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seresinhangmanjake · 1 year

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Oh, Baby

Dad!Jake Seresin x female reader

Summary: You might not have been his girlfriend, but when you left town one night a month after sleeping together, it completely broke Jake's heart. Now, a year later, you've returned and you're not alone. You have a new little companion that just so happens to bear a startling resemblance to Jake.

Warnings/notes: its mostly fluffy. cursing, i think. mention of pregnancy. that might be it.

Words: 2900

Oh, Baby Masterlist / Masterlist

His Girls (Following Part)

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Staring is rude; that’s what his mama told him. That, and a handful of other little rules that didn’t fit the bill of ‘gentleman.' But he couldn’t recall a single one of them now. His mind was occupied and nothing else mattered. Maybe nothing else ever would. So he let himself stare.

You smiled and the air got trapped in his lungs for a moment before it decided to fight for freedom by way of harsh, sharp bursts. If his coughing drew the attention of others, he didn’t notice. It didn’t draw yours, and that was for the best. He needed another second to breathe; to watch your face light up under the influence of the infant in your arms.

Two months old, that’s what Rooster had told him.

You’d left town one night, leaving no note, no means of contact except through your parents who texted Rooster every once in a while to let him know you were Ok, but never to tell him where you were. Maybe they didn’t know either. Then, according to Rooster, you showed up at his door with a bag, a smile of apology, and a two-month-old baby cradled in a wrap around your chest.

Jake didn’t know what to do with that. He didn’t know how to process what you’d brought with you, or why you went to Rooster instead of him. Maybe one more thing that didn’t matter at the end of the day. As it was, everything in front of him was too much to handle.

“I don’t want to overstep,” Rooster said through the phone. His call had woken Jake, but the anxiety in Rooster’s tone cleared any grogginess faster than a cup of coffee. “Did you and Y/N ever…?”

Jake swallowed and sat up a little straighter in bed, running a hand down his face. Everyone had guessed there had been something going on between you and him. Everyone assumed that even if there wasn’t, if they were wrong, eventually the two of you would get there. You’d figure it out because it seemed inevitable. Jake had always hoped they were right. He’d pined for painfully long, and while it seemed like you felt something for him too, he wasn’t going to move until you did. And then you did.

It was simple, really. He thought there would be something more complex to the two of you finding your way into bed together, but it was so easy. So natural. Simple and easy and natural enough for you to seek him out three more times before you disappeared from his life, breaking a part of him as you did.

“Why do you ask?” Jake said.

“Um—fuck.” It was a soft curse from his friend’s mouth, just barely detectable through the speaker. But it carried a heavy weight with it that Rooster’s voice alone did not. “Are you sitting down?”

“Yea.”

“Good.”

The seconds passing were nearly as painful as the day you left—that moment he realized you were no longer in his bed. He’d called everyone. No one had an answer for him. “Rooster, what the fuck is going on?”

He sighed, which was never good. Rooster wasn’t much of the sighing type. Sighing meant thinking. And he wasn’t much of the thinking type anymore, either. Hadn’t been since Mav had knocked that behavior out of him while he was in the air. That new mentality just so happened to carry into the rest of his life, and he lived in a world of impulsivity. Don’t think, just do. It was the exact same with his words. Rooster only ever spoke his mind, didn’t hold back, didn’t hesitate, and yet now he was.

“She’s back, Jake," he finally said. "Showed up last night.”

His heart stopped beating. He felt it seize in his chest. And then it began again, starting with incredible force and livening his entire body.

“But, um…that’s not all,” Rooster continued. “She’s got a baby with her, and—” His breath was shaky, matching Jake’s hands. “Alright, I’m just going to say it—the kid looks exactly like you, Seresin. Spitting fucking image. Now, if you two never got together then I’ll chalk it up to a wild coincidence, but if you did…” He paused. “If you did, I think you need to get over here.”

Jake had never run so fast in his life, never driven so recklessly, never stormed through the front door of someone’s home the way he did Rooster’s, but how could he not?

“Where is she?”

Rooster shot to his feet from his spot on the couch. “At the store. She took the kid with her. We should probably wait—”

“The one down the street?”

“Yea, but—what are you doing?”

He was already at the door, the knob squeezed viciously in his grip. “I have to see for myself,” Jake said. “I won’t ambush her. I’ll keep my distance, but I have to see.”

And he saw…everything. The woman he loved, casually walking up and down the aisles of the grocery store, looking at labels and deciding on brands and placing things in a cart, with his baby strapped to her chest.

And that was his baby. He knew the moment he saw the eyes that were his, just smaller and on a face full of features that were also his, save for the curve of the lips that belonged entirely to you. Had his mother been by his side, she might’ve stumbled back from how similar this baby looked to her own. He would have too had his feet not been stuck to the floor.

Every bit of him was holding back from reaching for you as his instincts demanded of him, but he had to move before you saw him. You could turn your head at any moment. So he had to go.

—--

“When did you even…I mean, everyone always figured you would…but…when?”

Jake lifted his head from where it was resting over the back of the couch. “About a month before she left. A few times.”

Rooster nodded. “She’ll be back soon. Are you sure you want to do this now?”

“I–”

As if on cue, the front door opened and you stepped through with a bag of groceries in each hand, one of which fell when your eyes met Jake’s. Little jars rolled across the floor, making the only sound in the otherwise dead silence of the room. His lips parted, but nothing could slip out of them, nothing that would make reasonable sense, anyway. His mind was too much of a jumbled mess.

The baby broke the tension, its little wiggle causing you to glance down at the tiny head resting against your chest. You set the other bag down and took an immediate turn to the left through another door that Jake knew led to Rooster’s guest room. You returned a moment later, without the baby, your arms crossed in front of you as you walked toward him.

He thought he would be mad; maybe betrayed; at the very least bitter and devastated, but all he wanted was to pull you to him and hold you and kiss you and thank whatever deity necessary for returning you to him.

“You couldn’t have kept it to yourself for a little?”

He didn’t know what you meant until he realized you were looking directly at Rooster.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Rooster replied. He nudged his head Jake’s way. “He was a fucking mess when you left, and it’s so obvious that the kid is—” He paused when your eyes fell to the wooden flooring. “I’m sorry. I’ll give you two some space.”

Jake waited until his friend was gone before he dared to take a step your way, but he stopped short at the hand you held up.

“Y/N…”

“I don’t want to argue with you,” you said. “I’m not going to get into why I did what I did other than to say that I thought it was best for you, me, and her.” Your arms fully uncrossed and one hand began to pick at the other’s fingernail. “At the time, anyway.”

“She’s mine.” It wasn’t a question. He knew it. He knew it in his soul that the little girl in the next room belonged to him as much as she did you. But still, he needed to hear you say it; needed to watch the shape of your lips form the words.

You nodded. “She’s yours.”

“And were you going to tell me?”

“I came back to tell you,” you said without a lick of hesitation in your voice; something that made him feel a bit lighter. “I wasn’t sure how I was going to do it yet, but I didn’t want her to wake up one day and start asking me fair questions that I only had unfair answers to. I couldn’t imagine telling her that her father had no idea she existed. So,” you took a deep breath, “I figured I’d see if you might want her, too.”

If. He could’ve laughed under different circumstances. If he wanted his daughter? There was nothing to mull over or consider. Of course, he wanted his daughter. Her and you, if you’d have him. But he couldn’t press that now.

“What’s her name?”

“My family calls her Evy, but it’s Eve.”

“After my grandmother?”

“She was always nice to me when she would come to town, and I know you love her.” Your shoulders rose and fell in a shrug, but he knew there was nothing nonchalant about it. It was a deliberate choice, a careful choice. You could’ve named her anything under the sun. You could’ve named her after your own family, but you didn’t. “I wanted our daughter to have something of you other than just your DNA.”

The weight was back. A heaviness in the air from the beauty of what you’d just confessed mixed with the undeniable question of What now? He wasn’t going to push you. You were in complete control, always had been. Control over him, over what happened between you, over the future he had once hoped you may share—the future he thought was lost, but maybe could now be found.

“Do you want to see her?”

His eyes widened, a confusing emotion filling his heart. He wasn’t sure you would offer, and giving him that chance swelled the love he felt for you. But more than that, adding to the confusing feeling was the hopeful note in your tone. Did you imagine he might deny you? Did you think he’d turn his child away?

“Yes,” he said with absolute surety, and by the grin you gave in return, he knew you felt his sincerity.

You turned, leading him into the room he’d spent a drunk night or two in. A room in which he’d woken up insanely hungover and begging for the sun to die just to give him some relief. The irony. He silently snickered. You moved aside, facing him as he took in the sight before him.

Your baby—his baby—laid on her back in the small travel crib, her eyes closed and body wrapped up snuggly in one of those sleep wraps he saw his sister use on her son. Her delicate face was so peaceful. Her long lashes rested on plump, rosy cheeks. Her lips were parted the slightest, the sweetest breaths making the softest of sounds. Her dusting of blond hair reflected the slim ray of sunlight sneaking through the drawn curtains turning the strands into pure gold.

Unshed tears stung the corners of his eyes.

“You can hold her if you want.”

“She’s—she’s asleep. I can’t—”

“She’s a heavy sleeper,” you said. “Honestly, the best baby, Jake.”

Of course, she is, he thought. If she was anything like you, she’d be perfect. She was already perfect.

Reaching into the crib, you carefully grabbed the baby and held her out to Jake. He’d held a baby before, plenty of times, but something about holding his own…he couldn’t describe it fully, just that it made his nerves fire off. His fingers began to twitch, but when he looked at you, he saw the familiar glassiness coating your irises and you nodded in encouragement.

That was all he needed: the mother of his baby asking him to hold their daughter. So he did, extending his arms and gratefully accepting his little gift.

She was so small. His hands and arms and chest dwarfed her compared to how she looked against your body. Up close, she was porcelain in form, fragile and light, and he would surrender his every breathing moment to protect what you and he had made.

A soft sob echoed in his ear and Jake’s head shot up to see those tears had fallen, crafting rivers down your cheeks as your hand covered your mouth.

“I’m sorry.” The apology was muffled through your fingers. You shook your head and finally dropped your hand. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t think—I didn’t think I would ever see this.”

With the hand not cradling his child, Jake cupped your cheek, smoothing your tears back into your skin with his thumb. You leaned into his touch and he suppressed a gasp. The first time in a year that he’d felt you, and it was like coming home. He’d missed everything about you, every ounce of your being and presence. He missed your scent filling the air: the vanilla perfume, the fruity shampoo, the minty chapstick that he’d pick up right when he was about to kiss you. All of it. Everything. And now you were here, and he wouldn’t be able to let go.

“Why did you leave me?” he whispered.

“We had only slept together a few times,” you sniffled. “Doctor said I got pregnant that first time. Good on us for using a condom, right?”

He chuckled half-heartedly. Neither of you had one on you that night, and foolishly, neither of you cared. Pent-up desperation took over, and being inside of you, feeling you, became his sole need. Nothing short of you shoving him away could have stopped him.

“Anyway, this wasn’t in your plans,” you said. “And I didn’t want to force it on you, but I also didn’t want to give her up. It scared me, so…”

“I would’ve helped you. I loved you. I’d been in love with you. I would’ve—”

“You loved me?”

Oh. He hadn’t planned on saying it. Certainly not now. Before you left, he’d hoped you already knew somehow. Then you were gone and he was sure the opportunity to tell you would never be within reach again. But, intentionally or not, you just presented him with a moment for the words to fall right out of his mouth, so they did.

“Well…yea,” he said. “You could’ve told me you wanted a baby and I would’ve given you one.”

Your eyes shifted from his and you stared into the blank space next to his head, like your brain had short-circuited and your whole world was flashing before your eyes. You took a wobbly step back and dropped to sit on the edge of the mattress. Jake gave another long look at his daughter before kissing her forehead and placing her back in the crib.

Kneeling in front of you, he said, “I still love you.” When you didn’t speak, he grasped your hands in his, intertwining your fingers. “I love you, and I already love our daughter. And I want you to stay. I need you to stay with me.”

He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. Only you had that effect on him and he couldn’t say that he didn’t once hate it. It drove him insane for ages. He would simply think about you and the beating would start. That thumping would keep him awake at night, distract him at work, drown out the voices of his coworkers, but he accepted it now. It was an indicator of what he felt for you and that was too real and honest and beautiful to be bothered by.

Finally, your fingers squeezed his back. A sign, small as it was, that you were understanding.

“Look at me,” he whispered, and you did. He smiled as he peeled his fingers away from yours to frame your face between his hands. His thumbs ran along your cheekbones, then he leaned in a little closer. “Come here.” Another whisper, a bit broken on the final syllable.

You didn’t protest when he pulled your face to his. You didn’t push him back when hot breaths caressed each other's mouths. Your fingers loosely fisted the collar of his shirt and you let his lips brush over yours in a gentle kiss.

And that was it. You were it. You had always been it for him. He knew it then, and he knew it now. But he didn’t want to overwhelm you.

He pulled back a few inches to grant you some space, but your mouth chased after his, your hands sliding into his hair and holding him so you could force your lips together again. Harder, hotter, more desperate. You’d missed him, too. It was undeniable now.

“Promise me, honey,” He said when you separated to breathe. "I can't lose you. Not again."

“I promise, Jake.” Your eyelids fell closed and you rested your forehead against his. “We’re not leaving you.”

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tags: @thespeeder @nobody7102 @fangirlingoverfangirls @blue-aconite @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @dempy @chaoticassidy @alana4610 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @dracosluvbot @smoothdogsgirl @smit41 @wkndwlff @rileyloves5 @gigisimsonmars @hangmanbrainrot @withakindheartx @teacupsandtopgun @himbos-on-ice @xoxabs88xox @happypopcornprincess @violyn20 @jordanturpen @buckymcu12 @jerseybagel @nagygreta @rintheemolion @coldmuffinbanditshoe @avengersgirllorianna @oliviah-25 @talkfastromance4 @ysl-bby @chibijusstuff @kmsryles343 @sometimesicryintheshower @cookielovesbook-akie @yanna-banana @taylahk109 @buxkybarnez @elijahmikaelsonbitch @ravenhood2792 @potato-girl99981 @eccentricnos @kembry107 @pono-pura-vida @topguncultleader @v0id-chaos @scrappybear89 @stiles-banshees @audri_janis @caidi-paris @jake-seresins-girl @sass-masterkittenmama

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman x you #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin angst #dad!jake seresin #jake seresin x female reader #jake seresin x female!reader #top gun maverick #top gun hangman #top gun fic #jake seresin fanfic

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marleyybluu · 1 year

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Just Sit On It

Spooky x f!reader

Warnings: 18+. bit of fluff and flirting, bit of cockwarming, very much self-insert (inspired by yesterdays events), no use of y/n

Word count: 980

A/N: I had to give this to my favourite boy🤷🏾‍♀️

(Not my gif.)

"You want me to just sit on it?" You ask with fake annoyance in your voice and a quirk in your brow. Spooky chuckled and nodded, a little glimmer in his eye as he looked at you. You two had just finished... whatever round of sex that was, you'd lost count after a while. Both of you high as fuck and missing each other after months of no physical contact, chuck it up to being adults with busy schedules. Sucked.

You were done, out of it and tired— growing a bit sore from how he handled you, not like you'd complain anyway you liked it. You thought he was done too, when you attempted to bait him into one last round he'd respectfully hit you with, "Nah I'm tired for real."

You shrugged and put your shirt back on, chilling in the comfortable silence aside from your music softly playing in the background. You hated a quiet room, especially during sex. But it only took a few minutes for his shirt to come back off claiming to be hot... well it was hot, summer was approaching a lot quicker than it usually did and it was the type of heat to make you angry and irritated with any and everything.

As he lay on his stomach you smiled gazing at his back, how smooth and muscular it was, clean and free of tattoos, unlike the rest of his body. He felt your eyes and asked what was up. You told him you wanted to sit on his back and he let you, you drew faint art on his beautiful skin, and ran your finger down his deep spine. Oof, you loved a deep spine, something about the depth of it was so sexy.

Soon he mentioned he wanted to take off his pants. Again, he was "hot." So you got off and he took off more than just his pants, he nodded over for you to come back and you say there. "I thought you said you were good?"

"I am."

"So why would I just sit on it if you're good?" You challenged with a smirk on your face. Spooky wasn't about to have this back and forth, actions were louder so he sat up and reached over for you, cupping your meaty thigh in his large hand and pulling you on top of him. You gasped feeling him against your sore and yet aching clit.

"Just sit." He shrugged. "And this is comfortable for you?"

He nodded reaching for your hands, interlocking your fingers with his. God, he was just so fucking cute sometimes. You looked down at him as he looked up at you, nothing was said and that's what you liked about your dynamic, you two could just sit like this. Naked or half naked talking about whatever was on your mind or not talking at all.

Adorn by Miguel had come on and you began to hum and absentmindedly move around, for a brief moment forgetting you were both naked on your lower halves. Spooky smiled it was always nice to see you comfortable around him considering when you first met you were so shy you wouldn't even look at him.

He let go of your hands and rested his warm palms on your hips. "Come here."

You beamed and with no hesitation leaned over to meet his lips. Your hands rested on either side of his neck, your lips moving in sync— you could kiss that man all day if it was possible. You felt the bottom of your shirt hike up and pool over your lower back, his hands on your bare ass once again. His favourite part to grab.

One last peck and you pulled back. Spooky noticed the look on your face, a look he was too familiar with— when you wanted to say something but you were too chickenshit to say it, still a bit reserved with your thoughts even though it was clear you could be open and honest with him. "Say it. I could see it in your face."

You sighed all this temptation was getting to you. "You wanna put it in?" He asked. You bit your lip and nodded, silently thanking God that he was a mind reader at times. You leaned forward reaching between your bodies you gently wrapped your hand around his girth and slowly sunk down on him, he always stretched you out so nicely.

And that was it, you just sat on it and it was nice (?) and warm... really warm and slick. You actually did not want to move but he did, pushing his hips up into yours, you placed your hand on his chest saying, "Wait, don't move."

He stopped his actions and resumed holding hands with you. "You're so pretty." He complimented, you blushed looking to the side so he wouldn't notice how embarrassing it was that you couldn't take compliments, especially from him. Your slight distraction was cut short when you felt him move, you giggled turning to him. "Stop..."

He did it again. "Stop what?"

"Spooky... I can feel it- ouu, stop."

He rested his hands under his head and let out a hearty laugh at how flustered you were until he was now feeling something, with your hands planted on his chest you looked down at him with a knowing look. He let out a shaky moan when you did it again. "You stop."

"Stop what?"

"Baby, shit, I can feel you tightening around me." You were easily flexing your walls around him in retaliation. He pushed his hips up into you causing you to moan and fall forward, he did it again, carefully thrusting in and out of you-- your pretty love faces like artwork, his favourite thing to watch. You sucked your teeth in realization.

"Did you just bait me into another round?"

"Always."

Slick motherfucker.

Y’all… oof I had to. I’m still reminiscing. I miss my man😭

If you liked this fic feel free to like this fic

Comments and reblogs are appreciated.

Peace and love🤞🏾

🏷️ : @skyesthebomb @darqchilddaydreamz @realhotgurlshit

#marleywrites #marleysfanfictions #spooky #fluff #spooky fanfic #on my block fanfic #spooky x reader #spooky fanfiction #smut #spooky x fem!reader #spooky smut

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altsvu · 5 months

Text

don’t shut me out

pairing: aaron hotcher x black!fem!reader

requested by @blackbeautifulqueen: Aaron hotchner x black!reader where reader is really confused as to why Aaron is dating her when he goes for skinny, straight blond hair, blue eyed white women. And she starts to think that maybe he is just dating her to see how dating a black girl would be so she closes herself off and he urges her to tell him what wrong and when she tells him he asked “where is all of this coming from”, maybe???❤️❤️

wc: 833

summary: a part of you thinks that Aaron isn’t really all that into you and it causes you to shut him out, but he changes that.

cw: stereotypes, angst, lots of fluff (from hotch)

a/n: i think this was super interesting to write, i hope you enjoy it!! 🫶🏽

criminal minds masterlist! ✯ taglist!

✯✯✯✯

You loved Aaron. A lot. But sometimes you wondered why he chose you.

You knew about Aaron’s last relationship, but you also knew his type because you’ve had the conversation with him before.

So the question still remained with you.

Why you?

And this is where your overthinking side came in. You wondered if he just wanted to “scope the scenery” as they say nowadays, and see what it was like to date a black woman. You hated feeling like a social experiment or someone’s “first”.

But it can’t be, he loves you. Right?

All of your overthinking turned into paranoia and it caused you to distance yourself from him. Diminished phone calls, texts, and you haven’t spent time with him in over two weeks. You claimed it was because of work, but that definitely wasn’t the case as your line of work was nowhere near demanding as Aaron’s line of work.

Out of the blue, you saw a text from Aaron that made your heart drop.

Aaron: Baby, we need to talk soon. I miss you.

You were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you didn’t believe that he missed you.

You: I do too. Let’s talk tomorrow night.

That aught to ease him for the rest of the day.

✯✯✯✯

Tomorrow night came a little too fast for you but there was no way you could back out now. You were the one that sent the time.

Aaron asked you if it was okay if he came over to your place, he thought it would be easier since it was closer to the BAU headquarters.

You nervously paced around your living room, waiting for the doorbell to ring, waiting for Aaron’s presence. As much as you kept your distance from him, you still enjoyed his presence.

He treated you like royalty. And not just because you had talked to him about your past relationships. Because he actually cared about you.

But that thought still lingered.

Why you?

*Ding dong*

He was here. You drew in a few breaths and opened the door for him. He looked good, all 6’2 of him.

“Hi.” You smiled.

“Hi baby. You gonna let me in?”

You laughed softly. “Come in.”

You shut the door behind him and Aaron put his bag down by the door. He pulled you into his arms for a long awaited kiss and you gave in at first because it just… felt so right.

But you couldn’t.

Why you?

It was as if you had the devil and angel on either side of you forcing you to make a decision.

“I can’t.” You whispered after kissing him for a few seconds. You walked away from him and went to the kitchen to pour two glasses of wine.

“Wha- Y/N…” Aaron started. He followed you into the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe. “What’s going on? Did I do something?”

You handed him his wine and carefully paced around the kitchen with your glass in your hand.

How were you gonna word this to him? You wanted answers desperately, but it was hard for you to get the words out.

You took a gulp of your wine. Something you never did.

“Y/N.”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t shut me out. What’s wrong?”

You went back to the living room, Aaron following suit, to sit down on the couch.

And you poured your guts out to him. It ended in you crying.

“I just want to know, why me?”

Aaron set his glass down, and set yours down as well to prevent you from gulping the rest. He then took your hands and held them.

“Baby, where is all of this coming from?”

You shrugged, letting your tears fall down. You honestly couldn’t think of a legitimate answer.

“Y/N. Look at me.” Aaron whispered, gently lifting your chin. You reluctantly looked at him.

“I don’t want you to ever think I have a preference for my significant other. Yes, my past relationships may not have been the best reflection of that, but I didn’t start falling in love with you because I wanted to test the waters.”

“I love you for you. That’s why. I love the way your eyes gaze into mine all hours of the day, I love your laugh, I love your beautiful pearly white smile, I love how you make me laugh, I love how you stay true to yourself and your values. I could go on and on, but we’d be here all night.”

“Y/N. I love you for you. Don’t ever forget that.”

You felt new tears forming. All of those thoughts you had were gone, with no reason for them to come back ever.

You needed reassurance, in a way, that you weren’t being used or that he was with you for one reason only.

“Thank you Aaron.” You croaked out. He pulled you into his arms in response and you curled up into a ball beside him.

“So should we finish what we started?”

✯✯✯✯

taglist: @averyhotchner @storiesofsvu @ssaic-jareau @blackbeautifulqueen @mstrinnyb @will-on-the-internet

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reverie-starlight · 2 years

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{the video call incident ~ MSBY manager!reader}

{sakusa x GN!reader}

aka: you and sakusa are trying to keep your relationship under wraps from the rest of the team and break the news slowly. key word trying. gone wrong.

warnings: none, really, just humor/bantering/insults, fluff. also sakusa is sweet towards you. idc if you think he’s mean, I just think he’s so soft with his partner. miya twins and reader have been friends since before the timeskip but it’s only briefly mentioned. ONE suggestive line by Hinata... mildly suggestive at the very end.

notes: I ADORE this piece, it might be one of my favourite fics of mine. I kinda wanna do an MSBY manager series with the different guys... anyone interested? Also- every time I was mean to Atsumu in this fic I felt actual pain. I love him too much.

there is... a LOT of dialogue in this fic. just so you know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Kiyoomi, stop,” you laughed as you pushed you boyfriend back slightly.

He had an early practice the next morning (technically as his team manager you did, too) but he was currently standing in the front hall of your apartment, arms wrapped around you and pressing kisses to your face.

“No,” he said in between kisses, smiling slightly, “why should I?”

You didn’t have a good enough reason to give him and he knew that. He continued his actions and you sighed.

“Kiyoomi, you and I both know that I’d be more than happy to let you spend the night, but if we show up tomorrow in the same car for the second time this month, the guys are going to get suspicious.”

Sakusa sighed. “I know, I just want to appreciate you a little longer. I feel bad for keeping my distance at practice today. Meian is probably onto us and I wanted to redirect his focus.”

You smiled at him. “I’m sure he’s already figured it out. Better him than the trouble trio.”

He hummed in agreement.

The two of you had been keeping your relationship a secret for the past eight months. You’d been the MSBY manager for a couple years now, starting around the same time Sakusa was recruited, and at the end of the last season, after a big game, he had finally asked you out. (“Adrenaline and high off of a win,” he had reasoned when you questioned why he chose that moment.)

The only reason it was kept a secret was because some of the team members were rather… excitable.

Namely Atsumu, Bokuto and Hinata.

You loved the team you managed, and you loved their personalities. Really, you did.

Despite that love, you might as well be those three’s babysitter.

Add your boyfriend to the mix and things got even more chaotic. However, you did love to see how he interacted with them. Something about it is what drew you to him in the first place. (Your friends had made it clear that your type was apparently slightly mean tall guys who turn to mush behind closed doors. You hadn’t agreed until you met Sakusa.)

That aside, telling the team would result in chaos. The trio would accuse you of betrayal, they’d stare at you both during any small interactions and it would ultimately disrupt the team’s dynamic.

So you both decided to keep it a secret until the end of the current season so they could digest the news easier and have everything be mostly normal by time the next game season rolled around.

You tried one more time to push him off and he sighed. He gave you three more quick pecks and unwrapped his arms from around your waist.

“Fine, I’ll go,” he said, reaching for his coat.

You were about to help him into it when he suddenly patted his pockets in a panic. “I left my phone in the living room, can I go get it?”

You nodded and he moved back into the main part of the apartment just as your phone started ringing. You rolled your eyes when you realized who it was. You swiped the accept call button and groaned when he popped up on the screen with messy towel dried hair and a hyper look on his face. Oh brother.

“What, Atsumu?” You really didn’t want to pick up at that moment, but you knew that if you ignored it he’d either keep calling non-stop or be all pouty about it at practice tomorrow.

Neither option was favourable.

“Y/n! ‘m bored. Ya gotta keep me company.”

You frowned. “You couldn’t call Bokuto or Hinata? Or Sakusa?”

“Neither of ‘em picked up when I called. And omi-omi doesn’t pick up unless he already knows why I’d be callin’ so I didn’t bother.”

“Well I’m really sorry, Atsumu, but you caught me at a bad time, I’m busy right now,” you tried to sound sympathetic but it came off as rushed.

He was still your friend and you didn’t like ignoring him, but he really did catch you at the worst time.

Sakusa came back into the front hall looking like he was about to say something but stopped when he saw you were on the phone.

“But Y/nnnnn!” He rolled his eyes and let out an involuntary scoff when he heard Atsumu’s voice.

He clapped a hand over his mouth and looked at you with wide eyes.

You hoped the man on the screen hadn’t heard that but even if he hadn’t, the panicked look on your face and the way your eyes flicked to something behind your phone definitely tipped him off.

A wide smirk took over his face when you looked back at your phone and you started shaking your head.

“Do ya have a boy over, Y/n? Is that what this is?”

“Shut up, no I don’t.” you started but you were cut off.

“OH SHIT YOU DO! SHOW ‘IS FACE, WHO IS HE? WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL US? WHO’VE YA BEEN-“

You ended the call.

Sakusa slowly took his hand away from his mouth and looked at you. It was silent for a good three seconds before he said “That’s on me.”

“It’s fine, he doesn’t know who it was.”

“Do you think you can keep him from telling anyone?”

Both of your phones started buzzing at the same time.

“Too late,” you said in unison.

Suddenly a video call from the group chat came through. “Shit,”

“Okay, Kiyoomi, I think it’s best that you go now, if you join the call from your place it’ll be less suspicious.”

He nodded. “Good idea,” he rushed to get his coat and shoes on and kissed you once before heading out. “I love you and I’m sorry if this goes badly.”

You returned his affection and locked the door before joining the group call. Hinata was there, too.

“Atsumu. I swear to god, you didn’t need to turn this into a whole thing. Hi Hinata.”

The orange haired boy beamed at you and waved. “Hi Y/n! How are you?”

“Shoyo! Our dear manager has A BOY OVER.”

“Oh, are you dating someone, Y/n?”

“I’m n-”

“WHY AM I THE ONLY ONE FREAKIN’ OUT OVER THIS?”

You rolled your eyes once again. “Because, Miya, not everyone is as invested in my personal life as you are.”

He gasped at the use of his last name and was about to throw something back at you when Bokuto joined the call on his evening jog. Just great. If Atsumu successfully managed to rile him up, Hinata would surely follow soon after. You needed to do damage control.

Quickly exiting the screen of the call, you texted your boyfriend.

I need you to knock Atsumu down a peg, please join the call.

Oh, my pleasure.

As you were texting him, you heard Bokuto and Hinata rambling on about tomorrow’s practice. The setter looked mildly annoyed that no one was paying attention to him anymore.

“Bokkun!! Listen to me for a minute!! Y/n has a-”

At long last, Sakusa joined the call from what looked like the inside of the grocery store five minutes from his house.

“Omi! What’re you doing here? You never join our video calls unless Y/n makes you- wait where the hell are ya?”

“It was a misclick, don’t get too excited, Miya. And you interrupted my grocery shopping, if you must know.”

“Well don’t leave! You’re gonna wan’ to hear this.”

Sakusa sighed. “I’m sure I won’t.”

You had to bite back a smile at the faux bored look on his face.

“OKAY, Bokkun, Omi-Omi, Y/N HAS A BOY OVER. AND THEY WON’T TELL US WHO.”

Sakusa blinked. “Miya, why do you care so much about our manager’s personal life? Is your own that boring? Are you so unsatisfied that you have to live vicariously through other people’s? Just watch reality TV if that’s the case, I’m sure Y/n would appreciate it as well.”

You let a small laugh out at the sight of your setter looking like he was just slapped across the face.

“LISTEN ‘ERE, SAKUSA-”

Your boyfriend promptly kicked him out of the call, looking rather pleased with himself.

Bokuto on the other hand...

“WOAHH, Y/N WHO IS IT? TELL US! YOU CAN TRUST US!”

Aaaand now Hinata wanted in on the action. “YEAH, YOU CAN TELL US Y/N!”

Atsumu rejoined the call not a second later. “WHY’D YA KICK ME OUT? Y’know what? Fine. I’m adding someone else to the call.”

You gasped when a familiar contact picture popped up on the screen and the connceting dots appeared.

“Oh for the love of- Your brother, Atsumu, really?? Don’t drag him into this.”

The other (and in your opinion at this particular moment- the better) Miya twin finally picked up. “Uh. Hi? Whaddaya need, 'tusmu?”

“SAMU, Y/n has a boy over.”

“Okay, and?” You’ll give him credit for at least trying to look uninterested.

“They come into your restaurant sometimes don’t they? Have they ever brought a guy with them?”

“Atsumu, please just drop it-” but your pleas fell on deaf ears.

Osamu shook his head and you almost, almost thought you were in the clear until...

“They only brought Sakusa in one time last month... and Suna did mention that he saw them together when you were all in Tokyo for some matches.”

Both of the Miya twins were dead to you. You silently took back everything you said about Samu being the better one. Years of friendship down the drain.

You thought he’d have your back on this one but you forgot that, at heart, Osamu is just as much of a little shit as his twin.

“Osamu!” You shouted, betrayed.

He shrugged. “Sorry, Y/n.”

Atsumu glared at the screen. “As if it’d be Omi-Omi. We’d definitely know if it was him. Y/n, it wouldn’t have come to this point if ya had just told us who’s with you right now.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m home alone right now, genius, he’s long gone. And it isn’t any of your business!”

At that moment everything you’d been working so hard to keep a secret crumbled before your eyes.

Bokuto suddenly had a look of realization wash over his face.

Shit.

“Wait, if that’s the case, then could it be Omi after all? I ran into him while he was walking in the opposite direction of Y/n’s apartment building when I passed by on my jog ten minutes ago.” He said it totally innocently, as if you having Sakusa over wasn’t as big as Atsumu was making it out to be.

The call went silent for a solid minute before Atsumu started speaking.

“Bokkun, what did you sa-”

Oops, there goes Atsumu again.

“I sai-”

Oh no, Bokuto too.

You and Sakusa stared at the screen in shock, waiting to see Hinata’s reaction.

Osamu just smirked and waved goodbye before signing off himself.

Hinata just smiled at the two of you. “Congratulations! I’m really happy for you guys... do you congratulate friends when you find out they’re sleeping together?”

Hinata, your sweet sunshine friend was successful in unfreezing the both of you. “It’s not like that, Hinata-”

“Not normally, no.”

You glared at Sakusa (who was now back in his apartment without a mask) but he just smirked at you. “Kiyoomi.”

“Alright, I’m sorry.”

“Anyway,” you tried again. “Hinata, we’re dating. We have been for a while.”

“Oh! That definitely calls for celebration then!”

You smiled slightly before the banished returned to the call.

“’kay, ya really need to stop doin’ that.” Atsumu said immediately.

“Why was I kicked out, Y/n? You’re not mad at me are you?”

“No, Bokuto, of course not.”

“Stop ignorin’ me!”

“Miya, stop being a pest.”

“Guys!! They’re dating! I was right.”

You froze again. “Hinata... what did you say?”

“...nothing.”

“Don’t make me kick you out of this call.”

“Fine! I knew you guys were dating. It was kind of obvious.”

“What do you mean obvious, Hinata?” Sakusa asked.

You shared a glance with him through the screen in confusion. You were both so sure you were hiding it well. Actually... you knew you were hiding it well, considering Atsumu and Bokuto didn’t catch on until now.

“Well, one day a few months ago I may have caught you two making out behind the gym. At that point I thought it was just that kind of relationship and figured it wasn’t my business. But then a few weeks ago, after Sakusa and Atsumu had gotten into an argument at practice, he called Komori-”

“Ah, Shoyo, let’s not-”

“You have my cousin’s number?” Sakusa hissed.

“He does!”

“Bokkun, seriously, stop-”

“I’m not letting this go, Miya.”

“Hinata, please continue.”

“And Atsumu asked about his relationship status because he wanted blackmail or something. Then Komori said that his lips were sealed, he promised Sakusa he wouldn’t say anything to anyone. I put two and two together, Bokuto thought he was just being a good cousin and let it go, and Atsumu assumed Sakusa was just embarrassed about being single. After that I kinda noticed that you two seemed closer and assumed everyone else on the team knew too. I tried to ask Atsumu about it but he was dead set on not believing you’d date-in his words- ‘an ass like omi-omi’”

You stared at Hinata with wide eyes. “You knew for that long... and managed not to let it slip?”

He shrugged. “It wasn’t hard. I was focused on practice most of the time anyway, so it honestly just slipped my mind.”

Maybe you didn’t give Hinata enough credit.

“Atsumu, you owe me a meat bun now since I was right!”

Or maybe you were justified with your initial feeling.

“You bet on us being together?!”

It was going to be a long night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BONUS:

After explaining everything to the trouble trio about why you didn’t tell them, you were left on call with Sakusa.

“Well... that was certainly something.” He said.

“Mmhmm,” You looked at him. “Kiyoomi...”

He offered you a soft grin. “I’m already putting my shoes on. I’ll be there soon. Now you have no excuses for not letting me stay the night.”

You giggled and rested your chin on your palm. “I guess not. It’s a shame, really, you’re getting to be so clingy lately. Ever heard of the term personal space?”

“Oh please,” he scoffed. “says the one who literally will not let go of me unless I physically detach you from my body most days.”

“You guys are disgustingly sweet.”

“What are you still doing here, Atsumu?! I thought you left?”

“I snuck back in.”

“Well leave.”

“Sure. But I’m telling everyone how soft you are for our manager tomorrow morning.”

Sakusa raised an eyebrow. “You really think anyone will believe you without proof?”

The last thing you heard before Sakusa blew you a kiss was Atsumu groaning as he was kicked from the call one last time upon realizing he in fact does not have proof.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BONUS 2:

You woke up the next morning completely intertwined with Sakusa.

“My love, wake up. We’re going to be late.”

You groaned and snuggled into his side more, shivering slightly when he traced lines on the skin of your back. He laughed and pried you off of him.

“Mm no, five more minutes.”

“Come on, Y/n/n, if we’re late you know we’ll never hear the end of it. We don’t have the luxury of secrecy anymore. Besides,” he poked you in the stomach and leaned in closer to you. “you’re the one who insisted on staying up late last night. I tried to tell you that this would happen, but you were just so needy-”

“Okay, okay, I’m up,” you cut him off, then mumbled under your breath “but I didn’t hear you complaining much.”

You shrieked when two arms wrapped around your waist and you were pulled against his chest. “I’m sorry did you say something, my dear?”

It didn’t matter if you were late or not in the end, because when you entered the gym, you were greeted with a round of applause and some whistles. And your boyfriend was weighed down by the endless teasing about his messed up hair and marks on his chest in the changing room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa x reader fluff #sakusa x reader #haikyuu x reader #msby manager #msby sakusa x reader #haikyuu fluff #msby 4 fluff

2K notes · View notes

auras-moonstone · 10 months

Text

mad woman — ethan landry (part five)

words: 1,769

pairing: ethan landry x gf!fem!reader

based on: mad woman by taylor swift

author’s note: only one more part left ! and the epilogue (if i decide to give y/n and ethan a happy ending).

previous part ; next part

Y/N AND ETHAN WOKE UP AT THE SOUND OF THEIR PHONES RINGING. The girl groaned in annoyance as she reached for the device laying on the drawer. Ethan mumbled something under his breath before grabbing Y/N by the waist to push her against his bare chest again.

The girl laughed kissing his cheek “Eth, it might be important” she whispered. He sighed, letting her go. She took her phone and read the texts that were sent to the group as Ethan pressed short kisses on her neck.

mindy

y/n, ethan we have a plan.

meet us at the park in an hour

tara

hello????

everything okay???

chad

answer us!!!

mindy

fuck he killed her

i told you not to go with him y/n/n

wtf mindy i’m okay

why would you text that if you thought i was dead??

mindy

idk maybe you are seeing me typing

maybe you are stuck in this world trying to get revenge

you want to haunt your boyfriend for killing you!

please stop watching paranormal movies minds

we are okay. we’ll meet you there in thirty minutes

chad

*20

we texted you 40 minutes ago, mindy told you to meet us in an hour

yeah we are not going to make it in twenty

we need to shower

sam

but you went to his dorm specifically to shower

why didn’t you do that already?

i did. but i need to shower again :)

mindy

i’m throwing up rn

tara

she literally gagged

chad

ethan my man!! so proud of you buddy!

he’s still sleeping i tired him out

mindy

DONT PUT MENTAL IMAGES IN MY MIND THAT IS DISGUSTING

lmao i’m just messing with you, minds

mindy

thank god.

because virgins survive, so you two might have a chance

oh i was kidding about him still being asleep

the rest was all true :)

mindy

just stop taking and meet us there🤮

“Why didn’t you get rid of Mindy instead of Anika?” Y/N groaned as they made their way to the shower. “I actually really liked Anika. And my patience with Mindy is running out. I swear next time she says something mean to you I-“

He cut her off with a kiss “God, I love it when you get protective” he pressed against the wall of the shower.

“The shower is for showering, babe” she pulled away.

“Can’t help it” he said kissing her neck and shoulders. Y/N smirked as she turned on the cold water, Ethan quickly stepped back.

“Y/N! What was that for?” he glared at her.

“You are in desperate need of a cold shower” she laughed “Come on, we need to hurry. Your dad said it was important for us to be there”.

Ethan sighed in defeat “Fine”.

“I promise that once this is over, I’ll let you do whatever you want to me” she gave him a peck.

“Anything?” he smirked.

“Anything” she confirmed.

QUINN ATTACKED GALE AT HER HOUSE, ALMOST BEING SUCCESSFUL IN KILLING HER. Right now, the whole group, minus officer Bailey and Kirby, were at the hospital lounge, waiting for any news on the reporter’s health.

Y/N and Ethan were internally fuming. How many fucking lives did Gale Weathers have? It was ridiculous. Though, they really enjoyed seeing Sam’s guiltiness eat her alive.

"What do we do know?" Y/N asked, sitting on Ethan’s lap. He tightened his grip on the girl's frame as she drew invisible circles on his chest.

"Maybe he gets to win this time" Sam said, her voice was a bit shaky. They all looked at her as if she was crazy. "He wants to punish me. Me. So maybe I'll let him. I'll just give myself up. If this is what I have to do, to keep you safe, it's worth it".

"First of all, you are fucking insane if you think we'll let you do that" Y/N told her, no hesitation in her voice.

Tara stood up. "Y/N/N is right. You always protect us, now it's time we protect you. We are a team, remember?".

"We are family" Y/N corrected, standing up and walking towards Sam.

"You can say it, Chad" Mindy said, standing up too.

Chad got into his feet and with a excited smile he said. "Let's go! Core five!".

"Core what?" asked Danny.

"It's an us think" Chad explained briefly.

"He's gonna keep coming after us" Sam warned them.

"Isn't there somewhere safe we can hold up in?" Ethan asked.

"He's just going to keep finding us" Tara told him, making him sigh. "We could use that, though”.

THE FINAL ACT WAS ABOUT TO BEGIN. The group planned on luring Ghostface into a secure location and trap him inside. The final reveal was getting close, and Y/N’s heart beat with excitement. She couldn’t wait to see the life draining from Tara’s eyes. And then, she would continue her life with the love of her life.

"Is this even a good plan?" Ethan asked, his hand gripping Y/N’s tightly, as they walked down the stairs to take the train.

"You don't have to come if you don't want to" Tara replied.

"So we just peel off so the killer takes us off one by one? No, thank you" the curly-haired boy said, making his girlfriend look at him with her eyebrows raised. "And I don't want to leave Y/N alone, of course".

The girl laughed. "You really don't have to come, you know? We are not going to blame you for not going".

Ethan sighed. "No. Like I said, I won’t leave you alone".

“Yeah, very romantic, lovebirds. Can you move now? We are going to miss the train” Mindy said annoyed from behind them.

They walked through the current of people, pushing and shoving to try to get into the train. Just as they were about to enter it, the doors closed right in front of their faces.

"The next one should be here any minute. We won't be that far behind" said Y/N to Ethan and Mindy.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go away" Mindy said to the boy.

"What do you mean?" the girl asked her confused.

"I don't trust your boyfriend".

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Mindy, not right now. Leave your stupid accusations aside, we need to stick together".

"Fine, you can stay with him. I'll wait a couple of feet away" she replied stubbornly.

"Mindy, come on" she said tiredly, but her friend didn't listen. She turned to face the tall boy. "Can I be the one who gets rid of her?".

Ethan tried not to laugh “I’m sorry but we have to take advantage of her stubbornness. Text Quinn, it’ll be less suspicious if you do it”.

“How disappointing” she scoffed, pulling her phone out.

hey quinn. we are about to take the train. we missed the first, so we are taking the next one.

mindy distanced herself from us cause she doesn’t trust your brother.

it’ll be a great opportunity to get rid of her

(i’m so jealous you get to do it btw).

quinn

roger that:)

aw i’m sorry, i promise i’ll be extra brutal for you :)

stop flirting with me!

quinn

no can do ;)

“Hey, what the fuck?” Ethan whispered, reading the conversation over her shoulder.

Y/N laughed “Don’t worry, pretty boy. My heart is only yours”.

“That’s right. You are mine” he said, gripping her hips.

“You are so hot when you get territorial” she said pressing a kiss on his jaw.

When they boarded the train, Mindy walked towards the end of the wagon, away from them but at a reasonable distance so she could keep an eye on Ethan.

“This is perfect” Y/N whispered, looking around. The train was crowded with people dressed as famous killers—Jason, Michael Myers, Ghostface, Pennywise.

"What’s your favorite scary movie, darling?” the boy joked. He was towering over her, and her back was pressed against a metal tube.

Y/N rolled her eyes "Shut up, idiot. I was never a fan of those types of movies”

“Maybe that could be one of our dates, watching scary movies”

“I’ll do anything as long as it’s with you” she smiled sweetly. He got closer to her, now they were chest against chest, and kissed her cheeks multiple times.

“Gross” said a familiar voice from next to them. Just after that, the light went out.

“That’s your cue, Quinnie” Y/N told her.

“Don’t call me that” she grumbled before starting to get closer and closer to Mindy.

On the next stop, when a big number of people stepped out of the train, the couple turned around to see Mindy sitting on the floor, hands pressed to her stomach and blood staining her shirt.

"No, fuck!" Y/N yelled faking concern as she ran towards her. She wanted to smile so badly at the sight of the girl in pain "You've got to be kidding me! I'm so sorry, Minds".

"Somebody help!" Ethan screamed, but no one moved one finger to do something. "Shit. We've got to get her out of here".

Y/N nodded. "Breath deep" she told her before pulling her to her feet. The girl let out a groan of pain as the couple lead her out of the train. "Thanks for nothing, assholes!".

"Somebody call 911!" Ethan yelled as they put the wounded girl on the floor of the station. "Are you okay?".

"Yeah, I'm so good" she said through her teeth.

"You're going to be okay" Ethan told her.

"Goddam it! I got it wrong again!" she cried. The paramedics arrived and started to check on the wounded girl.

"Is she going to be okay?" Y/N asked them.

"Yes, your friend will be fine, don't worry. We are going to give her painkillers, while we drive her to the hospital" they informed her.

“Minds, they need all the help they can get. I hate to leave you alone, but…” Y/N started.

Mindy nodded in understanding “You have to help them, it’s okay. Go”.

“If you need anything, call me okay?” Y/N told her.

“I’ll be fine, really. Just… be careful with him, okay? I know he’s your boyfriend and you like him, but never trust the love interest”.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be okay” she assured her before the paramedics took her away. “Heard that? I should be careful with you” she turned around with a smirk to face her boyfriend. “Are you gonna hurt me?”.

Ethan laughed “Depends, are you into those types of kink?”.

“You really should’ve taken that cold shower” Y/N said rolling her eyes, but smiling nonetheless. “Now, let’s go. It’s time for the big finale, baby!”.

309 notes · View notes

bucketsofmonsters · 1 year

Text

Vows - Part 2

cw: consentual blood drinking, nightmares, accidental voyeurism, polyamory, more tags will be added as the story continues

male vampire x afab reader

Word count: ~5k

Vows Masterlist

You dreamed of vampires. You always did, ever since you were little and your father had told you all about them. About how they drained people, leaving them pale and cold. About how they liked to leave a little life left in their victims, to make them suffer, shivering on the street until all the light faded away.

You were running, breathless, from the killer behind you. Blood ran down his face, a face that kept flashing across your vision as your frantic footsteps echoed in your ears.

The world was shaking. Something was wrong. The pounding of your feet became unsteady as the ground beneath you swayed.

“Wake up, you’re alright.”

The words faded in as you registered someone gently shaking you awake.

Your eyes widened in fear, the terror of the nightmare lingering.

Rook sat beside you, concern written across his face.

“You were screaming,” he said softly, a worried crease forming between his brows.

“Yeah, that happens sometimes. Sorry I woke you up.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. Anything you want to talk about?”

Images of vampires and their victims flashed through your mind again and you shook your head.

The man sitting beside you was a far cry from those images. His gentle concern wasn’t helping anything.

“Do you need anything?” he asked and went to rest his hand on your arm in what you knew was meant to be a reassuring gesture.

You pulled away immediately, like his cold touch had burned you. “Not from you,” you snapped.

He drew back, not uttering another word as he exited your room.

You didn’t even have the energy to worry if you’d angered him.

More surprising than anything to you was the vampire you’d dreamed of. You’d been convinced Rook would fill that spot in your nightmares after you got here but he hadn’t.

You had mostly steadied your breathing by the time you heard a knock on your bedroom door.

“Yeah?” you asked, your training kicking in, the way your parents had drilled it into your brain to never say ‘come in’ without knowing who, or what, was on the other side of the door. Even in here, where it no longer mattered, you couldn’t shake the habit

Oliver peeked his head in, looking like he’d just been woken up, eyes still puffy from sleep.

“You okay? Can I come in?”

You nodded at him and he came in with a mug in either hand.

“Rook made them for you and sent me up. Seemed to think I would be more welcome as a delivery boy.”

“Did he.”

He nodded as he handed you a mug. “He’s worried that he frightens you.”

“He does frighten me. Is he kicking me out?”

“No! What? No one’s kicking you out. He’s just worried. We all are, to be honest.”

“Worried about me? I’m the only one having a sane reaction to all of this. You’re telling me that you came here, to this massive prison controlled by a monster, and you weren’t a little scared? Not of this place or of him or of anything?”

“This isn’t a prison.”

“Isn’t it? You don’t feel trapped here?”

“I feel safe here.

“You don’t ever want to leave?”

He shrugged. “Not right now. Someday I probably will, for a while. But I’ll always come back.”

“He’d let you do that? Just leave whenever you want to?”

“Of course, he does it all the time. We’re not the only ones who call this place home, you know. Petyr’s out traveling, he’s been having issues walking as he got older so Rook wanted to make sure he got the chance now and then stay here and adjust when it gets really bad. Beatris has been gone for a bit, her dad got sick and she left to take care of him. She still sends letters back all the time though. There’ve been more but… well, Rook’s lived a long time. I think that’s why you’re here. He doesn’t like this place being so empty. That’s why he let someone so… skittish stay.”

“So I’m not his type. Not bending to his will fast enough?”

Oliver lets out a good hearty laugh. “God no, I think he likes that part more than he probably should. You just seem scared of him. That’s the last thing he wants. I think it’s getting to him more than he wants to admit. That’s his own biggest fear, I think. Scaring people. He’d be so angry if he knew I told you that but I thought it might help destroy the image of the big scary vampire you’ve got in your head.”

“Well, then we both make each other scared. Fair’s fair.”

Oliver chucked. “Whatever you say. Well, I’ve done my duty, your hot chocolate has been delivered. You can do whatever you want but I’m going back to sleep.”

“Goodnight,” you called after him as he dashed out of the room back to his warm blankets.

You were less eager to fall asleep. You gave it a half-hearted try but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it, instead opting to just stare at the wall for a few hours until the sun shone through the windows and lit up the room.

As you finally left your room, deeming it a more acceptable time to be awake, you almost tripped on a box sitting right outside your door. A ribbon was wrapped around it, tied into a perfect little bow.

You took it back inside, undoing the ribbon and tentatively opening the box.

You weren’t sure what you expected but it certainly wasn’t this. A pale blue dress was folded up inside. As you pulled it out of the box you noted it was a little shorter than what you were used to, barely going past your knees, but it was beautiful.

And you most certainly preferred it to the endless black and white of this place. You swapped your old black dress for your new blue one, feeling a little more at home in it.

It shouldn’t feel like you’d won a battle but somehow it did. You knew he didn’t like it, that anything that clashed with the perfect black and white of this place would irk him, and yet here you stood, in clothing that felt like yours.

You set out once again, this time with a mission.

You were set on thanking Rook, to rid yourself of the guilt that had started building up inside of you ever since this morning, ever since he started being so nice.

You wandered in and out of endless rooms trying to find him. Most of them were dusty and clearly haven’t been opened in years. You quickly started eliminating doors based on which had a thin layer of dust on the handle.

It still left you with altogether too many.

There was a room with a beautiful piano that you couldn’t help but press a few keys on. It was a little out of tune but still made lovely noises. It echoed perfectly through the room, like it was built to carry sound.

Another room has stacks and stacks of books. It wasn’t quite a library, although you were sure there was a library somewhere in this sprawling place. Instead, it just had stacks of books littered about the room. Other than that it was furnished with a fireplace, a few chairs, and dozens of blankets.

Eventually, you entered your final dustless room, coming face to face with the back of a familiar figure.

He was looking through his closet, positioned so he couldn’t see your form behind him, busy looking through the endless monochrome clothing.

“Good morning,” you said and he practically jumped out of his skin.

“Christ!” he exclaimed. “Do you ever knock?”

“There’s too many rooms in this place, if I knocked on every door I’d be a pile of bones before I ever found you.”

He laughed. “Was my tour not satisfactory?”

“Your tour where you refused to speak to me? Or was there another tour that you didn’t even bother inviting me to?”

He almost seemed like he winced before his face fell back to the familiar cold face you were becoming accustomed to, the one that it seemed Vivian and Oliver weren’t so familiar with.

“Perhaps that was a bit rude. You look nice, by the way.”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “Do you really believe that? Aren’t I horribly off theme?”

He shrugged. “You look more comfortable and that’s what matters. And it’s alright? It’s to your standards?”

You nodded. “Thank you. For this and for the hot cocoa.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just seemed like you might need it.”

“I think I did.”

“Anything else you need?”

You wished there was, some excuse so it wasn't so clear you'd just come in here to express your gratitude. You knew the whole house was his but this felt more like enemy territory than anywhere else you’d been.

You shook your head, refusing to meet his eye. “No, that’s all. I think I should go, let you get ready in peace.”

He watched you leave, some unplaceable emotion flashing across his face. You weren’t going to stick around long enough to figure out what it was.

As you descended the staircase you smelled something delicious, following the chocolate scent lingering in the air. You had nowhere else to be and some chocolate sounded great right about now.

You found the source of the scent in the kitchen. Vivian was hard at work, her hair tied back as she mixed what looked like another batch of brownies, a tray of them already sitting on the table.

“Good morning Vivian,” you said. You grabbed a brownie off of the plate and took a bite as you walked in. They were still warm and you turned to give her a compliment on her cooking.

Before you got the chance she snatched the brownie out of your hand. “Those are for Rook.”

You held up your hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. Didn’t realize he couldn’t share.”

She just stared at you for a moment, wincing a little and your face paled. “Wait, he can’t eat food.”

She shrugged. “He can with some modifications.”

You shuddered, the urge to go throw up the bite you’d taken overwhelming. It was a miracle you were able to resist it but the food still sat heavy in your stomach.

“Right. Don’t eat food without asking. Got it.”

“I’m so sorry, I should have warned you faster.”

You brushed her off. “No really, I’m fine, it’s not your fault. A little blood won’t kill me.”

You weren’t fine but there was no use telling her that and making her feel worse than she clearly already did.

Your hands were shoved nervously in your pockets, fingers wrapped around the hilt of your knife. Not that you thought you might have to use it but it was becoming somewhat of a nervous habit.

Her face lit up as she noticed what you were doing. “Rook gave them to you too! I was the one who asked for pockets, I’m glad he’s putting them in all the dresses now.”

“Did you? I used to sew them into my skirts myself.”

“I wish I could’ve done that, I’m awful at sewing. This way I can pick up anything cool I find, it’s great.”

She reached inside her pocket and pulled out a handful of trinkets. Her hand opened to reveal a couple of buttons, a coin that you’d never seen used before, a rock with a pinkish hue, and a dead iridescent beetle.

She looked incredibly proud of her little hoard, holding it like it was the greatest treasure in the world.

As sweet as she was, you needed some air, needed to be away from what you now knew were blood brownies.

“I’m gonna go for a walk, I hope Rook likes the brownies. All things considered, they were actually pretty good.”

“Thank you!” she said, beaming at you as you made your escape.

You wandered outside, circling the hedge maze but never setting foot inside. It still felt like a trap more than anything.

You managed to find a climbable tree and did your best to scale it, the shorter dress giving you far better mobility than what you were used to.

As you finally managed to sit securely on one of the branches and get a look at some of the winding paths of the maze, you didn’t find anything suspicious.

As much as you wanted to find something, it really did feel like Rook just wanted a hedge maze.

It would be nice if you could find something suspicious out here, in the sunshine where he couldn’t go. Instead, you headed back in, set on interrogating Rook some more.

The only problem was that you had to find him first.

He didn’t really need a maze, not with a house like this. You’d already tried and failed three times to find his room. Each time you opened the door with confidence and each time you were decidedly wrong.

When you finally did find his room you didn’t have time to celibrate.

Behind the freshly opened door was Rook sitting on the bed. But he wasn’t alone.

Leaning into him, covered in a blanket and not much else, was Vivian. His hand was tangled in her hair, slowly running his fingers through it before his head jerked up at your sudden intrusion.

You immediately slammed the door. No anger reared its head this time, cutting straight to the embarrassment and feelings of regret.

You weren’t exactly finding the intel that you’d been hoping for in your time here. There was functionally nothing for you to report back, unless they’d very suddenly become interested in Rook’s sex life.

You settled into a nearby couch, waiting patiently for the consequences of your second unexpected appearance to arrive.

About half an hour later you heard a door slam and prepared for the worst. Rook came storming at you and you waited to get yelled at. Honestly, you deserved it. Viv would be more than in her rights to tear you apart but you knew she wouldn’t do that so Rook would have to do.

“You,” he said, pointing an accusational finger in your face, “Will start knocking or I swear to god, I’ll put a bell on you.”

You did your best to repress a smile at that. “What, like a misbehaving cat who brought one too many dead birds inside?”

His stern demeanor didn’t last for long, chuckling at the comparison. “I will get you to stop hunting the birds one way or another.”

You smiled. “I would never hunt birds, for the record.”

“No, of course not. You act more like you’re hunting me and Viv.”

The joke was far closer to the truth than you were comfortable with.

He collapsed next to you on the couch at looked over at you. “What am I going to do with you?”

You shrugged. “I swear I’m never entering a room without knocking again, if that helps.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” he said with a smile and you were glad he wasn’t upset. You much preferred it this way.

“What were you doing with her,” you asked, thinking back to the scene you’d walked in on.

“Today or yesterday?”

“Today. I know what you were doing yesterday, pervert.”

He gasped in faux offense. “I am not a pervert. She was just keeping me warm.”

You buried your face in your hands, refusing to look at him or that smug look on his face.

Your hiding didn’t seem to deter him. “And today I was just doing aftercare. It’s important, you should never go without it in my humble opinion. Especially with all that they give me.”

“They? Not you?” you asked, still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to grow tired of your apprehension and demand you give him what he was owed.

“You’ve hardly given me a smile, I think it’s a little early to be talking about aftercare and blood drinking, don’t you? Unless you’ve suddenly gotten very eager in which case…”

“No," you quickly responded. “I just thought, I don't know, that it would be expected of me.”

“We’re not expecting anything of you. Oliver told me what you asked. About me kicking you out and you feeling trapped here.”

“I didn’t mean for you to hear that,” you quickly said, doing damage control as best you could. “I was tired and frightened, that’s all.”

“You don’t need to justify yourself to me. I just wanted you to know you don’t need to stay if you don't want to.”

“I told you, I have nowhere else to go,” you said, remembering your story and wondering if he might be trying to catch you in a lie. At least that was more comfortable to believe than the alternative.

“There’s an old gardener's cabin out behind the maze, you could always stay there. It’s much less comfortable but it’s an option if you’d rather not be here.”

You needed to stay here to gather intel. At least, that was what you kept telling yourself, doing your best to ignore the second reason. To ignore that little voice that had started piping up in the back of your head, one that was starting to like it here and that was fighting with the fear that lived inside of you.

“No. I’ll stay.”

“Alright. Well, the offer stands. If you ever need somewhere to escape to, it’s always there.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” It was a stupid question to ask but you had to ask it, there was no other option.

“You can think of me as a villain as much as you’d like, my dear, but I won’t play that part. I care for everyone here, even the ones who are scared of vampires."

“So that’s it, we’re your pets?”

He rested his hand on your arm and your breath caught in your chest. So little contact and yet you welcomed it, it felt reassuring in a way that you were absolutely certain it should not. “You’re so set on thinking the worst of me. You're my companions. This place is yours now just as much as it is mine. For better or for worse.”

“For better, I hope.”

You didn’t miss the long look he gave you, looking you up and down. You kept catching him doing that, inspecting you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

“So do I,” he muttered, and it was unclear if he was talking to you or himself.

As the day passed you began to understand why Rook so desperately wanted to fill this place with people.

Vampire hunting wasn’t nearly as thrilling as you’d imagined as a child. You’d spent the last few hours after your conversation milling about from room to room, migrating from couch to couch, muttering to yourself as you went.

You imagined what this place could be. It felt like thousands of people could live in this place easily, a whole village housed under a single roof. Honestly, you imagined Rook would like it that way, if only a village would agree to it.

The suffocating silence of the latest room you’d been just sitting around in, daydreaming, was broken by the door slamming open and Rook coming bounding inside. You fought back a smile at the sight of him and regretted to note that you’d begun to welcome his presence. You told yourself it was just the empty rooms getting to you.

The alternative wasn’t an option. You refused to even consider it.

He had a grin plastered across his face as he jogged up to you, too eager to do his usual dramatic walk with his tailcoat flapping dramatically behind him.

“I had an idea. We should have a safeword,” he practically shouted, despite the fact that he’d just plopped down next to you on the couch you’d been sitting on, passing the time. "Not in like, a sexual way, just to make you more comfortable."

You looked up at him, baffled, and leaned back, eyeing him suspiciously. “Why would I think it was in a sexual way.”

“They’re just usually… nevermind, don't worry about that. I just thought that whenever you’re feeling frightened or overwhelmed you could say red and I’ll leave you to calm down. No questions asked, I’ll never be offended by it. I just thought it might give you a better sense of control, calm some of your nerves.”

He was so excited, entirely unable to suppress his joy as he proposed this idea to you, this desperate ploy to help you feel secure.

The revelation hit you like a gut punch. “You genuinely want me to feel safe, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.” And for the first time since you got here, you believed it.

“Okay then, I just say red and we’re done?”

“Exactly. You’re a quick learner.”

He was visibly pleased with himself and for once, the smugness wasn’t even a little bit grating. He’d earned it, just this once.

With a newfound boldness that was surfacing with your growing comfort around him, you chimed in once more. “Can I ask you something?”

“You don’t need to keep asking permission like that. Let’s just assume you’re always free to ask questions.”

“Can I see your fangs?”

You blurted it out before you had the chance to second guess yourself and this time, it seemed like you made him nervous. The flash of nervousness didn’t last long, although his smugness didn’t quite make a reappearance on his face.

He opened his mouth dutifully, just enough that you could see his sharpened canines.

Your hands drifted up towards his face and you looked at him, silently asking permission.

He gave you a little nod and your palm pressed against his cheek, your thumb brushing over the tip of his fang. You did it lightly, careful not to pierce your skin and draw blood.

He stayed absolutely still, allowing you to explore.

You took the opportunity to study his face too as he sat, pliant in your hands. He gazed back, something looking like confusion on his face. You couldn’t understand why it was there, why he couldn’t understand you wanting to learn more about him.

The confusion transformed as he noted you studying the rest of his face, not just his fangs, softening as your thumb moved to brush over his cheek.

“You’re not as cold as I thought you’d be,” you told him. Your voice was low, not having to be loud to reach him considering how close you’d gotten.

“I could say the same about you.”

Now it was your turn to look confused, cocking your head to the side as you stared at him.

“Must you speak in riddles?” you asked. You knew you should pull away, that your exploration was over but you couldn't find it in yourself to draw your hand back.

He smiled at you and you felt his cheeks raise as he did. “I think it’s part of my charm.”

“You’re impossible,” you huffed out.

You were too close. The air from your words had surely brushed his face, you could tell that it did by the way his eyes darted down to your lips.

You just kept drawing closer. It was like you’d gotten caught in his gravitational field, he kept pulling you closer and closer all without ever touching you.

You refused to be drawn in on his terms like this so instead, you took the initiative and made your own move towards him.

It took barely a moment to close the gap between you two but by the time your lips touched, his arm wrapped around your waist, like he’d been waiting for this and you’d fallen into his trap once more.

You couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You let yourself be engulfed by him, being pushed back into the couch, the sides of his coat falling to either side of you as he deepened the kiss.

You could feel his fangs as he nipped at your lower lip, not hard enough to pierce the skin, just enough to feel them. It seemed almost as if he was testing the waters.

It didn't even occur to you to be scared.

His knee shifted in between your legs and you blessed the shortness of the dress he’d given you in that it was able to fit there.

A content little noise escaped his mouth, being smothered by your lips, as you ground up onto it shamelessly, chasing any sensation you could get.

Sure this wasn’t the first time you’d kissed someone, nor the first time you’d gone further, but it was the first time that no shame or nerves overtook you.

He’d said he wanted you to not be afraid of him, to trust him, to feel safe within these walls and you hated how well it was working. Well, you would’ve hated it if you could manage to string together a coherent thought.

Right now you just wanted more.

Rook did not seem to be on the same page.

He pulled away entirely, ignoring your attempt to pull him back.

“This is too fast,” he insisted. “You should go get some sleep. We both should.”

Your face fell as he moved away from you, back down onto the plush seats of the couch.

You wanted to ask for more, for him to touch you again, to take away all your worry once more.

But you didn’t. Not because you were thinking straight once more but because you knew he wouldn’t do it, wouldn’t push past where he thought you would feel safe, wouldn’t be swayed on matters of your comfort.

For now, all that anger had faded and all you could do was sit back and admire how cared for you felt as he offered you his hand and told you he’d walk you to your room.

#terato #teratophillia #vampire x vampire hunter #vampire x reader #vampire x human #monster bf #monster boyfriend #monster x human #monster x reader #halfway done #I love posting new chapters Saturdays can't come fast enough

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redcoralpot · 9 months

Note

Can you do Daryl finding out reader is trans? Early season 4, perhaps? :3

Attentu - Daryl Dixon x FTM Reader

Your wish is my command!!

Warnings: Gore, murder, violence, blood, cussing, mentions of transphobia and death, and addictions.

Word Count: 2.6K

You eagerly join in on the medical supply run, despite the group's awful luck. A confession from Bob has you feeling quite guilty about a personal matter...

It was dead.

You threw the car battery to the side, sick of the luck your supply group had. Daryl was on the other side of the room, shuffling through drawers in an attempt to obtain the right part. For an auto repair shop, it was horribly disorganized.

“Got anything?” you called over, impatient.

A grin took over your face as he tossed the find at you, catching it in a firm grip, “Nah.”

The car was not in terrible shape, not really. Some rust here and there, with paint scratched off from long road adventures before the outbreak. Your father had a similar car when you were just a child, and he was insistent that he passed on his knowledge, despite your mother’s constant objections. It was not fit for someone like you; that your hands should never be calloused from the tough ground nor covered in grease, she said. He always ended up laughing in her face.

So as he would have it, the two of you got in all sorts of trouble. Hijacking cars, picking locks, prying cabinets open with a pocket knife; all things he said would come in handy one day. Daryl seemed like he had the same type of upbringing, all rough and tumble, and perhaps that’s what drew you to him. That, or he was just really damn good with surviving.

Daryl’s footsteps creaked as he led the way out of the building, shining his flashlight on any possible threats around. Someone had to, as you weren’t keen to look after Bob found an old walker stuck under a desk, ending that misery. It was the only one left. One by one, you circled out of the building, with Bob’s silent trepidation behind you as you arrived back at the car. Daryl opened its hood again, and you both set to work.

His voice was muffled around his cigarette, “You never told us about the group you were with, before.”

You glanced up as Bob replied, “Which one?”

“You know,” he continued, when Daryl gave him a look, “when you found me out on that road, I almost kept walking.”

“Why’s that?’

“I was done being a witness. It happened two times, two different groups.”

…

“I was the last one standing, like God intended for me to see it over and over; a curse,” he shook his head, pursing his lips, “but, when it’s just you out there with the quiet, I used to drink a bottle of just 'bout anything just so I could sleep at night.”

“The run to the big spot, I only did it for me.”

You froze, a jug of clear liquid still in your hands. Daryl took it from you, completely unfazed, and managed to get a swig out of it.

He licked his lips, “You gotta keep busy somehow.”

“No, I did it so I could get me a bottle, a bottle of anything. That’s what got Zack killed.”

“That’s bullshit,” Daryl peered at him, “why don’t you get in there and try the engine? Should be the red and green wires, it ain’t rocket science.”

Even as Bob walked away, you stayed silent. Your fingers burned as you rigged the working car battery back in, but never as much as your thoughts. The other man nudged you, urging you to take your hands off as the engine roared in front of you. He clapped his hands and brought them up to his mouth; a sharp whistle rang through the air. Bob’s alcohol troubles seemed to be forgotten by Daryl, since he gave you a rusty smile while you slammed down the hood.

“Nobody coulda’ known, and you ain’t gonna be standing alone. Not anymore,” he reassured Bob.

You huffed, swinging a few plastic bags of gas in the back seats, ducking to join them. Tyreese and Michonne got the rest and the three of you squeezed together with the luggage, closing the door. With that, you left the burdensome place behind.

The ride to the college was short, but Bob still parked a little ways out, and the group set off to walk the rest of the distance. You passed most of the buildings on campus; dull brick that plants jumped at the opportunity to outgrow after a year of inactivity.

“Looks like the building we want is up ahead,” Tyreese stated.

For the first time since Bob’s confession, you spoke, “Are we splitting up? We’ll cover more ground that way.”

“Is that safe?” Michonne questioned, and Daryl eyed you.

“I know I can cover myself, if I end up alone.”

The brunette scoffed, and you shifted a glare at him, “You know I can, too. You’ve seen me.”

“I think,” Bob uttered, “it’s a good idea.”

“We don’t have a lot of time, I’ll shoot if I run into any trouble. Meet me back at the car.”

Outside of the Learning Resource Center, you split from the group, sneaking close to the ground. You heard the rest shuffle in the opposite direction with a soft “C’mon, c’mon.”, and let out a shaky breath. Two pairs, then three pairs of footsteps faded away.

The lights of the wing flickered and let out fading sparks as you padded along, dust pillowing up from wherever you stepped. God, the outbreak sure did a number on this place. Shadows grew as abundantly as the plants, but never dulled the smears of blood along the walls, floor, and shattered glass. It cracked and snapped under you, somewhere behind you, and you hissed as you looked at the walls alongside you. There were several doorways leading to different rooms, most likely supply closets or classrooms. Carefully, you dipped yourself into the nearest doorway, a heavy feeling on your back. Your heart pumped wildly in your chest and your stomach had a sick pit of anxiety as you thumbed through the biggest drawers. There were plenty of jars, containers, and vials, but none of them had what you needed. You read all the labels once, twice, the text in messy handwriting or tiny fonts.

Testosterone, in its liquid form made for injections, should be a clear liquid. You knew that much from what your provider told you, and from your own studies. Any colored liquids, or any with particles floating inside, you discarded from your search immediately. You were taking too long, you started to think, or were you? You didn’t know if you were gone for ten or if you have been here for thirty.

Once again, you slid back into the trashed hallway, trying to make your way towards the next doorway. The only things you could hear were your quick breaths and a creak, most likely from the forgotten building. A set pattern was in your mind as you dove into the room, and the haze of adrenaline made it hard to think. Walkers, as the prison liked to call them, were not your biggest concern. Even before the outbreak, it was dangerous for you to step outside; to live your life. If you passed by the wrong person, your face would be on the hot topic of the community for the week after. Getting caught was not an option.

You blinked, trying to clear the thumping in your ears. The vial’s label looked like a foreign language, though you knew it wasn’t, so you peered closer at it. A gust of hot air hit your neck, and again. Hot air. This place was cold.

Your fingers scrambled for the knife at your side, it was there, wasn’t it? You slashed before you could think. Hair scratched your fingers; your knife dug into a warm crevice. The hot air turned into a raw, groaning noise. The hot air stopped.

You pushed the body to the ground and your blade was released. The blood trickled hot down your wrist. Instead of the red you expected, it was a sludgy, filthy brown. It dripped in slow droplets on the floor beside your shoes. This was the first opportunity to look at the thing, and what a sight it was.

The knife had caved in a part of its skull, which itself was like a rotten, stomped on pumpkin. It oozed and dripped the same muck over the tile, muddying the disfigured face underneath. It made Osbourne’s stage trick look like simple child’s play to anyone who witnessed the act. Its eyes were still open; bulging out in that manic, hungry way only a madman got before the outbreak. You looked away from the mess, your breakfast seizing in your throat, and you busied yourself with getting more testosterone vials in your bag. The most important thing was that it was not human, not anymore.

Stuffing your full hand in your bag, you made a beeline for the doorway.

You should have learned your lesson.

A weight tumbled over you and knocked you to the floor, breathless. It screeched, rabid, like some sort of fucked up dog. If a dog hadn’t eaten for a month, that is. It stunk, too. It stunk so bad that you thought you might die from suffocation first.

It clawed at you, gnashing its yellow teeth. Your hands were pinned underneath the mass and you heard your knife land across the floor with a clang. This was going to be it. The end. It’s funny, isn’t it? Dying searching for your lifeline. You almost giggled at the irony.

The teeth were close to your neck, aiming to kill. To eat until you were nothing but an unrecognizable pile of flesh and bones. You had to do something, and soon. The only part of your body you could move were your legs, and you tensed them up. You were going to survive this, you were going to get back to that car.

Three.

You struggled to prop your shoulder up, knocking the danger away from your neck. Its eyes were bloodshot and cloudy. As empty as a corpse.

Two.

The walker got more desperate to bite you, wiggling around harshly on top of you. You tried your best to keep your face far away from its own, but it successfully nipped the edge of your nose. This was going to hurt.

One.

Its final noise was a gurgling one, close to your ear. The weight flopped to your right side, stilling its frugal attempt to destroy you.

“You got yourself covered, huh,” a voice remarked.

You wheezed, “Christ.”

“What were you doin’?”

“Shit.”

Daryl stepped over you, pulling his arrow out of the corpse, “I’m serious.”

You finally got your legs under you, and the first thing you did was back a good distance away from him. There was no getting out of this, you both knew that Daryl would know if you lied to him. Yet, he was one of the last people in the prison you felt comfortable telling. Daryl was a classic redneck, with a bigot older brother and a taste for mysteriousness. There was so much you didn’t know about him, and the hair on the back of your neck stood up like a wildfire. You would have much rather told Carol or even Michonne, if you had to choose.

“You know what Bob said.”

“Yeah,” he stated, “but you ain’t an alcoholic. I know that much.”

“I’m not, but that wasn’t the point. I only came on this run for one thing, and it isn’t medicine. It’s testosterone.”

“Why do you need that? You’re strong enough without that steroid shit.”

“I don’t get as much as you do naturally.”

“So a medical condition?”

“Kind of.”

“Even if it was, that don’t explain why you had to sneak away from the group to get it. What’re you hiding?”

“I’m transgender, Daryl. I wasn’t born a boy like you,” you murmured.

There was a parade of footsteps down the hallway, and Tyreese burst through the door, the others close behind. He looked spooked, with sweat dripping down his disheveled face. Michonne and, speaking of the devil, Bob looked no better off.

He exclaimed, “Jesus, there you two are. We gotta go, now.”

“What, why?”

“Walkers. Tons of ‘em. Let’s go!”

You gladly took this chance, shoving past Daryl to dart out into the hallway with the others. Everyone else was rushing, but it was a minute before you also heard footsteps behind you. The infected corpses swarmed the building, even though it wasn’t like that before, and it made you wonder what the hell released them. Your group ran up the stairs with walkers not too far behind, and those trapped banged on whatever surface they could reach.

“There was a ledge near the fire escape,” Michonne hissed, “we can go through there.”

No one responded unless a quick nod could be considered one, and you were off. Michonne went first, then Tyreese, you, and finally Daryl. Your legs were shaking, and you paid Bob a glance. He tensed up, seemingly trying to gauge the distance, before jumping. He was barely right, and landed a little too close to the edge, teetering off. His arms flailed and an army of bodies from below swarmed up to grab his heavy bag. You rushed to catch him, attempting to pull the man up, but he refused to let his backpack go.

Finally, you ripped both the man and his bag away from the grasp of the walkers, panting, “What the fuck were you doing? What’s in that bag that could possibly be so important?”

“He’s right.” Daryl took the bag from Bob, zipping it open.

Bob rushed to stop him, but it was too late. Daryl dropped the backpack as quick as he picked it up, and he seized Bob by the collar.

“If I ever catch you puttin’ a bottle before a need, I’ll feed you to the walkers myself. You hear me?”

You froze as Daryl let the shorter man down, pushing him as he did so. Everyone else shot him a disappointed look or a glare, and Michonne waved her hand. You were all to keep moving; the run was over, and on an especially sour note.

The group arrived back to the prison safe and sound, the most daring of injuries being bruises, or small cuts. Tyreese and Michonne left to do their own activities, while Bob left to lick his wounds. This retired Daryl and yourself alone, to an awkward silence. With nothing else to do, you picked at a particularly nasty cut on your forearm. It was starting to look infected.

You cleared your throat, “Do you have anything left in your bag?”

“Yeah.”

“Mind if I use some?”

“Nah.” Daryl tossed you his bag.

Carefully, you peeked inside. There wasn’t much left, some disinfectant spray and vials of a clear liquid. No, that couldn’t be, could it?

Testosterone. At least three good vials of it.

You raised them up to your face, not believing your eyes, “Daryl, where the hell did you get these?”

“Grabbed them from that drawer you found the others in,” he refused to make eye contact, “after you left.”

“Why?”

“You might’ve needed more than you got.”

That… meant a lot to you. You had expected him to at the very least ignore you, or even worse, disgusted by you. What were the chances he would grab extras for you, just in case? Instead of yelling or hitting or kicking you out of his life, Daryl did that. If you were being honest, this was one of the weirdest coming out stories to date, but nothing can really beat zombies being included.

“You aren’t mad?”

“Nah. I’m a little confused, though.”

“On the topic?”

Daryl sighed, “Yeah. Wasn’t educated that much.”

“Well, if you want, I could help with that.”

Just for a second, he looked you in the eyes. In that moment, you didn’t see hate, anger, or anything negative. Only a sharp, beautiful glimpse of curiosity.

“Yeah.”

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ughthisisntright · 10 months

Text

This is For Us | Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader | Part 1

Summary: A chance encounter.

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 2,069

Next Part

Music. Thumping. Pounding. Wasn't much of an older crowd in tonight, hm?

Bradley was stunned to see so many young people around. Could just be spring break or something but he wasn’t sure. He’d been so swept up with his training that the days sort of melted together at this point. Just as they did for the rest of his squadron.

Top Gun was no joke, he found out quickly. Had his father been alive, he was sure he would have gotten an earful about how not to do things. After being with Maverick for all those years he was sure there were some pretty hard and fast dos and don’ts.

Moments like these where he and his buddies could go out and blow off steam were absolutely essential for Bradley. He felt he’d lose his mind if he spent too long on base. He hadn’t accounted for literally everyone else in San Diego being at this bar tonight, though.

The music aside, the game of pool with his friends was going quite well. He leaned over the table and closed one eye to line up his shot just so. He carefully drew the stick back, brought it forward and back a few times to make sure he had everything lined up properly, then hit the cue ball hard. Two balls sank into the pockets and he grinned, mustache twitching upwards with the motion of his lips.

Turning to face some of his buddies, he caught a quick blur of someone brushing past him gently. A small voice rang out a sheepish “excuse me” as the person passed. He watched them the whole way back to their seat at the bar. Instantly mesmerized, he set the pool stick down and leaned against the pool table.

You sat at the bar with what Bradley assumed were a couple of your friends. Unfortunately they looked more interested in the young aviators that sat just a couple seats down from you. You, on the other hand, seemed to just be enjoying being out and about.

And that was every bit true as he’d assumed it was.

Your smile, your head bopping to the music, and the happy little way you sipped whatever it was you were drinking. Your foot tapped the stool to the beat just as your head bobbed along and he took note of the beat-up shoes you sported. Something he found endearing, though, he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

“I’ll be back,” Bradley called over his shoulder to his buddies. He walked up to the bar and decided to order himself another beer, standing ever so close to you that you might have thought he didn’t even see you there. The bartender nods and turns to grab the bottle before handing it to the young man. He then set his sights on you.

“Hey,” he said with a smile, grabbing your attention. “You look like you could use another. Mind if I get it for you?” He gestures to your glass.

You looked up at the man and drank him in - tall, muscular, fluffy brown hair. This man was the definition of golden-retriever energy just based on looks alone. Fortunately, just your type. And to boot - he was in his khaki uniform that screamed “Naval Aviator.” With a small laugh, you hold up your empty glass.

“You must have a sixth sense for knowing when a girl needs a refill,” You mused over the music with a grin. “I’ll take whatever you think I need.”

With a sly grin, Bradley turns back to the bartender. “I’ll also need a tequila sunrise for this lovely little thing.”

He turned back to you as the bartender was mixing your drink, that same grin plastered across his face.

“The name’s Bradley. People call me Rooster, though,” he held his hand out to you to shake which you happily did.

“Rooster? Is that a euphemism for something?” You raised a brow and tilted your head, earning a hearty laugh from the man whose hand you were now holding.

“No! Oh, but only if it was.” His laughter transitioned to a gentle chuckle and he wiped a fake tear from his eye. “It’s my callsign. I’m an aviator.”

You smirked and shook your head at the man. “Like that wasn’t obvious enough?”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Look at you. I wouldn’t choose to wear that much khaki even if someone paid me a billion dollars!” You laughed, not necessarily at him, but you still laughed. The mirth with which you laughed elicited a nervous laugh from Bradley. He brought his hand up to scratch the back of his neck.

“Hey, I’ll have you know that khaki was a tactical choice.” He said matter-of-factly. You shook your head and laughed again.

“And what tactical purpose does khaki serve?”

“Look at us,” he gestured to the pool table where aviators dressed in that horrendous beige gathered - no, swarmed. “The enemy will be so busy saying ‘Holy shit, that’s a lot of khaki’ that they’ll never even see us coming.”

You let out another howl of laughter, your friends turning irritably in your direction and then immediately turning away. They hadn’t even noticed Bradley next to you. Good.

“You’re slick, I’ll give you that. Take a seat.” You pulled the bar stool next to you out for him to sit down. He happily obliged and rested his hands on the bar top, picking at the label on his beer bottle. Soon the bartender returned with your tequila sunrise - what a girly drink. He must enjoy these in his alone time, you thought.

“So, Rooster,” You started with a smirk. “I’m assuming you’re only here for a short while? I know the military likes to jerk you around in every direction.”

He nodded slowly, “I’m currently a student of Top Gun, the most elite fighter pilot school in the world. I graduate in a couple of weeks, actually.” He had an air of pride as he explained this to you. You figured he should be proud - he was at a very prestigious school for aviators.

“Oh, wow, you’re an even fancier naval aviator,” you eyed his khaki uniform. “Just need to start dressing like one.” Your smirk was like art to Bradley. The way it crinkled your nose just a touch and the apple of your cheek growing more supple and kissable.

“Maybe someday,” he replied casually, sipping his beer.

You finally decided to take a sip of this cocktail he bought you. Once the tequila touched your tastebuds, it was game over. You were hooked. It killed you to admit that the girly drink he bought you was actually fantastic. You set the glass down with a smile.

“Alright, Bradley,” you started, crossing one leg over the other on the stool. “I can stay for this one drink. But I have to work tomorrow so you’d better give me everything you’ve got within the next 45 minutes.”

“Everything? In 45 minutes? You drive a hard bargain… I’m sorry I never even asked for your name, did I?” He let out a laugh and shook his head. “You can clearly see where my head’s at.”

You let out a soft laugh and shook your head as well.

“No, no, I didn’t offer it. We’re both the same level of stupid tonight.” You put your hand on his arm reassuringly. You then gave him your name, to which Bradley grinned proudly at.

“Well then,” he offered you his hand, repeating your name. “I won’t waste my time around these parts if I have to impress you in such a short timeframe. The beach is just out back, and we’re going for a stroll.”

You smiled at his confidence and downed the rest of your beverage before standing up. You were about to put some cash down on the bar to pay for your drink, but Bradley beat you to it. He slapped down a $50 bill and took your hand. He then looked past your head to your friends. They still hadn’t noticed what was unfolding behind them, and you decided to keep it that way. You shook your head with a smile and pulled him to the door at the back of the bar that led directly out to the sandy beach.

“Oh my, gosh, you’re joking!” Your voice rang out over the crashing waves with a laugh.

“Nope! Right over the damn thing, I swear.” He chuckled at your laugh, the sound very quickly becoming like music to him.

“And you just decided not to land immediately? I would have broken every protocol just to see something like that up close.”

“Well, hey, maybe someday I can take you to see the real thing. Beats breaking rules, right?”

“Well maybe the thrill of breaking the rules would have made it that much better,” Your voice dropped lower, hand sliding up Bradley’s arm as he told you about his flying stories. You’d been walking on the beach for well past those 45 minutes you’d mentioned. You’d just call in sick tomorrow. This boy was simply too good to pass up.

“You must be thinking of one rule in particular?” He brought his hand up to the side of your neck and caressed your jawline gingerly. He loved the way the sunset made your skin glow. He loved pretty much everything about you so far. Little did he know that one particular rule of yours involved him directly.

“Well…” You looked into his eyes with a sheepish grin. “I’ve got my own little rule about dating aviators.”

His eyes widened, but that expression was quickly replaced with a smug grin. Knowing what you were about to say next, he took a step closer to you, your lips almost touching.

“But for you, I’ll bend my rules just a touch.” You grin back at him. Feeling the moment sweep you up, you closed the distance between your lips and kissed him softly. The tickle of his mustache on your upper lip is nothing compared to the sneaky way he gripped your waist. You felt his fingers dip below the waistband of your shorts ever so slightly and it sent a shiver up your spine. The very thought of going all the way with him had you seeing stars, but you knew now was not the time. He can’t get the wrong idea. So, without giving it to him, you pull away slowly.

“Hey, now…” He grabbed your chin and scanned your entire face. “I wasn’t done with you.” He kissed you again. This time there was more of a purpose behind it, like he was trying to prove to you that he was the one you wanted. You let your guard down just for a moment, enjoying the way his lips molded against yours, and the way his fingers assumed their position below your waistband again. The tingle between your legs was not to be denied, and you weren’t about to. It was only when a small whimper left your lips did he pull away.

“I think I’ll let you keep imagining it, sweetheart,” he quipped with a smirk. Your confused expression spurred him to elaborate further, you thought. “I’ll give you everything you want, everything I want, too. But in due time. I don’t graduate for another couple of weeks.”

You rested your head down on his shoulder, his hand coming to caress your back and fingers to run through your hair. You closed your eyes and let out a soft laugh.

“So this means you’re going to take me on a proper date, yeah?” Your voice was soft but it could still be heard over the crashing waves behind you.

“Yes, sweetheart,” Bradley chuckles as he speaks and kisses your head. “I think… I’ll pick you up tomorrow night. Six o’clock sharp. And I want you to wear something pretty. Gotta show you off.”

You look up at him now with narrowed eyes, but the way he looks at you melts the hard expression you wear into a softer one. You smile and kiss him again, which he happily returns. Then, in a swift motion, he’d swept you off your feet and spinned you in a circle. You let out a laugh against his lips.

This was going to be either the biggest mistake of your life, or the happiest ever-after there ever was.

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sandy-the-glader · 7 months

Text

Happy Halloween Stranger

Character: George Karim x Fem!Reader

Type: Fluff

Length: 1.5k words

Summary: George comes across a beautiful Fittes agent he's never seen before. She's there to cure his boredom at the Fittes Halloween party and he wants to know more about her by the minute. Did I mention this is a masquerade and he has absolutely no idea who she is or how to find her?

Trope: Strangers to Lovers

A/n: This was fun to write so lmk if you want a part 2 or smth but this is a special for Halloween. A few more one-shots should come out next month so I'll get on that but like I'm in the mood to write for Mike Schmidt since the fnaf movie just came out soo hit up the inbox lol but anyways Happy Halloween everyone!!

George sat lonely at a table with a glass of champagne in his hand. He watched the dance floor as couples twirled together giggling at each other. One of those couples being Lucy and Lockwood. For the past few months at Portland Row, he had to deal with the constant third wheeling between them. Even on missions or even simple research jobs.

He swirled his drink in his hand and sighed. They had been dancing for hours and having fun by barely giving him a second glance. A mysterious woman seemed to take notice of it. George took a swig of champagne and slumped further into his seat wanting very much to leave the event and entirely disappear. He hated parties, especially a posh masquerade where he didn't know who anyone was beneath the mask.

He would honestly rather be handing out candy to the trick of treaters that came by and he hated that too.

I scanned his features well the ones I could see without him taking off his mask. After asking around the party I found out his name was George Karim. He works for the small agency of Lockwood and Co. There was something that drew me towards him. I don't know he looked so lonely and he wasn't like the rest of the guys here.

My feet started to walk over to his table, moving past all the rest of the masked folks. I couldn't care about any of these people here. My team was god knows where and I couldn't tell them apart from the other people here for the life of me. They were probably tipsy and making out with their partners on the dance floor. I want to have a little fun tonight. It was Halloween and I was not about to have a boring and wasted night.

I pulled out a chair at the table and sat down. The boy's eyes were immediately attached to my face out of confusion. They were a beautiful brown and they danced in the light.

His mask was also insanely creative. It was half gray half orange with swirls of black. Some of his dark curls fell over it.

"Some friends you have hm?" I spoke up nodding towards the other two members of Lockwood and Co. which were Lucy Carlyle and Anthony Lockwood. They were much more well-known than George Lockwood always being in the spotlight lately with his amazing achievements and Lucy as his partner in crime. George wasn't in the pictures they had in newspapers, let alone he wasn't mentioned much.

"What?" He quite obviously heard the question he was just startled that someone seemed to be talking to him.

"Your team," I spoke again. "they're out on the dance floor just enjoying themselves but I mean what about you? You look bored and don't seem to be enjoying your time here. Am I correct?" His brown eyes softened beneath the mask and he nodded slowly. He looked skeptical of this conversation but he seemed to be leaning into it. "Look, I've noticed they haven't been over here in perhaps an hour or more."

"Yeah but why is that your concern?" He huffed. I took out a pen and started to draw on a napkin on the table.

"I know I'm right. And you're right too, it isn't my concern but, you haven't told me to leave you alone yet." I pointed out. He sat up.

"Because I appreciated the company." He admitted. I finished writing on the napkin and shoved it in my pocket.

"So George Karim of Lockwood and Co. tell me why you're here in the first place? Since you seem to hate parties so much?"

"They forced me to. They wanted me to get out of the house and do something fun like go to a dance because 'I need someone to love' and dance with. They knew I wasn't going to dance here." He crossed his arms with annoyance.

"How about we dance?" He furrowed his eyebrows and looked at me oddly. "Look I'm not saying you gotta love me but if your friends see you dancing and at least looking like you are enjoying yourself, you could go home quicker. I mean that was the whole point of coming here right?"

"And the fact they wanted to have a romantic outing." He rolled his eyes and I laughed. "I suppose that's not a bad idea. But sorry to tell you I don't dance with strangers I need to know who's behind the pretty mask." The flirt took me slightly aback.

"Y/n L/n. Come on Karim. The sooner you dance the sooner you're out of here and you can get back to whatever you were doing before."

"Do we need to shake on it since you're so eager to dance with me?" Oh, so he can joke I thought he almost wasn't able to for a second.

"Hey, I'm trying to save a bored boy at a posh old person's party be grateful." He smiled softly and we stood up. We made our way to the dance floor. He was insanely stiff.

"Do you even know how to dance Karim?" His eyes widen.

"Erm.. no." He said nervously shaking his head.

"It's okay. Lemme help you so you don't look like Bambi on ice." I took both of his hands and guided them to my hips and I draped my arms over his shoulders. "Now you're just going to move your feet in a smooth pattern. And relax your shoulders you look like a brick." He listened to my advice and I noticed him start to relax under my hands. "There you go! Perfect."

"How'd you learn how to dance?" He asked as we swayed. "Just as a kid. I've bounced around many agencies and they always had balls like these." He nodded understanding. "Though Fittes was the only one I stuck with because of its high reputation."

"Do you enjoy your job though?" He asked genuinely curious.

"The job is definitely something I enjoy doing It's just my team I'm not extremely fond of." I frowned. I looked into my eyes wanting me to continue my small rant. "They're always off on their own and they're extremely careless! I want to put my abilities to good use but I can't with them around." I noted.

"I know what you mean. I used to work here and I didn't think very highly of my team either."

"You did? Why don't you work here anymore? I mean not saying your team now isn't lovely." I glanced over across the dance floor at the duo.

"I got fired." He said throwing me off.

"You got fired? Jeez Karim, what did you do?" I said shocked that he would even be considered a problem. He seems so relaxed.

"Because I asked too many questions and was doing things above my pay grade." He said and shrugged his shoulder lightly.

"Fired for being a smarty pants." Cute. "Now that's something I could see. That's idiotic of them though. Your brain could be used for some good things here. But If you're happy at Lockwood and Co. then I'm happy for you." His cheeks flushed slightly and he looked puzzled but happy.

"Thank you." He murmered. I wanted to see the rest of what was under his mask. I took my hands and cupped his cheek and he copied my action. Maybe he was wondering the same thing. Maybe this could be more than a one-time thing. We seemed to get closer to inch closer together.

Lucy and Lockwood stumbled up to us unexpectedly. We backed away from each other. They were tipsy and they were giggling like school children. George looked surprised to see them and waited for them to talk. While George was distracted I took the napkin I drew on earlier and slipped it into the boy's pocket without him realizing.

"Georgieeeee" Lucy wined. "Your girlfriend is pretty but it's late we have to go." She tugged on his shirt and he stumbled.

"Lucy!" He tried to get her to stop yanking him away but she wouldn't budge. He looked backward at me and I waved.

"Goodnight 'Georgie' Happy Halloween." I smiled. He looked upset leaving but that was what he wanted wasn't it? To get home and not have to deal with these people. That was the whole plan.

As soon as I got home, I guided Lucy and Lockwood upstairs so they didn't fall they giggled the entire way up. The entire way.

"Goodnight Georgie!" Lucy said before slamming her door. I shook my head and finally entered my room. I collapsed onto my bed. Once I lied down I heard the crinkle of paper. I looked at my bed confused. I cleaned up all my research papers before we left so it couldn't be those.

I felt around the bed and then my pocket. I felt a small indent and I reached into the pocket and pulled it out. There was a small not that said

Just in case you need another dance partner ;)

xxx xxx xxxx

I smiled to myself and placed the napkin on my side table. Defiantly could put that to use later. I ended up having so much more fun than I could have ever thought. Happy Halloween to me.

#lockwood and co #george karim x reader #lockwood & co #save lockwood and co #george karim #george cubbins #ali hadji heshmati #halloween special #happy halloween #happy halloweeeeeeen

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shiftingparadise · 2 years

Text

Levi x Reader: Please don't scare me like that

Hi guys! I'm sorry this isn't one of your requests, but I needed to go to the hospital last night because I'm sick and this just popped into my head today.

Hope you guys enjoy it!🤍

Word count: 1789

‘Eat this’. ‘No’, you barely managed to reply, pushing the spoon away from your face. ‘You got to eat, it’s been days’. ‘Smell makes me want to throw up’.

It hurts. Speaking, breathing, … Everything hurts. Yes, your body needed food, some kind of fuel, but it rejected it every time.

Levi lowered his head, his stomach clenching with concern. This wasn’t normal, you never got sick, not like this anyway. Sure, a cold, some type of flu, but not like this. A freezing hand met your forehead, your eyes tearing up at the feeling. ‘It’s not going down’, a disappointed tone in his voice.

Sorry. That’s all you could think of, ‘sorry’.

‘Shit’, his eyes flew open when he noticed your hands searching for the bucket, ‘T-try to breath, okay? It’s going to be alri-‘.

Awful, the sounds coming from your throat sounded awful. After all, there was nothing left in your body to throw up.

‘That’s good, lay down for a bit, okay? Try to sleep, I’ll be here’. Again, the cold touch of his hand met your searing flesh, his thumb slowly drawing circles.

Levi can’t stand this, he just can’t stand to see you in so much pain. ‘I would switch places within a second’, that’s all he can think about.

Your breathing slowed down, giving a chance for Levi to study every part of your body. You got so thin, your once glowing skin now grey and dull. ‘Blood?’, his brows drew together, ‘This can’t be good’. Levi gently wiped the blood away from the corner of your mouth, using an old cloth.

Great. It only got worse. You needed to go to a hospital, but he would never get you to agree.

‘Y/N’, his eyes burned when he felt your grip loosen around his hand, ‘Y/N?’.

No response. You’d been zoning in and out of consciousness for the past couple of days, it’s not like this should concern him anymore… but it did. Especially when he looked into the bucket.

‘Hange?’, Levi hastily stood up, calling out for his friend's name. ‘Hange?’, louder this time. ‘She’s in her office, can I get you, something Captain?’, the door carefully opened. ‘I’m taking her to a hospital in the city, get Hange, I need her with me. Tell her it’s an emergency’. ‘S-squad leader?’, Jean’s eyes widened when he saw your frail body.

The cadets couldn’t know. That’s what you made Levi promise, another thing that added to his sense of guilt.

‘Jean, get Hange, and don’t tell anyone about this’, Levi’s breathing got heavier, his heart racing. He felt sick seeing you like this, his legs shaking with fear. ‘O-okay’, Jean collected himself, tearing his eyes away from his beloved squad leader.

It seemed like forever before Hange arrived, but in reality, it was barely a minute or two.

‘This isn’t good’, Hange quickly hurried over to you, her thumb now pressed on the thin vein on your wrist. ‘Get a carriage, I’ll get a cold towel’.

Even Hange seemed concerned, he could see it in her eyes. She normally was the more rational one when it came to you, but seeing her panic like this… This wasn’t good.

‘Why?’, a question Levi asked himself countless times by now, ‘Why you?’. The stones underneath the carriage ensured a bumpy and rough ride, but you didn’t wake up, not once. ‘How far Hange?’, Levi tried to hold back tears, his digits stroking through your sweaty hair.

’10 minutes’.

‘Come on, Y/N’, Levi looked at you, your head resting on his lap, ‘Can’t leave me like this’.

He didn’t know which illness you were suffering from, but he knew it was bad. What if… What if you didn’t make it? What if you left him behind? To live a life without you? You were his life, his light. A life without you wasn’t worth to live.

‘And?’, Hange quickly jumped off her horse. ‘Not good’, Levi’s eyes were wide open in shock, his whole pants covered in blood.

It’s not the blood that scared him, because he had seen death more times than he could count, but it was the fear of being left behind, the fear that this was the last memory he got with you.

‘Nurse!’ Hange ran inside, ‘Get her inside, Levi’. ‘O-okay’, Levi carefully picked you up, still surprised by how much lighter you felt.

Hange had called out his name, but he couldn’t run with you in his arms, not when you were like this. What if he hurt you? No. Instead, he slowly walked inside, his eyes fixed on your once so cherry pink lips.

‘H-help us, please’, Levi almost whispered, your weak body close to his chest, ‘Help us’.

Levi fell to his knees, not caring that everyone saw him like this; so weak and vulnerable. The world around him didn’t matter, he didn’t see them, because his world was in his arms; withering like a delicate rose.

‘Levi’, Hange hurried over to the two of you, ‘A nurse is coming, she’ll be okay’.

Okay? Did she believe that herself? At this point, Levi was holding you tighter to his chest, as to keep you warm, safe.

‘J-just help her’, his head rested against yours, silent sobs escaping his lungs, ‘I need her, Hange’.

It wasn’t only Levi that needed you to be fine, Hange needed you too. You were her best friend, the one who always talked every doubt out of her. She loved you just as much as Levi did.

‘H-here, get her on here Levi’, Hange hurried to the side when she saw the nurses appear with a bed, ready to save your life.

This couldn’t be real. Levi could feel the nurses pulling you away from him, Hange screaming his name, but how? How did this happen? He couldn’t answer or move. The only thing he could do was wait for you to be fine, to return to him.

---

‘She got some antibiotics and some fluid. She suffered from gastric bleeding which caused her to throw up blood, this in turn was caused by a really bad stomach infection. It seemed a nasty virus caused her to feel like this’.

‘S-so she’ll be fine?’, Levi was sitting next to you, his eyes fixated on the fluid that entered your body. ‘She’ll be fine, she just needs a lot of rest’.

Levi didn’t hear what the doctor had to say to Hange anymore, he had heard the most important thing. You were going to be fine.

---

‘W-where am I?’, you slowly opened your eyes, brain as foggy as ever.

‘Y/N?’.

Two days. It had been two days since you last woke up. Hange brought Levi food and some clean clothes now and then, forcing him to eat, but other than that… He never left your side.

‘Levi?’, you tried to sit up straight, but your body wouldn’t let you just yet. ‘S-stay still kid, y-you need to rest’, shaking hands covered your body with sheets again. ‘Levi, what happened? W-why are you crying?’. ‘Thought I’d lost you’.

Shattered. Your heart shattered at the sight of him. The bags underneath his crescent-shaped eyes darker than usual, his red-stained eyes…

‘You’re not getting rid of me that easily’, you forced a smile, ‘I told you I’d stay by you, no matter what’. ‘Hm’, Levi grabbed your hand with his shaking ones, placing a soft kiss on it, ‘You promised me’.

‘Y/N!’, Hange’s sweet voice echoed through the room, ‘You’re finally awake’. ‘Careful’, Levi looked at his friend when he noticed she wanted to hug you. ‘Yeah yeah’, she waved his words away, ‘Tell me, how are you feeling? The doctor said you should be fine within a week’. ‘What’s even wrong with me?’, you frowned when you looked around the room, ‘I’m in a hospital? How long have I been out?’.

You carefully listened to Hange, trying to keep your focus.

‘Jean saw me?’, you sighed, head falling back into your pillow, ‘I can’t have the cadets see me like this’.

‘A-about that…’, Hange nervously chuckled, her hand stroking over the back of her head.

‘Surprise!’.

Suddenly, all of your cadets barged through the door. Causing Levi to sigh while giving Hange his ‘mad’ look.

‘Y/N! Are you fine? We were worried sick about you!’, Sasha jumped on the bed. ‘We really were. Why didn’t you tell us?’, Eren almost yelled at you.

Even if you wanted, you couldn’t keep up with all the questions they had, or with their concerns for your health.

‘Sorry’, Hange nervously chuckled when she saw Levi’s death stare, ‘Thought she wouldn’t mind seeing them’. ‘Tsk’, Levi slowly stood up, ‘Okay, everyone out. I’ll give you 5 seconds, she needs to rest’. ‘N-no it’s fine’, you hastily replied, ‘They can stay a little longer’.

‘Captain’s right’, Armin smiled, ‘We’ll come back tomorrow’. ‘I’m leaving too’, Hange yawned, ‘It’s getting late’.

You said your goodbyes, enjoying the view of the flowers everyone brought. It brought a little light to the boring room you were staying in.

‘What about you?’, you looked at Levi, who was placing the flowers on your nightstand. ‘I’m staying, like always’. ‘Wouldn’t it be better if you can get some proper rest in your be-‘.

‘I’m staying Y/N’, his crescent-shaped eyes fixated on one of the roses, ‘I can’t sleep if you’re not with me’.

A complicated, yet so simple man. He had certain feelings that he kept to himself, but his actions always spoke louder than his words.

‘Fine’, you grunted while making some room. ‘Would it matter if I said no?’. ‘No’, you stubbornly replied, ‘I won’t let you sleep on that chair’. ‘Fine’, Levi sighed before carefully laying down next to you.

He missed this. Your stubbornness, your playful character… Just as he missed your scent or the warmth of your body against his.

‘I love you’, you whispered while nestling your head further into his chest. ‘Try to get some sleep, okay?’, he gently stroked through your hair, ‘You need to get some rest’.

He didn’t say it back, he never did, but you knew he loved you. You knew he loved you more than anything, even without him saying it. Minutes passed, and your breathing got heavier, your eyes growing more tired.

‘I love you’, a whisper that forced a smile on your face. You pretended you were asleep though because you knew he thought you were. After all, you knew him, how much effort it cost him to say something like that.

‘Goodnight kid’, a gentle kiss on the top of your head, ‘Please don’t scare me like that again’.

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it-happened-one-fic · 1 month

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Dancing With Visions - Not Like Running With Lupical - The Shag - Razor

Author Notes: I have now learned that it is incredibly difficult to write for Razor. I listened to "Running with the Wolves" by AURORA while writing this which did help some, though. Just like the rest of this series, reader is female. I hope you enjoy!

If you would like to read more of this series, the fics can be found here: Dancing with Visions Masterlist.

Type: Female reader/ dance/ fluff/ platonic

Word Count: 1075

I walked alongside Lisa, listening to the woman carefully as she explained her situation, “...Yes, Cutie. I thought learning how to dance might be good for Razor, but it seems like everyone is too busy to be his partner.”

She looked towards me with a knowing expression, shaking her head slightly as I smiled and nodded, finishing her sentiment, “So you came and got me. I understand and I don’t mind at all. But what dance did you pick for him to learn?”

Her green eyes met mine, and she made a slight face before sighing, “The shag. It’s such an easy-going dance that I thought it might be a good fit, but he seems to be getting confused by the motions.”

I frowned slightly as we drew closer to the room Razor was waiting for us in, “So he hasn’t finished learning or…?” “I think he just needs practice with someone that he’ll be comfortable with,” She smiled at me gratefully as I bobbed my head understandingly. Touched that she’d thought of me as someone he would be comfortable with, but also wondering exactly how this was going to go over.

Because, while she was right, the shag was an easygoing dance, it also wasn’t what one would call an easy dance.

Its motions were simple enough, and when described, it sounded like it would be no big deal. But when everything was put into practice, it was very easy to get tangled up as you slid along the floor to the rhythm of whatever song you were dancing to.

I wasn’t surprised that Razor was getting confused by the motions; most everyone did when they were first learning the dancing, myself included.

I could still hear Venti laughing at me as he’d been teaching me. He’d gained boundless amusement from my frustration.

A part of me wanted to ask if Lisa had considered Venti as a good instructor, but it was quite likely that she couldn’t find him. That bard was, after all, a free being who seemed to come and go with Mondstadt’s ever-changing breeze.

So I remained silent as I entered the library and saw Razor sitting on the floor in a cleared-out section of the room.

Lisa smiled, patting me on the back as Razor looked up at me with an almost hesitant expression as his teacher left once more. Leaving the two of us alone so that I could help Razor practice dancing.

In many ways, I could understand why Lisa thought teaching Razor a dance might be a good idea, but I also felt like it was unnecessary.

While it was true that Lisa was helping him integrate back into human life, dancing felt like a little bit of a leap for him. Especially when plenty of people made it along just fine without ever actually knowing the steps to any dance.

Nonetheless, I smiled at the young man and walked over, holding out my hands to help him up from his seated position on the polished floor, “Hi Razor.”

He nodded, blinking up at me in quiet surprise, “Hello. Looking… for me?”

I smiled and nodded, “Yes, Lisa asked me to help you practice dancing.” I almost laughed aloud as the young man wrinkled up his face in distaste.

“You don’t like dancing?” I tilted my head as I questioned him softly, and he glanced at me almost hesitantly before nodding in agreement.

“Dancing is… hard. But I need to do it. Like talking.” His speech was, as always, stilted and faltering, but I could tell he was improving. And I was proud of him. Razor had come far from when I’d first met him, and he was becoming more and more comfortable around people as he got steadily better at talking.

It made sense why Lisa wanted to take the next step, but I still felt hesitant. Because, in truth, I didn’t want Razor to feel like dancing was a chore.

Dancing was something that, to me, always seemed like it ought to be joyful, not hard or unpleasant, even if it might not come naturally at first.

I swung our conjoined hands between us, and Razor tilted his head almost questioningly at me as I smiled, “Do you know why people dance, Razor?”

Razor frowned almost immediately at my words, like he was thinking hard before he answered, “Teacher said… people dance at parties.”

I nodded, agreeing with Lisa’s words, “We do, yes. But dancing happens on other occasions too. People dance when they’re happy.”

Razor blinked at me, his warm red eyes bright as he gazed at me, “Like how you… You hum?”

I laughed slightly, nodding my head, “Yes, like how I hum when I’m happy. When people are happy or excited, when we’re celebrating something, we’ll sometimes dance.”

I sighed slightly, tilting my head at the young man, “Lisa told me you know all the steps, but dancing is something to be enjoyed just as much as it is something to be learned.”

Razor was silent, glancing down at our hands before he nodded, meeting my gaze with a resolute stare, “Razor understands. Dancing is like running.”

I grinned outright at him, nodding my head once more, “Yes, so are you ready?”

He bobbed his head in a quick, short motion before a smile appeared on his face, “Yes. Razor is ready. Razor is happy.”

His motions were awkward, those of a brand new student, but it hardly mattered as he smiled. Relaxing as he held my hand and we slid along the floor in the slippery-looking steps of the shag.

In no way was any of our dancing perfect in the technical sense, but it was perfect in the sense that as we danced, Razor enjoyed himself.

He looked just as happy as he did when he would be running freely through the woods, as I’d seen him in the past.

After a while, we stopped dancing. Both of us sitting down on the shiny floor to rest, and though I was slightly out of breath, Razor seemed perfectly fine.

“Dancing is… It is fun. Not like running with Lupical… but fun. With you.” I nodded at his words, smiling brightly at him.

“We’ll have to show Lisa when she comes back in. She’ll be proud of you,” I nudged him lightly with my shoulder, and he nodded. Brightening slightly at my praise.

“Yes. We should dance…. more. I like it.”

If you would like to read more:

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snek-panini · 8 months

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It's been a few weeks since I had new books to share, but I finally got photos taken of the newest ones so today's the day. Here, have a book:

This is Across Tides and Currents, a Good Omens siren AU by Sodium_Azide and @doorwaytoparadise (hi. I hope I tagged you right). My favorite thing about this AU is that, at its heart, it's about learning to communicate with someone who is so different from you that you can't even physically speak each other's language, and yet you've still got so much common ground that you find a way. It's way lighter and more fun than that description makes it sound, though, so go read it if that's your thing.

The cover on this is Lineco book cloth, scrapbook paper printed to look like leather, and blue foil htv. The foil was actually a nightmare to do. The first time I applied it, it wouldn't stick no matter what I did, and the bits that did stick peeled off as soon as I touched them. I had to peel them up very carefully, cut a new image, and try again. Thankfully it worked the second time but I don't know that I'll be using the foil type again unless there's no other way to get the color I want. The non-foil metallic was so much easier to work with.

More book photos under the cut!

I went with a coptic bind for this one for a few reasons. The first was that I wanted to try one on a quarto-size book to see if I could. I also wanted to try the mitered corners thing I did when I bound Strange Moons, and see if I could have the same effect on the interior. (That bit didn't work out so well; the front is fine but I mismeasured the inside and the lines didn't match up, so I trimmed some pieces of cardstock to cover that up. I really like the layered look though, so that's fine. It's quirky.) The third reason is that not long before I decided to bind this one, the authors published a new chapter after two years of no updates. That's the best possible reason to have to change plans, and the glueless bind means that if they ever do that again I can just redo the stitching to add more pages. Win-win.

Getting whimsical with title pages here. This took way longer than I thought it would, probably because I don't like graphic design and I did it in Word where I do the rest of my typesetting. Usually what I do is grab an image and put text around it or on top of it and then just play with fonts and sizes, but this time I drew the lines and then made the text follow them. This is the first time I've used the word art feature since...probably 2009? I'd forgotten how. I have no doubt there are better ways to do this but if I'd had to learn a new program at that point I'd have quit. And I do think it was worth it--it's cute and fun and looks about how I imagined it.

Couple of photos of the inside. Sorry the first one's blurry, I had someone trying to get my attention when I took these. The section break image came from rawpixel, I just made it gray instead of black so it's more subtle. The fic has very nice illustrations that I specifically got the artist's permission to print and then I failed to get any photos of them when I did my little photo shoot. They look very nice, though. I swear.

The last image is something I've started including in my latest books. I'm calling them "A Note from the Bookbinder" and it's basically just me talking about why I chose that story, the experience of reading it for the first time, stuff that's going on in the fandom, stuff about the process like the new chapter coming out as I was preparing to print. It's kind of...like marginalia? Part of fanbinding is preservation and that's linked to archival work, and something I know archivists love is marginalia and diaries. I don't like writing in my books and I've never found any fun in journaling, but sometimes that kind of context is important so I'm trying to add it. Someday, decades from now, I may not remember all the details, so I'm trying to preserve them. IDK, this got philosophical on me. Go read about mermaids now. Promise it's a good time.

#bookbinding #fanbinding #snek makes books #good omens #fic rec #i wanted to do this as a mermay project #that did not happen #i finished it in october #happy mertober

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slashingdisneypasta · 11 months

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More Toon Patrol Family Headcanons

I'm going more in depth about ^ these ^ . My personal headcanons for the Weasels families.

Warnings; Cheating scandal, adoption (As in 'giving a child up for'), orphans, homeless living reference, Sanatorium living, abandonment, Deadbeat Father, Nasty Deadbeat Mother, fearing you're like your parents, etc.

Greasy:

Greasy was conceived on a desk... in a frenzy... by a business man and his pretty secretary.

Yeah. Bit of a saucy origin story, not that he knows it. Greasy was a complete one-night-stand accident child, neither of his parents wanted a kid and they weren't the types to force their way through raising him just cuz a few drops of semen leaked and carried winners. Also, the whole 'business man and his secretary' thing was an obstacle aswell,.. considering he was married...

When Greasy considers who his parents might be and why they didn't keep him, he thinks... eh, well he doesn't really think anything, these days. He came up with a million different reasons why he was left alone, before (When he was kit in an orphanage clutching his sheets in a storm, when he was a 12 collecting trash for pennies, when he was a teenager and working 2 dodgy jobs plus getting Select Items into prisons for cash, when he was a cruel 20 year old realising he had a knack for dealing with bad people and using them and his criminal activity skyrocketed) but he hasn't considered them in a while- not since joining the Patrol. That was when he really found a place to actually stay still (A.K.A, a place to feel relatively safe and to put his ~books~, a job he's really good at, some freaks who actually notice him as more than a tool to use. As a manipulative pervert moron, maybe, but for some reason it feels better when Wheezy rolls his eyes at him for saying something sleazy then it ever has having some gang leader praise him for having a good eye.), and since then... he hasn't really felt the need to think about his parents, or why they left him alone or didn't want him. He doesn't care.

He grew up part of the time in orphanages and part of the time on the street, which is how he learnt to be so intuitive and manipulative with other people (Though quite of a lot of it is natural talent). Its honestly a stroke of luck the insane asylum rejects he calls family now found him- no one else would be able to deal with him.

Psycho:

Yeah, so Psycho's family disowned him. I think that he spent a time in his life living in a Sanatorium, because he became just... a lotta work, for them at home, and they couldn't deal with him. Or, wouldn't. So they left him there, and after a short while, they... stopped visiting him?... One missed week turned into 2, 4, 8, 14... until Psycho grew bitter to the thought of them. He didn't want them to come back (Would you??)- he hoped they wouldn't.

And they didn't.

When he got out (When the Toon Patrol helped him escape) he just kinda... didn't think about them. He didn't really wanna see them again, not even to hurt them for abandoning him like that. As far as he was (Is) concerned- his family might as well just be the guy that drew him. And that's that. He's just him. Psycho. No family name.

Its a little lonely, a little empty... but better. Yes. Better then those looks 'family' give you when they don't want you. Better then waiting.

He does have a soft spot for Stupid, though. Big dumb hot water bottle that he is. Good for the winters.

He doesn't necessarily consider the rest of the TP his new family (Just that word gives him the Ick), but there's no doubt that if his old family ever did, miraculously, come find him and want him back (For some reason??), he would... hide behind Smartass and Greasy. Hissing, growling impressively disgusting obscenities, feeling ready to lash out with his razor, but yes... from behind Smartass and Greasy. He's not scared, he doesn't think they could protect him better then he could himself or even that they would, but he just.. feels better there. These two chose him.

Smartass and Stupid:

OKAY!! So- their father was a c o m p l e t e deadbeat. And a cheater. He was with Stupid's mum (A 'homely', hard-working, tough-as-nails badass of a woman) during the day and then Smartass' mum (An alcoholic who owned the bar he frequented. Very tough also, but also completely ruined as a person- nasty in natural personality and totally broken by life) at night. Stupid was a planned child, Smartass was an accident.

Smartass' mother... did not want him. Very plain and simple. She would come to half regret it later, but she give him up after a few years to his father- who promptly drops him off with Stupid and his mother and then ditches them all. Raise two sons?? Fuck that. So Stupid's (And, now, Smartass') poor mother is left working 3 jobs and taking care of a little boy who eats everything in sight as well as a tiny, weak little boy with a huge chip on his shoulder. She does the best she can and she has two very grateful sons for it ^^

Smartass is all torn apart because of this. Its complicated for him. He always felt like his mother's son (The one that gave him up. The spiteful, dirty, alcoholic mess); Like he couldn't escape it. Still cant. He feels like its in his genetics. He feels like he could never truly be one of them (Stupid and his mum), because he's too much like her- too cranky, too pessimistic, too cold- but with them he did feel loved, at least. Stupid's mother never made him feel like second fiddle, she tried her best to make him recognise that he was now more hers then anyone else's, and that was good enough... but only most of the time.

Stupid loves his brother ^^

Wheezy:

This is best done in dot points- so here we go.

Yes, he is the chill Big Brother of the Toon Patrol- but that is not saying much XDDD He is still the neurotic, addiction addled criminal of his family! They truly do love him, but goddamnit, do they have some things to say about his lifestyle.

First of all- he's related to the two grave digging weasels in Mickey's Christmas Carol XD They're his cousins. They take the shit right out of him every time that they see him XD They'll drop cigarettes just to watch him lung to grab them before they're wasted because they know he cant help it and then shake their heads at him looking oh so serious ("Come on Wheezy, do better then that... " "Yeah Wheezy come on man, that's pathetic," while he's standing there looking pissed, arms crossed, but puffing away and taking it), they'll go ahead and tell on him to his mother at the drop of a hat if they something (Like if he got a girlfriend, or the Toon Patrol did something that got in the news, or he was smoking in the bathroom, etc. Like, "We love you cuz but we couldn't help it! Your life is a train wreck and we don't have a TV."), they'll tease him endlessly, etc.

I mean, they love him and they get along mostly but yeah... they love to hassle him XD 😅 Don't worry, Wheezy can take it.

He has a mother who frets about him and is down to go toe-to-toe with Smartass so he can get some days off (Another @marinerainbow idea! ^^). She's not an overbearing mother, she'll see his cousins sneaking the cigarettes out of his pocket before he even notices and not say a damn word, but when it comes to his health and relationships... she does still treat him like he's living with her XD Like, she wants to meet the Toon Patrol to assess them (And when she meets them she immediately demands that he q u i t- ), she wants to set him up with nice women ("You're so handsome Wheezy!! Please, let me find you a nice girl. Sandra, at the butchers, she just got her degree and broke up with that boyfriend of hers and I just think- " "Mum, I'm fine." "... I'm gonna give you her a number." "No thanks, Ma!- " "Did you hear the words 'Can I' leave my mouth? No? Thats because it wasn't a question."), and she wants him to eat well ^^ She doesn't call him everyday to make sure, but when he does come around she makes him leave with so much tupperware XDD He goes home with two bags full, dumps it on the table, and goes like "Guys!! We're fed for the next week!"

His father is a very very scary looking guy, himself. But he's a very good man and actually loves his sons 'friends' XDD Except for Greasy. He doesn't care for Greasy. If he sees the Toon Patrol he'll greet each of them and then promptly ignore Greasy's 😅😅😅 Just like-

*Handshake* "Smarty, good seeing you. Sharp tie." *Shoulder pat* "Stupid my boy you got a little something... its right there, on your mouth, its... eh, whatever. Save it for later. Good to see you." *Nod* "Psycho, your hair's lookin extra big. Very good." ... *Greasy hesitantly holds out his hand* "Oh look, a bird- Seeya, boys."

Its because he thinks he's a freak XD The first time they met, a risqué page from a magazine flew outta Greasy's suit and Wheezy's dad has never forgiven him.

Wheezy also has uncles, aunts, more cousins, and grandparents- but this is all I got right now XD

#Toon Patrol #Toon Patrol Headcanons #Headcanons #Wheezy Weasel #Stupid Weasel #Smartass Weasel #Psycho Weasel #Greasy Weasel

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finn-m-corvex · 8 months

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Lightning in a Cubicle Pt. 2

Guess what? Finn is in a creative mood so I'm posting double (possibly triple) tonight!! On top of the first Chapter of Even the Earth Trembles, have the second part of Lightning in a Cubicle! I know the office Jay has died down by now, but I still wanted to continue it because I'm having fun with it. Hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it!

Words: 3.2k

No tws! But I do have a taglist: @/rainofthetwilight, @/giftofjay, @/i-love-jay-walker and @/lightning-chicken (just so you guys don't get tagged when I repost this), this is for all of you! Only the people who explicitly said they wanted to be tagged, so if you want to be on the list for pt3 make sure to specify that!

Jay was ready to throw his boss’s stupid potted plant out the window.

“...and that’s why we’re going to need you to start working longer hours,” Mr. Harding was saying, even though Jay could barely hear him over the blood roaring in his ears. “This new intern needs someone to show her the ropes, and we think you’re the best man for the job.”

Yeah, right, Jay thought to himself, I’m just the only one who isn’t married.

Publicly, anyway.

He forced a smile on his face. “Sounds great, sir. When do I start?”

Mr. Harding barely glanced his way. “You start tomorrow, and you better bring in some good reviews or I will have to demote you.”

“Pardon?” Jay wasn’t sure if he had heard that right.

“If this intern doesn't start showing some promise in the first week, then you will be stripped of your title and moved to the I.T. department.”

What?!

“But sir,” Jay said quickly, “I can’t afford to live on my floor with an I.T. salary!”

“That’s not my problem, uh, John,” Mr. Harding waved him off, going back to whatever he had been doing before Jay had come in. “You’re dismissed.”

Jay quickly bit back the retort he was about to give, instead snatching up his suit jacket from the back of the crummy chair that he had been forced to sit in. He had half a mind to not move his boss’s trashcan a few inches to the left so that anything he tried to throw in there would miss. Lightning crackled under his skin, and Jay knew that all it would take was a snap of his fingers to blow the fuse for the whole floor. That would definitely put a dent in Mr. Harding’s plans, and it would make Jay’s day.

Shutting the door behind him, he sighed heavily. Today would not be that day.

Instead of causing a major power outage, Jay walked back to the elevators, briefcase swinging in his hand. The thing had been useless anyway, because apparently in his rush to get to the meeting he was already an hour late for he had forgotten every single one of his important papers. He had only grabbed the papers covered in the doodles that he drew when he was supposed to be doing his work, go figure.

Mr. Harding had raised an eyebrow at the papers, with just a quick flash of interest that Jay had only barely caught. And then he was immediately chewed out to the bone.

Pressing the button for the elevator with much less force than he had on the way up, Jay let his mind wander about what he had to do for the rest of the day. No more meetings, thankfully, but he did have a presentation for the week after that he had to get done sometime soon. Oh, and if he was going to be doing that presentation, then that meant he needed to type up some kind of summary sheet to pass out to the other meeting participants, especially if he wanted to go for that promotion…

Someone snapped their fingers in front of his face, and Jay was shaken back into reality. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I was thinking about something, I hope I haven’t kept you waiting for very long.”

The guy just kept…looking at him. Jay frowned, tilting his head and moving cautiously into the elevator. He swiped his keycard just like he had before, but took a quick glance at the overlay to see what floor the other man was going to.

Floor 1.

Holy shit, who was he in the elevator with?!

Jay snuck glances at him, trying to size him up. His shaggy black hair was strangely familiar, as was the hulking frame that Jay could tell was squeezing into the black suit by the slimmest of margins. He didn’t look like any person Jay had ever seen since he had been in the Administration, and while he definitely didn’t know the thousands of employees personally, he prided himself on being able to usually tell what department everybody was from. But this guy was a complete mystery.

Well, it was as good of a time as any to make some conversation. “Hey, are you new around here by any chance?”

“Huh?” the man blurted, and the two stared at each other. Finally, it clicked with the guy that Jay had asked him a question. “Oh. Y-Yeah, you could say that.”

Maybe he was just shy; Jay knew the feeling. He tried for a warm smile, one without all of the fake corporate bullshit he had been forced to live and breathe for the past five years. “Welcome to the company. What department are you in?”

“Uh,” the guy scratched at his temple, “security?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Jay had been trying for a joke, but the man only looked more spooked. Way to go, Jay. “I didn’t think security normally wore suits like that.”

“I had my interview today,” the guy said calmly, seeming to have finally found his footing. “So here’s to hoping I get the job. It’s crazy out there, so gotta get anything you can get, right?”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Jay chuckled. He had become an expert in navigating topics that he knew absolutely nothing about; how do you think he managed to worm his way into accounting?

Quiet settled over them, only the low hum of the elevator reaching Jay’s ears. The other man cleared his throat, and Jay pretended to not notice the glances being sent his way. “Where do you work?”

“I’m in accounting,” Jay explained sheepishly. He hoped that the guy hadn’t done the research and found out that he was the only guy in the entire accounting department.

“Accounting?!” he asked, and for some reason he sounded distressed at the idea. Jay was quick to reassure him that he hadn’t cost the company (too) much money in mistakes, something everyone else had found hilarious when he told it at work functions, but the guy kept looking at him with bug eyes, as if the notion of Jay working with numbers terrified him.

Maybe he just didn’t like math. Jay couldn’t say that he liked it very much either.

The elevator dinged; they had reached Jay’s floor. Jay paused when he went to step out, turning back and taking a final look at the man. “Hey, what’s your name?”

He startled, before putting on a small smile that tugged at the corners of Jay’s faintest memories. “It’s Cole.”

“Cole?” Why did that sound so familiar to him? Where had he heard that name before? “Well, I hope you get the job, Cole. You seem like a nice guy.”

Jay waited until the elevator door was closing, watching. Cole shifted his view to keep his eyes locked with Jay for as long as he could, and Jay only barely caught what the man whispered before the doors slid shut with a quiet hiss.

“You too, Jay.”

How did Cole know his name?

Baffled, Jay started making his way back to his office, trying to put the stranger out of his mind. He had work he needed to get done, he didn’t have time for this. Greeting their usual security guard named Luke, Jay swiped his keycard and entered the accounting room, quickly sitting down in his designated cubicle before Shitty Sharon could see that he was back and put him to work. Except he never stopped thinking about the familiar man with the shaggy black hair, something niggling in the back of his brain telling him that the image of Cole in a suit was wrong, that the black ninja should’ve been wearing something else-

A sharp pain shot through his head, making Jay grit his teeth and raise a hand to his temple. He saw an image of Cole in some sort of free-flowing black uniform for only a second before it went away. Pain gone, Jay looked down at his hand as he lowered it, glancing over the scars criss-crossing it like he had a thousand times before.

Cole had similar scars on his own hands, Jay realized as he looked back in his memories.

Sighing, Jay resigned himself to yet another day of getting no work done. Grabbing a fresh sheet of paper and his well-worn pencil, he began to draw.

Never before had he been so glad to make it back to his apartment.

Jay was quick to dump his jacket in its usual spot next to the door, uncaring for the small coat rack that the apartment had come furnished with. Right now, he had placed it strategically over a spot where he had scratched up the hardwood trying to move his new coffee table in, and he knew that if he moved the coat rack now he would not remember to put it back before he had inspection. Usually the briefcase would’ve gone with the jacket on the floor, but instead Jay kept it with him, making an immediate beeline for his desk against the opposite wall.

His apartment really wasn’t much. Just one bedroom and bathroom, a small living room and kitchenette, but Jay hadn’t ever needed a whole lot. Growing up in a junkyard trailer had taught him everything about making a lot out of a little. The desk was by far his most used object, often taking home with him even after he left the office. You never really left that corporate mindset once you settled in, even though Jay had never truly fit the mold.

“Shit!” he exclaimed, running a hand through his curly locks. “I was supposed to go to the grocery store.”

Oh well, he had bigger problems to attend to.

Papers spilled out of his briefcase when he overturned it above his desk, and Jay was quick to toss it aside in favor of organizing the drawings so they weren’t overlapping each other. That presentation was going to be the most rushed thing he had ever done in his life, but it wasn’t important right now.

Right now, he had to figure out who the hell Cole was.

“Who are you?” Jay asked out loud, poring over everything he had spent the past few hours drawing. He quickly flipped the switch on his sidelamp, the sun having gone down long ago, leaving his apartment crawling in familiar shadows that made Jay’s skin crawl for a reason that he couldn’t say. Whenever Jay had to describe his home in the dark, the first words that came to mind were a ship’s brig; he always dreaded thinking about ships in the dark.

There was the one drawing of Cole in the black uniform, something that Jay had learned was called a gi in the multitude of research he had done on his work computer. The gi had triggered something else in Jay’s memory, a flash of bright blue and a harness. Something that he was very familiar with.

Leaving the desk and walking into his bedroom, Jay ignored the unmade bed and the clothes left all over the floor in favor of going to his small wardrobe. On the top sat an innocent looking cardboard box; anybody wouldn’t have thought for more than two seconds about it.

But Jay knew how important the box was.

With shaking hands, he grabbed it and carried it back out to the desk, setting it down with the utmost care. Slowly, almost reverently, Jay opened the top and glanced at the contents within.

A bright blue suit covered in burns and homemade stitches in a pattern he couldn’t recognize. A differently styled gi to the one he had seen Cole in, but Jay was positive that was what it was. It was what he was wearing when he had been rescued by the Administration agents.

“Who are you, Cole?” he repeated, feeling the fabric between his fingers. “Who was I?”

He didn’t know. He didn’t think he would ever know until today.

“Did I know you?” Jay muttered, looking at another one of the drawings. It depicted a raging storm of pitch black clouds that had cost him an entire pen to color, swirling and spiraling. Cole was falling straight into it, and Jay felt pure terror shoot dowm his spine when he saw the finished piece. He had almost felt possessed when he had drawn it.

Jay set the two drawings aside, picking up another one that appeared to be a large arena. Cole was there again, looking agitated as he faced Jay, earth responding to his beck and call and bending to his whim. To Jay’s astonishment, there was electricity sparking from his hands, bolts bigger than anything he had tried to summon since he had been hired by the Administration.

Could he really do that? Summon lightning?

Pain stabbed him in the temple, forcing Jay to clutch the crummy chair to keep himself upright against the intensity of it. He was standing on a ship; it was storming, the rain pelting his skin. Someone was talking to him, giving him an order. A lightning bolt shot out of the sky, and Jay felt like he was looking through someone else’s eyes as the bolt deflected off of his hand and zipped right past the ship.

Jay turned around, suddenly exhausted. “You’re welcome!”

Only to watch in horror as some sort of flying monstrosity soared out of the sky, firing off large missiles straight at the ship. Jay did not think that he could deflect those.

The missiles struck the sails, and Jay could feel both of his hearts plummeting. “There!” Cole yelled, and Jay quickly whipped his head around to get a better look at the man. It was definitely the same guy from the elevator, just younger.

“Can’t see a thing in this storm,” Lloyd said angrily, and Jay was suddenly flung from the memory, landing back in his apartment and falling straight to the floor. He was shaking.

Lloyd?

“Need to draw,” Jay said, and he kept saying it as he forced his chair upright. “Need to draw, need to draw, need to draw…”

Grabbing a pencil and the back of the picture with the arena, Jay got to work. He completely forgot about the trip to the nighttime store on floor 166; he didn’t need breakfast in the morning.

Skipping breakfast was a mistake.

And so was staying up all night.

But Jay had a new mission: stop by the office supply store on floor 140 (he had to check the directory that every new employee was given) and get a corkboard and red yarn. And more paper. Probably some more pencils too, Shitty Sharon was always stingy with how many they could take home.

Not that Jay gave a damn about what she thought, but he did give a damn for his mental health and hygiene.

It finally hit him when he stepped out of the elevator, large mug of coffee in hand, that he had an intern to start training today. An intern that his entire livelihood rested on.

“Fucking hell, Jay,” he muttered, wanting to scrub a hand down his face, except both of them were occupied. “Could you have picked any better time to become a conspiracy theorist?”

Or to walk around carrying incriminating cargo. In an effort to help him remember all of the tasks he had to do today, Jay had written them down on a list carefully hidden in his briefcase, consisting of the following three iteams:

1. Figure out who Cole was, whether or not he had been hired, and where he was last seen in the building

2. Research as much as he could about anyone named Lloyd in the Administration database. Surely they had to have something, right?

3. Stop by the office supply store and pick up the items, and GET CEREAL FROM THE GROCERY STORE!

He had underlined number three four times for emphasis. His boss would be proud of his efforts.

Unfortunately, the universe was not on his side this morning, as the first thing to greet him when he opened the door to the accounting department was a screaming match. Shitty Sharon was red in the face (normal) with her two guarddogs Cutthroat Caren with a C and Bitchy Bethany. Normally, Jay would’ve seen the trio and high-tailed it straight to the men’s room for the next half-hour with the excuse of having bowel problems, but he paused. The three women were picking on some girl he had never seen before; was she the new intern?

“I told you, you have to check the printer before you do anything with it!” the new girl was yelling, and oh my God they were arguing about the printer. Jay had to intervene before this girl lost her head.

“And I told you, girl, that’s not my job! That is the office boy’s job!” Sharon shouted, and her two lackeys nodded behind her back. Typical.

“Ladies!” Jay said loudly before the new girl could interrupt, and all four of them whipped their heads in his direction. The younger girl’s pink hair swished in its ponytail, her face furrowing into one of confusion. “Please, is there any need for this? Sharon, you already know I am your number one printer fixer-upper.”

“Who are you?” she asked bluntly, and Jay chuckled nervously. Her gaze was piercing, her face adorned with markings that Jay vaguely recognized as Imperian.

Imperium?!

Jay was fucked. Royally fucked. He was so fucking hooped.

Sharon looked smug as a bug in a rug. “That is our office boy. Now, run along and go back to whatever kiddie department you came from. I heard they had plenty of room in the daycare on floor 128!”

Gritting her teeth, the pink-haired girl looked furious at the loud cackling of Caren and Bethany, and Jay was quick to snag her sleeve and start dragging her towards his cubicle. “It’s not worth it,” he hissed to her, and to his relief she stopped struggling against his grip and allowed him to lead her away.

His cubicle was not big by any means, and Jay was quick to grab one of the spare rolling chairs on his way and push it with his foot. Setting her down in it, Jay plopped himself down in his actual chair, looking at her with a strange look as she seemed to pick him apart like he was a machine with her gaze.

So he was going to have to break the ice. “I know, they’re pretty bitchy, huh?”

Raising her eyebrow, the girl looked surprised. “Aren’t they your coworkers?”

“Sadly, yes,” Jay said with a roll of his eyes, “but that does not mean I have to be nice. I got over that years ago. Besides, you can't always pick the people you’re surrounded by, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” she leaned back in the chair, “Say, you wouldn’t happen to know somebody named Jay Walker around here? I was supposed to meet him here in accounting, but it looks like it’s just girls? Not that there’s any problem with that, of course, it’s just-”

“I’m Jay Walker,” he chuckled at the girl’s relieved expression. “No worries, kiddo. I’m the only guy in the department, so it’d be pretty easy to find me. I’m guessing you’re my new intern?” A nod. “Great, nice to meet you! What’s your name?”

“Sora,” she said with a small smile. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Walker.”

Jay had a feeling he was going to like this kid.

#ninjago #ninjago jay #finn's writing #lightning in a cubicle #ninjago dragons rising #dragons rising #ninjago dragons rising spoilers #finn's ninjago aus

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newtsniffles · 1 year

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SAVING GRACE | BBC SHERLOCK

A STUDY IN PINK - bbc sherlock x oc

summary: Grace Carter, the newest and best detective at Scotland Yard meets Sherlock Holmes, the one and only consulting detective. The case of the woman in pink marking the first chapter of their story.

Or in which two pained individuals find each other in amidst some of their hardest times.

WARNING/S: This story will contain mature scenes and discuss themes of mental health, specifically depression, suicide, and drug use. If these topics may trigger you in anyway please proceed with caution or do not read. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

word count: 12.6k

There was a certain dreariness to living in a constant state of repetition. The sun would rise in the east, set in the west, and in between Grace would find herself completing the same mundane tasks. It was boring. Life is boring. Even the persistent feeling of melancholy that swallowed her entire being felt a little empty as of late.

Grace had only taken a few bites of her cereal before deciding that she did not want it to start with. The clattering of a spoon and now-emptied bowl echoed around her small apartment. The sound loud enough to distract her from thought, if only for a second. The niggling voice in her head whispering to do more with her life, find some excitement. The other half of her wanting nothing more than to curl up in bed and never get out again.

Cold fingers clutch onto the strap of her leather handbag as Grace rushes out the door. Dark hair swishing behind her as fresh winds connected with her front. It was unlikely that she’d be late to work. However, who was she to give Anderson something to bitch about? The rain had lightened up during the night, now just spitting in the early morning. There was a chill in the air, the type that you felt down to your bones. Each splash of water as boots hit the ground created a small sound that drew comfort, should you listen for it carefully.

There were too many noises in the morning rush. Grace found it severely overwhelming, but it had been something she had learnt to cope with. The overpowering of her senses that she found completely and utterly unbearable. It sent a shiver up her spine, and her fight or flight spiralling. Perhaps not the best thing to be susceptible to when working as a detective. But oh, how good she had become at concealment. So unbelievingly talented at masking it all. How great she was at getting lost in thought and forgetting the present moment. Such that as she walked into her workplace, Scotland Yard, she felt as though only moments had passed since she left her apartment, and not half an hour.

‘You’re late,’ Anderson tsked from behind his desk.

‘I’m on time,’ Grace spits back. The minute hand on the clock flicking to 9am just as she places her belongings down.

‘For future reference, it’s best to get here at least ten minutes early—’

‘For future reference, mind your own business. And get a haircut.’

‘Now, now, children, play nicely.’ Lestrade exits his office, files in hand. ‘I’m going to need you all on board for this one.’ He drops the files individually down on each desk.

‘The serial suicides?’ Grace questions. ‘I thought you and Donovan had these covered.’

‘So did I, there was another one late last night. Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport.’

‘And you didn’t call me in?’

‘You needed rest, we had it covered.’ Greg lowers his voice before continuing, ‘and I don’t want this case to trigger you.’

‘I’m fine, Greg. I wouldn’t be in this field of work if I couldn’t handle it. I’m not as fragile as you seem to believe.’

Lestrade was aware of Grace’s mental health issues, he had to be as her boss. But sometimes she wished she could erase that part of his memory, so that he’d stop treating her like a child that cannot look after herself. She was capable of resting, she was capable of eating, so why must be bother her so much? One could say it was friendship, another could say he simply worries. Grace would say that Greg just had a very caring nature. He was rough and tough around the edges, but anyone could tell he was a softie at heart. But sometimes, he cares a little too much, and it becomes overbearing.

‘We have a press meeting in an hour, you’ll want to read those files by then,’ Greg gestures with his head.

‘The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night on a building site in Greater London. Preliminary investigations suggest that this was suicide,’ Sally Donovan addresses the gathered reporters. ‘We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore. In the light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. The investigation is ongoing, but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now.’

‘Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?’

‘They all took the same poison,’ Grace cuts in. ‘They were all found in places they shouldn’t have been.’

‘Yes, and well, none of them had shown and prior indication of—’ Greg continues, only to be cut off by reporters.

‘But you can’t have serial suicides.’

‘Obviously you can,’ Grace rebuts.

‘These three people: there’s nothing that links them?’

‘There’s no link been found yet, but we’re looking for it. There has to be one,’ Greg sighs. At that moment every phone in the room goes off, signalling the receiving of a text message. There was only one word written across every screen.

Wrong!

‘If you’ve all got texts, please ignore them,’ Donovan rolls her eyes.

‘Just says, “Wrong.”’

‘Yeah, well, just ignore that. Okay, if there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Lestrade, I’m going to bring this session to an end.’

‘But if they’re suicides, what are you investigating?’

God, these people just don’t get the hint.

Grace sits back as the conference continues, the sentences of her colleagues and the reporters all blurring into one as she struggles to care enough about dealing with the press. She may not like Sally but she certainly thanks whatever higher power is out there that it is Donovan that deals with the media.

‘We’ve got our best people investigating—’

Wrong!

Grace smirks as she glances at her phone screen. This must be the famous Sherlock Holmes that Greg had been telling her about when she transferred a few months ago. She had never met the man but judging by the way Anderson and Donovan speak of him, she has a feeling that he couldn’t be too bad considering he irks them in the same way she does.

‘One more question,’ Sally informs the reporters.

‘Is there any chance that these are murders, and if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?’

‘I know that you like writing about these, but these do appear to be suicides. We know the difference. The, um, the poison was clearly self-administered,’ Greg explains.

‘Yes, but if they are murders, how do people keep themselves safe?’

‘Don’t take the poison,’ Grace answers.

‘Daily Mail,’ Sally mumbles under her breath in warning.

‘Obviously this is a frightening time for people, but all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions. We are all as safe as we want to be—’ Greg is cut off once more as all the mobiles trill their text alerts.

Wrong!

However, this time on Greg’s phone, he receives another message.

You know where to find me.

‘Thank you,’ Lestrade ends the press conference.

‘You’ve got to stop him doing that,’ Sally complains. ‘He’s making us look like idiots.’

‘Well, if you can tell me how he does it, I’ll stop him.’

Grace smirks as she walks past the two and towards the exit, ready to start her own investigation of the suicides—if you could even call them that. Any human would have to be blind to continue walking the path of ‘serial suicide.’ They are murders, she just doesn’t know how, yet.

Despite all the obvious signs that point to a serial killer, Grace had yet to find any hint of how or why. There was one thing about killers though, they always make a mistake… eventually. The problem though, is waiting for that mistake to be made. How many bodies will turn up before the killer leaves behind a trace? Too many a lot of the time.

Grace knows how killers work; she’d been this career for a while now. But even despite that, her childhood had been one filled of late nights in her dad’s office at the police station. Reading books and watching documentaries written and filmed by professionals since such a young age. She was quick to complete university, graduating earlier than most. Now, Grace wouldn’t call herself a genius, she would simply say she works hard, perhaps too hard in the grand scheme of things. Burning out was not something infrequent, learning to persevere was the difficult part of it all.

She had been staring at these files for hours, the words had started to go blurry. God, she needed a cigarette, a coffee, something to keep her from pulling her hair out. Something to occupy the mind so that her thoughts wouldn’t. The shrill ringing of her phone is what finally brought her back to the real world.

Greg Lestrade

‘There’s been another one.’ Grace states rather that inquires to the man on the other side of the call.

‘Brixton, Lauriston Gardens.’

‘Be there shortly.’

A monotonous beep indicates the end of the call, as well as the end of being stuck at her desk in a hopeless back and forth of words and papers. Now the real fun starts, it’s time to catch a killer.

It was only early in the night, eight o’clock to be precise. A building and its vicinity had been blocked off by red and blue lights, police tape lined corner to corner. It seemed most of the crew was already here. Had they accomplished anything though? That is the question. Grace approaches the building, slowing her pace and coming to a halt after seeing a fuss at the entrance.

‘Quite clear. And is your wife away long?’ A tall man questions Anderson at the doorway. He has fair skin with dark curls, high cheekbones sharp as knives. His eyes a grateful victim to central heterochromia, beautifully green in the centre, fading out to a cold and calculating blue.

Ah, this is Sherlock Holmes.

Grace struggles to hold in her snicker as she listens in to the conversation, it seems he was as observant as she had heard. Although, it didn’t take much brain power to deduce Anderson was cheating on his wife.

‘Oh, don’t pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that,’ Anderson sneers.

‘Your deodorant told me that.’

‘My deodorant?’

‘It’s for men,’ Sherlock mocks.

‘Of course, it’s for men! I’m wearing it.’

‘So is Donovan. Oh, and I think it just vaporised. Excuse me.’ Grace smirks as she pushes past the quarrelling men. Intrigued blue eyes watching as her form recedes into the building.

‘Whatever you’re trying to imply Carter! —’ Anderson calls out to the woman, but she was too far to hear it.

‘Nothing is being implied,’ Sherlock nudges past Anderson, stopping to look Sally up and down. ‘And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees.’ With a smug smile, Sherlock enters the building, his new flatmate, John Watson, following close behind.

Grace was already upstairs examining the body. Her mind starts running a marathon, exploring all the details, discovering different conclusions. The dead woman sure did love pink… pink nails, pink coat.

Peculiar. Underside of the collar is wet. Rache… German, revenge? No. Rachet? Absolutely not. Ah, Rachel. Who is Rachel? She wrote it with her left hand, so she must be... there’s a wedding ring—

‘—hasn’t been here long. Some kids found her. Grace, found anything?’ Greg asks as he enters the room.

‘A bit, but I’m missing something.’ She stands, taking a step back from the body. Pulling the gloves from her hands, Grace turns to see that Sherlock Holmes and his friend had joined them.

‘Sherlock, Doctor Watson, this is Grace Carter, best detective on our team,’ Greg introduces.

‘Best?’ Grace watches Sherlock’s eyes squint as he observes her. Up and down. She’s more than interested to know if he can tell her entire life story as she has heard from others. Actually, she was observing him herself.

Straight posture. His clothes are neat, crisp. Shirt slightly crinkled, only because it seems a size too small. He doesn’t like things out of place unless it’s his own mess. And those eyes… so cold but so captivating. He’s hiding a lot behind them. There’s a loneliness—

‘Intriguing…’ Sherlock mumbles.

‘What is?’ Greg questions.

‘Nothing,’ he snaps out of his daze. ‘Now, let’s have a look. Shut up.’

‘I didn’t say anything?’

‘You were thinking, it’s annoying.’

John and Greg share a surprised look while Sherlock steps forward, beginning to examine the body. Grace watches as his eyes flicker everywhere, unbelievably quick. Only a few moments of silence pass before Sherlock is standing back up, pulling off his gloves.

‘Got anything?’ Greg asks.

‘Not much.’ Sherlock takes out his phone, using it to search something up. Meanwhile Anderson appears in the doorway.

‘She’s German. “Rache,” it’s German for revenge. She could be trying to tell us something…’

‘Yes, thank you for your input,’ Sherlock slams the door in his face, still typing away on his phone.

‘So, she’s German?’

‘Of course she’s not. She isn’t from London though,’ Grace answers Greg. Sherlock pulls his phone down, staring deeply at the female detective.

‘Coat?’ She watches a brow rise on his face as he questions her.

‘Coat.’

‘Intended to stay in London for one night…’ Sherlock trails off, turning his attention from Grace to Greg and John. ‘Before returning home to Cardiff. So far, so obvious.’

‘Sorry, obvious?’ John’s eyes appear to pop out of his head.

‘What about the message though?’ Greg joins in with his astonishment.

‘Doctor Watson, Detective Carter, what do you think?’

‘Of the message?’

‘Of the body. You’re a medical man, no?’ Grace questions the doctor.

‘We have a whole team outside,’ Greg scolds.

‘I don’t like them.’

‘They won’t work with me,’ Sherlock is blunt in his response.

‘I’m breaking every rule just letting you in here, Sherlock.’

‘Yes, because you need me.’ Lestrade stares at Sherlock for only a moment before lowering his eyes in surrender.

‘Yes, I do. God help me.’

‘Doctor Watson.’

‘Hm?’ John looks over to Greg for permission to assess the body.

‘Oh, do as he says. Help yourself,’ Lestrade exits the room. ‘Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes.’

John and Sherlock move to crouch by the body, the doctor painfully leaning on his cane. Grace entertains herself, fiddling with her fingers while they whisper quickly to each other in hushed voices.

‘Yeah, well, this is more fun.’

‘Fun? There is a woman lying dead.’

‘Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you’d go deeper.’

Lestrade walks back into the room, standing beside Grace in the doorway. He gives her a look and she shrugs in response.

‘Yeah... Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can’t smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs.’

‘You know what it was. You’ve read the papers.’

‘What, she’s one of the suicides? The fourth…?’

‘Sherlock – two minutes, I said. I need anything you’ve got,’ Lestrade cuts in.

‘Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes; I’m guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It’s obvious from the size of her suitcase.’

‘Suitcase?’

‘Suitcase,’ Grace murmurs. ‘That’s what I was missing.’

‘Suitcase, yes. She’s been married at least ten years, but not happily. She’s had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, if you’re just making this up,’ Greg huffs.

‘He’s not,’ Grace cuts in. ‘Her wedding ring. It’s got to be at least ten years old. Her necklace, earrings, all clean. But not the ring. State of her marriage.’

‘Yes…’ Sherlock is now staring directly at Grace as he speaks. She was quick, almost as quick as him.

How interesting.

‘The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it’s regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It’s not for work; look at her nails. She doesn’t work with her hands, so what or rather who does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover; she’d never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple.’

‘That’s brilliant,’ John admires both the detectives. ‘Sorry.’

‘Cardiff?’

‘It’s obvious, isn’t it?’ Sherlock scrunches his nose.

‘It’s not obvious to me.’

‘Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring.’

‘May I take this one?’ Grace steps in, interrupting Sherlock.

‘Be… my… guest.’

Sherlock’s eyes were locked onto her smaller form, waiting for the words to leave her mouth. Where had this woman come from? She wasn’t here three months ago on the last case he took with Scotland Yard. Not to mention he couldn’t read anything about her past the obvious lack of sleep, the slight discolouration under her eyes proving the fact. She had noticed everything he had about the crime scene… she is unreadable... she is a mystery waiting to be solved. The woman is a lack of boredom in which he’d keep documented in his mind palace for later.

‘Her coat. It’s damp. She’s been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London during that time. Under her coat collar is also damp, she turned it up against the wind. Umbrella in her left-hand pocket is dry, and unused.’ Grace paces back and forth beside the body as she speaks. ‘The wind was too strong for it. Now that Mr Holmes has previously mentioned it, I see what I missed. I missed her suitcase, which means she came a decent distance. But her coat is still wet. Where has there been heavy rain and strong winds within that travel time? Cardiff.’

‘That’s… fantastic.’

‘Yes. Quite… remarkable.’ Oh, those eyes. They studied her so deeply. Grace wanted to run and hide from the piercing gaze of the tall consulting detective. But her physicality did not betray her, remaining strong in her stance, continuing to appear unbothered.

‘Not too bad yourself, Mr Holmes.’

‘Please, Sherlock is fine.’

John and Lestrade exchange a look once more, completely confused by the odd situation in front of them. Two stone faced detectives staring into each other’s souls with such intrigue. An exchange that Greg never thought he’d see, Sherlock… complimenting someone? It couldn’t be. ‘Why are you both saying suitcase?’

Sherlock spins on his feet. ‘Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organiser. Find out who Rachel is.’

‘She was writing Rachel?’

‘No, she was leaving an angry note in German,’ Grace rolls her eyes.

‘Of course, she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be. Question is why did she wait until she was dying to write it?

‘How do you know she had a suitcase?’

‘Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand,’ Sherlock explains. ‘Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious - could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night.’

‘So, where is it? Did Anderson take it?’ Hands on hips, Grace moves to open the door that had previously been slammed in said man’s face.

‘There wasn’t a case.’

Sherlock’s stare narrows, ‘say that again.’

‘There wasn’t a case. There was never any suitcase.’

‘Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?’

Lestrade follows Sherlock down the stairs. ‘Sherlock, there was no case!’

‘But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them.’

‘Right, yeah, thanks! And…?’

‘It’s murder, all of them,’ Grace walks downstairs. ‘Unsure of how yet, been exploring the files. But they’re not suicides. They’re killings—serial ones.’

‘We’ve got ourselves a serial killer. I love those,’ Sherlock claps. His excitement unbefitting of the current situation. ‘There’s always something to look forward to.’

‘Why are you both saying that?’

‘Her case, Greg. Where is it?’ Grace, now standing beside Sherlock on the lower level of the stairs.

‘Did she eat it? Someone else was here, and they took her case,’ Sherlock has a sudden epiphany. ‘So, the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car.’

‘She could have check into a hotel, left her case there?’ Doctor Watson pitches in for the first time in a while.

‘No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She colour-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She’d never had left any hotel with her hair still looking… Oh. Oh!’

‘Sherlock?’

Lestrade leans further over the railing, desperate to hear whatever realisation Sherlock has come to. ‘What is it, what?’

‘Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake.’

‘We can’t just wait!’

‘Oh, we’re done waiting! Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!’

‘Of course, yeah – but what mistake!?’

‘Pink!’

Grace watches as Sherlock rushes out the building, a whispering voice in the back of her head growing louder, eventually shouting at her to ‘follow!’ For once in her life, she decided to listen, a split decision to do what she actually wants. Her feet carry her quickly after him, it took only seconds to catch up to his speedily walking form heading down the street.

‘You’re following?’

‘You’re looking for the case.’

Oh, I’m going to be in so much trouble for this. Forgive me, please don’t fire me, Greg.

‘A correct observation, but as to why you’re following?’

‘That is a question I would think you already have the answer to.’

Sherlock stops walking for a second, his gloved hands moving from his pockets to clasp behind his back. His taller form looked down at the shorter woman. ‘There is a lot about you that I thought I would have the answers to.’

‘One, consider me your get out of jail free card. You find the case without me; Sally and Anderson try to pin the murders on you.’ Grace starts walking again, every two of her steps equalling one of his. ‘Two, you’re aware of how dull working for Scotland Yard can be, they’d never find the case. Three, curiosity.’

‘Curiosity?’

‘You’re a curious person yourself, surely you understand. This case is intriguing. How does this killer work? How does this killer make a person take the poison? We’re running out of time to figure it out, before long another dead body will be on our doorstep, and I will be blaming it on the incompetence of Scotland Yard,’ Grace sighs. ‘I understand the steps they need to take, the protocols. But between you and me, things could be solved so much more efficiently if they turned a blind eye to the rule book, if only sometimes, which I’m thankful they’ve done this time by calling you in. Now, tell me your thought process.’

‘The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention – particularly a man, which is statistically more likely.’ Sherlock turns down a back street, not bothering to look back, knowing the female detective would be following. ‘So obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. Wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realise his mistake. If we check every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens...’

‘…and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed,’ Grace follows along with Sherlock’s thought process. ‘Back street skips.’

‘You continue to astound me, Detective Carter.’

She watches as Sherlock begins to search around the first skip, moving to help. ‘Please, Grace. Should I call you Sherlock, I think it only fair. I was never one for formalities anyway.’

‘Not this one,’ he announces, stepping back and walking onwards.

‘I heard you can tell everything about a person at first glance, have I been lied to? Greg claims you call yourself a “Master of Deduction.”’

‘I can tell things about people that not even they know.’

‘Well, can you deduce me?’

‘Most people tell me to piss off, yet you’re openly asking me to do so?’

‘I told you. I am a curious individual.’

Sherlock’s head tilts slightly to the side, as he tries once more to deduce things about the woman. But again, he was left with hardly anything. It was infuriating, and yet so exciting. ‘You’re tired.’

‘Yes, but that is common knowledge. I expected to be astonished.’

‘You’re a mystery to me. And it’s maddening.’

‘Well, “All great experience has a guarded entrance and a windowless facade.”’

‘Robert Grudin, 1997,’ Sherlock immediately recognises the quote.

‘Precisely. You can’t deduce anything about me because I won’t let you. Becoming aware of someone’s strength is to find their weakness.’

‘You seem quite adept in the nature of observation yourself. What do you see?’

‘I doubt my skills are anywhere near as I’ve heard yours to be. Although, I can say that you probably won’t enjoy hearing what I think.’

‘Did I not just say people mostly tell me to piss off? I’m quite aware of the consequences. Nobody likes to hear of their hidden complexities so easily read by another.’

‘You have very straight posture; you carry yourself tall because it makes you feel less vulnerable. Your clothes, they’re neat, ironed regularly. But your shirt is slightly crinkled because you buy a size too small. Why? Because you like the way it hugs you. It feels affectionate, something I think you’ve forced yourself to believe you don’t want, but subconsciously crave. You don’t like things out of place, unless it’s your own mess, even then the mess is somewhat organised to your liking.’ Grace could mention that loneliness, that pain in his eyes. But she won’t for the sake of the hiddenly vulnerable man digging through a skip in front of her.

‘I don’t need affection,’ Sherlock spits.

‘Ah, yes. Sociopath. You don’t have a heart, I’ve heard.’ Grace smirks as she sees a flash of pink behind the large bin. ‘But I don’t have to look very hard to know that isn’t quite true.’ She reaches an arm behind the skip, pulling the case out with little struggle. ‘Found it.’

Sherlock reaches out to grab the case from her, ignoring her previous statement. Pulling it away she hums a little ‘ah-ah.’

‘How do you expect me to investigate if you won’t hand over the case?’

‘Where do you live?’

‘221B Baker Street.’

‘Closer than me, let’s go. We have a case to investigate,’ Grace begins walking to the main road for a taxi, pink case trailing behind her.

‘Why must you insist on coming with me? I am perfectly capable, even more so than you of solving this.’

‘Perhaps, and I don’t doubt it for a second. But I have jurisdiction, something in which you don’t.’

Sherlock’s steps fall into sync with Grace’s, knowing he won’t be able to shake her off. ‘Gage won’t be happy.’

‘I think you mean Greg. And he’ll survive. Taxi!’

The two climb into the backseat of a taxi, informing the driver of their destination. They sit in silence for a moment. Grace well aware that Sherlock had no urge to start a conversation.

‘Should I tell you something about me, to make things fair? Even out the playing field.’

‘No. If I don’t figure it out myself, I don’t care.’ Sherlock is blunt, not once turning his head from looking out the foggy window. ‘There is one thing I have figured out though.’

‘That is?’

‘You get bored.’

‘Everyone gets bored.’

‘Not enough to follow a stranger down different back streets to pick up a murder victim’s suitcase.’

‘You called me a mystery, didn’t you?’ Grace grins. The streetlights casted a light glow through the window connecting with Sherlock’s cheekbones, casting a shadow across his face.

‘I did.’

‘You’re a mystery yourself. I’m a detective, a bored one, a curious one.’ Sherlock’s attention finally shifts, casting his gaze at the woman in the seat across from him. Curiosity meeting curiosity. Blue eyes meeting grey eyes. ‘Such are you. Let’s do our jobs and stop another body from showing up, yeah?’ Grace doesn’t continue to elaborate, but he didn’t need her to because he understood.

He is a challenge to her, just as she is to him. Something that intellectual minds gravitate towards. There was a comfort in finding someone that understands your thought process. Someone that could keep up. And then there was John Watson, Sherlock’s mind was running rampant. A man that craves danger, and a woman that seeks mystery. Perhaps he finally found the correct people to surround himself with, maybe he could finally belong somewhere.

No, I don’t need friends. He was simply intrigued, that is all. Intrigued in the face of mystery.

The rest of the taxi ride passed in silence. Both detectives spending the remaining period of time lost within their own minds. Neither had even realised they had reached Sherlock’s flat until the taxi driver let them know of the cost. Sherlock was already walking inside with the case, leaving Grace to pay. Which she did deem fair considering she forcibly tagged along.

‘Hm, endearing,’ she hummed, observing the sight. A small café, Speedy’s, was beside the flat building. It appears to be a nice place to live. Convenient.

Grace enters and walks upstairs into 221B. Sherlock had discarded his coat and suit jacket, his white button-up sleeves pushed up to the elbows. Forearms exposed; three nicotine patches stuck to alabaster skin. He dug through the contents of the pink suitcase, sat with his legs spread on a black leather chair by the fireplace.

What a sight for sore eyes. Snap out of it.

‘Smoker?’ Grace questions.

‘Trying not to be.’

‘Makes two of us. Three patches though?’

‘Three patch problem.’

Grace moves to sit on the armchair opposite Sherlock. Looking through the contents of the bag herself. ‘Found anything?’

‘It’s more what I haven’t found.’

‘Hm?’

‘Grab my phone. It’s in my jacket pocket by the door.’

‘Did your parents never teach you manners?’ Grace asked, doing as he said anyway. ‘Here.’

Sherlock doesn’t look up from his position, hands clasped together under his chin. ‘Text John, “Baker Street. Come at once if convenient.” Don’t forget to sign my initials at the bottom.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Tell him it could be dangerous and to come if inconvenient anyway.’

Grace’s own phone dings. She lifts it up to inspect the message, knowing already who it will be. And as she thought, Greg Lestrade.

Come back to Scotland Yard, right now.

‘And that is my signal to go back and receive a scolding.’ Phone returning to pocket, Grace walks to the entrance. Blue eyes watching her every move unbeknownst to her. ‘If I leave the case here for you to further investigate, you promise not to run off with it?’

‘I assume you’ll be coming back with the Detective Inspector the next time I see you,’ Sherlock lowers his hands, letting them cross over his lap.

‘I’ll stall him as long as I can. You’d best keep me updated, Sherlock Holmes.’

‘How do you expect me to do that? I don’t have your number.’

‘Your excuses fall to deaf ears.’ Grace holds her phone out, shaking it at him. Walking downstairs she calls back out, loud enough for him to hear. ‘I don’t think you had the numbers of everyone at the press conference either.’

Sherlock grinned to himself at her words. She was a smart woman; he’d allow himself to admit that much. Maybe he’d even allow himself to admit her beauty had he not known it to be construct based entirely on childhood impressions. One thing he knew for sure: Grace and John are both completely different mysteries waiting to be solved.

‘You just decided you’d run off from the crime scene?’ Greg scolds Grace. She sat across from him, on a chair at the other side of his desk. ‘I know you’ve been off lately, but—’

‘That’s got nothing to do with it, Greg. People are dying and you’re all being awfully slow about trying to do anything to fix it.’

‘You followed Sherlock, didn’t you?’

‘What about it? You’ve said so yourself, he’s the best out there, and you need him.’

‘That doesn’t mean you just run off instead of doing your job.’

‘I was doing my job, and I was doing it a hell of a lot quicker than anybody else here.’ Grace taps her finger on Greg’s desk in frustration. ‘Who found the case? Me and Sherlock. I’m doing you a favour. I don’t care who sticks their name on the report.’

‘You found the case?’

Oops.

Grace had flaws, of course she did. But one she hates the most about herself? Her inability to not spit things out that she shouldn’t whenever she’s angry.

‘Yes.’ Better to admit it now.

‘Where is it?’

‘With Sherlock, but please, just give him a few hours at least to figure it out.’

‘Why should I? —Grace! This is not how it works. I know you like to work on your own and differently to everyone else, but you do not just give away evidence to people!’

‘Greg, please,’ Grace takes a deep breath. ‘You know my judgment is better than anybody else’s here. As much as you, and I, hate to admit it, Sherlock is what we need to solve this case.’

‘He’s got two hours,’ Greg finally agrees after a moment of thought. ‘After that we’re going to his flat.’

Ding

‘Got a text?’ Both Lestrade and Grace know well who it is. She doesn’t get texts, there’s nobody she really talks to. Apart from work colleagues.

Got a lead.

Attached to the message was an address, a restaurant on Northumberland Street.

‘Go, but I’ll be expecting to be updated,’ Greg sighs, slumping in his seat. He may not be a ‘Master of Deduction,’ like Sherlock, but he wasn’t stupid. He knows Sherlock is a great man, and perhaps Grace is what he needs to be a good one. And potentially, Sherlock may just be what Grace needs. So, for once, he will turn a blind eye to the dos and don’ts.

‘Yes, sir,’ Grace fake salutes before exiting his office and the building, rushing downstairs to get a taxi.

There is a welcoming warmth that encases Grace’s body as she leaves the icy streets and enters the restaurant. A shiver runs down her spine at the sudden temperature change. She gazed around, not taking long to notice Sherlock and John sitting at a booth beside the entrance. Pulling up a chair, and removing her coat, she sits across the table from Sherlock, and beside John.

‘Detective Carter?’ John questions, not expecting to see the woman here.

‘Evening.’

‘Wh—’

‘I texted her,’ Sherlock answers the question on John’s mind.

‘I told him to keep me updated, lest he get into trouble with Scotland Yard.’

‘George knows of the suitcase?’

‘Greg, and yes. But you’ve got time.’

John shakes his head, the poor man struggling to keep up with any events of the day. The clock hands were turning a lot faster than normal, and 6pm had been quick to become 11pm. He decides changing the subject might be the best way to involve himself in the conversation. ‘People don’t have archenemies.’

‘Sorry?’

‘In real life. There are no archenemies in real life. Doesn’t happen.’

‘Doesn’t it? How dull.’ Sherlock’s line of sight does not stray from across the street.

‘So, who did I meet?’

Ignoring John’s question, Sherlock responds with his own. ‘What do real people have, then, in there “real lives?”’

‘Friends? People they know, people they like, people they don’t like… girlfriends, boyfriends…’

‘Yes, well, as I was saying, dull.’

‘You don’t have a girlfriend, then?’

‘Girlfriend? No, not really my area.’

‘Mm,’ John pauses. ‘Oh, right. Do you have a boyfriend? Which is fine, by the way.’

‘I know it’s fine.’ Sherlock’s eyes finally move from the street and to lock onto John at his insinuation.

‘So, you’ve got a boyfriend the—’

‘No.’

Grace listens to the conversation, trying to stop herself from giggling. Lips grinning, knowing full well the misunderstanding between the two that it taking place between her.

‘Right, okay. You’re unattached. Like me. Fine. Good.’

‘John, um… I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I’m flattered by your interest, I’m really not looking for any…’

‘No. No, I’m not asking. No,’ John shakes his head. ‘I’m just saying, it’s all fine.’

‘Good. Thank you.’

John turns, giving Grace the most bewildered look she has ever seen, and she couldn’t help the small laugh finally pushing through the restraint of her lips. Sherlock snaps his head to look at her, before quickly turning back to look outside.

‘What about you, Grace?’ John asks. ‘Boyfriend, girlfriend?’

‘No, no. Not at the moment. I only moved here a few months ago. Also, not really an area I’m great at.’ If she couldn’t even love and care for herself, how could Grace ever care and love for another? The feeling was foreign, she longed for it, but found it impossible to find.

‘Oh? Where are you originally from?’

‘Around…’ Grace trails off, not wanting to discuss further.

‘Look across the street. Taxi.’ Sherlock interrupts, saving them all from a lot of awkwardness. ‘Stopped. Nobody getting in, and nobody getting out. Why a taxi? Oh, that’s clever. Is it clever? Why is it clever?’

‘That’s him?’

‘Don’t stare.’

‘You’re staring.’

‘We can’t all stare.’

All three grab their coats before hurrying out of the restaurant. The second the cab starts to drive away, Sherlock rushes forwards, almost getting hit by a car. Luckily, they slam on the breaks and narrowly avoid him.

‘Sorry!’ John yells to the driver. ‘I’ve got the cab number.’

‘Good for you. Right turn, one way, roadworks, traffic lights, bus lane, pedestrian crossing, left turn only, traffic lights,’ Sherlock lists off quickly. He takes off in a sprint, Grace and John quick to react, chasing after him.

They run through buildings, up sets after sets of stairs, across roofs, and back down again. Sherlock leading them around every corner and down every back alley. Eventually, they intersect the taxi. Pulling open the door, Sherlock observes the man in the back. ‘No, teeth, tan. What, Californian? L.A., Santa Monica. Just arrived.’

‘How can you possibly know that?’ John asks.

‘The luggage,’ Grace informs.

‘It's probably your first trip to London, right, going by your final destination and the route the cabbie was taking you?’

‘Sorry, are you guys the police?’

‘Yeah. Everything all right?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Welcome to London,’ Sherlock says sarcastically, walking away from the cab, clearly frustrated.

‘Uh, any problems just let us know,’ John closes the taxi door. ‘Basically, just a cab that happened to slow down.’

‘Basically.’

‘Not the murderer?’

‘Not the murderer, no,’ Grace answers.

‘Wrong country, good alibi.’

‘As they go.’

‘Hey, where-where did you get this?’ John pants, still exhausted, pulling a badge from Sherlock’s hands. ‘Right. Detective Inspector Lestrade?’

‘Yeah. I pickpocket him when he’s annoying. You can keep that one, I’ve got plenty at the flat.’ Grace and John share a glance, both starting to laugh at his words, and the situation as a whole. ‘What?’

‘Nothing, just… “Welcome to London.”’

Sherlock grins at the two before he notices the American man talking to a police officer by the corner. ‘Got your breath back?’

‘We’re ready when you are.’

‘That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.’ John admits, laughing as the trio stumble into 221 Baker Street. They lean against the entrance wall, panting from the long distance they had just ran.

‘And you invaded Afghanistan,’ Sherlock laughs.

‘That wasn’t just me. And why aren’t we back at the restaurant?’

‘They can keep and eye out, it was a long shot anyway.’

‘So, what were we doing there?’

‘Proving a point, from my observation,’ Grace smirks, now noticing John was without his walking stick. Also, him having ran many kilometres.

‘Precisely,’ Sherlock grins at her.

‘What point?’

‘You. Mrs Hudson! Doctor Watson will take the room upstairs.’

‘Says who?’

‘Says the man at the door.’

A knock echoes through the hallway, John glancing between Sherlock and Grace before walking over to answer the door.

‘What I don’t get is why you messaged me?’ Grace turns to Sherlock. ‘If it was a “long shot.”’

‘Because,’ he grins.

‘Because?’

‘Because you’re bored.’

‘That’s not why.’ Grace watches a brow raise on Sherlock’s face, clearly, he wasn’t expecting her to see through his lies. ‘I know a lie when I hear one. You want to try and deduce me. But you can’t, can you?’

‘It’s infuriating.’

‘I try my best.’

‘Sherlock, what have you done.’ An older woman in a purple dress comes into view. Her worried and panicky stature informing everything that something wasn’t quite right.

‘Mrs Hudson?’ One thing that Grace noted was the concern in Sherlock’s voice, and the man had the audacity to say he has no heart, that he doesn’t feel.

‘Upstairs.’

The three rush up the stairs, Sherlock skipping two at a time with his long legs. He opens the door to 221B, finding Greg sitting in his seat, and other Scotland Yard officers searching the flat.

‘What are you doing?’ Sherlock demands.

‘Well, I knew you’d fine the case. I’m not stupid. Plus, Grace slipped up and told me. You’re lucky she convinced me to lay off as long as I did.’

‘You can’t just break into my flat.’

‘And you can’t withhold evidence. And I didn’t break into your flat.’

‘Well, what do you call this.’

‘It’s a drugs bust.’

Oh Greg, that’s low, very low. Grace shakes her head, stepping further into the room to make herself known to Greg and the other officers.

‘Seriously? This guy, a junkie?’ John asks, bewildered. ‘Have you met him?’

‘John.’ Sherlock addresses sternly.

‘I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational.’

‘John, you probably want to shut up now.’

‘Yeah, but come on… No?’

‘What?’

‘You?’

‘Shut up!’ Sherlock shouts, turning back to Lestrade. ‘I’m not your sniffer dog.’

‘No, Anderson’s my sniffer dog.’

‘What, An— Anderson, what are you doing here on a drugs bust?’

Anderson peeps his head out from behind a cupboard in the kitchen. ‘Oh, I volunteered.’

‘They all did. They’re not strictly speaking on the drugs squad, but they’re very keen.’

‘Are you serious, Greg? You told me you’d come for the case in two hours, not set up a drugs bust.’ Grace’s annoyance begins to show. All of this was highly unnecessary, and frankly, just mean.

‘Yes well, you didn’t tell me you were running off from the crime scene to find the case with this guy,’ Greg points to Sherlock. ‘So, I guess we both don’t tell each other everything.’

‘Are these human eyes?’ Donovan rounds the corner, holding up a jar.

‘Put those back!’

‘They were in the microwave!’

‘It’s an experiment!’ Sherlock spits.

‘Keep looking, guys.’ Lestrade orders. ‘Or you could help us properly and I’ll stand them down. That goes for the both of you.’

‘This is childish.’

‘Well, I'm dealing with a child. Sherlock, this is our case. I'm letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?’

‘Oh, what, so-so-so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?’

‘It stops being pretend if we find anything,’ Greg stands, coming face to face with Sherlock, although slightly shorter.

‘I am clean!’

‘Is your flat? All of it?’

‘I don’t even smoke.’ Sherlock tugs up his sleeve, a nicotine patch stuck to his forearm.

‘Neither do I,’ Lestrade pulls up his own sleeve. ‘So, let’s work together. We’ve found Rachel.’

‘Who is she?’ Grace inserts herself back into the conversation.

‘Jennifer Wilson’s only daughter.’

Sherlock tugs his sleeve back down. ‘Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter’s name? Why?’

‘Never mind that. We found the case,’ Anderson points. ‘According to someone, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favourite psychopath.’

‘I’m not a psychopath, Anderson. I’m a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research.’ Sherlock’s head snaps around. ‘You need to bring Rachel in. You need to question her. I need to question her.’

‘She’s dead.’

‘Excellent! How, when, and why? Is there a connection? There has to be.’

‘Well, I doubt it since she's been dead for fourteen years. Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago.’

‘No that’s… that’s not right. How? Why would she do that?’

‘Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Yup – sociopath, I’m seeing it now,’ Anderson rolls his eyes.

‘She didn’t think about her daughter, Anderson,’ Grace spits, fed up with his shit. ‘She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails, while she was dying. It took effort, and it would have hurt.’

‘Sherlock said the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it. Well, maybe he… I don’t know, talks to them?’ John offers. ‘Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow.’

‘Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?’ Sherlock pauses after his words. ‘Not good?’ He turns to John.

‘Bit not good, yeah.’

‘Yeah, but if you were dying… if you’d been murdered; in your very last few seconds what would you say?’

‘“Please, God, let me live.”’

‘Oh, use your imagination!’

‘I don’t have to.’

‘Yeah, but if you were clever, really clever. Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers – she was clever. She’s trying to tell us something.’

Mrs Hudson stands at the doorway. ‘Isn’t the doorbell working? Your taxi’s here, Sherlock.’

‘I didn’t order a taxi. Go away.’

Odd. Grace closes her eyes, falling into thought.

‘Oh, dear. They’re making such a mess. What are they looking for?’

‘It’s a drugs bust, Mrs Hudson.’

‘But they’re just for my hip. They’re herbal soothers.’

‘Shut up, everybody, shut up! Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t breathe. I’m trying to think. Anderson, face the other way. You’re putting me off.’

‘What? My face is?!’

‘Everybody quiet and still. Anderson, turn your back.’ Greg demands.

‘Oh, for God’s sake!’

‘Your back, now, please!’

‘Come on, think. Quick!’

‘What about your taxi?’

‘Mrs Hudson! Oh…’ Sherlock’s brain clicks. ‘Ah! She was clever, clever, yes! She’s cleverer than you lot and she’s dead. Do you see, do you get it? She didn’t lose her phone, she never lost it. She planted it on him.’

‘When she got out of the car, she knew that she was going to her death. She left the phone in order to lead us to her killer,’ Grace opens her eyes, finishing Sherlock’s explanation.

‘But how?’

‘What? What do you mean, how? Rachel!’ Sherlock exclaims. ‘Don’t you see? Rachel! Oh, look at you lot. You’re all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing. Rachel is not a name.’

John is the first to speak amongst all the vacant faces. ‘Then what is it?’

‘John, on the luggage, there’s a label. E-mail address.’

‘Er, jennie dot pink at mephone dot org dot uk.’

Sherlock sits at his desk, laptop open. ‘Oh, I’ve been too slow. She didn’t have a laptop, which means she did her business on her phone, so it’s a smartphone, it’s email enabled. So, there was a website for her account. The username is her e-mail address. And all together now, the password is?’

‘Rachel.’

‘We can read her e-mails. So what?’

‘Anderson, don’t talk out loud, you lower the IQ of the whole street. We can do much more than just read her e-mails. It’s a smartphone, it’s got GPS, which means if you lost it, you can locate it online. She’s leading us directly to the man who killed her.’

‘Unless he got rid of it.’

‘We know he didn’t.’

‘Come on, come on. Quickly!’

‘Sherlock, dear. This taxi driver…’

‘Mrs Hudson, isn’t it time for your evening soother? We need to get vehicles, get a helicopter. We’re gonna have to move fast. This phone battery won’t last forever.’

‘We’ll just have a map reference, not a name.’

‘It’s a start!’

‘Sherlock…’

‘It narrows it down from just anyone in London. It’s the first proper lead that we’ve had.’

‘Sherlock…’

‘What is it? Quickly, where?’

‘It’s here. It’s in two two one Baker Street,’ John informs.

The phone is here, how? I’m missing something, what am I missing? Grace felt like hitting herself across the head, scratching the skin from her arms. It was in front of her, she knows it, but she can’t put her finger on what she’s missing. ‘How can it be here? How?’

‘Well, maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it fell out somewhere,’ Lestrade suggested.

‘What, and I didn’t notice it? Me? I didn’t notice?’ Sherlock spits.

‘Anyway, we texted him and he called back.’

‘Guys, we’re also looking for a mobile somewhere here, belonged to the victim…’ Lestrade ignores the facts.

‘Who do we trust, even if we don’t know them?’

‘Who passes unnoticed?’ Grace adds to Sherlocks food for thought.

‘Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?’

‘Oh—’ Grace whispers, but only Sherlock hears. She steps backwards slowly, out of the room. Step, then step, she walks down the stairs and out of 221B. At the same time, Sherlock’s phone dings with a message from an unknown number.

COME WITH ME.

‘It’s you, isn’t it?’ Grace confronts the old man. He stands in front of his cab, pink phone in hand.

‘Took you ‘while. But then again you did surprise me, keeping up with the great Sherlock ‘olmes.’ The old man glances over Grace’s shoulder. ‘Speak of the devil. Taxi for Sherlock Holmes.’

‘I didn’t order a taxi,’ Sherlock’s deep voice sounds from behind Grace. He walks forwards, standing beside her with his hands in his coat pockets.

‘Doesn’t mean you don’t need one.’

‘You’re the cabbie, the one that stopped outside Northumberland Street.’

‘It was you, not your passenger,’ Grace observes.

‘See? No-one ever thinks about the cabbie. It’s like you’re invisible. Just the back of an ‘ead. Proper advantage for a serial killer.’

‘Is this a confession.’

‘Oh, yeah. And I’ll tell you want else; if you call the coppers now, I won’t run. I’ll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise.’

‘Why?’ Sherlock asks.

‘‘Cause you’re not gonna do that.’

‘Am I not?’

‘I didn’t kill those four people, Mr ‘olmes, Detective Carter. I spoke to ‘em… and they killed themselves. An’ if you get the coppers now, I promise you one thing. I’ll never tell you what I said.’

‘No one else will die, though, and I believe they call that a result.’

‘An’ you won’t ever understand how those people died. What kind of result do you care about?’

‘If I wanted to understand, what would I do?’

Grace steps towards Sherlock, placing a hand on his arm. ‘Sherlock—’

‘Let me take you for a ride.’

‘So, you can kill me too?’

‘I don’t wanna kill you, Mr ‘olmes. I’m gonna talk to you… and then you’re gonna kill yourself.’

‘Sherlock.’ Grace warns again, his face becoming far too curious for her liking. ‘Don’t.’

‘You too, Detective. Get in the cab, come for a ride.’

‘I don’t think I want to.’

‘I ‘on’t really care what you want.’ The cabbie moves his jacket to the side, flashing the sight of a pistol.

Don’t let him know you’re onto him.

Shame Grace didn’t have her own on her person at the present time. Both Sherlock and Grace get into the backseat of the taxi. ‘Phone up ‘ere please, Detective.’ Grace takes her phone from her pocket, placing it on the console of the car. The engine starts, and they’re on a ride.

‘How did you find me?’ Sherlock questions, inwardly judging the driver’s route.

‘Oh, I recognised ya, soon as I saw you chasing my cab. Sherlock Holmes!’ The cabbie exclaims. ‘I was warned about you. Both of ya, actually. I’ve been on your website, too, Mr ‘olmes. Brilliant stuff! Loved it.’

‘Who warned you?’ Grace crossed her legs, deciding it best to be comfortable while potentially heading to her death.

‘Just someone out there who’s noticed.’

Sherlock sits forwards in his seat, eyes brushing over every detail of the cab. ‘Who? Who would notice me?’

‘You’re too modest, Mr ‘olmes.’

‘I’m really not.’

The cabbie glances at his passengers through the mirror. ‘You’ve got yourself a fan.’

‘Tell me more.’

‘That’s all you’re gonna know… in this lifetime.’

‘Wow, how ominous,’ Grace rolls her eyes.

The rest of the trip passes in silence. Each set of eyes wandering out each window, staring into every mirror to avoid surprise. The cabbie gets out of the car, walking around to open Grace’s door.

‘How gentlemanly.’

‘Where are we?’

‘You know every street in London, Mr ‘olmes. You know exactly where we are.’

‘Roland-Kerr Further Education College.’

‘Why here?’ Grace asks.

‘It’s open. Cleaners are in. One thing about being a cabbie; you always know a nice quiet spot for a murder. I’m surprised more of us don’t branch out.’

‘And you just walk your victims in? How?’ Sherlock’s brows furrow on his face, his eyes darting between Grace and the cabbie. He pulls out a pistol, aiming it directly at Sherlock. ‘Oh, dull.’

‘Don’t worry. It gets better.’

‘You can’t make people take their own lives at gunpoint.’

‘I don’t. It’s much better than that,’ the cabbie tucks away his gun. ‘Don’t need this with you, ‘cause you’ll follow me.’

Grace could just run away, take the cab and drive back to Scotland Yard at this moment. Left behind in the car as Sherlock and the cabbie walk into the right-side building. What kind of detective would she be if she left an unarmed man to enter a building alone with a serial killer? She was well aware that Sherlock could look after himself, but her own curiosity needs an excuse. Her own hunt for mystery, and the excessive need to just know. That was the truth behind her rapid footsteps, gradually catching up to the two men in the building.

Lights flickered on in an empty study hall as they entered. Sherlock paced slowly, observing his surroundings.

‘Well, what do you think?’ The cabbie grins. ‘It’s up to you. You’re the ones who’re gonna die here.’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘Bold of you to assume,’ Grace and Sherlock answer simultaneously.

‘That’s what they all say. Should we talk?’

The cabbie takes a seat at one side of the table, Sherlock turns a chair to sit on the other. Grace, who still stands in the doorway walks over, pulling up a chair beside Sherlock. He was a man lacking empathy, yes. A man who struggles to show his emotions. He didn’t purposefully exude comfort. But there was just something about his tall frame, his intellect, that allowed Grace to feel safe in his presence. Or maybe, just maybe, she was simply comfortable knowing the cabbie couldn’t outsmart him.

‘Bit risky, wasn’t it?’ Sherlock removes his gloves, tucking them in his pocket. ‘Took us away under the eye of about half a dozen policemen. They're not that stupid. And Mrs Hudson will remember you.’

‘You call that a risk? Nah. This… is a risk.’ The cabbie lifts a small glass bottle onto the table, containing a singular pill. ‘Oh, I like this bit. 'Cause neither of you get it yet, do ya? But you're about to. I just have to do this.’ Two more bottles are lifted onto the table. ‘Weren’t expecting that? You’re both gonna love this.’

‘Love what?’

‘Sherlock 'olmes. Look at you! 'Ere in the flesh. That website of yours; your fan told me about it.’

‘My fan?’

‘And yours, Detective Carter. Didn’t think you’d be able to keep up, but ya did.’

‘Your compliments are very backhanded,’ Grace snarks.

‘You are brilliant. You both are. A proper genius though, you are Mr ‘olmes. "The Science of Deduction." Now that is proper thinking. Between you, me, and Detectibe Carter sitting 'ere, why can't people think? Don’t it make you made? Why can’t people just think?’

‘Oh, I see. So, you’re a proper genius too,’ Sherlock mocks.

‘Don’t look it, do I? Funny little man drivin’ a cab. But you’ll know better in a minute. Chances are it’ll be the last thing you ever know.’

‘Okay, three bottles. Explain.’

‘There's a good bottle and two bad bottles. You take the pill from the good bottle, you live; take the pill from the bad bottle, you die.’

‘Both bottles are of course identical.’

‘In every way.’

‘And you know which is which.’

‘Course I know.’

‘But we don’t.’

‘Wouldn’t be a game if you knew. You’re the ones who choose.’ Words continue to fly back and forth between the two men. Grace listens intently, thoughts racing although she appears to remain calm.

Grace sits forwards in her chair, inspecting the glass bottles thoroughly with her eyes. ‘Why should we choose? We have nothing to go on. There’s nothing in it for us.’

‘I 'aven't told you the best bit yet. Whatever bottle you choose, I take the pill from the other one, and then, together, we take our medicine.’

‘So basically, two of us die.’

‘Exactly, Detective. Think of it as natural selection.’

‘Nothing about this is natural, old man. I think six feet under is going to be calling for you first.’

‘You don’t believe that do ya? You’ve been ‘ere before, Detective. Tossing up whether to take your medicine or not.’

The racing of Grace’s mind stops only for a split second, thoughts replaced by a single word. How?

Sherlock takes note of the blank expression on her face. His mind formulating its own theories and conclusions. How? How did he miss it, of course. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

‘You of all people should know that you’ve been a lot closer to hell than I ‘ave.’

‘This is what you did to the rest of them, you gave them a choice,’ Sherlock cuts in. The tense form of Grace clearly unlikely to respond any further on the topic.

‘And now I’m givin’ you one. You take your time. Get yourself together. I want your best game.’

‘It’s not a game. It’s chance.’

‘I've played four times. I'm alive. It's not chance, Mr. 'olmes, it's chess. It's a game of chess, with one move, and one survivor. And this...’ The cabbie pushes two of the bottles forwards. ‘This... is the move. Did I just give you the good bottle or the bad bottle? You can choose either one.’

A moment of silence washes over the study hall. Grace had taken the time to collect her thoughts, bringing herself back to the present moment. ‘Who told you?’

‘Your fan has known about you a lot longer than you’d think. So, are you ready yet? Ready to play?’

‘Play what?’ Sherlock spits. ‘We each have a thirty-three-point-three percent chance of surviving.’

‘You’re not playin’ the numbers, you’re playin’ me. Did I give you the good pill? Or a bad pill? Is it a bluff? Or a double bluff? Or a triple bluff?’

‘Still just chance.’

‘Four people in a row? It’s not just chance.’

‘Luck.’

‘It’s genius. I know ‘ow people think. I know 'ow people think I think. I can see it all, like a map inside my 'ead. Everyone’s so stupid – even you. Or maybe God just loves me.’

‘Either way, you’re wasted as a cabbie.’ Sherlock interlocks his hands and rests his elbows on the table. ‘You risked your life four times just to kill strangers. Why?’

‘Time to play.’

‘Oh, I am playing. This is my turn.’

Grace sits up straight. Was she finally going to witness Sherlock Holmes’ full skill set? Indeed, she was, and that excites her. Her emotions were spiralling at this moment. She is worried, excited, scared, thrilled. A little bit of everything that is slowly going to cause her to overload.

‘There's shaving foam behind your left ear. Nobody's pointed it out to you. Traces of where it's happened before, so obviously you live on your own; there's no one to tell you. But there's a photograph of children. The children's mother has been cut out of the picture. If she'd dead, she'd still be there. The photograph's old but the frame's new. You think of your children, but you don't get to see them. Estranged father. She took the kids, but you still love them, and it still hurts.’

Oh, he’s good. Much better than her. Grace watches the side of his face with wide eyes as he continues deducing the old cabbie. Once again, his prominent cheekbones casting a mysterious shadow over his face that makes him all the more enticing. He’s like forbidden fruit, so dangerously tempting. Hosting his own set of consequences should you ever take a bite.

‘Ah, but there's more. Your clothes: recently laundered but everything you're wearing is at least... three years old? Keeping up appearances but not planning ahead. And here you are on a kamikaze murder spree. What's that about? Ah... Three years ago. Is that when they told you?’

‘Told me what?’

‘That you’re a dead man walking.’

‘So are you.’

‘You don’t have long, though. Am I right?’

‘Aneurism. Right in ‘ere.’ The cabbie points to his head. ‘Any breath could be my last.’

Grace scoffs. ‘And because you’re dying, you’ve just killed four people?’

‘I’ve outlived four people. That’s the most fun you can ‘ave on an aneurism.’

‘No. No, there's something else. You didn't just kill four people because you're bitter. Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator. Somehow this is about your children,’ Sherlock deduces.

‘Oh. You are good, ain’t you?’

‘But how?’

‘When I die, they wont get much, my kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs.’

‘Or serial killing.’

‘You’d be surprised.’

‘Surprise me.’

The cabbie leans forward, speaking his sentence slowly. ‘I ‘ave a sponsor.’

‘You have a what?’

‘For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill, the better off they'll be. You see? It's nicer than you think.’

‘Who’d sponsor a serial killer?’

‘Who’d be a fan of Sherlock ‘olmes? You're not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There's others out there just like you, except you're just a man... and they're so much more than that.’

‘What do you mean, more than a man? An organisation? What?’ Grace questions.

‘There’s a name no one says, an’ I’m not gonna say it either. Now, enough chatter. Time to choose.’

‘What if we don’t choose? We could just walk out of here,’ Sherlock threatens.

‘You can take the chance, or I can shoot you both in the ‘ead.’ The cabbie lifts his pistol, aiming it directly at Sherlock. ‘Funnily enough, no one’s ever gone for that option.’ Grace and Sherlock share a glance momentarily, little smirks on their faces.

‘I’ll have the gun, please.’

‘I’ll take the gun too.’

‘You’re both sure?’

‘Definitely. The gun.’

‘You don’t want to phone a friend?’

‘The gun.’ The cabbie pulls the trigger but is quick to sigh after realising he’s been discovered. The pistol, not real, but a cigarette lighter instead. He tosses it to the side.

‘I know a real gun when I see one.’

‘None of the others did.’

Grace stands from her chair. ‘Clearly.’

‘Well, this has been very interesting. I look forward to the court case.’ Sherlock walks to the door but stops at the cabbie’s taunting.

‘Just before you go, did you figure it out? Which one’s the good bottle?’

‘Of course. Child’s play.’

‘Well, which one, then? Which one would you ‘ave picked, just so I know whether I could have beaten you? Come on! Play the game.’

‘Sherlock—’ Grace whispers warningly for only the tall man to hear. ‘Don’t fall for it.’

Sherlock ignores Grace, walking back over to the table, he picks up the bottle that is closest to the cab driver. Grace rolls her eyes. Could this man ever just listen? A bit hypocritical of her to think actually.

‘Oh, interesting. So, what d’you think? Shall we?’

Grace watches as both Sherlock and the cabbie take the pills out of the bottles. She is quick in her movements, walking over to Sherlock, grabbing his arm in an attempt to pull him towards the exit. ‘Sherlock, come on. It’s not worth it. We can have the pills tested if you’re so desperate to know.’

‘What do you think? Can you beat me?’ The cabbie continues to taunt, ignoring Grace. ‘Are you clever enough to bet your life? I bet you get bored, don’t you? I know you do. A man like you… So clever. But what’s the point of being clever if you can’t prove it? Still the addict.’

Sherlock was much stronger than Grace. Lifting his arm to inspect the pill under the light, her hands falling in the process. He didn’t even bat an eyelid, like she didn’t exist in that moment. Just a speck in an indifferent universe. Hopeless, little Grace, she couldn’t save the ones she loved, what makes her think she could save someone who chases the danger?

You think you can stop him? You think he cares about what you want? Nobody cares about you, never did, never will. Stop trying. Get over yourself. Pathetic, and weak, is all you are.

Shut up.

‘But this… this is what you’re really addicted to. You’ll do anything… anything at all… top stop being bored. You’re not bored now, are you? Innit good?’

Just as Sherlock was about to place the pill in his mouth, Grace understands that he truly will go through with this. Ignoring the voice in her head, the instincts kick in. She forcefully slaps the pill out of his hands. At the same time, a gunshot rings out and the cabbie falls to the floor.

Sherlock rushes over, inspecting the gunshot in the window. He steps are quick to carry him back over to Grace.

‘You’re not hurt?’ He asks, hands grabbing each of her shoulders. She shakes her head, unable to voice her thoughts as her heart pounds against her chest. The gunshot having startled her, unaware of any backup that had been heading their way.

Sherlock scurries around, finding the pill that had been slapped from his hand. He stands over the cabbie, holding it in front of his face. ‘Was I right? I was, wasn’t I? Did I get it right!?’ When he doesn’t receive a response, Sherlock harshly throws the pill at the dying man’s face. ‘Okay, tell me this. Your sponsor. Who was it? The one who told you about me, my fan? I want a name.’

‘No.’

‘Give us a name,’ Grace demands.

‘You're dying, but there's still time to hurt you. Give me a name.’ Sherlock presses his shoe to the cabbie’s gunshot wound when he continues to refuse. ‘A name! Now! The name!’

‘Moriarty!’ The cabbie screams in pain.

Moriarty?

‘I’m fine,’ Grace nudges the paramedics hands away from poking and prodding. ‘Please stop touching me.’ She watches as Sherlock speaks to Lestrade in front of another ambulance, the orange blanket around him a striking contrast to his dark hair and clothes.

‘We have to make sure you’re not injur—’

‘I’m not injured!’

She feels overloaded, overwhelmed in this moment. Her senses clashing with each other in an all-out war. The flashing lights were too much, the different conversations were too much. Grace wants to run away and hide and never come back. The whole ordeal so confusing.

She was doing fine. She was doing so much better until very recently. What has gone wrong? That’s the scary thing about depression. It creeps up on you so quickly, so unnoticeable, and then you can’t see yourself anymore. It’s no wonder Sherlock couldn’t deduce her; she doesn’t even know who she is at this very moment. She doesn’t think she’s known for a while if she’s being honest.

I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Just breathe. What can I see? What can I feel?

Grace’s eyes were trained on her hands, fingers picking at fingers in attempts to ignore all the heightened senses. A soft warmth falls over her coat-covered shoulders, looking up to find Sherlock has draped his ‘shock’ blanket over her.

‘For the shock.’

‘I’m not in shock.’

Sherlock grins, ‘I know.’

‘Thanks.’ Grace tries to smile at him, but her attempt falls short.

‘It’s very busy here. A lot happening…’

‘Yes, well, we did just catch a serial killer… sort of.’

‘There’s a good Chinese, Baker Street. Open till two. Should we see if John wants dinner? He’s a growing boy.’ He pokes fun at the doctor’s height.

Grace chuckles and looks up, directly into Sherlock’s icy irises. They were so cold but so warm, so inviting, yet so standoffish. She was stupid to think he wouldn’t realise, especially after the words of the thankfully now dead cab driver. This was Sherlock’s way of trying to help, to get her out of this situation that had made her fight or flight go off the rails. This was him… trying. ‘Chinese sounds good right now, I won’t lie.’ She stands, blanket falling off her shoulders and back into the ambulance.

Sherlock looks down at her shorter form with a soft expression. There was something about her head only reaching his chin that he found… endearing? And by Gods did he despise it. Who does she think she is to waltz into his life only a day ago and inspire such thoughts.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t read her earlier, he had discovered. It was that he had stopped himself from doing so subconsciously, as she reminded him of himself. And even he wasn’t immune to the fear of looking so deeply into oneself. Even he wasn’t immune to insecurity. She was as broken as he. She has learnt to put on a mask just like him. She was lonely, in a constant battle with herself. Grace was smart, and she was misunderstood. Sherlock knew the feeling better than anyone.

‘Come on.’ Sherlock and Grace walk over to John who stands behind some police tape. ‘Good shot.’

‘Yes. Yes, must have been, through that window.’

‘Well, you would know,’ Grace smirks.

‘Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don’t suppose you’d serve time for this, but let’s avoid the court case. Are you all right?’

‘Yes, of course I’m all right.’

‘Well, you have just killed a man.’

‘Yes, I… that’s true, innit?’ John looks up at Sherlock. ‘But he wasn’t a very nice man.’

‘No. No, he wasn’t really, was he?’

‘And frankly a bloody awful cabbie.’

‘That’s true. He was a bad cabbie. Should have seen the route he took us to get here.’ The trio start walking away from the scene, giggling.

‘Stop it! We can’t giggle, it’s a crime scene. Stop it.’

‘Well, you’re the one who shot him. Don’t blame us.’

‘Keep your voice down! Sorry, it’s just nerves, I think.’ John apologises to the passing Sally Donovan. ‘You were going to take that bloody pill, weren’t you?’

‘Course I wasn’t. Biding our time. Knew you’d turn up.’

‘No, you didn’t,’ Grace rolls her eyes. ‘You were going to take the pill.’

‘It’s how you get your kicks, isn’t it? You risk your life to prove you’re clever.’

‘Why would I do that?’

‘Because you’re an idiot.’

Sherlock smiles, ‘dinner?’

‘Starving.’

‘End of Baker Street, I was telling Grace, there's a good Chinese stays open 'til two. You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle.’

‘Sherlock, that’s him, that’s the man I was telling you about.’ John gestures towards a car. A tall, posh looking man in a suit climbs out.

‘I know exactly who that is.’

Grace watches onwards, completely confused. ‘I think I missed a chapter.’

‘So, another case cracked. How very public-spirited… though that’s never really your motivation, is it?’

Ah, sounds posh too. Must be the “archenemy” from earlier.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘As ever, I’m concerned about you.’

‘Yes, I’ve been hearing about your “concern.”’

‘Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?’

‘Oddly enough… no!’

‘We have move in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer… and you know how it always upset Mummy.’

‘I upset her? Me?’ Sherlock exclaims. ‘It wasn’t me that upset her, Mycroft.’

‘No, no, wait. Mummy? Who’s Mummy?’ John asks.

‘Mother. Our mother. This is my brother, Mycroft. Putting on weight again?’

‘Losing it, in fact.’

‘He’s your brother?!’

‘Of course he’s my brother.’

‘So, he’s not… some criminal mastermind?’

‘Close enough.’

‘For goodness’ sake. I occupy a minor position in the British Government.’

‘He is the British Government, when he’s not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis.’

‘Huh? I never heard of him,’ Grace mumbles.

‘What?’ Sherlock’s head snaps in her direction.

‘Nothing.’

‘Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home – you know what it does to the traffic.’ Sherlock storms off, Grace chuckles and follows him with John close behind.

‘So, it runs in the family then?’

‘What?’

Grace grabs the lapel of Sherlock’s coat playfully, pulling it to the side to expose his suit. ‘Weird names and an affinity for suits.’ She drops the coat back into place.

‘Shut up.’ He pretends to be annoyed but cannot help the smile that rises on his face.

‘So, dim sum?’ John brings up dinner.

‘I can always predict the fortune cookies.’

‘No, you can’t.’

‘Almost can. You did get shot, though.’

‘Sorry?’

‘In Afghanistan. There was an actual wound.’

‘Oh, yeah. Shoulder.’

‘Shoulder! I thought so.’

‘No, you didn’t.’

‘Left one.’

‘Lucky guess.’

‘I never guess.’

Grace cuts in, ‘yeah, you do. Gonna tell us what you’re so happy about?’

‘Moriarty.’

‘What’s Moriarty?’ John questions.

‘I’ve absolutely no idea.’

‘I don’t think I want to know, to be honest.’

‘Come on, Grace. Not the least bit curious?’

‘I might be after getting some food in my stomach, but right now I’m hungry and tired,’ Grace groans. ‘By the way, I’m crashing on your couch.’

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