m gonna have to break out ye olde trusty.”

“You are… ridiculous.” He chuckled, unable to hide his amusement. “If you want me to leave, I’ll leave.”

“Is that how this works?” You questioned, pulling the hot pink vibrator out of the box, turning back towards him then with an amused grin. “If I want something, I get it?”

“Nice try. No.” He shook his head.

You pointed at him with the toy, waving it around for emphasis. “Javier, you’re no fun!”

“I’m plenty of fun, baby.” He deadpanned, hands on his hips as he watched you move towards the bed.

“I beg to differ. You’re a grumpy old man.”

“Yeah, but you love me.”

You flopped back onto the bed, “Do I?”

“Ouch.”

“I’m not loving that you’re killing my buzz. Buzzkill.” You pouted as you sat up and looked at him. “Don’t you want to feel better?”

“I feel fine.”

“That wasn’t you complaining this morning about your back?” You arched a brow. “And your shoulder — totally fine, right?”

“Marijuana is illegal.”

“It’s illegal for Monica and Nadia to get married.” You pointed out, sitting the toy aside on the mattress. “And yet you don’t think that is wrong.”

“You’re not allowed to make valid points when you’re high.” Javier shook his head. “Alright, so some illegal things are fine.”

You shrugged your shoulders, “Isn’t that why you keep me around?” You pursed your lips as you stared at him. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to smoke?”

He shook his head slowly. “Maybe another day.”

“But not a hard ’no’?”

Javier relented, “Yeah. Maybe I’ll try it some other day. But one of us had to be sober in case something happens with the girls.”

“Oh. That’s smart,” You nodded. “You’re a good dad.”

“I do my best.” Javier approached the bed, sitting down beside you. He reached over and took your hand into his, lifting it to his lips to kiss each knuckle. “I’m sorry this bullshit with the article has you stressed.”

“It’s not—“ You cut yourself off. “It’s just a lot.”

“I wish I had known. Before all of this.” He sighed heavily. “So much fucking bullshit.”

“Javier,” You leaned towards him and rested your cheek on his shoulder. “Don’t kill my buzz.”

He chuckled, resting his hand atop your thigh. “Sorry, baby.”

“I should’ve told you I was gonna smoke.” You chewed on your bottom lip. “But I didn’t want you to stop me.”

“You’re an adult.” Javier remarked, “You can do whatever you want. Even if it’s illegal.”

You nudged your elbow into his ribs, “Fuck off.” A soft giggle escaped you as you curled your arms around his middle. You shifted on the bed so you could throw your legs over his lap. “Hold me.”

“You didn’t give me much of a choice, baby.” He chuckled, curling his arm around your waist. Javier took that as an opportunity to scoot back on the bed so you were at least, somewhat near the head of the bed.

“Can you imagine if we were both high?” You questioned, stretching out so you could all but lay on top of him. You were actually kinda sleepy. “This is a nice pillow.”

Javier rubbed his hand down the length of your back, “You’re ridiculous.”

“But what if we were both high?” You poked him in the chest.

“Quit poking me.” He laughed, grabbing your hand. “I don’t know… What do you think I’d be like high, baby?”

“Well, I hope you’d be willing to fuck me then. Because I bet sex is great when you’re high.” You sighed contentedly, enjoying the feel of Javier’s hand as he ran his hand up and down your back.

You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this calm.

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and find out.” Javier told you, tilting his head to press a kiss to the top of your head. “Baby, you’re drool— Nevermind. Go to sleep.”

You mumbled something to yourself that you weren’t even certain of. “Love you.”

“I love you too.”

You let that weightless feeling pull you under into the most blissful, stress-free, night of sleep you’d ever experienced.

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal x reader

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artificialqueens · 6 years ago

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From Under Liquid Glass (1)(Branjie)- Ortega

a/n: in the words of Malcolm Tucker, i’m on turbo! i’m sorry to disappoint u all and say that no, this is not part 3 to Your Move, although the good news is that a) re-reading it when i had to resubmit gave me all the feels and made me fall in love with the universe all over again and b) i finish work for 6 weeks so so soon, so i’ll soon have lots of time to get a part 3 constructed. yay! in the meantime, please enjoy this. as always…of course it’s a lesbian au. what else would u expect from me. it’s a completely self-indulgent almost-autobiographical thing that i began a while ago and i never submitted, so if people enjoy it then i’ll write some more. lots of love, bye!

p.s. the pin number line is stolen from a film. i think it’s called Employee of the Month. i watched it so long ago that i cannot remember.

p.p.s. i promise i’ll make my author’s notes short one day

Trigger Warning: lots of discussion around anxiety so avoid if u don’t want to face that

Summary: Brooke Lynn Hytes was always told she’d have it all. She was never told that “all” would include crippling anxiety. Signed off from work at 27, Brooke moves back to her childhood home and has to get her head around her fall from grace.

Vanessa “Vanjie” Mateo has no job, no degree, and -£32.65 to her name, but she prides herself on keeping a level head. That all changes when a certain high school crush moves back into town and back into her life.

***

“Brooke?”

Brooke’s eyes sharply darted up to her colleague, her friend, and the only person she could trust in this godforsaken hellscape of a workplace. She felt like a small, trapped animal.

Nina’s eyes were kind, but worried. “Should you even be here today?”

Brooke blinked one, twice, three times. In an effort to keep her breathing steady she took a big gulp of air, which was restricted somewhat by the pressure on her ribcage. Was she about to have a panic attack? No, she could reign it in. She wished she could stop crying, though, the tears falling in a steady stream from her eyes which hadn’t stopped since Nina had entered the dance studio and asked her how she was. It wasn’t a secret that Brooke was having a tough time of it at work- the pressure of a chaotic management to get as many children as possible into the most prestigious dance schools in the country was tearing her mental health apart, but she’d always been able to cope with tough things, been able to push on and get through it. Although now, it was looking increasingly difficult.

Remembering Nina’s question, Brooke looked up at her. She tried to push a smile onto her mouth as she shook her head, more tears rolling down her cheeks in the process. Brooke almost wanted to laugh. She must have looked horrifying.

“Oh, baby. It’s okay. I think you just need some time away,” Nina sighed, putting a comforting hand on Brooke’s arm and letting it rest there. Brooke’s heart broke when she realised that Nina’s own eyes were tearful. “God, this is all my fault. I shouldn’t have asked you how you were, it’s just made things worse-”

“Nina, the wind blows and I cry,” Brooke deadpanned, rolling her eyes at herself and causing her friend to laugh. She took a deep breath. “But no. Yeah. I…can’t be here just now.”

Nina nodded. “Do you want me to go and tell Michelle?”

Brooke exhaled loudly. She didn’t want to have to actively seek out her head of department in the state she was currently in. She thought about it for roughly three seconds, but in that time about fifty thoughts managed to run through her head like the end credits of a film played at double speed. “Yes please.”

Nina said some other vaguely comforting things. Brooke couldn’t process them. Her mind was replaying the scene from only four days ago over and over in her head- she had been at the doctor’s, sitting all scrunched up in the chair in front of her.

“I would really like to sign you off, because it’s your work that’s causing you stress. But if you’d rather give it a couple of weeks to see how you feel and make another appointment then we can definitely do that.”

Brooke wanted to laugh at the memory. Even in the fucking doctor’s surgery, a shell of her former self, in a literal appointment she’d made to try and repair her fractured mind, she had still been too afraid to say the words- yes, do it, sign me off- as that would have meant it really was completely over. Instead, she was here at work, hands shaking, mouth bone dry, and she was still typing at her computer in an attempt to get her reports finished.

Eventually, Michelle appeared. They spoke, and Brooke still hadn’t been able to stop her tears falling. Michelle had been supportive if not sympathetic, and Brooke had apologised for causing them all inconvenience once, twice, three times. Eventually, Michelle told her to phone her doctor and go home, and took her into her office to make the necessary calls. Brooke had taken some deep, shuddery breaths that felt as if she was trapped under ice.

She hit call seven consecutive times before there was any answer.

“Hey, Mum. Um. Can you come and pick me up from work?”

***

It was sort of entirely ridiculous, the fact that Brooke had reached the age of twenty seven and had never learnt to drive, but the moment that she saw her Mum’s white, midge-splattered family car roll up outside reception she had never been so glad of having not had a license. It had taken roughly 45 minutes for her to reach the school that Brooke taught in, and on the drive back to her house Brooke listened to her chatting away about how she’d had to take her cat to the vet’s for his injections that morning so she’d had to drop him off back home before she could come for Brooke. Brooke had been worried about phoning her Mum, and she knew she worried about her, but she reasoned that she was probably just glad Brooke was coming to be at home with her.

Brooke had thought about going back to her own flat and resting up there, but she knew all she had waiting for her there were some slightly withered potted plants. She needed to spend at least a day back home with her parents, be treated as if she was back in high school all over again. As pathetic as it sounded, she just needed looked after.

As the cars sped by on the motorway, Brooke looked at her reflection in the wing mirror, running her fingers through her hair and noticing her dark roots coming through in dismay. Brooke had always had a long, thick head of platinum hair, but various escapades in highlights and lowlights over the years had cause roots to begin to appear every so often. She’d always been organised enough to get it sorted before it ever got too bad, however as she looked at herself now she realised she must have slipped up. She noticed her Mum looking over at her from her position behind the wheel.

“I’ll treat you to a haircut while you’re off,” she said quietly, her tone cheerful and making Brooke’s heart hurt more. “And we can make a nice dinner tonight. How does fajitas sound?”

“If you’re nice to me I’ll cry,” Brooke said dryly, sighing deeply and sinking further down into her seat. She saw the sides of her Mum’s mouth jerk up quickly into a suppressed smile, the corners of her eyes crinkle and deepening her crows’ feet.

“I think there’s some bubble bath in the bathroom cupboard, and I’ve still got some of that Liz Earle face mask your Dad got me at Christmas. You can get a nice relax when we get home.”

“You are queen of serotonin,” Brooke gave a small smile, rubbing at her tired eyes.

It was hard feeling like she’d let people down. She’d forever been seen as a success in her family- the hard-working, quiet, well-behaved little girl, the head girl of her high school with straight As, a solo seal ballet dancer with an offer from Cambridge and eventually a First Class Honours degree in Education. A well-respected dance teacher at the last school she’d worked at, with staff who all loved her and children who respected her. The move to her current school should have been a great development opportunity- a private, fee-paying secondary school well-known for its excellence in the expressive arts. Instead all that had come with it was pressure, scrutiny, and absolutely zero support from any member of management. It was hard for Brooke to admit she was struggling, and it was even harder to accept that she’d lost her battle with work- she was going home. She wouldn’t be returning for weeks. She knew that several of the girls she taught had exams coming up in the near future, and her competition group had finals in a month. The thought of all of this made her stomach sink and her heart thud deeply, fight-or-flight impulse kicking in although instead of telling her to run away, it was telling her to run back. But she couldn’t of course- she was trapped in her Mum’s car rolling down the motorway back to the house she grew up in, back to the town she grew up in, and back to mundanity and quiet.

Eventually, Brooke arrived home. She shuffled, numb and dazed, through the doorway, being brought back to earth with a bump by her family pet Henry, still a little tired from his vaccines and rubbing against her legs. She tuned in and out as she listened to her Mum explain that she’d have to go back to work until the evening (despite being sixty-eight, her Mum insisted she would never be able to retire) so Brooke had to be in the house on her own for a while. She had looked worriedly at her as she broke the news, as if Brooke had been about to break down sobbing, but she was strangely comforted in the fact that it would just be her and the cat and her house full of memories. It would be like spending time with an old friend.

So once her Mum left for work, Brooke tried to push her own work out of her mind. She took a long, hot bath and then found some cosy sweatpants and a huge black hoodie in one of the closets in her old bedroom, mixed up with old clothes she’d brought back from uni before she’d started her first job. It was funny to be back in her little pink-painted microcosm that she’d spent so many years in, really where she first began her struggle with anxiety. Brooke frowned at herself as she thought. She shouldn’t use the word struggle- she should use the word relationship, or battle, or coping, but if the very fact that she was back living with her Mum after a complete work-related mental breakdown didn’t indicate a fucking struggle, then what did?

Brooke then knelt down on her old white carpet and opened her wardrobe, the bottom of which contained a bunch of sentimental items that she had never gotten round to throwing away- old programmes from dance shows, certificates from exams, photos, her old high school yearbook. Opening it, she found the photos from her leavers’ prom and her eyes fell on one of her and her friends all standing lined up on Brooke’s staircase. She smiled as she remembered her girlfriends- Plastique, who she hadn’t spoken to in months, now working as an air hostess for Emirates. Yvie, who had moved to New York and was touring with some acrobatics company- she exchanged the odd half-arsed catchup Facebook messenger message with her now and again. Scarlet, who she’d fallen out with before uni over some childish thing- she couldn’t remember what, but they hadn’t spoken since. Bianca, who only lived then next town over but could never make their schedules match up for a coffee, so busy was she with her job at a fashion editorial. Detox, who she’d fallen out of contact with. It was so fucking sad. Everybody else seemed to have a little group of school friends they still spoke to, at least if she went by what instagram showed. Looking at the photo, Brooke felt a million miles away from the girl with her hair swept up in a bun wearing a blue satin ballgown, and she couldn’t quite believe it had once been her.

Pushing the yearbook to one side, she finally found what she was looking for- some mindfulness colouring-in book her Mum had once bought her for Christmas full of different patterns. At the time, Brooke had wanted to make some comment about how it was cheaper than therapy, and the memory made her snort an ironic laugh. She sat gently on her old bed, all freshly made up with white sheets and pillowslips although still with its old mattress that sagged in the middle. She coloured for an hour or so, and then decided to listen to some relaxation tape she’d found through an anti-anxiety app she’d once downloaded in a vain attempt at self-care. It was hard to switch off. Every time she finally felt as if her mind was clear, some thought from work would hit her out of nowhere with a start, like a car crashing into her. So it was a welcome relief when she eventually drifted off into a nap, her mind finally at peace from its self-inflicted torture.

Brooke woke to find it was still light outside, her Mum perched gently on the edge of the bed and her eyes crinkled up in a smile.

“Good sleep?” she asked, her voice quiet. Brooke stretched in response. “I need to take a walk to the shop to grab stuff to make fajitas. You want to come with me?”

Every fibre of Brooke’s being wanted to stay curled up in the bed, but she found herself saying yes.

That was how twenty minutes later she found herself staring with glazed eyes at a crate full of red onions, as her Mum tried to find the one that was the least bashed. Brooke took a deep breath and tried not to grow irritated with her as she watched her pick up and put down onion after onion.

“Mum, you’re not quality control. Just get one in there,” she said weakly, reaching over herself and putting one in the shopping basket her Mum had slung over her arm. As they traipsed the aisles, Brooke found her heart hammering in her chest as she realised- here she was in her home town, wearing black baggy sweatpants and a black shapeless hoodie, Birkenstocks on her feet, with black roots poking out through her hair. She was a complete sight, but her saving grace was that most of the people she’d known from school had moved out, and that it was a relatively big town. She wasn’t really likely to bump into anyone she knew. At least, that’s what the logical part of her brain told her. The part captained by anxiety had convinced herself that the supermarket was a front and that the aisles were all about to peel away to reveal her standing on stage as part of Ant and Dec’s Saturday Night Takeaway in front of an audience of millions.

Eventually, they had completed their circuit of the shop and Brooke was helping load everything onto the conveyor belt when her Mum suddenly gave a small cry. “Shit! I need cat food.”

“I’ll get it,” Brooke said, trying her best not to sound downtrodden as she strode slowly away from the checkout desks. On the rare occasions she’d spoken today she’d either been on the brink of tears or she’d given her best impression of Eeyore on beta blockers, and it was a million miles away from the voice she knew she was able to speak with. It frustrated her.

Reaching the pet food aisle a couple of metres away, she marvelled at the astronomical price of ground up pieces of animals that humans didn’t want in sauce, picked up four little gold foil trays and was about to turn around when the unthinkable happened.

She heard her name.

At least, she thought she had. It sounded as if it was being said in a girls’ voice, perhaps her age or slightly younger. Either way, that wasn’t good news. Frozen in place, she decided to turn back to the tills when the voice stopped her again. This time, it was clearer, distinctive, and it hit her like a ton of bricks.

“Brooke Lynn?”

Brooke slowly turned around, trying to mask the confusion on her face when she locked eyes with the girl who had spoken her name. She was small, with tanned caramel skin, dark hair and perfect makeup, and Brooke didn’t recognise her at all. What she did recognise, however, was the voice.

The girl took a couple more steps towards her, putting down her bags full of stuff from other shops and giving an awkward wave. “Hey! It is Brooke Lynn, right? Shit, sorry, you just really look like a girl I knew in high school-”

“No, yeah, it’s me…” Brooke began, then trailed off, embarrassed because she looked exactly like someone that was failing at life and because she still had no idea who the fuck this girl was. “Um sorry, this is embarrassing, I actually don’t remember you.”

To her credit, the girl gave a blush and a loud laugh. “Aw no, shit, no, of course you don’t. I mean, why would you, right? I’m Vanjie, remember? We went to the same high school? When you were in sixth form you helped out with the Year 7 dance club? I went to that.”

A brief flash of memory shattered through Brooke’s already very crowded mind- Vanessa Mateo, a small, slightly chubby girl with braces and a big attitude, who answered her dance teacher, her friends and Brooke back, who had a lot of potential and a fiery temper. Brooke did remember her. She was very different to the girl in front of her just now.

“Oh, God, yeah, no, I remember you,” Brooke stammered out, trying and failing to cover up her disbelief. “No, yeah, shit. I didn’t recognise you at all, you look so different!”

“How so?” Vanessa raised an eyebrow, as if she was daring Brooke to start digging.

“Well, um, obviously everyone looks so different back in high school. You got the braces off, obviously. And you lost weight, right? You look so good. Not that you were needing to lose weight, I mean you were what, fourteen? And there’s nothing wrong with being bigger, obviously. I’m not saying you were big at any point, just-”

“Jesus, are you havin’ a stroke?” Vanessa suddenly let out a peal of laughter, her eyes at once mocking but kind. It was a funny gaze to be regarded under, but not an altogether unpleasant one. Brooke found herself letting out the first genuine laugh she’d omitted in days. “Girl, it’s fine. I was ugly. We all were in high school. Except you. You always looked fine.”

Brooke gave a humourless laugh, gesturing down at her clothes. “‘Looked’ being the operative word. I usually don’t go out like this, honestly.”

Vanessa gave her a once-over with her eyes and shrugged. “You don’t look so bad. Could wear a bin bag and your face’d still look the same.”

Brooke felt a sting of blush prick at her cheeks, not used to being flattered. Vanessa frowned, clearly sensing Brooke’s embarrassment and quickly changing the subject.

“So what brings you back here? I know you didn’t stay when you left high school. What’re you up to now?”

“Oh, uh,” Brooke felt her heart tightening. It would be so easy to lie- it’s not like she’d ever see this girl again after their chance meeting in a supermarket cat food aisle- but if she was being honest, Brooke didn’t even have the energy to come up with a simple lie. So she felt herself jumping straight into deep, freezing cold conversational waters, and her heart froze up as she spoke. “I’m just back home for a visit. I actually got signed off work today. So. Yeah. I was a dance teacher at one of the private schools through in the city. I mean, I guess I still am, I’ll have to go back at some point. But, yeah. That’s where I’ve ended up. I bet that’s the glamorous life you would have expected the head girl to end up living when you were sat in assembly all those years ago.”

Vanessa gave a sympathetic smile. “Damn, that sucks. I’m sorry. Still, it’s good you’re taking time out and being open about it and stuff.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t go around telling every fucker all my problems. You just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Here’s all my emotional baggage. Hope you enjoy it.”

Vanessa’s face lit up as she laughed again, and Brooke felt something in her heart warm up. Maybe it was because Vanessa’s reaction had been so blissfully unremarkable, as if Brooke had told her it was going to rain tomorrow. Maybe it was the way they were talking like old friends, despite the fact that Brooke’s only claim to knowing this girl was through teaching at a dance club she went to twice a week ten years ago. Brooke often forgot, however, that she’d always been under the spotlight being head girl in sixth form. The year sevens, straight out of primary school, had all looked up to her, and that was exactly the year group Vanessa had been in. It felt weird seeing her as an adult, quickly working out in her head that she had to be twenty-something by now.

“So, uh. What did you end up doing yourself? Do you still dance?”

“Dance? God, no, I can barely even walk in a straight line these days. Uh, no, I do nothing. I’m professionally unemployed at the minute,” Vanessa’s foghorn voice grew quieter, rubbing her neck as she spoke. “I apply for jobs, they reject me because I have no experience and no A Levels, the cycle begins again. It’s a great job. I’m lovin’ life.”

Brooke smiled at her and shook her head. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up about it. Job hunting is a full-time job in itself, you need to be kind to yourself about it.”

Vanessa smiled shyly as Brooke spoke, which made a little bubble inside Brooke pop. She’d so rarely seen Vanessa smile before, since most things she’d said to her in dance club had been met with a defiant scowl or a frown. She looked nice when she smiled.

Brooke was suddenly pulled out of her thoughts by her Mum shouting over from the till. “Brooke! What’s my pin number?”

“5280, Mum. Now we’ve gotta change it again,” Brooke shouted back, delighting as she turned back round and saw Vanessa laughing at the exchange. Brooke realised she was still holding the cat food. “Well, I’d better go before my Mum gets frauded. But it was nice seeing you, Vanjie.”

“You too, Brooke Lynn. Take care, okay? Hey,” she said suddenly, reaching into her shopping bag and holding out a bouquet of pink lilies. "Here. I bought them to brighten my flat up, but I think you need ‘em more than me.”

Brooke blushed in spite of herself, and she watched as Vanessa smiled shyly back at her. “Oh. Thank you, that’s sweet.”

Brooke could’ve sworn Vanessa blushed back at her as she shrugged. “Well. I’ll maybe see you around.”

“Yeah, see you,” Brooke stuttered out, as Vanessa picked up her shopping bags and passed by her with a little wave. Dazed and confused, almost as if she’d felt something land on her but couldn’t feel what it was, she made her way back to her Mum and handed over the cat food to the girl at the till wordlessly. Her Mum raised an eyebrow.

“Ooh, who was that? A gorgeous girl giving you flowers?”

Brooke rolled her eyes. “Mum that’s not…no. It was a girl from high school, we were just catching up.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I know I always give flowers to whoever I catch up with from high school,” her Mum said dryly, avoiding Brooke’s eyes as she packed up her bags. “Come on, then. These fajitas won’t cook themselves!”

Brooke nodded and absent-mindedly sniffed the flowers in her arms, a smile forming on her face that she wasn’t aware of until it was firmly planted there.

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #lesbian au #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #from under liquid glass #ortega #tw anxiety

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janeofcakes · 6 years ago

Text

Chapter 112

**This chapter is pretty long, but it’s lovely. So very lovely.**

(A perfect autumn evening, just at sunset. The garden is full of turning leaves and vibrant flowers. Amber Chandler, licensed celebrant, stands under the trellis with a smile on her face, ready to preside over the ceremony. She has become very well acquainted with John and Sherlock over the last few weeks. She likes to know as much as she can about the people she marries and, as a result, asked them to meet with her six times at regular intervals leading up to the wedding. John had agreed straight away, no doubt expecting such a request. Sherlock had glowered immediately, eyeing her and then John in turn.)

S: Will this be considered premarital counseling?

AC: If you like.

S: (curling his lip in disapproval) I do not believe we are in need of such counseling.

J: (quietly) Sherlock.

AC: (unfazed) Then don’t think of it that way.

S: (cocking a brow) I fail to see its relevance.

AC: Fair enough. I’d really like to get to know you both a little before I bind you together.

(Sherlock looked at John triumphantly and John had face palmed. They had obviously discussed this at length prior to the meeting.)

S: So you can inform us we were not meant to be.

AC: No. (laughing) So I can tailor the ceremony to your specific relationship and personalities. (The suspicious detective narrowed his eyes and studied her intently. She just smirked, already liking this cantankerous character.) It’s not a trick, I promise. If I do say something that seems like counseling, it isn’t going to be anything you don’t already know and you don’t have to listen. You don’t have to care. Fair enough?

S: (still very skeptical) Acceptable.

AC: Great. When are you both free next? Couple days? Afternoon work? And don’t worry. (winking at Sherlock) The ropes don’t chafe.

(It all proceeded from there. Amber learned a great deal about both men in that first conversation and every meeting after also provided a wealth of information. She liked to think the two men learned more about one another too, but never expected it of any couple she married. She truly did not lie when she told Sherlock he didn’t have to care about a word she said.)

(Amber smiles to herself as she looks out at the small crowd of people seated before her. A diverse group to be sure. Friends from the surgery, a handful from John’s army days, and a few of the Yarders. Sally Donovan being one of the most animated, judging by the grin on her face. Sarah, her husband, and their daughter Madeleine are all seated close by, beaming from ear to ear. Billy Wiggins and a small troupe of Sherlock’s homeless network, who blend in quite well with everyone else, are at hand too.

Amber’s grin broadens as her eyes hover over the guests in the front rows. Each of them holds a special place in John and Sherlock’s hearts. They are the family on which these men depend, whether they admit it or not.)

(Bertrum Smythe, Sherlock’s tailor, a man who has known him since he first moved to London and has loved him like a son from the beginning.

Mrs. Martha Hudson, the matriarch, who essentially adopted Sherlock when he moved into 221B and who did the same with John when he joined the detective. She is secretly credited with bringing them together, leading them in the right direction with her hints and suggestions, both subtle and obvious.

Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s older brother and general pain in his ass. While Mycroft certainly takes pleasure in annoying the younger Holmes, he honestly does do it because he worries constantly. He has considered Sherlock his responsibility and not simply his brother since the day their parents died.

Molly Hooper, friend and colleague to both men, and Mycroft’s wife. How such a sweet woman came to know these men so well is still a mystery to Amber, despite the explanations she has received. Molly’s effect on each of them speaks volumes to her quiet strength.

A short laugh slips past Amber’s lips as her eyes rest on the best men. Standing before her, nervously smiling at one another, are Greg Lestrade and Mike Stamford. Each a long-time friend to one of the grooms and both overjoyed.

Mike stands to Amber’s left. Bursting with excited energy, he can’t stay still and shuffles his feet this way and that, a grin plastered across his face. Greg, on the other hand, stands stalk still to Amber’s right. His eyes are wide, but unseeing. His face is a paper-white mask of panic.)

AC: (whispering) Greg.

(He snaps immediately from his stupor, eyes focusing on her. She leans forward a skosh and motions him over with a quick snap of her chin. He takes a step closer and leans in, an uneasy look on his face.)

AC: What is it? You lose the ring?

G: What? No. (hand settling over his chest with a gentle pat, breast pocket lying beneath) I have it.

AC: Then relax. (She smiles sweetly.) This is supposed to be a happy occasion. Let’s not bicker and argue about who killed who.

(A quiet laugh pops from his lips. Her smile broadens and she taps his shoulder lightly.)

AC: There ya go. (pausing) Look, relax. You don’t even have to do anything.

G: Right. (exhaling slowly) Right.

(Greg steps back again and relaxes his shoulders. Amber huffs a short giggle as the music changes to signal that the ceremony will start soon. Greg’s body stiffens again, brown eyes darting to Amber. She just continues smiling and shakes her head, thoroughly amused.

Jane Eaglen’s “The Dreame” drifts across the garden, elegant stringed instruments augmenting her perfectly clear soprano.

Or scorne, or pity on me take,

I must the true relation make.

I am undone tonight;

Love in a subtle dreame disguised

Hath both my heart and me surprised.

(From her seat in the front row, Molly smiles brightly and looks around wistfully. Her acute examiner’s eyes take in every detail of the scene. The full blooms on the trellis in radiant fall colors, the crimson rose petals scattered throughout the grass, the wade pool with blood orange flowers floating delicately on its waters. Sighing happily, she turns her head toward her husband, intending to kiss his lips lightly, but her brows furrow ever so slightly and head tilts in question when she sees his thoughtful frown. Taking her hand in his, he puts voice to his concerns before she can.)

M: You regret not having this. That we were married in secret.

MH: (smiling at him, love and honesty in her eyes) I regret nothing about that day. Or about you, love.

(Mycroft’s worried expression gives way to pure adoration and he squeezes her hand. She tips forward to press her lips briefly against his smile and then leans close, their arms touching.)

AC: Will you all please rise?

(Everyone stands and turns to face the isle cutting through the center of the crowd. The music changes again to a recording of Sherlock playing an abbreviated version of a piece he composed for John. The perfect notes swell victoriously and drop down to near silence, telling the very soul of their story with its glory and tragedy.)

(After a full minute, the two grooms appear in the glass doors that lead into the house. The doors flutter open as if by magic and the men step out into the garden, arm in arm. They walk slowly down the short isle, beaming at each of their friends as they pass. Bertie sniffs quietly and brushes a wet eye when Sherlock’s gaze meets his. Mrs. Hudson has been misty since “The Dreame” began and she smiles softly as her boys walk by.

When they reach the front, John and Sherlock take their places in between the best men and unlatch their arms. Everyone has turned and all eyes face Amber. She smiles kindly and begins as the music fades away.)

AC: Please be seated. (The crowd complies. She looks at the four men standing before her.) Not you, I’m afraid. You all have to tough it out.

(Mike chuckles, Greg just tries to breathe, and Sherlock rolls his eyes. John keeps smiling and exhales deeply, letting everything sink in.)

AC: When I first met John and Sherlock, I had certain expectations. I read John’s blog. We all do, whether or not we choose to admit it. (glancing at Mycroft) I like to think I had some idea of their personalities going in, and that first meeting did not prove me wrong.

Sherlock was rude and suspicious and studied me with such intensity that I felt stripped of all secrets and pretenses. Defenseless to the onslaught of deduction that was surely coming. I immediately knew that if I were to hire him for a case, I would receive nothing but the best work and a speedy conclusion.

John was stern and calm and quick to laugh. Very polite, but with a temper lurking beneath. A good soldier and a good doctor. I immediately knew I would receive only the best care, far better than even my expectations, if I was his patient.

Now, we all know these two men work well together and they are clearly best friends. The proof of both is in the blog. But what would draw them together into something more? Two men who seem polar opposites. They’ll drive each other mad, I thought. Why aren’t they insane already? It must be the sex.

(The smiles and quiet chuckles in the garden give way to real laughter when Mrs. Hudson, of all people, lets out a burst of jocularity at that. She glances around at the other guests, a hint of pink on her cheeks, but with no other indication of embarrassment.)

Mrs. H: They are quite noisy.

(Everyone laughs heartily. John tucks his chin to his chest and smiles, his cheeks crimson. Sherlock bites his lip to keep from grinning and angles his face to catch a glimpse of his groom.)

M: (in a low mischievous tone) Allow me to sound proof the building, Mrs. Hudson.

(More laughter fills the air. The grooms catch each other’s eye and smile shyly. Right after Sherlock rolls his eyes, that is.)

AC: And then something happened. (reigning everyone in again) I almost didn’t notice it. It was the smallest of movements. They were sitting together on a sofa and, while he was talking, without the slightest giveaway, John slowly angled his leg until his knee touched Sherlock’s.

I could see the warmth spiraling from that single point, filling both men with comfort. At that moment, the meeting changed. John and Sherlock both eased back into the sofa and relaxed. Sherlock was still pretty skeptical, but he was willing to listen and talk.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. John’s always keeping the peace, making sure Sherlock behaves himself, (Sherlock lifts his chin and gives her a haughty look) but it’s more than that. John brings Sherlock peace. And Sherlock does the same for John.

The more I met with them, the more I realized that they were both restless and incomplete before they met one another. Neither was happy. Something was missing. After every solved case, after every battle or patient, something was always missing.

And then, one touch, one look changed everything. ‘May I borrow your mobile?’ … ‘Here, use mine.’

(Mike can’t help but puff up with pride.)

AC: Both minds stopped. Quiet at last. John and Sherlock have both referred to that moment as the beginning. The moment each knew he could find what he’d always been missing. And as time went on, they each began to realize there was more than friendship between them. A thousand looks while their backs were turned, lingering just a little too close for a little too long, and finally…that first kiss.

(Amber pauses. The silence is broken only by quiet sniffling. Molly rivals Mrs. Hudson for the wettest eyes.)

AC: I wish I could say it has all been smooth sailing from that moment on, but it has not. What it has been is life, and one that John and Sherlock would never exchange. One that they are overjoyed. Ecstatic. To live together.

(Sherlock and John meet eyes, both nearly giddy. The detective reaches for his blogger’s hand and squeezes it warm with his fingers. A quiet giggle passes through John’s lips. Sherlock’s silver eyes sparkle at the sound.)

AC: Gentleman, please face each other and join hand. (Sherlock glances at her with a cock of his brow and she smirks.) Well, what do you expect? You’re always one step ahead.

(There are a few giggles as Sherlock faces John fully and accepts John’s hand when he reaches for him. John straightens his shoulders, grinning at his detective. A shiver runs down his spine. His whole body is tingling with anticipation. In mere minutes, Sherlock will be his husband. He will be Sherlock’s husband. He will be Dr. John Holmes Watson.)

J: Sherlock, I’ve been thinking.

(Sherlock narrows his eyes, honing in on his fiance.)

S: John, I will not let you see my vows and it is not because I haven’t yet written them.

J: (pausing) You haven’t written your vows yet?

(The taller man straightens his spine and looks away stubbornly.)

S: I’m not going to write them down. I know what I want to say. (looking at John and pursing his lips) I have thought about it a great deal.

(John blinks slowly and exhales loudly. John Watson Number 10: The ‘What the fuck’ face.)

J: Fine. Forget it. I was actually talking about my name.

S: Your name?

J: Yes, I’d like to change my name once we’re married.

S: To something other than John? No. I do not approve. I will still call you John.

J: Not my first name, you git. Hamish. I want to change Hamish. (he pauses and his tone softens) I want to change it to Holmes.

(Sherlock’s defiant expression melts into one of shock. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he can finally find the words.)

S: John Holmes Watson. You want to take my name?

J: Yes. (He wipes a tear from Sherlock’s cheek and looks into his shining eyes.) It’s ironic, don’t you think? That my middle name already begins with an H.

S: It is. More than you know. (clearing his throat) I intended on changing William to Watson.

J: (huffing a short laugh) Watson Sherlock Scott Holmes?

S: (sighing) I will also alter its position.

J: (laughing and pecking Sherlock’s delicious lips playfully) Sherlock Watson Holmes… I like it.

AC: At this time, our grooms would like to exchange vows before all of you, their family and friends.

(Amber nods to Sherlock. He smiles and looks at John, meeting his deep blue eyes. When he begins to speak, his rich baritone wavers, but quickly evens out without losing any of its sincerity.)

S: John, when I first met you, I thought you were like everyone else. As easy to read as a book with no cover. You moved into the flat. We worked our first case. And you did what no one has done. You surprised me. As I sat in the back of an ambulance, wrapped in that infernal orange blanket, I watched you. I met your eyes and knew at that moment that I must learn everything about this miraculous man called John Watson.

I knew I cared for you almost immediately, but did not realize just how much until you and Sarah were taken during The Blind Banker. It quickly became clear to me that, in spite of myself, my feelings ran deeper than friendship. Much deeper. And I was terrified. I had spent my life ignoring, suppressing, denying my emotions in favor of what I thought was a higher level of existence. One devoid of sentiment and the difficulties that come with it. I tried to push it down, hide my feelings away until they faded completely. But they didn’t fade at all. They grew stronger.

Then that night by the pool… (shaking his head and stepping closer) When I tore off that coat and the Semtex, I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to hold you in my arms and feel our bodies touch over every inch. I wanted so much to tell you everything. Every thought, every feeling, everything I suddenly knew I could never suppress again. (shrugging) But I couldn’t find the words. Sherlock Holmes, who knows all, sees all, who misses nothing, had not the words to express his deepest emotions.

So I hid it from you. I watched you date, sabotaged your relationships, wondered with mind-numbing curiosity when you stopped dating, not daring to hope it was because you felt something for me. It wasn’t until Scandal in Belgravia that I even knew what to call my feelings, and then I hadn’t the voice. She threw it in our faces again and again, challenging me. But I walked away. I could not bring myself to say the words for fear of failure, or disappointing you…losing you. Even after you confessed your feelings for me, even now, I avoid saying it in the presence of others. So, I say it now.

I love you. I love you. I love you. (By the third time, every muscle in his body that was tense has relaxed. His face is peaceful and a smile dances across his lips.)

I love you more than the universe is wide - 100,000 light years side to side. (Stunned, John looks at his groom with surprised eyes. His jaw drops, the corners of his mouth curling.) It bulges in the middle, 16,000 light years thick. It’s 3000 light years wide by the Earth. I know it all now. The universe, our solar system. I memorized it for you, John. I’m still uncertain why this knowledge is so necessary to you, but what is important to you is of the utmost importance to me. (flashing a grin, his brows rising) You, it’s always been you. You keep me right.

You, John Watson, are my sun, my conductor of light, and I will orbit you for all time.

(The garden is dead silent, as if even the wildlife stopped to listen. A tear rolls down John’s cheek and drips off his chin when he smiles up at Sherlock adoringly. A breathless Sherlock watches, quietly marveling at his beautiful John, memorizing every detail of the doctor’s face in this moment.

Amber smiles at the detective and then nods the go-ahead for John. He inhales deeply and swallows hard. Sherlock can tell what he’s thinking as if he were saying it to him. How can I possibly follow that?The detective smiles tenderly and squeezes John’s hands. The doctor meets his eyes. Don’t worry. It will be perfect. John smiles and wets his lips, inhaling deeply once again before he begins.)

J: Sherlock, you amaze me. Although, (he grins mischievously, eyes bright) after our first few words, I might have thought amazingly rude. (Quiet titters float about the garden and even Sherlock cannot help the grin that spreads over his own lips. How different they were then.) And then you said Afghanistan or Iraq, and I was hooked. (John shrugs his shoulders and affects John Watson Number 202: adorable, honest, vulnerable, content.)

You see everything. You know everything about everyone in a single look and I thought, after that first case, that there was absolutely no way you didn’t see right through me. Every look, every movement, every stolen glance. (still grinning, but looking sheepish) I tried to be…subtle about it because I knew I’d never be able to stop and I was afraid to hear your opinion on it, your deduction. I’d even look at your ass when your back was turned, for Christ sake. (more chuckles, tutting from a teary Mrs. Hudson) But I could never keep my eyes off your lips. And I couldn’t even hope to hide it.

(John pauses and his eyes drop before he can stop them. Both men wet their lips without thinking, looking into the other’s eyes.)

Amazing. In my mind, there was no way you didn’t know and no chance you had any interest. Not in an ordinary, broken army doctor like me. Also something I learned during that first case - that you were married to your work.

So I dated and I denied. If I’m honest, I wasn’t annoyed that people thought we were a couple as much as I was that we weren’t. I wanted so badly to be everything to you, but knew I never would be. As the years passed, so much happened between us and…I gave up. (Sherlock cocks a brow, so John clarifies.) I gave up dating. I wanted you, and only you. I’d grown to love you so completely. And I thought, it’s fine. It’s fine if he doesn’t want me, as long as he’s in my life.

(John dips his chin, embarrassed once again, and raises his eyes to gaze at the taller man.) I didn’t know what to do after New Year’s Eve. Our first kiss. I can still feel your lips on mine - gentle, tentative. It was the first time I dared to think you might feel the same. That maybe I could be more than your best friend.

S: (in his silky baritone) And then, the dinner.

J: (smiling) Yes, dinner. You were prodding me about spending so much time with Mycroft, like you were jealous, and…and I just said it. (His hand raises to cup the detective’s cheek lightly) God, I love you, Sherlock. You give of yourself so fully, so completely. And not just to me. To everyone you care about, whether it’s easy or the hardest thing to do.

(biting at his lip) It has been hard for us. But every time I’ve been so frightened and empty, you’ve brought me back. You take me in your arms and hold me tightly to your warmth, your life. Just like you did when we met. (John meets Sherlock’s silver eyes and swallows down a sob. Tears pricking at the corners of his own, even as he blinks to hold them back.) I was so alone and you gave me so much. Time and time again. Now, I… (his voice hitches, but he presses on) I will spend my life giving you all I have. Everything I have in my heart, everything you deserve. I’ll hold nothing back. Not anymore. You are a good man. The best man. And I will do my best to be worthy of you..

(A tear falls from John’s sparkling, deep blue eyes. He suddenly feels Sherlock’s hand at his nape, bowing his head, their foreheads pressing together. John closes his eyes and more tears fall. He tries to slow his rapid breaths and steady his heart. Sherlock sighs and then inhales John’s scent deeply, whispering gentle words to him alone.)

S: You are, John. You are.

(Sherlock raises his head and kisses the smaller man’s forehead. They take a step back from one another and lock eyes. Sherlock has never seen John so vulnerable. He shivers, even as John does the same, seeing the same expression on Sherlock’s face. Their hands slip away from necks and cheeks until they find one another again, long and short fingers holding tight. A small smile sparks on Sherlock’s lips. A wide grin plays across John’s in response.

Amber clears her throat and steps closer to the couple.)

AC: Sherlock Holmes, do you take John Watson to be your lawfully wedded husband. To give him your whole heart and keep his for the whole of your lives, and as long as your souls live beyond.

S: I do.

AC: John Watson, do you take Sherlock Holmes to be your lawfully wedded husband. To give him your whole heart and keep his for the whole of your lives, and as long as your souls live beyond.

J: God, yes. I do.

(John raises a brow when Sherlock visibly shivers. The taller man does not break eye contact, nor does he acknowledge that anything unusual happened at all. John’s lips begin to curl, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes, which momentarily lose their focus. He has the oddest feeling of deja vu, as if he and Sherlock have done this before, not once but many times. The words ‘I do’ falling from his lips. A shiver running through Sherlock’s slender body.

The sound of Amber clearing her throat draws John’s attention, his eyes focusing on Sherlock once again. He wears a quizzical expression, a hint of concern in his silver eyes. John’s mouth curves upward in reassurance and comfort. It seems his message is received when Sherlock returns the smile.)

AC: At this time, John and Sherlock have chosen to exchange rings as a symbol of their love and commitment to one another. Greg, Mike, if you please.

(Mike and Greg each step up and place a wedding ring on the small, purple notebook she holds in her hands. She nods at them in turn with a broadening smile at Greg, mouthing ‘All done’ at him. He beams back at her.)

AC: Thank you. (looking to John and Sherlock) Gentlemen, please take these rings.

(Both men pick up a ring and then return gazing at one another. Their bodies are tingling. John actually feels like his lips might be numb. He tips up onto his toes for a second and drops back down again. Sherlock’s brows shoot up and down, and he grins at his groom like a complete idiot.)

AC: Sherlock, if you please.

(Sherlock lifts John’s left hand and begins sliding the textured platinum ring onto his finger as he speaks, his words rising into the air like a prayer.)

S: When I was young, my mother used to tell me that at a very few times in life, if I was lucky, I might meet someone who is exactly right for me. Not because he is perfect, or because I am, (his eyes lift slowly to meet John’s) but because our combined flaws are arranged in a way that allows two separate beings to hinge together. I have, for the first time, found what I can truly love. I have found you.

AC: (looking to the misty-eyed doctor) John, if you please.

(John sniffles quietly and gently raises Sherlock’s left hand. He speaks in a hushed voice as he glides the smooth band of tungsten carbide he revealed to Sherlock only moments ago on his long finger.)

J: You are sunlight falling through trees. You are laughter that breaks through my sadness. You are a cool breeze on a day that is too warm. You are clarity in the midst of confusion. You are all that is good in the world, my world. If love was a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches. And we would be in the center of them all.

(Amber takes a step back and nods. The two men join hands, each noticing as the other’s ring brushes against his skin. Silver and blue meet across a short expanse and the grooms whisper together reverently.)

S & J: With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way in darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine.

AC: (triumphantly) May what has been declared here today last for all time and may no man put asunder. John Holmes Watson, Sherlock Scott Watson Holmes… You. Are. Married.

(Spontaneous applause fills the garden and echoes over the meadows. Amber leans in and taps Sherlock’s arm, catching the hyper-observant man’s attention immediately.)

AC: Kiss your husband.

(Sherlock doesn’t need to be told twice. Without even blinking, he drops John’s hands and closes the distance between them, pressing his body solidly against the shorter man and enveloping him in his long arms. Sherlock’s lips cover John’s swiftly. He takes full advantage of his height, and John’s surprise, tipping his new husband’s head back and twisting his tongue around John’s. In spite of himself, the doctor tilts his head back even more and dances his own tongue along Sherlock’s, reveling in the way they fit perfectly.

The garden erupts in applause again, along with cat calls and whistles led by Greg and Wiggins. It does not let up when their lips part. They look into one another’s wide eyes, warm breath against their parted lips, everyone else falls away.

Breathless and a little dizzy, John senses Sherlock’s thumb delicately brushing away a tear he was unaware he had shed. The corners of his mouth curl.)

S: (whispering) Don’t cry…husband. (sighing and cupping John’s face in his big hands) I have waited to call you husband for so long.

J: (hands on that slim waist) Wait no longer. Husband.

(Grins break over both of their faces and they kiss again. Chaste and quicker this time, but with no less passion.

Amber holds up her arms to quiet everyone as she speaks loudly.)

AC: (playfully) All right, all right. We still have a few things to tend to, so save it. (to the crowd) It is now my honor and privilege to congratulate Sherlock and John, husbands at last.

(Another cheer rises up. Mrs. Hudson and Bertie rush forward, each embracing one of the men in a bone crushing hug. They quickly swap places before Sherlock or John can escape and only let the other guests have a go when they are satisfied that all the stuffing has been squeezed from both men.

The rest of the crowd gathers around, bestowing more hugs and claps on the back. Words of congratulations and well wishes float through the air and, although John and Sherlock hear them all, they aren’t entirely focused on the people around them. Their eyes constantly come back to one another, full of excitement each time. That is, until about ten minutes have passed and John notices the strain on Sherlock’s face. He steps through the crowd to his husband and turns to them all, beaming from ear to ear.)

J: Why don’t we all go through the trellis to the reception. Come on, everyone.

MS: Capitol idea, John. Come! Let’s all take our seats and start the celebration. Cake to eat, speeches to give. Eh, Greg?

(Everyone laughs at Greg’s nervous nod and begins heading for the trellis. John moves to the side and pulls Sherlock over with him. The man looks restless, brimming with anxiety. John slowly strokes his thumb over the back of Sherlock’s hand.)

S: How long must we wait before making them all leave?

J: Just calm down, babe. It’s only a wedding reception and all these people are our friends.

S: How long do they typically last?

J: Um…four or five hours, maybe.

(Sherlock stares at John, his mouth opening and closing without a sound. John just grins and gives him that look that says ‘you really are so precious’.)

S: (incredulous and seething) Five hours?? Intolerable.

J: Okay, okay.

(He presses a gentle kiss to Sherlock’s lips. It’s a longer kiss than John might normally do in the presence of others, but the calming effect of his nibbles is more on his mind than embarrassment over public displays of affection.

He can feel the tension melting out of his husband’s muscles the longer he plays with his lips. A hand resting instinctively on Sherlock’s waist gives him a little squeeze. John opens his eyes as he pulls away, still feeling Sherlock’s warm breath on his mouth.)

J: You’ll be fine. I’ll be with you the whole time. (Sherlock frowns with those delectably full lips and John sighs.) I promise we’ll stay in for a whole week if you want. And turn away anyone who comes to visit.

S: Anyone?

J: Anyone.

(Sherlock’s hands glide up and down John’s back. His eyes momentarily drop to John’s lips hungrily and then rise up again innocently.)

S: And if I want to spend the week in our bedroom?

J: (laughing) Then that is where we will be.

S: Promise?

J: Yes, I promise.

(Sherlock studies him for a moment in mock suspicion and then kisses him softly.)

S: (smiling against his lips) Shall we then? It is our reception, after all.

(John returns the kiss and leads his new husband under the trellis into the applause of their friends patiently waiting on the other side.)

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #sherlockholmes #sherlock loves john #sherlock fanfic #johnwatson #johnlock #John loves Sherlock #johnlock fanfic #sherlock wedding

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slyscenarios · 7 years ago

Text

Flirt (One)

intro one two three four genre: fuckboy!jungkook, college!au, smut?, angst? words: 4.1k member: jungkook (ft. taehyung)

despising jeon jungkook as he hooks up and steals your best friend away from you.

(credits to gif owner for the gif that kills all)

“Where are you going?”

“To see lover boy.”

Summer had already ended, the next season kicking in with cold, rainy days every so often.

“It’s raining again?” You say looking out the window as you sat on your bed, doing your homework.

“It’s expected.” Mijin shrugs, focusing on her nails she was painting, smiling with satisfaction. Scrunching your nose, you groan before setting your textbook away.

“I want to go out, I can’t stand my plain room.” You whine, turning to Mijin settled on the floor. She keeps quiet as you scoot closer to her, playing with the strands of her long straight hair.

“I’m going out later by the way.” She says abruptly as your actions stop, rolling off the bed to sit besides her as you raise a brow.

“Without me?” She nods.

“Where to?” You say, crossing your legs.

“Jungkook’s place.”

Biting the inner parts of your cheek, you scratch the back of your head. She had been going out too often, only imagining her with Jungkook and his crew.

“Fine. But this time, don’t make a ruckus if you come back late. I have classes early in the morning tomorrow.” You frown before chuckling, patting her cheek. “I’ll make us some hot chocolate, yeah?” Mijin looks up from her hands, nodding a bit as you stand up, stretching your now asleep leg.

Walking into the kitchen, you heat up some water, pulling out two packets of hot chocolate and two mugs. After a while, the kettle goes off as you prepare the hot chocolate, calling out Mijin’s name for her to come out of your room. Although you let her live with you and shared rent, she was really close. More as a sister than best friend and was found in your room rather then hers.

“Y/n.” Her soft voice calls out as you turn to her with a smile before furrowing your brows in confusion. She had on her jacket, her purse in hand along with her phone. “I have to go now.”

“But what about your hot chocolate? At least take a sip?” You look down to the hot chocolate before looking back at Mijin with a weak smile.

“I’m sorry Y/n. Jungkook’s waiting outside for me. Maybe another time?” She says, apologetic as you set down her mug on the island. Opening the door, she pouted before waving to you as you did back. You watched as she left before taking a sip of your hot chocolate.

“Just great.” You say to yourself, before looking at the not-so-craving hot chocolate, pouring it out along with the other one you made. Walking into the living room, you sit on the couch, wrapping yourself in the blanket laying around. Browsing through shows, you knock out at some point.

Waking up, you rub your eyes to see the the series still playing. Pulling the hood of your over sized sweater over your messy hair, you get up to use restroom before hearing voices. Furrowing your brows, you see light peeking out from Mijin’s room.

“Mijin?” You quietly call out before peeking in and seeing a muscular figure sitting on the plain bed. Pursing your lips, you fully open the door, the two faces startled from your intrusion.

“Oh, Y/n.” She was sitting next to Jungkook, although you could tell they were probably sitting closer before you came in. He bit his lip, turning it into a sly smile.

“Mijin, I thought you said she was a deep sleeper?” He says softly, turning to Mijin as she hit his chest, giggling.

“She is. Why are you awake Y/n?” She says, turning her attention to you standing at the doorway.

“I had to use the restroom. I thought you’d come home late, why are you here?” You quirk a brow, folding your arms. She smiles, turning to Jungkook.

“I decided to come home early, Jungkook said he’d accompany me and here we are now.” She doesn’t break eye contact with the fellow as you exhale quickly, taking steps away from the lovey-dovey aura in her room. They were in their own world, despite your presence close by. Walking away, you used the restroom before taking a quick shower to empty your thoughts. Even though it didn’t work, it was still refreshing.

Peeping your head out the bathroom door, you quickly head to your room, locking the door and changing into your pajamas. A sweater and shorts. “Maybe I should kick him out now? It’s late.” You say, looking at your lockscreen before exiting the room. It was quiet throughout the whole apartment. Maybe he left already?

Walking into the kitchen, you pour yourself a cup of water before hearing light footsteps. “Mijin? Did ‘loverboy’ leave yet? If not, he’s got to go.” You say aloud, focusing on your water. Taking a sip of your water, you turn around furrowing your brows expecting an answer from Mijin before bumping into the fellow as he gives you a smile.

“Can’t I stay a little longer?” He says, tilting his head slightly. Taking a step back from the sink, your back touching it, you shake your head in disapproval.

“Nope. Where’s Mijin?” You ask, licking the corner of your lip. He smirks slightly before walking towards you.

“She went to get a package or something.”

“Why didn't you go with her?”

“Because Mijin told me to befriend you.” He smiles before caressing your cheek, making you quirk a brow.

“I will not be your friend Jeon Jungkook.” Pushing his hand away, you slip away from Jungkook, walking to your room before stopping in your tracks to turn around and look at him.

“When Mijin comes back, say your goodbyes and leave.”

You took the morning bus to the campus, always earlier to class than other students. Your time there, you’d study alone, sometimes nap if you were that tired but it was better to be early than late to class.

As students walked in, you noticed a handsome fellow walk through the door. His face too familiar. He stood by the door, searching among the few students to him smiling when he looked in your direction. Confused, you ignored him and continued your study until you felt a presence sitting by you. No one sat by you. You always sat near the back of the big classroom.

“Y/n.” A deep voice whispered, as you glanced at him before focusing on your textbook again. “Come on Y/n, I know you can hear me.”

“What is it Taehyung?” Sighing, you close your textbook before fully turning your body to face his, undeniably cute box smile.

“Why are you studying? We don’t have an exam until weeks later.” He asks, pointing at your textbook. You sigh, nodding in agreement.

“True, but it’s good to get a head start.”

The class filled up before the professor walked in and started his hourly lecture. Glancing over, you caught the man next to you doing the dumbest things. At first, he would bother you, making jokes to break your focus on the lecture until he stopped. He would then focus on the lecture for awhile, but ended up doodling on a sheet of paper he asked from you, or would be on his phone. He told you a pun halfway during the lecture, making you laugh louder than you should have. You apologized to those sitting close to you.

“Class is dismissed. Remember to turn in those essays by next week.” The professor said as people packed up their things. Stretching your arms upwards, you face Taehyung to see him sleeping. Poking his arm, he didn’t budge.

“Yah- Taehyung, class is over.” You say as he groaned, pushing your arm away. Scoffing, you put on your backpack before kneeling down. You moved your face closer to his, inspecting his features as his eyes opened.

“What are you doing?” You gulp, clearing your throat and standing up before shrugging. He yawned, getting up from the desk, smiling warmly at you.

“Did you drive here?” He asks as you both make your way out the classroom. Scrunching your nose, you shake your head.

“I take the bus.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, hiding it when you snapped your head in his direction, stopping in place.

“Are you making fun of me?” He smiled before patting your head.

“I’m not making fun of you Y/n,” Taehyung drapes his arm around your shoulder, taking a different route from your everyday routine, “you’re just too cute.”

“What do you mean cute? And where are you taking me?” You raise a brow, technically being dragged by the taller and stronger man.

“I’ll drive you home, I know where you live.”

He drove a rather nice car, as the whole ride was filled with music from the raidio. Once the car came to a stop, you look around at the different surrounding from where your apartment was.

“Get out.” Taehyung demanded as you did. Confused, you walked over to Taehyung.

“What are we doing here?” You asked, looking through the windows of the small cafe before facing Taehyung.

“To eat. Or talk?” He smiles softly before linking arms with you. “Let’s go in.”

The cafe was small, a few open tables and a bored barista that greeted the both of you with a monotone voice. Taehyung ordered a sandwich along with an iced americano as you asked for iced tea.

“Aren’t you hungry?” He whispers, leaning towards you as you catch a whiff of his cologne.

“It’s okay, I had breakfast earlier.” You nod.

“Couples get a discount.” The barista announced. Before speaking, you felt an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to the larger body.

“Oh, great!” Taehyung cheerfully says, the barista adjusting the price. You kept quiet, as Taehyung gave a credit card to the man, glancing up to his good looks while the payment took place. You felt his arm snaking to your hands, before he intertwined his fingers with yours.

“Follow me.” He says calmly as you gulp quietly before nodding and following him. He led you to a table near the window of the shop, pulling out the chair for you to sit as he sat across from you.

“Taehyung, I could have paid for my own drink.” You say, licking the corner of your lip. He rests his elbow on the table before resting his chin on his hand, tilting his head as he stared at you.

“What?” Taken off guard, he simply smiles at you. You could feel your cheeks heat up, making you lean forward and place your hands atop of his eyes, softly.

“What are you doing Y/n?” He chuckles as you shush him.

“I should be asking you that. Why were you staring at me?” You say, lowering your voice as you look around in the cafe, removing your hands.

“Hmm, you could say I’m attracted to you?” He shrugs before smiling at the barista walking your way. He handed you both the drinks and the sandwich.

“Attracted to me?” You ask, perking a brow before sipping the cold drink. You could tell he was contemplating but ended up nodding as you took another sip of your drink.

“Yeah, you’re quite beautiful babygirl.” Choking on the drink, you clear your throat while Taehyung looked at you worriedly. “You good?” Nodding, you set aside your drink as you and Taehyung conversed for awhile. Talking about his friends, women, and you before receiving a text.

Mijin: Why aren’t you home yet? [12:35pm]

Mijin: I’m feeling lonely Y/n~ [12:35pm]

“Who is it?” Taehyung asks, curious as you put your phone away. Biting your bottom lip, you sigh.

“Mijin. She’s feeling ‘lonely’ but she could have called ‘loverboy’.” You say before drinking your tea quickly. “I have to go.”

“That’s fine.” He responds, finishing his sandwich. You both left the small cafe as you got in his car.

“Just wondering, but, who’s this ‘loverboy’?” Taehyung asks starting up his car.

“Jeon Jungkook.” You roll your eyes at the thought of him, being the fuckboy he was. Taehyung was focusing on his driving but you would glance over a few times to look at him as his face was more serious than full of smiles.

“Well, we’re here.” He parked in your apartment’s parking lot after a while of the awkward car ride. You got out the car, surprised to see him also get out.

“What are you doing?” You ask, closing the door of the car.

“Coming with you.” He smiles briefly, following besides you into the building. Unlocking the door, you entered your apartment expecting a greeting from Mijin only to hear a male voice conversing. Taking off your shoes, you lead Taehyung to the living room as you drop off your backpack into your room.

“Mijin?” You call out to see Jungkook come out of her room, giving you that sly smile.

“You’re finally here?” He asks before approaching you. Squinting at him, you pass him to walk into Mijin’s room, seeing her on the bed with a smile across her face.

“Mijin, feeling lonely now?” Frowning, you walked over to her, sitting besides her on the bed.

“I was feeling lonely-”

“Then why did you text me if Jungkook was coming here?” Raising your voice as Mijin took it all in. “Look,” you continued, “is something wrong? Is it Jungkook? You’re not yourself anymore, you’ve changed.” You say calmly while MIjin sighed.

“There’s nothing wrong with me Y/n. I’m perfectly fine, stop being so overprotective.” She remarks quietly as you furrow your brows.

“So what if I’m being overprotective? I just don’t want my best friend to be heartbroken nor depressed anymore. I know you Mijin.” Licking your lips you turn to the direction of knocking.

“Is everything okay?” Taehyung’s voice called out as you took a deep breath, getting off the bed and walking away from Mijin.

“Everything’s fine.” You mutter before brushing past the taller fellow, making your way to your room. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you groan quietly before feeling a tug at your wrist.

“Hey-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You state before turning to see Taehyung’s worried face. Relaxing your tense body, he let’s go of your hand.

“It’s fine, but I just wanted to inform you of our departure. Apparently, Mijin wants to stay with Jungkook for awhile.” He pauses as you inhale deeply. “Are you fine being alone?” Biting your lower lip, you nod in response. His hand making it’s way to your chin, lifting your head up.

“I’ll keep an eye on them.” He winks, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. Widening your eyes, he chuckles at your expression. “Cute indeed.”

Walking him to the door, the other gone ahead, you bite your lower lip. “Taehyung?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you for today.” Running your fingers through your hair, he nods patting your head afterwards.

“Anything for you love. See you in class tomorrow.” Both exchanging waves, you close the door as his presence leaves, leaning against the door while ruffling your hair in frustration.

Once again, you arrived to class early, a few students already there. You made your way to the back before seeing a man sleeping in one of the desks. Sitting next to the male, you take out your laptop and a notebook. Hearing quiet groans besides you, you face the man as he switches his sleeping position, his face now exposed in your direction. A smile forming on your face, you poke his cheek.

“Cute.” You mutter before focusing on your essay. The more students coming in, the louder it got with conversations about boys, the essay due, and parties. Hearing a yawn besides you, you feel weight on your shoulder.

“What are you doing Taehyung?” You ask, your eyes not leaving the screen of your laptop.

“Woah, you type really fast Y/n.” Ignoring your question, he digs his chin into your shoulder, scooting closer so that his face was fitting to the crook of your neck. Feeling your face flush, you stop typing.

“Oh, why did you stop?”

“You’re basically planting kisses on my neck Taehyung.” You whisper, trying not to gain attention from those around. You could hear his familiar little chuckle as he backed away from you.

“You smell good and give off good, warm vibes Y/n.” He whispers back mockingly, as you nudge him with your elbow. The professor walked in, conversations dying instantly as he started with his lecture. As time passed by, you became used to Taehyung’s small antics besides you during the lecture. Sometimes he made you laugh a little bit louder than you should have. Once class ended, you packed away your things before turning to see Taehyung staring at you.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Frowning, you poke his nose before getting up as he followed besides you. Exiting the classroom, you see Jungkook waiting in the hall to looking up from his phone and walking over to you.

“Taehyung, can you send me home?” He asks, ignoring your presence. Scrunching your nose, you look over to Taehyung, catching him looking at you.

“I was going to send Y/n home. Ask Jin, he drives too.” Jungkook gazes towards you before he clicks his tongue.

“Jin is out, I can’t contact him.” Jungkook groans. “It’s urgent.”

Tugging onto Taehyung’s sweater, his attention focuses on you. “I can take the bus today. If it’s urgent, it’s urgent.” You say as Taehyung sighs.

“Fine. It’s urgent right?” Taehyung asks, looking at you for reassurance of his absence as you nod, pursing your lips. “Let’s go then Jungkook. I’ll talk to you later Y/n.” He says, implying a smile before you wave to him.

Taking the bus home, it felt longer than when Taehyung drove you around. When you arrived to your apartment, you headed straight to your room, dropping your things onto the floor before collapsing onto the bed.

“Why am I so tired?” Yawning, you hear the noise of your door creaking open. Snapping your head to the direction, you could see Mijin biting her bottom lip before hopping onto your bed, laying atop of you.

“Y/n! I’m sorry!” She whined, hugging you tightly while confusion plastered onto your face.

“For what?”

“Ditching you and acting up on you. I’m a horrible friend.” She says, almost crying. Pushing her off your body to sit up, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Her eyes getting teary.

“You’re funny Mijin. Don’t cry though, no point in crying.” You say patting her head.

“But I’ve been ignoring you and mean to you.” She say, sniffling.

“It’s fine, I’m used to it from your past experiences.” Hugging your frame, she got more teary eyed making you laugh even harder.

“By the way, what’s up with you and Taehyung? Are you guys a thing?” She says, calm now.

“There’s nothing going on between us. We’re just getting along, that’s how you make friends.” You say sarcastically as Mijin mocked you.

“Sure, sure.” Mijin says before receiving a text. Squeling silently, she looks up to you, grabbing your hands as she got off the bed to jump up and down.

“Guess what!?” She said in her high pitched voice. Humming in response, she pushed her phone into your face.

Jungkook: Hey babe, my close friend Jimin is holding a party at his place later. Want to come? [1:01pm]

Scrunching your nose, you push away her hand. “What’s so great about a party? Everyone goes to those.”

“Yeah, except for you.” Mijin remarks as you glare at her. “I mean, he invited me to Park Jimin’s party. Park. Jimin. His parties, I heard, were on a whole other level.” She gasped, texting the man back quickly.

“Whatever. People get drunk, fuck and then regret. I’d rather stay home, it’s too much work Mijin.” She pouted, poking you in the side for you to fall onto your back.

“You’re a very boring person, you know that Y/n?”

“I don’t mind being boring Mijin.” Laughing sarcastically, Mijin gets up, rushing to her room.

“I’m getting ready so don’t bother me for awhile.” She yells from her room to you, closing the door. Shrugging, you roll onto your side, remembering your past self.

You were a lightweight drinker in high school, getting drunk and tipsy easily which annoyed your past friends so you stopped going to parties. When drunk, you would lose memory of that past night, the stories told about you always shocked you as you would try to deny everything. Ever since then, you never went to parties or clubs and always denied drinks.

Groaning from the pain in your back, you sat up from your bed. The sun already setting as you sigh. What even is sleep anymore?

Walking over into the kitchen, you see a note with Mijin’s obvious handwriting.

I’ll be out for the rest of the night, but you probably knew that already. I might not come home at all tonight, so expect me to be gone for awhile maybe. Have fun wrapped up in a blanket while watching The Office. Love ya~

Crumpling up the piece of paper, you recycle it, taking note of her absence. You went to the living room, wrapped yourself with the blanket and put on The Office to keep you company.

Hearing the dull ringtone coming from your phone, you awake in the middle of the night. Finding yourself on the couch, you sit up to pick up your phone on the coffee table, squinting at the overly bright screen before taking the call.

“Hello?” Your raspy voice taking over.

“Y/n?”

Rubbing your eyes, you lay onto your back before pulling the blanket over your legs, humming in response.

“I think you’re very attractive.” His voice deep, barely heard from the loud bass in the background. Keeping your eyes close, you take a deep breath.

“Are you drunk?”

“Maybe.” His voice fading within the loud music.

“Taehyung, are you out? Clubbing perhaps?” You say, chuckling as you imagine him getting wasted.

“I’m not Taehyung.” You bite your upper lip, sitting up before pulling away the phone from your ear and examining the unidentified number.

“Then who are you?” Clearing your throat, you heard the music in the background stop for a brief moment.

“Jeon Jungkook.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you exhale quickly. “Jeon Jungkook, huh? How did you get my number?”

“Mijin. She’s really wasted right now, but everyone else is as well.”

“I can tell.” You groan, lowering your voice through the quiet apartment.

“Why didn’t you come? I wanted to see you tonight.” You could tell he was smirking. Hanging up on him, you went back to sleeping on your back, closing your eyes before gritting your teeth as you heard the boring ringtone once again. Letting it ring for awhile, you grab the phone bringing it to your ear.

“What is it Jungkook?” Annoyed with the loud music playing in the background.

“Why did you hang up babe? I wanted to talk to you.” Pursing your lips together, you inhale deeply.

“It’s fucking 2am, I’m trying to sleep.” Hearing him chuckling made you bite your tongue, holding back your anger. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, you’re just cute when you’re mad.” Flustered, you raise a brow.

“Fuck off Jungkook. I’ll be sleeping now, don’t call me because I won’t pick up anyways.” Raising your voice you end the call, throwing your phone onto the floor before sleeping the night away.

The next few days, Mijin would disappear while Taehyung made more appearances in your life.

While Taehyung dropped you off regularly from classes with him, you would come home to see Mijin and Jungkook intimately together, or no one at all. You had your doubts when it came to Jungkook as he always gave you a particular look, a sly smile, but when Mijin said she was happy to be with Jungkook, you couldn’t help but consider him as a decent guy.

little a/n: i don’t know how i’m feeling about this part since it’s only part one. i’m trying to improve on my writing skills so i apologize if there are errors or it feels a bit repetitive from time to time. since it is part one, i’m just trying to introduce what’s going on so if it feels boring or plain i apologize once again. i’m hoping to have more parts for this particular scenario? we’ll see though, but i hope you guys enjoy this series and stick around long enough for the end. thank you very much loves~

#bts #bangtan sonyeondan #bts jungkook #bts taehyung #bts v #jeon jungkook #kim taehyung #bts smut #jungkook smut #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook angst #bts angst #slyscenarios

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addictedtojohnandsherlock · 7 years ago

Text

Chapter 65

**It’s finally time!!**

S: Will this be considered premarital counseling?

AC: If you like.

S: (curling his lip in disapproval) I do not believe we are in need of such counseling.

J: (quietly) Sherlock.

AC: (unfazed) Then don’t think of it that way.

S: (cocking a brow) I fail to see its relevance.

AC: Fair enough. I’d really like to get to know you both a little before I bind you together.

(Sherlock looked at John triumphantly and John had face palmed. They had obviously discussed this at length prior to the meeting.)

S: So you can inform us we were not meant to be.

S: (still very skeptical) Acceptable.

AC: Great. When are you both free next? Couple days? Afternoon work? And don’t worry. (winking at Sherlock) The ropes don’t chafe.

(Bertrum Smythe, Sherlock’s tailor, a man who has known him since he first moved to London and has loved him like a son from the beginning.

A short laugh slips passed Amber’s lips as her eyes rest on the best men. Standing before her, nervously smiling at one another, are Greg Lestrade and Mike Stamford. Each a long-time friend to one of the grooms and both overjoyed.

AC: (whispering) Greg.

AC: What is it? You lose the ring?

G: What? No. (hand settling over his chest with a gentle pat, breast pocket lying beneath) I have it.

AC: Then relax. (She smiles sweetly.) This is supposed to be a happy occasion. Let’s not bicker and argue about who killed who.

(A quiet laugh pops from his lips. Her smile broadens and she taps his shoulder lightly.)

AC: There ya go. You don’t even have to do anything.

G: Right. (exhaling slowly) Right.

Jane Eaglen’s “The Dreame” drifts across the garden, elegant stringed instruments augmenting her perfectly clear soprano.

Or scorne, or pity on me take,

I must the true relation make.

I am undone tonight;

Love in a subtle dreame disguised

Hath both my heart and me surprised.

M: You regret not having this. That we were married in secret.

MH: (smiling at him, love and honesty in her eyes) I regret nothing about that day. Or about you, love.

(Mycroft’s worried expression gives way to adoration and he squeezes her hand. She tips forward to press her lips briefly against his smile and then leans close, their arms touching.)

AC: Will you all please rise?

AC: Please be seated. (The crowd complies. She looks at the four men standing before her.) Not you, I’m afraid. You all have to tough it out.

(Mike chuckles, Greg just tries to breathe, and Sherlock rolls his eyes. John keeps smiling and exhales deeply, letting everything sink in.)

Mrs. H: They are quite noisy.

(Everyone laughs heartily. John tucks his chin to his chest and smiles, his cheeks crimson. Sherlock bites his lip to keep from grinning and angles his face to catch a glimpse of his groom.)

M: (in a low mischievous tone) Allow me to sound proof the building, Mrs. Hudson.

(More laughter fills the air. The grooms catch each other’s eye and smile shyly.)

And then, one touch, one look changed everything. ‘May I borrow your mobile?’ ... ‘Here, use mine.’

(Mike can’t help but puff up with pride.)

(Amber pauses. The silence is broken only by quiet sniffling. Molly rivals Mrs. Hudson for the wettest eyes.)

AC: Gentleman, please face each other and join hand. (Sherlock glances at her with a cock of his brow and she smirks.) You’re always one step ahead.

J: Sherlock, I’ve been thinking.

(Sherlock narrows his eyes, honing in on his fiance.)

S: John, I will not let you see my vows and it is not because I haven’t yet written them.

J: (pausing) You haven’t written your vows yet?

(The taller man straightens his spine and looks away stubbornly.)

S: I’m not going to write them down. I know what I want to say. (looking at John and pursing his lips) I have thought about it a great deal.

(John blinks slowly and exhales loudly. John Watson Number 10: The ��What the fuck’ face.)

J: Fine. Forget it. I was actually talking about my name.

S: Your name?

J: Yes, I’d like to change my name once we’re married.

S: To something other than John? No. I do not approve. I will still call you John.

J: Not my first name, you git. Hamish. I want to change Hamish. (he pauses and his tone softens) I want to change it to Holmes.

(Sherlock’s defiant expression melts into one of shock. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he can finally find the words.)

S: John Holmes Watson. You want to take my name?

J: Yes. (He wipes a tear from Sherlock’s cheek and looks into his shining eyes.) It’s ironic, don’t you think? That my middle name already begins with an H.

S: It is. More than you know. (clearing his throat) I intended on changing William to Watson.

J: (huffing a short laugh) Watson Sherlock Scott Holmes?

S: (sighing) I will also alter its position.

J: (laughing and pecking Sherlock’s delicious lips playfully) Sherlock Watson Holmes... I like it.

AC: At this time, our grooms would like to exchange vows before all of you, their family and friends.

(Amber nods to Sherlock. He smiles and looks at John, meeting his deep blue eyes. When he begins to speak, his rich baritone wavers, but quickly evens out without losing any of its sincerity.)

Then that night by the pool... (shaking his head and stepping closer) When I tore off that coat and the Semtex, I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to hold you in my arms and feel our bodies touch over every inch. I wanted so much to tell you everything. Every thought, every feeling, everything I suddenly knew I could never suppress again. (shrugging) But I couldn’t find the words. Sherlock Holmes, who knows all, sees all, who misses nothing, had not the words to express his deepest emotions.

So I hid it from you. I watched you date, sabotaged your relationships, wondered with mind-numbing curiosity when you stopped dating, not daring to hope it was because you felt something for me. It wasn’t until Scandal in Belgravia that I even knew what to call my feelings, and then I hadn’t the voice. She threw it in our faces again and again, challenging me. But I walked away. I could not bring myself to say the words for fear of failure, or disappointing you...losing you. Even after you confessed your feelings for me, even now, I avoid saying it in the presence of others. So, I say it now.

I love you. I love you. I love you. (By the third time, every muscle in his body that was tense has relaxed. His face is peaceful and a smile dances across his lips.)

You, John Watson, are my sun, my conductor of light, and I will orbit you for all time.

Amber smiles at the detective and then nods the go-ahead for John. He inhales deeply and swallows hard. Sherlock can tell what he’s thinking as if he were saying it to him. How can I possibly follow that? The detective smiles tenderly and squeezes John’s hands. The doctor meets his eyes. Don’t worry. It will be perfect. John smiles and wets his lips, inhaling deeply once again before he begins.)

You see everything. You know everything about everyone in a single look and I thought, after that first case, that there was absolutely no way you didn’t see right through me. Every look, every movement, every stolen glance. (still grinning, but looking sheepish) I tried to be...subtle about it because I knew I’d never be able to stop and I was afraid to hear your opinion on it. I’d even look at your ass when your back was turned, for Christ sake. (more chuckles, tutting from a teary Mrs. Hudson) But I could never keep my eyes off your lips. And I couldn’t even hope to hide it.

(John pauses and his eyes drop before he can stop them. Both men wet their lips without thinking, looking into the other’s eyes.)

So I dated and I denied. If I’m honest, I wasn’t annoyed that people thought we were a couple as much as I was that we weren’t. I wanted so badly to be everything to you, but knew I never would be. As the years passed, so much happened between us and...I gave up. (Sherlock cocks a brow.) I gave up dating. I wanted you, and only you. I’d grown to love you so completely. And I thought, it’s fine. It’s fine if he doesn’t want me, as long as he’s in my life.

(dipping his chin, embarrassed once again, and raised his eyes to gaze at the taller man) I didn’t know what to do after New Year’s Eve. Our first kiss. I can still feel your lips on mine. It was the first time I dared to think you might feel the same. That maybe I could be more than your best friend.

S: (in his silky baritone) And then, the dinner.

J: (smiling) Yes, dinner. You were prodding me about spending so much time with Mycroft, like you were jealous, and...and I just said it. (His hand raises to cup the detective’s cheek lightly) God, I love you, Sherlock. You give of yourself so fully, so completely. And not just to me. To everyone you care about, whether it’s easy or the hardest thing to do.

(biting at his lip) It has been hard for us. But every time I’ve been so frightened and empty, you’ve brought me back. You take me in your arms and hold me tightly to your warmth, your life. Just like you did when we met. (John meets Sherlock’s silver eyes and swallows down a sob. Tears pricking at the corners of his own, even as he blinks to hold them back.) I was so alone and you gave me so much. Time and time again. Now, I... (his voice hitches, but he presses on) I will spend my life giving you all I have. Everything I have in my heart, everything you deserve. I’ll hold nothing back. Not anymore. You are a good man. The best man. And I will do my best to be worthy of you..

S: You are, John. You are.

Amber clears her throat and steps closer to the couple.)

AC: Sherlock Holmes, do you take John Watson to be your lawfully wedded husband. To give him your whole heart and keep his for the whole of your lives, and as long as your souls live beyond.

S: I do.

AC: John Watson, do you take Sherlock Holmes to be your lawfully wedded husband. To give him your whole heart and keep his for the whole of your lives, and as long as your souls live beyond.

J: God, yes. I do.

AC: At this time, John and Sherlock have chosen to exchange rings as a symbol of their love and commitment to one another. Greg, Mike, if you please.

AC: Thank you. (looking to John and Sherlock) Gentlemen, please take these rings.

AC: Sherlock, if you please.

(Sherlock lifts John’s left hand and begins sliding the textured platinum ring onto his finger as he speaks, his words rising into the air like a prayer.)

AC: (looking to the misty-eyed doctor) John, if you please.

S & J: With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way in darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine.

AC: (triumphantly) May what has been declared here today last for all time and may no man put asunder. John Holmes Watson, Sherlock Scott Watson Holmes... You. Are. Married.

(Spontaneous applause fills the garden and echoes over the meadows. Amber leans in and taps Sherlock’s arm, catching the hyper-observant man’s attention immediately.)

AC: Kiss your husband.

(Breathless and a little dizzy, John senses Sherlock’s thumb delicately brushing away a tear he was unaware he had shed. The corners of his mouth curl.)

S: (whispering) Don’t cry...husband. (sighing and cupping John’s face in his big hands) I have waited to call you husband for so long.

J: (hands on that slim waist) Wait no longer. Husband.

(Grins break over both of their faces and they kiss again. Chaste and quicker this time, but with no less passion.

Amber holds up her arms to quiet everyone as she speaks loudly.)

AC: (playfully) All right, all right. We still have a few things to tend to, so save it. (to the crowd) It is now my honor and privilege to congratulate Sherlock and John, husbands at last.

J: Why don’t we all go through the trellis to the reception. Come on, everyone.

MS: Capitol idea, John! Come. Let’s all take our seats and start the celebration. Cake to eat, speeches to give. Eh, Greg?

(Everyone laughs at Greg’s nervous nod, heading for the trellis. John moves to the side and pulls Sherlock over with him. The man looks restless, brimming with anxiety. John slowly strokes his thumb over the back of Sherlock’s hand.)

S: How long must we wait before making them all leave?

J: Just calm down, babe. It’s only a wedding reception and all these people are our friends.

S: How long do they typically last?

J: Um...four or five hours, maybe.

(Sherlock stares at John, his mouth opening and closing without a sound. John just grins and gives him that look that says ‘you really are so precious’.)

S: (incredulous and seething) Five hours?? Intolerable.

J: Okay, okay.

S: Anyone?

J: Anyone.

(Sherlock’s hands glide up and down John’s back. His eyes momentarily drop to John’s lips hungrily and then rise up again innocently.)

S: And if I want to spend it the week in our bedroom?

J: (laughing) Then that is where we will be.

S: Promise?

J: Yes, I promise.

(Sherlock studies him for a moment in mock suspicion and then kisses him softly.)

S: (smiling against his lips) Shall we then? It is our reception, after all.

(John returns the kiss and leads his new husband under the trellis into the applause of their friends patiently waiting on the other side.)

#Sherlock #sherlockholmes #sherlock loves john #sherlock fanfic #sherlock and john fanfic #wedding #johnlock #Johnlock fanfic #john marries sherlock

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