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nevvdrinksteaa · 5 months

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favors pt. ii

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this is part two of this post, i suggest reading that before reading this!

this is my first time writing smut, so please don’t bully me too bad - that being said i honestly think i kinda killed it ngl

also,, i suggest listening to like real people do by hozier during the slow dance bc it was my inspo and it really helps set the scene

~~~

pairing: mike schmidt x reader

original prompt: you’re abby’s babysitter and mike can’t pay you and asks if there’s anything you can do in return and you mention that you need a date to your brother’s wedding

warnings: 18+ nsfw smut, cheating, pet names, afab!reader (p in v) unprotected sex, daddy kink, spitting, cum swapping, throat fucking, spanking, oral (male and female), praise kink, dirty talk, choking, etc etc

word count: 6k

this is NOT proof read so if there are any mistakes ignore them! i believe that anyone of any shape or size and anyone of color can enjoy this. i don’t believe there is any description of physical appearance other than the use of the word ‘curves’ (please please correct me if i’m wrong, i don’t want to make assumptions about anything!!)

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After some back and forth with himself, Mike decided to invite you over even though you didn’t need to babysit Abby. He wanted to talk about what he needed to wear to the wedding, what time to pick you up, and if you were staying overnight at the hotel so he could try to find a sitter for Abby. He’s never been to a wedding, not one that he can remember anyway. He wanted to make sure you were both on the same page and to him, texting everything just wouldn’t suffice.

Maybe that’s just what he kept telling himself. Maybe he just wanted to see you again. Maybe he wanted to ask you just how serious your relationship was. Is there any way he could squeeze in and replace your current partner? Could he do better than him? Make you cum harder and faster than him? He didn’t even know his name and he was so envious. Jesus, he needed to get a grip, he knew if you could hear his thoughts, you would hate him.

You were sat across from Mike, crisscrossed apple sauce style on the floor. You had a few loose papers, notes you had written last night to read off to the brown-haired boy. You were trying to make sure he was following along with the description of your family. You watched him make mental notes of everything you said, nodding every once and a while. You were nervous, to say the least, you hadn’t had a boyfriend meet your family in a while.

Your family was awful, complaining and nitpicking about everything in your life, nothing good enough for them. You were the oldest of your siblings and your cousins, but way behind in your career, you weren’t married, and you didn’t have any children. When you didn’t bring a date of some sort, they made sure to call you out on that, ‘Maybe it’s just something we’ll have to get used to’, ‘single again? No surprise there’. When you did bring a date it was the exact opposite, ‘You could do so much better’, ‘that’s the best you could do? We thought we raised you better’. It was quite embarrassing.

“My mom is going to be the most difficult, she is very hostile and she loves to pick everything I do apart.” Mike visibility gulped, nodding and making a mental note to limit his contact with your mom. “I think that’s everyone. We will probably need to do some hand-holding and some cheek kisses, some pet names maybe, but nothing that will make you uncomfortable, I already feel bad enough that I had to drag you to this and-”

Mike reached over and grabbed your hand that was resting on top of the coffee table, “Don’t worry about me. I’m a big boy, if I didn't want to do it I would've just said no. I want to help you”

You squeezed his hand, softly smiling at him. “I’m going shopping tomorrow morning for a dress, I’ll buy a tie for you while I’m out and drop it off once I’m finished if that’s okay?” you pick up your phone and keys off the table, standing up feeling the little shocks of electricity poke your legs after being in the same position for too long.

“Of course pretty girl, you can stop by whenever you want” Mike scolded himself, looking straight to the floor, regretting the words as soon as they came out of his mouth.

You look up from the pile of notes you collected, feeling the soft red form on your cheeks. Pretty…

“I’ll be back tomorrow, I’ll text you when I’m on my way,” you say as you walk towards the door, “Bye Abby!” you yell to the girl sitting at the dining table, knowing you won’t be getting a response back, shutting the door behind you. Pretty…

Pretty, Pretty, Pretty.

Those were your only thoughts as you got in your car, buckled in, and started to drive.

~~~

Mike tugged at the forest green tie you bought him trying to make the placement look presentable. Mike hated ties, associating ties with job interviews, sitting in uncomfortable chairs trying to look and sound better than he would be on his first day of the job, just to be there a few miserable weeks until he inevitably gets fired. Nothing good ever came from Mike wearing a tie and he was hoping that you were the solution to solving that problem.

He was combing his curls when he heard a knock at his door, “Abby, get the door, she’s here!”

He heard her desk chair slide against the floor, her little feet fast as lightning to get the door for you, giggling the whole way.

“Oh wow,” the younger sibling looks at you in awe “You look beautiful like a princess!”

“Awe, thank you, Abby” You walk through the doorframe, “Mike are you ready? We need to leave in the next ten if you want to drop Abby off and be on time!”

He walked out of the bathroom, flicking the light off as he exited and looking down the hall, about to tell his sister to put on her shoes he stopped in his tracks. He couldn’t look anywhere but you. ‘Fuck’ he thought, ‘you look so beautiful’ Your hair done just right, a matching green mid-length dress that was tight to your curves, hugging every inch of your body, strappy silver heels that he knew would make you slightly taller than his small frame. Abby was right, you do look like a princess.

You suddenly noticed Mike's eyes on you, pulling away from your conversation with Abby, feeling slightly bad for cutting off her story about her new robot animal friends. “Is everything okay?” Mike didn’t answer, zoned out in his thoughts, “Do I look that bad?”

Feeling super self-conscious, you start to fold your arms on your body, trying to hide as much as possible. Mike immediately notices your body language change.

“No, you look so beautiful. That dress fits you really well.” Mike spoke softly, afraid of looking anywhere other than your eyes as if you’d be able to read his mind if he looked away.

“Thank you, Mike, you don’t look so bad yourself.” You eyed him up and down, his brown curls more pronounced, uncommonly neat, and taken care of, his matching tie slightly crooked, a small white handkerchief pinned to the front. “Very handsome”

Abby pulled you both away from your thoughts, finding it silly that you both just stared at one another not really speaking in full sentences. “Why are you guys looking at each other like that, it’s weird.”

Mike looked away first, embarrassed that a child called him out, “Abs go put your shoes on and grab your stuff, we’re going to be late.”

“Can’t I just come with you guys? I’ll be good, I promise!”

“I’m sorry Abby, my brother doesn’t want any kids coming, this is an adult party,” you say trying to make her not feel so bad, “but I promise you’ll have so much fun at Vanessa’s, don’t tell her I told you her secret but she’s buying pizza AND cookies”

The younger sibling looked at you with big eyes and a toothy grin, scurrying off to her room, singing ‘pizza and cookies’ over and over until she made it to the doorway.

“Ready?” you asked Mike as you started following Abby to the car, Mike grabbed his wallet and locked the door behind him as he followed you to your car.

~~~

The car ride wasn’t as awkward as you thought it would be, at first it was small talk, Mike asking questions about your job and your boyfriend, Parker, and what he does for work.

You turned into childhood stories, you telling him about your first kiss, which was with your middle school boyfriend and you both came in way too fast. “There is no way you broke your tooth!” “I did, It took me three weeks of it missing before my parents could get an appointment for me to fix it.” you reply giggling, “I had the worst lisp and it was the most embarrassing time of my life.”

“I’m sure it was cute, I would have loved to see it”

“You would’ve laughed at me, my brother called me Mike Tyson for months, even after I fixed it.”

Mike chuckled as he turned into the venue, trying to find a parking space. The hour-long drive went by quickly. Now your nerves were starting to appear, seeing all of your perfect family congregating at the entrance and talking with each other, wearing expensive clothes, topped with expensive jewelry. Not ready for them to pick apart your looks, personality, and everything else that they can think of. Mike noticed your anxiety and grabbed your hand, squeezing it tightly.

“We could always go back if you want. We can sleep over at my house and order some Chinese food.”

“As great as that sounds, my brother would probably beat me up over me missing this” You squeezed Mike’s hand, “Let’s just go and get this over with.” You step out of the car and grab your purse, waiting for Mike at the front of the car, he collects his things and stands in front of you. You grab his tie, quickly straightening it. You finished and looked up at him, keeping your hands on his chest. You looked up to Mike, suddenly feeling embarrassed that you two were so close together.

You never noticed how nice Mike’s body was. He was always wearing something baggy, usually torn, his black suit was the nicest you’ve seen him in. ‘He was so handsome’ you thought. You pulled your hands from his chest, “Ready?”

Mike grabbed your hand, face turning a light shade of red at the intimate contact, interlacing both of your fingers together. Smiling to himself, “I’m ready”

~~~

The ceremony was beautiful. Everything seemed to go perfectly for your brother and his new wife, watching the two from the front row. Mike wrapped his hand around your waist during the vows, handing you his handkerchief after watching you shed a few tears. You leaned into the contact, feeling comfort in Mike’s arms. You stand up with everyone else and watch your brother and his wife walk hand in hand down the aisle, cheering and clapping loudly. After a few moments, you and Mike followed your family, grabbing his hand instinctively.

You find your seat at the table, set down your purse, and ask Mike if he wants a drink from the bar, making your way up front after he answers. You turn around with your drinks, stopping when you see your mom sitting next to Mike at your table.

‘Oh shit,’ you muttered to yourself, slowing your pace and hoping she’ll be gone by the time you make it back. You try to read her as you walk back, her face is soft as Mike speaks and suddenly they both start laughing. No one you’ve ever dated has ever made your mom laugh, she looked nice like that, you haven’t seen her like that since before her divorce.

You sit on the opposite side of Mike, handing him the glass. “Hi, Mom”

“Hi sweetheart, you look nice!”

“Thank you” You were stunned, you couldn’t remember the last time your mom complimented you.

“I was just talking to Mike, he’s the sweetest thing! He was just telling me about his sister. She sounds so cute.”

You looked over at Mike, who was smirking towards you. He stood up, telling you both he was going to find a bathroom, squeezing your shoulder softly as he left the table. You smiled at him and watched him walk away.

“I like him!” your mom finally spoke, once Mike got far enough away

“Really?”

“Of course, he’s handsome and he’s funny. He seems to like you. I think he’s a good fit for you,” you shivered at the nice comments from your mother, not often hearing such things. “You better not screw this one up.”

“Thanks, Mom, I won’t”

You smiled at her as she walked away telling you she was going to find your aunt to talk about how ugly the centerpiece arrangements your brother’s mother-in-law picked out were, you laughed, there was your mom.

You sat there alone with your thoughts. You were thinking about what would happen if you were actually with Mike. You could imagine coming home to him after work every morning, making him and Abby breakfast, and falling asleep with him after a long day. You don’t do that with Parker, you hardly see him, his job keeping him away from you for weeks at a time.

Mike sat back down, disrupting your thoughts. “How did I do?” motioning towards your mom, who was across the room rolling her eyes at something your aunt said.

“You did great, she really liked you. She didn’t say anything negative the whole time she was at the table!” Your eyes were wide, excited to tell Mike how the unusual interaction went.

Before he could reply, your brother and his wife walked into the room hand in hand, getting set in the middle of the dance floor to start the first dance. A slow song started to play, and they danced hand in hand, him twirling her around every once in a while. The song finished with a kiss, everyone cheering for them and they started to wave at everyone to come up and dance, the song changing to something more upbeat. You grab Mike’s hand, rushing to the middle of the room. You both started dancing, laughing at how bad dancers you both were.

Eventually, everyone was called back to the tables as dinner was about to start. You sat down next to Mike, taking a sip of your water, laughing about something he said as you both sat down.

“I’ve never danced like that before,” Mike said after finishing off his water, slightly out of breath

“God, me either. I’m exhausted and my feet hurt”

“You want me to rub them for you baby?”

“Maybe later,” you winked, smirking towards him.

Mike smirked back, knowing that he would hold you to that. He watched you all night, watching the way you danced, swaying your body to the beat of every song, slight sweat growing on your body, the way your eyes squinted and you threw your head back every time someone said something funny. You looked so beautiful and in your element, comfortable and confident.

~~~

After dinner you walked up to the DJ, whispering a request for him. He smiled, picked up a mic, and started to tap on it lightly, grabbing everyone’s attention.

“ladies and gentlemen, with dinner wrapping up, I’d like to slow it down just a little bit”

Like Real People Do by Hozier started playing.

Mike watched you walk back to the table, standing next to him putting your hand on his shoulder. “may I have this dance, sir?” you say holding out your hand, giggling to Mike.

“of course, m’lady,” Mike says, holding your hand and leading the way to the floor. He took one of your hands in his, his other one holding tightly on your waist. You both start to sway with the music, looking towards Mike who starts to speak.

“I think we’re going to be the only ones to dance to this song.” You looked around noticing everyone still placed in their seats, eyes glued toward you both.

You nodded, staying silent and continuing to move around. You move both of your hands up to his neck, interlocking your fingers behind his head, him holding you close at his waist.

You just stared at him in disbelief, days ago you remembered him telling you he doesn’t dance. Now here he was, slow dancing to your favorite song in front of your entire family. He looked into your eyes, they were softer than you’ve ever seen them. He looked comfortable, happy, relaxed. He looked towards your lips, licking his own.

‘Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips,

we should just kiss like real people do.’

Using all the confidence you built tonight, you leaned your head forward to Mike’s, kissing him softly. Mike didn’t waste a moment, kissing you back with so much passion. This was the best kiss you’ve ever had. You both grinned at each other as you pulled away. You stepped closer to him, resting your head on his chest. All you could think about was his lips on yours, how you wanted this moment forever.

“Thank you for coming, I’m having a great time, and my family really likes you”

“I’m glad I could help, I’d do anything for you”

The song finished and you reluctantly pulled away from Mike, you heard a few people clap and you looked up from his gauze, noticing your family was grinning, smiling, throwing a few thumbs up in your direction. You laughed and bowed towards everyone, walking back towards the table.

“You want to go back to the hotel room?” Mike asked, taking the cue from a few of the other guests grabbing their belongings and saying their goodbyes.

“Yeah, let’s go” You grab your stuff and head up to the table where your brother and his best man are sitting, telling him to stand up to hug you goodbye.

You hugged your brother, giving him congratulations as you did so. He whispered in your ear before he let go. “I like him a lot more than Parker”

You just smiled and held a finger to your lips. “I do too but don’t spill my secrets”

You grabbed Mike's hand and walked to the front of the venue, he stopped you outside, bending down to take off your shoes knowing they weren’t very comfortable anymore. The small action makes you blush, thinking about how kind it was of him to remember the conversation from earlier. He held onto your shoes for you the entire walk down to the car, the cold grass feeling cool on your skin. He opened the car door for you, waiting for you to get in before shutting the door for you.

You were in our own world as he drove down the road to the hotel. You were thankful that Mike was here with you, you couldn’t imagine yourself being with anyone else right now and that was a problem. You had a someone else, who right now didn’t exist to you, and you racked your brain on the best way to end it. You in good conscience, couldn’t continue your relationship with Parker, ready to end it with a quick text right then and there and deciding to at least wait until the morning.

“Your brain okay?” Mike jokes, pulling you from your thoughts, “You’re thinking way to hard about something over there and you better not let it ruin your night, you’re mean when you’re cranky”

You giggle, looking into his coffee colored eyes, getting super serious grabbing his hand and squeezing, “Nothing could ruin tonight”

~~~

You threw yourself down on the bed, lying down while mumbling something about needing a shower. Mike set the overnight beds on the table in the corner of the room.

“You can take the first shower if you want Mike, I might take a nap while I wait”

Mike chuckled and started to collect his things for the shower, glancing over at you, laying on your back with your feet hanging off the bed, hand over your eyes to cover the light in the room.

Mike was sad the night was over, wanting to continue to be close to you in every way imaginable. He saw the strap of your dress had fallen on one side, the dress slightly raising higher and higher on your thighs with every swing of your legs.

“You know,” Mike started, You pulled your arm away from your face, turning your whole body to look at him, humming in response, “that massage is still on the table if you want one.”

You felt your body get hot, the thought of Mike rubbing all over your body started to turn you on, and you felt butterflies form in the pit of your stomach.

“If you’re willing, I wouldn’t turn you down.”

Mike moved across the room embarrassingly quickly, wanting to touch you before you changed your mind. You chuckled at his eagerness, knowing he wanted this as much as you did.

“Lie down on your stomach, I’ll give you the best massage of your life.”

You flip over on your stomach, arms crossed with your head resting on top of them. Your breath hitches when you feel Mike’s hand touch your calf, putting pressure down with his thumb making small circles.

You felt yourself relax at his touch, every grip of his hands pushing you into a frenzy. You hummed when you felt his hands move from your calf to your thigh, his grip getting stronger and tighter when he realized you weren’t going to stop him.

Mike heard your soft moans as he pressed into your skin. He loved hearing your sounds, he felt himself growing hard in his bottoms knowing he was making you feel so good. He moved to your back starting from the bottom of your back, headed towards your shoulder blades.

You leaned up to sit on your knees, making Mike stop in his tracks.

“Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?” seeing Mike upset and immediately thinking the worst, you put a comforting hand on his arm.

“No, it felt amazing, I just felt like something was in the way” You reach behind you, gripping the zipper of your dress and slowly pulling it down. You slipped the straps of the dress down, the top of the dress slipping below your breasts. You looked up at Mike, his eyes hooded and glossed over. ‘holy shit’ he says low, so low you can barely hear it.

“What's wrong baby, you’ve never seen boobs before?” You see the clogs in his brain turning, trying to form words, occasionally looking down from your face to take a quick glance at your exposed nipples, hardening in the cold air.

He leaned down to your face, his lips barely glazing yours, one hand coming up to cup your cheek, his other hand reaching to pinch your nipple, rolling it between his fingers. “Is this okay?”

You nod in response leaning forward, closing the gap between you two, kissing him with so much need. You let your hands travel to the buttons on his shirt, finishing and sliding the top down his shoulders.

Mike was quick, thinking about this moment one too many times, thinking about your boyfriend and how he’s going to make you forget about him, thinking about if this were the only opportunity he would ever get he would make sure to go all out, making sure you dream about him the way he does you.

He pulls away and pushes you down on the bed, he pulls the dress down your legs removing it the rest of the way and tossing it down to the floor. “Tell me if anything gets to be too much.”

“Fuck, you’re so sexy.” He toys with the lace on your underwear, leaning down to plant kisses on your thighs.

You feel his fingers move down to touch your clothed clit, rubbing softly. You push your hips up, feeling your body feel with need, wanting more.

You lace your fingers in his hair as he starts to leave hickeys on your sensitive thighs. “Fuck Mike I need-” You take a deep breath unable to formulate words.

Mike looks up from his place on your thighs, moving his head towards your pussy. “Tell me what you need, pretty girl.”

The name sent butterflies in every part of your body, you could feel yourself growing needier every second passed by. Your nipples were painfully hard and you could feel how soaked you were through your underwear. He continued to rub your clit, underwear molding to your shape.

You took a deep breath, tears starting to form at the corners of your eyes “Please more, I need you to touch me, however you want. just need more”

Mike pulled your underwear to the side, finally touching you, fingers falling from your clit to your dripping hole. “Look at this pretty pussy, s’all wet just for me?”

He pulled his finger away and placed it in your mouth, “Suck” You leaned forward sucking his fingers with everything you had, swirling your tongue around.

Mike looked up from your pussy, peeping up from his eyelashes to watch you suck his fingers. He was painfully hard, thinking about your mouth around his cock, eyes full of tears and drool dripping from your swollen lips.

He leaned down to lick from your hole to your clit, taking his time. He wanted you to know that you were the only thing on his mind, and you did, he started to eat you out like he was starved and this was his last meal. pulling you close until his hands gripped your thighs so hard you were sure to have bruises, nose rubbing your clit, everything adding up to the knot in your stomach.

“Fuck baby, you taste so fucking good. Could taste this pussy every fucking day.” You tugged on his curls harder, each word spurring you on, getting you closer and closer.

“Fuck baby, I’m so close”

He hummed and added a finger to your tight hole “You going to cum for me, baby? Cum on my mouth like a good girl, so good for me”

Your thighs squeezed him as you came, letting out a loud moan. He continued to lick and suck, drawing your orgasm out longer. It started to become too much and you pulled him back to face you. You kissed him, feeling his wet stubble on your face, reaching your hand down to his pants and rubbing your fingers over his clothed cock.

With shaking hands you started to undo his belt, flipping you both over until you were between his thighs. Pulling his pants down, Mike kicked them off, and you stared at him in awe at his size. You took him in his hand, starting to rub slowly, not breaking eye contact.

He grabbed your face, and squeezed your cheeks together, forcing your mouth open “Can I?” You stuck your tongue out in response, eyes full of lust.

Suddenly a long trail of spit left his and entered yours, “Use it, pretty girl” You kept your mouth sitting up on your knees to get face to face with his cock, and you let the mixture of spit fall from your mouth, making a mess on his lap. Your hand started to move quicker with the added lube, you leaned forward. Licking from the bottom all the way to the top, one of your hands leaving his thighs to make your way to his balls. You started to tease him and sucked only the tip, Mike's hips jerked forward in response, forcing you to take more in your warm mouth.

You started to pick up your pace, taking in as much as you possibly could his groans spurred you on to take even more, “‘s so fucking sexy seeing my dick in your mouth, want to fuck that throat so bad” He collected your hair into a makeshift ponytail, grip tight. You pulled off looking above you to see Mike’s tightly closed eyes, your hand replacing your lips, keeping pace with what you made with your mouth.

“Do it”

Mike opened his eyes quickly, “Are you sure?”

“Stand up and fuck my throat baby, ‘s alright”

Mike stood upright, keeping his grip on your hair as you shifted your body around to get comfortable.

“Just smack my leg if it gets to be too much pretty girl”

You nodded in response, wasting no time opening your mouth for his cock, placing both hands on his legs, gripping tight in preparation for what was about to come.

Mike went right to work, shoving in and out quickly, getting spurred on by the tears and sounds coming from you. Pushing your head back and forth in a bobbing motion, gagging every time he pressed as deep as possible.

“Look so pretty with my dick in your mouth” He pulled your mouth off him, and you moved your hand from his thigh to stroke him. He took a moment to look at your cockdrunk expression. Lips puffy, tear-stained cheeks, your chest breathing in and out heavily. “You going to let me cum in your mouth baby? Tell me, pretty girl, tell me what you want”

He felt your grip on his dick tighten, you moved one of your hands to touch yourself over your lace panties, feeling your wetness soaked through at his words. “Yes sir, want your cum in my mouth.”

You went right back to work, lips wrapping tightly around his dick. You gave him head as your life depended on it, needing to see how he looked while he came, what sounds he’d make, what mess he'd make.

You started to feel Mike’s hips falter, his once strong movements becoming staggered and you knew he was close. “Fuck- I’m coming. Fucking take it.” You looked up at him, dick pressed far down your throat, feeling the hot liquid start to seep out the sides of your mouth. “Swallow all of it. That’s my good girl”

Mike let go of the grip on your hair and pulled out of your mouth, wincing at the overstimulation. He pulled you up to lay on your back on the bed, leaning over you. You watched Mike’s fingers on your thigh, collecting the spilled cum that fell from your mouth, and placing them in his mouth. The salty liquid kept in his mouth until he leaned his lips towards yours, you opened your mouth with anticipation. A long string of cum filled spit falling into your eager mouth, gulping instinctively.

“Had to make sure you swallowed all of it” he murmured before pressing his lips roughly to yours. You laced your fingers around his neck, pulling him down further, needing to be closer to him. You moaned when he pulled away to start kissing your neck, sucking and biting to mark you up. He pulled your underwear off and started to rub his dick against you, feeling your hips joining him in the motions.

You were in a state of bliss, never even thinking this feeling was a possibility. Mike handling you like his own personal fuck toy, marking you up to show you off, his cock grinding against your clit like he was going to cum just like that. You push him off of you, flipping him over to get on top, straddling his thighs. You lined his dick up to your entrance, going at a slow pace to adjust to his size, stopping to steady yourself when you got to the end, hands on his chest with your eyes closed.

Mike was patient, as much as he wanted to destroy you and your tight pussy, he wanted you to feel good. He kept one hand on your hip, keeping you steady, moving the other one to your clit, trying to help get you comfortable. Almost immediately you moaned and started to move your hips, painfully slow up and down.

“You look so beautiful like this, stuffed full of my cock.” Mike’s hands moved to your hips, helping you move faster and faster. With your pretty tits in his face and your tight cunt wrapped around him, eyes rolling back in your head and your moans loud enough the entire hotel could hear you.

“Fuck daddy, you feel so fucking good” Mike groaned at your voice. The name causes him to rut his hips up to meet yours, causing you to fall forward, holding onto his shoulders. His pace was fast and rough, hands in a tight grip on your sides, nibbling on your neck as he pounds into you, bringing you closer and closer to your orgasm. “You going to cum on daddy’s cock? Let me feel you, baby, show me how good I make you feel.”

“Gonna cum daddy, s’ fucking good” You moan in his ear, nails digging into his skin as you come undone, mumbling a string of thank yous. Mike’s movements start to slow down, trying to give you a moment to recover.

With your breath heavy, you bring your lips to Mike’s as you slowly pull off of him. You pull away from the kiss and both hiss at the loss of contact, you sit up on your knees, locking your eyes with his own.

“Want you to bend me over,” Your voice is soft as you slowly start to bend over, arching your back “and make me take it hard.”

He is quick to get behind you, taking his dick in his hands and rubbing it up and down your wet slit. “my pretty fucking pussy” You push back at his teasing movements, clit pulsing and eyes rolling back.

“Mike please”, you beg. He brings his hand down and suddenly you feel a sharp sting on your ass, yelping in surprise. “Come on pretty girl, you can do better than that.”

“Daddy please, I need you- need your cock. Need you to fill me up and-” Your words were cut off, Mike pushing deep into you, moving quickly, causing you to lose your breath.

He grabs your hips and starts to pull you back onto him as he slams deep inside, hitting that spot inside you. “Fuck baby, taking it so good for me”

He grabs your hair in his hands, pulling your back to be flush to his chest. He nibbles at your earlobe and places his hand on your neck, squeezing lightly.

The feeling was unbearable, the room filled with deep breaths and skin on skin. Goosebumps cover your skin as Mike’s grip on your throat gets tighter. You could feel your orgasm approaching, tears forming in your eyes.

“Taking me so well baby” You moan, his praise pushing you closer. “Tight little pussy fits so well around my cock”

“Fuck- ‘m cumming” You feel your body unravel, thighs shaking as you start to see spots. Mike lets you go and you fall forward. He gives you three deep thrusts before his pace starts to fall, signaling he’s close. “Me too baby, me too”

He gives one last deep push and releases deep inside you. You both lay there for a few moments, panting and euphoric. He groans as he pulls out and you turn to lie on your side, watching him as he walks to the bathroom. He comes back with a warm washcloth, wiping you down. He sets it on the table once he’s finished and sits down beside you, moving your head so it can rest in his lap as he starts to play with your hair.

You lean up to kiss him, biting his lip as you pull away, smiling to yourself as you notice he’s growing hard again. You stand up, legs slightly wobbly. “Care to join me?” you smirked towards him as you sauntered towards the bathroom, hips slightly swinging. Mike watches as you walk away, eyes lingering all over your body. You turned to face him as you reached the doorway, waiting for him to follow you.

“We’re definitely going to take advantage of the late checkout” He chuckles as he stands from his spot to start round two in the shower.

#mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt #mike schimdt x reader #fnaf #josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson smut #nev writes

328 notes · View notes

floralpascal · 8 months

Note

Hiii I love you work of Frankie <3 a request if you’re up for it, since I love your writing style and how you present him hehe

Something inspired by Billie’s Bossa Nova lines:

“You better lock your phone,

And look at me when we’re alone,

Won’t take a lot to get you going,

I’m sorry if it’s torture though,

I know I know”

Idk I see a shy Frankie and reader tilting his face towards her with her finger and whispering in his ear and sksksk go crazy please

You're an absolute genius for this idea! I love this song sooo much and my mind went wild with incorporating it into the story. I absolutely did not expect it to take this long or to write this much when I started. I also didn't expect this to turn into smut but here we are! I hope you like it!!

Bossa Nova

Summary: You and Frankie are both head-over-heels for each other... only neither of you realize the other is interested. When Santi sets you both up with mystery dates, you're both surprised to find that Santi has set you up with each other.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Word Count: 6.3k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Warnings: kissing, fingering, protected p-in-v sex, creampie

You shouldn’t have told Santi about it. You should’ve just kept your mouth shut. But how were you supposed to know that your vent session would lead to this?

The crux of the issue was that your dating life was beyond fruitless. Date after date, it always went the same. Either the spark wasn’t there, the conversation was as easy as pulling teeth, or the guy wouldn’t get off his damn phone long enough to genuinely interact with you. It had left you feeling more than a little frustrated. Had every good guy already been snatched up and now all you had to pick from were the leftovers?

Or was it you? Was it the fact that the only guy you wanted to go on a date with was Santi’s best friend? You had been introduced to Frankie at one of Santi’s infamous cookouts. The same night that Santi had accidentally burnt your hamburgers to a crisp, you had met the sweetest man in the world. He had been quiet back then, the conversation a bit awkward. But after multiple nights out with Frankie, Santi, and the Miller brothers, you had slowly gotten to know Frankie better. And damn it he was driving you insane. Despite how down bad you were for him, it never went anywhere.

Of course the one guy you wanted didn’t feel the same.

“There’s just no single guy out there who actually wants to talk,” you lamented to your friend, Santi, one day. You hadn’t meant to rant like this when you had invited him over for dinner so the two of you could catch up. But after he asked how your last date had gone, a quizzical eyebrow raised from across the kitchen table, you hadn’t been able to stop from telling him. You continued, “No one even seems to care to be on the date at all. It’s like they don’t have anything better to do, so going on a date with me is their next best option, you know?”

Santi — who had been listening to your rant sympathetically for about five minutes — suddenly scrunched his eyebrows before a scheming smile slowly spread across his lips.

You knew that look from a mile away.

“No, no, no!” You warned preemptively. “Whatever crazy idea you just had: no.”

“What if I said I knew a great guy who’s single and thoughtful and would be perfect for you?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes. Of course he would try to set you up. “Santi, no. I appreciate it but I’m done with the dating scene. I’ve embarrassed myself enough. I give up.”

He shook his head, that annoying grin still plastered to his face as he pointed his fork at you. “Nope, no quitter talk. I’m telling you, you’ll love this guy. I can’t believe I never realized how perfect you’d be for each other before now!”

“Santi-”

“Uh-uh. This is happening. You’re free on Friday, right? You’re going on a date with him. It’s a crime that you haven’t already.”

“What’s his name?” You asked. “You haven’t even said who it is.”

Santi shook his head again, saying, “That’s gonna be a surprise.”

You tried to explain that you were over the disappointment of dating and that going out with a mystery guy didn’t sound much more promising than any of your past dates. But it didn’t matter. Santi had set his mind on it.

“He’s been having bad luck on dates just like you have,” he explained as he whipped out his phone, presumably sending a text to the guy about this arrangement.

“Santi, seriously, I don’t know about this…”

“What’s the matter?”

“Usually when dates go bad, the one bright side is that I know I’ll never see the guy again. I don’t know him or anyone else that knows him, so there won’t be any fallout when things go bad. Won’t it be weird for us and you if things don’t go well?”

He shook his head with decisive confidence before clicking his phone off. “That’s the thing, it won’t go badly. I’m telling you, it’ll be the best date of your life. You’ve got to trust me on this. It’s gonna be great.”

You looked at the ceiling, mulling this all over as you tapped the edge of your empty plate. Almost completely fed up with the idea of dating, the last thing you wanted was another failed date. But Santi was dead-set on it and seemed to truly believe it was something that could work. And simply waiting for love to come your way was getting both boring and disheartening.

After considering everything for a moment, you asked, “He’s not going to be some murderous creep, right?”

Santi beamed, seemingly taking your question as confirmation that you were interested in the date. “Nah, you’ll love him. I trust him with my life.”

You raised an eyebrow. Santi wasn’t the kind of man who said that he trusted someone with his life unless he really meant it.

Bing!

Santi looked down at his phone before smiling up at you again. “He’s in. How does Friday at seven sound?”

“I said no.”

Santi had been on Frankie’s ass for days now. When Frankie had gotten that text from him a few days ago — You down for a date with a nice, cute friend of mine? — he hadn’t known the headache that would ensue when he turned the offer down. Santi refused to tell him who the date was with, asserting that he would love the mystery woman. Unsatisfied with Frankie’s rejection, Santi had hounded him every day since, even going so far as to show up at his house today out of the blue. Frankie had heaved a long-suffered sigh when he saw Santi’s red Jeep pull up his driveway.

“Come on, Fish,” Santi groaned, exasperatedly following Frankie around his dimly lit garage as he worked on his truck. “She’s pretty, she’s funny, she’s bold. I’m telling you, you’ll both hit it off.”

Frankie merely sighed as he sifted around his toolbox for a socket. He hadn’t had much luck in the dating department for years. Either the woman he was with didn’t seem to be that interested in him or it got too awkward as the conversation petered out. The best stories he had were Army stories, but those didn’t tend to go over well with dates. He was a man who was rough around the edges, simple, middle aged, and quieter than most. In short, he didn’t think he was much for anyone to get excited about anyways. He wasn’t the kind of guy that wowed someone on a blind date.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go on the date, it was the fact that he wanted more than a date. He wanted something real. A love that gripped his soul, that left him spinning, that left him losing his bearings. Maybe he wasn’t a sentimental man, but he was a bit of a hopeless romantic at heart. He just didn’t think that any of that stuff was ever meant for him, and that made every failed date even more painful.

In reality, Frankie hated how he felt after every failed date. It tanked his self-esteem more than he cared to admit. He didn’t think he could take it again. It didn’t help that — when it came to dating — Frankie was on the shyer side. Though, maybe that had something to do with the whole self-esteem issue, too. At one point in his life, he had been much more confident in the dating area. However, after a few decades, a couple of failed serious relationships, and plenty of terrible dates, that confidence was quickly waning.

What made it worse was that the woman he really wanted was so unattainable it hurt. Every time he saw you at one of Santi’s cookouts or a night out at the bars, he felt that familiar pang in his chest. You were the opposite of Frankie, so confident and funny and gorgeous. Every time your hand brushed over his arm his heart almost gave out. Every time you smiled, he couldn’t look away. When you were in the room, you were the center of his attention, no matter how hard he tried to pay attention to anything else. The fact was that no other woman on any date had ever made him feel like you did. No other woman was ever you.

It was that thought that had caused him to tell Santi no. He was sure the mystery woman was pretty and funny and whatever else Santi said, but the fact of the matter was that she wasn’t you. It didn’t matter that you didn’t seem to be interested in Frankie like that, he had fallen for you all the same. And now he couldn’t seem to be interested in anyone else.

“What else do I have to say, man?” Santi questioned, practically pleading as Frankie finally closed his hand around the cool metal of the socket he had been looking for.

“Nothing,” Frankie responded, trying not to sound as down as he felt. “It’ll end just like all the others. I’m just not interested.”

He hated to let down his best friend, especially when he seemed so invested in this idea, but it was just too much for Frankie. After his last date, he had deleted all the dating apps from his phone and called it quits. He hadn’t told Santi this both because of how lame he would sound and because he knew that he would try to set him up exactly like this. Santi, being as extroverted as he was, knew a lot of women and once he started setting Frankie up, he wouldn’t stop until Frankie found someone.

What Santi didn’t understand was that he had already fucked up Frankie’s love life enough when he introduced him to you that first night on his back deck. From that moment on, Frankie hadn’t been interested in anyone else. Whoever had come up with the term falling in love had been right because meeting you had felt almost exactly like a helicopter going down in a tailspin. One second, all was fine. The next, he was hurtling toward the ground.

He couldn’t tell Santi that he was madly in love with you either. It would only make things even worse when Santi inevitably meddled. Frankie didn’t think he would survive embarrassment like that, especially when you were much too good for him. Like there was any way in hell you felt the same as he did.

“You’re both so goddamn stubborn,” Santi groaned to himself before taking a breath and pressing at his brow. Frankie slid underneath his truck again and started to work. For a moment, he actually thought he had won this dispute, Santi uncharacteristically quiet as he leaned against the old frame of the truck. But after a beat of silence, Santi sighed and called pointedly, “You know what? It doesn’t matter. I’ve already told her you’ll meet her at seven tonight.”

Without thinking, Frankie leaned up and cried, “You what-?” before promptly smacking his head against the metal above him. He scooted out from under the truck, holding his head and cursing. When he found that he didn’t have any serious injury, he trained his fury on Santi again. “Dude? Seriously?”

Santi, who was holding back from laughing at Frankie’s outburst, simply put his hands up. “I knew you were gonna pull this shit, so I told her you’d already said yes.”

A barrage of questions ran through his mind. Why would you do that? Why didn’t you mention that at the start? How do I get out of this now? However the only question he was able to get out was, “What the fuck, man?”

“You’ve gotta trust me on this one, Fish! You can’t back out now.”

Frankie grumbled, “I never even agreed to be in this.”

Santi simply continued on, seemingly ignoring him at this point. “It’s at that one grill place on the West side of town that Benny likes. You still have that shirt you wore to Benny’s birthday dinner? Wear that one. It’s not too formal but it looks good.”

“Fine. Fine. I’ll do it. But when this goes sideways, it’s on you.”

“When this goes perfectly,” Santi countered, “you better make me best man at the wedding.”

Frankie didn’t know how to tell him that he’d be lucky to even make it through the date, let alone get to anything resembling a relationship.

“You’re really gonna do it?” Santi asked skeptically. “You’re not lying?”

Frankie sighed as he defeatedly tossed his socket back into the open toolbox, letting it loudly clang against the contents of the box. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice in this situation. “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

Santi beamed before clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re gonna thank me for this tomorrow.”

“Sure,” Frankie replied, sarcasm dripping from the word. If anything, he thought he would be embarrassed beyond belief tomorrow after Santi would inevitably ask how it went.

Fuck. Frankie didn’t think he had it in him to go through all the disappointment again. Much less to have his best friend see it.

As Santi went to leave, he yelled over his shoulder, “Oh, and she’s not scared away by Army stories either. I’ve already told her plenty.”

Frankie’s stomach sank. “You didn’t tell her about the time I was drunk in Texas, did you?”

Santi only gave him an evil smile as he continued to back away, shrugging. “She thought it was funny.”

Later that night, Frankie sat at a table at Nino’s Bar & Grill, clad in the blue button-down Santi insisted he wear as he anxiously waited for his mystery date to arrive. In the hours since Santi had first roped him into this date, the man had never stopped texting him about her, all the while keeping her identity a secret. His insistence that this would be the best date ever had Frankie somewhat dreading the ultimate letdown that was coming.

Hell, she was already ten minutes late. Maybe, he thought, she had already spared him from the date by standing him up. It certainly wouldn’t be the worst end to a date that he’d ever had.

Suddenly, a text came through from Santi. Frankie stared at it, reading it again and again but it was just as confusing every time.

Did you seriously think I hadn’t noticed the way you look at her?

After a second, he sent back a simple: What??

He sighed as he looked at his watch again. Maybe he should just go home, crack open a beer, and get back to work on his truck. It didn’t seem like-

“Frankie?”

His attention snapped up from the tabletop to find a gorgeous woman standing above him, the sunset shining through the windows behind her like a colorful halo. She stared at him questioningly, almost in awe.

You. It was you.

He had never thought that those scenes in movies where a guy was tongue-tied seeing a woman was actually something that could happen until his mind was blank and mouth ajar.

Finally, he said your name, practically dumbstruck. “W-what are you doing here?”

You simply laughed sweetly — a beautiful, almost heart-stopping sound. “I, um… I think I may be here for the same reason you are.”

All at once, the reality of everything hit him. Santi. His insistence about this date. The text. Santi knew. He had set this whole thing up because he had known this whole time how Frankie felt about you.

Suddenly, all of Santi’s glowing descriptions of you clicked into place, all of them true and none of them doing you justice. Now, Santi saying that you were pretty felt like a hell of an understatement. He knew that, somewhere, that smug son of a bitch was incredibly proud of himself. Not that Frankie could quite blame him right now.

“Did you know?” Frankie asked, rising from his seat to stand in front of you.

You shook your head. “No. It seems like we were both in the dark here. But… I’m definitely not upset about it now.”

It was at this last part that your eyes met his again, hopeful and searching.

And just like that, in a mere twenty seconds, his whole world tipped on its head. The force of it would have knocked him clean off his feet if he let it — and he nearly did. If he hadn’t already been sure that he was indeed awake, he wouldn’t have quite believed it was really happening. It hit his system like a drug, the new wave of adrenaline filling his head with static. This static wasn’t the absence of thought — not anymore. No, now his head was filled with way too many all at once, each fighting to be heard until there was nothing but chaotic noise.

Then, over it all came a clear fact: you felt the same. Tonight was the chance he never thought he would have. Suddenly, his whole outlook on this date was changed.

“Me, too.” With a small burst of confidence, he admitted, “I… there’s no one else I would’ve wanted to have this with.”

The smile that bloomed on your face was as blinding as the beautiful sunset behind you.

Frankie guided you to your seat, pulling it out for you. Before you sat, you grazed your soft hand across his forearm as you thanked him, the touch sweet and electric.

Remember to fucking breathe, Frankie told himself.

As he made his way back to his seat, you spoke again, “I’m so, so sorry I was late! Traffic was terrible.”

Frankie — who was sure you were worth waiting for — assured you that it was no problem.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that this was different. You were different from anyone he had ever been on a date with. He couldn’t put a finger on exactly what it was that made you feel so… special.

“So,” he started, trying not to sound as breathless as he felt, “can I buy you a drink?”

You nodded with a smile, giving him a knowing look. “I know you’re a beer man. How about an order for two?”

Goddamn. For the first time in a long time, Frankie felt himself getting his hopes up.

You didn’t think you would ever be able to forgive Santi for this. You had known him for three years and he hadn’t set you up with Frankie like this sooner. All those terrible dates could have been avoided if Santi had just meddled in both of your love lives from the start.

Frankie was ridiculously handsome, endlessly sweet, and not nearly as quiet as he tended to be at Santi’s get-togethers. He had an easy sort of humor, one that was simple yet had you laughing seemingly without even trying. While you had both always just clicked, talking with him tonight made it feel as if you had known each other forever. You were only three hours in and this was already the best date of your life.

The fact that you thought the words only three hours into the date blew your mind. For a long time now, a three hour long date usually had you wishing for the quickest way out. You couldn’t wait to leave the train wreck that it usually was. Now? Three hours didn’t feel like nearly enough. You felt like you were just barely scratching the surface of Frankie, his life, his past. You loved every second you had with him in a way you never thought possible.

You had both quickly fallen into an easy rhythm with each other, all polite questions and light humor. While he was incredibly nice, you never felt as if he was putting on a persona. He was genuine, a trait that was both refreshing and intriguing. With Frankie, what you see is what you get, Santi had once told you. He had been telling the truth. And, damn, you liked what you saw.

Over the hours, your conversation shifted, turning from testing questions into old stories. Frankie, as you already knew, was a great storyteller. Not only was he giving you some seriously embarrassing stories of Santi that had you rolling, he had pictures to back his stories up. For the first time, you were happy to see your date whip out his phone. The pictures were from decades ago and the young, beardless Frankie that looked back from those photos made you smile. He had aged, you mused as you studied his face beside you, like a fine wine. Older and more rugged, but all the more attractive for it.

You slowly slid your chair around to get a better view of his phone inch by inch until you were sat next to him, your thighs touching each other. As he showed you a particularly tame picture of his friends from the army — Santi and the Miller brothers ever present — you could see by the pink that suddenly dusted his cheeks that he was aware of your thigh against his, too. While he didn’t say anything about it, you noticed the way he leaned against you ever so slightly.

He flicked to another photo, one that immediately caught your attention.

“Frankie,” you mused, “You’re so handsome!”

The photo he had flipped to was obviously a more recent one. He stood next to Will, both of them clad in disheveled white button-ups, ties undone around their collars, as they smiled at the camera. An out-of-place weathered ball cap sat on top of Frankie’s head, his curls poking out the bottom. His favorite Standard Oil hat. While out of place, it was fitting for him — a piece that blatantly showed something uniquely him. The final thing that drew your eye, however, was the several undone buttons that led down his front, exposing the tanned plane of his chest.

“Oh. I didn’t- I forgot that was-” he stuttered for a moment. He let out a nervous chuckle before explaining, “This was Will’s wedding. After the wedding, as you can see.”

You smiled. It was endearing the way he had been thrown off guard by this.

“You look ridiculously handsome,” you reiterated, looking at him pointedly.

Frankie flushed under the compliment again, his breathing noticeably picking up. “I- uh- thanks. I had the shirt tailored. And the pants-”

You giggled a bit, drawing his attention to you. Leaning close to his ear, you took a risk as you sweetly whispered, “The suit was nice, but I was talking about you. And the second compliment? I meant that you look ridiculously handsome tonight, too.”

Stunned, he simply held your gaze for a moment, plush pink lips slightly parted as you pulled back to look at him. He looked down at his hands as he mumbled a thank you, a bewildered smile on his lips. Obviously, he wasn’t used to such compliments.

Taking another risk, you brought the tip of your finger to the underside of his chin. Coarse hair tickled your skin as you brought his wide gaze up to yours.

“I mean it,” you assured, your finger dropping so that you could lay it on his shoulder.

“And I mean it when I say you’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.” He said it breathlessly, your small gestures seemingly overwhelming his ability to breathe. His eyes were on you, wide and bare. “I thought so the day I met you.”

He feels it, too.

The world was still for a moment, the very air suspended between the two of you. The rest of the restaurant had fallen away, leaving only you and Frankie and the few inches between your lips.

All at once, Frankie locked his phone, abandoned it on the table, brought his hand to your cheek, and kissed you hard.

The world tipped.

Kissing Frankie felt like the drop of a rollercoaster, curling up next to the endless warmth of a fire, the joy of visiting an unknown city. All at once.

The force of it all stole the air from your lungs but you didn’t care. You couldn’t. The rush and hum in your veins wouldn’t let you. All you could think about was the movement of his plush lips against yours as your fingers wound into his curls.

It wasn’t a kiss fit for a first date. Yet, somehow, it felt right. Frankie felt right.

Frankie was the first to break, seemingly as breathless as you were. As your hooded eyes fluttered up to meet his, you found him to be as surprised as you were. He looked at you with a hungry sort of wonder before he blinked, a bit of self-consciousness falling across his features. You hadn’t noticed that he had lost that self-consciousness until it was already taking hold again — and if that was what he was like when it was gone, you wanted to see what he was like when he fully let go.

“S-sorry,” he stammered breathily. “I know that was probably too fast.”

You shook your head earnestly, not wanting to allow that self-consciousness of his to take over again. “Not fast enough.”

Hope flashed in his eyes. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Do you wanna… get out of here?”

You saw Frankie’s eyes go wide and — for a second — thought you had pushed a little too far. But then he was fishing his wallet out of his back pocket as he answered definitively, “I’d love that.”

Now, you could see that same fire that you felt behind his eyes. A fire that filled you with a ridiculous amount of excitement.

He settled the check before you could even offer to pay, but now you were a little more than distracted as butterflies bloomed in your stomach for the first time in a long time.

This wasn’t like you. None of this was like you. You didn’t kiss guys on the first date, much less ask them to bed. Granted, most dates had you running for the door before anything like that could happen, but still. The sentiment stood.

Everything about Frankie was different, though. And the only thing you could really think about right now was having that man under you before the night ended.

When Frankie exited the restaurant with your hand in his, the tension between you two felt like a live wire and his heart was thundering in his chest.

In a quick moment of planning in the parking lot, he found out that the roommate you had mentioned earlier was currently at your place. His place was over a forty minute drive from this restaurant on the other side of the city. While it was doable, it seemed like a lot for how… urgently he needed you.

Just as he was starting to lose hope, your eyes flicked to the side. He watched as you playfully bit your lip, a flash of hope in your eyes. He followed your gaze across the street to see one of the many hotels in the city that he barely paid any mind to.

So that was how he found himself with a key to room 103, your hand in his as he led you through the lobby.

It was all a rushed blur — finding the door, turning the feeble lock on the inside, pressing you against the wall of the small room, your sweet little moans against his mouth. You were all there was.

As much as he had loved your outfit, he liked the sight even more now that you were stripped of it all.

All of his senses were underwater, the world moving too fast for him to keep up. He hadn’t felt like this in a long, long time. He hadn’t wanted to feel like this in a long time. But now, with your fingers twisted into his hair and your body beneath him on the plush mattress, he finally let himself go.

Years ago, Frankie had once been caught in a riptide of the ocean. Having grown up merely a few hours away from the beach, he had known that the current couldn’t be fought. It was too strong, a force of nature one couldn’t hope to go against. It felt a hell of a lot like this. Like you. You had caught him as unsuspecting as the current had that day. Only this time, he didn’t want to get out. He didn’t swim parallel to shore until he could escape your gasp, he only let you drag him out to the depths of an unfamiliar sea.

Frankie’s lips were everywhere. Your lips, your neck, your chest. You closed your eyes, letting the feeling wash over you.

“Frankie,” you whined, voice so breathy you barely recognized it yourself. “Frankie, I need you. I need you right now.”

The warmth of his hand slid up to palm at your breast, his mouth finding yours again.

“You’ve got me,” he assured you, voice deliciously deep and raspy. “I’m yours.”

You would’ve paid more mind to this last part if his free hand hadn’t been sliding down your stomach to your pussy. A gasp escaped you as he toyed with your clit for a moment, rubbing slow circles.

“Fuck, yeah. That’s it,” he mumbled. “You’re so wet already. You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

As he leaned down to kiss your neck, you felt him slip a finger into your heat. You grabbed at his back, at his hair, lost in the feeling of him as you clung to him like a lifeline. It was slow at first, testing before he began to build up to a steady pace. Already, it wasn’t enough. You needed so much more.

When you bucked your hips looking for more friction, Frankie said, “I know, I know. You’re just so tight, baby. Gotta work you up.”

Much to your dismay, he pulled his finger out for a moment. Bringing his attention back to your clit, he stopped your protest dead in your throat. Then, he slipped two fingers back into you, resuming his pace from before.

He pushed himself up a little, looking first at your face and then down where you took his fingers with lust-blown eyes. Frankie was still in his boxers, but you could see the prominent outline of his hard cock straining against the black fabric.

“Fuck,” he mused, before slipping a third finger into you. You moaned out his name as the familiar coil began to build in your stomach.

“Frankie…Frankie — fuck, baby — I’m gonna come. I’m gonna-”

Suddenly, the air was stolen from your lungs, your mouth open in a silent scream as your orgasm slammed into you. You clenched around Frankie’s fingers, but he kept going, praising you all the while.

“That’s it. That’s it, hermosa. Ride it out.”

Your orgasm lasted a lifetime, Frankie drawing it out of you for a length of time you hadn’t thought possible. Wave after blissful wave.

When you came down, panting and head spinning, you found Frankie popping his fingers in his mouth, eyes closed and moaning a little as he did.

“You even taste sweet,” he mused.

You giggled, pulling him down to kiss you again. After a moment, you pulled away enough to whisper against his lips, “Need these off, Frankie.”

You lightly tugged at the band of his boxers, giving him a hint.

Frankie threw himself backwards, rushing to push the fabric down his legs and discard it to the floor in whatever direction it decided to go.

Oh. Oh, wow.

To say that Frankie was impressive seemed like an understatement. Already flushed and leaking, his cock was both long and thick.

For the first time in your life, you found yourself saying, “I don’t know if it’ll fit.”

You saw Frankie’s mouth twitch up for a moment. “Now you’re just stroking my ego.”

You pushed yourself up to your knees, scooting over top of Frankie so that you straddled him. In the midst of it, lust replaced the humor on his face. His hands found your waist as you used a hand on his chest to coax him to lay back on the mattress.

“I’ll do a little more than just stroke it,” you promised.

“Fuck,” Frankie breathed, almost to himself. Bringing your hand to his cock, you teased him with a few testing pumps. He tipped his head back against the bed, groaning as you ghosted the tip of your thumb over the head. With a deep baritone, he pleaded, “God, baby, please.”

How could you deny that? You couldn’t even hold yourself back anymore.

You guided him to your entrance before slowly lowering to take him. It was a stretch, one that felt overwhelming and all too good at the same time. Frankie’s hands found your hips, a string of encouraging praises falling from his lips as he watched you take every inch of him with laser-like focus.

“That’s it, baby,” he cooed, disheveled and wrecked as he looked up at you. “I knew you could take all of me. Goddamn, you feel so good.”

You felt so unbelievably full. Suddenly, the ability to speak had been stolen from you, replaced with the simple need for friction.

You rocked your hips, earning a hiss from Frankie as his fingertips gripped your hips for dear life. Slowly, you built your pace as you rode him. He was so deep, you never knew it could feel like this. Soon enough, you had a good pace.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The rhythmic noise was in the background at first, lost to the sound of your and Frankie’s moans and grunts. But then you realized how close it was.

Frankie read the confusion on your face immediately. “The bed,” he explained, panting. “The shitty bed’s hitting the wall.”

Oh. It was obvious now, but your brain was underwater, your only concern being the unbelievable man beneath you. But there was a small part of your brain somewhere in the haze that was still rational that knew the last thing you needed right now was hotel management knocking on your door after a complaint.

“Floor,” Frankie offered, seemingly on the same page. “It’ll be easier on the floor.”

After a brief moment to relocate, you were once again on top of Frankie, your knees against the cheap, rough carpet as you rode him without abandon. He was lost in it, switching between letting his eyes roll back and needing to watch you. To praise you.

“Fuck, yes, baby. This pussy’s so perfect. You’re so perfect.” He was babbling, but you loved it. A sense of urgency, of longing lurked in his tone.

You panted and cursed, so close to the edge but not quite able to get there. “Frankie. Baby, I need more.”

Frankie’s eyes snapped up to your face, a new sort of darkness to his eyes. His hand came to your back to brace you against him before he flipped you both, your back meeting the carpet. Now, he loomed over you as he kissed you deeply. Right as he pulled his lips away from yours, he gave a sharp, hard thrust into you. You cried out, scrambling to scratch at his back in an attempt to find purchase. Again and again, he drove into you, making a devastating pace.

His pants fanned across your lips, seemingly lost in the feeling of you. “Yeah, that’s it. That’s it. Fuck… baby — fuck — I’m close. Need you to come. Come for me, cariño.”

If you had the ability to speak anymore, you would’ve told him that you were right there, teetering on the edge.

With a few more thrusts, you toppled over. The sounds you made were obscene as ecstasy took over.

“Where do you want it, baby?” Frankie rasped desperately. “I need you… I need you to tell me.”

“Inside,” you gasped.

“Fuck. You’re so fuckin’ good, baby,” Frankie cooed in your ear. “Ah. So fuckin’ tight. Squeezin’ me so good. I’m- I’m gon-”

He didn’t finish his sentence before he was driving himself deep and releasing into you. His mouth fell open as he rode it out, grinding into you.

When he was completely spent, he let himself sag down a little above you, his head dropping as he tried to catch his breath. Every moment or so, he would let out a beautiful little ah sound, especially as he pulled out of you.

For the second time that night, you brought your pointer finger underneath his chin and slowly guided him to look at you. You caught the enamored look in his eyes a moment before you leaned up to kiss him. Slowly, meaningfully.

Against his lips, you said, “God, Frankie, if I would’ve known that you liked me, too… or that we could’ve been doing this all this time…”

Frankie gave an incredulous laugh, pulling back to look at you. “Like you? I’ve been crazy about you since the day we met.”

You laughed, looking at the ceiling for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “Me, too! I hadn’t been able to stop staring at you the entire cookout that day.”

“I wanted to ask you out then,” he admitted, his brown eyes earnest. “And every time we saw each other afterwards. I always talked myself out of it.”

“I would’ve said yes,” you assured.

Frankie ran a thumb over your cheek. “Think it’s too soon to ask you on a second date?”

You giggled against him, feeling his body shake against yours as he laughed, too. “Not soon enough. How does Wednesday night sound?”

“Perfect. I hope it’s not too crude to say that I hope it ends a lot like tonight did.”

You patted his tanned chest, giving him a knowing smile. “Let’s pick a restaurant closer to your place, then.”

#frankie morales #francisco morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #frankie morales x you #francisco catfish morales #pedro pascal #triple frontier fanfiction #santi garcia #santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #my writing

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queenmayor23 · 10 months

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Happy anniversary Mr. Diaz

"Hey, Y/N. What's up?"

"Eddie. I need your help."

"Is everything okay? You're not hurt, are you?"

"Yeah, no. Just come over, please."

After waiting, there's a knock on the door. Y/N answers it in his robe and invites Eddie inside. "I was about to take a shower, and that's when I saw it."

"Saw what?"

Y/N's eyes avoid Eddie, making him more suspicious. "You won't believe me. You need to go in there and see for yourself. It's in my bathroom."

Eddie slowly walks into the apartment and into Y/N's room, opening the door to his bed covered in rose petals and lit candles all around the room.

"Y/N, I don't see anything."

Eddie turns around to Y/N in a sexy police officer costume.

"Dispatch, be advised we have a 10-70 in progress. Stand by with additional RA Units. Fire is already on scene."

Y/N slowly walked toward Eddie, who looked him up and down like a piece of raw meat dangled for a hungry lion.

"¡Ay, caramba!"

"You like?" Y/N reaches out his hand, and Eddie takes it in his own, spinning Y/N around and pulling him in with his other hand on his waist. Their lips connect. Eddie bites Y/N's bottom lip, refusing to let go until he gets his hands on the costume handcuffs on Y/N's utility belt. Eddie's hands found themselves resting on Y/N's waist, and Y/N's were around Eddie's neck where they had been many nights before.

"Happy anniversary Mr. Diaz."

"Happy anniversary to you too, Mr. Diaz. Did you set all of this up?"

"This, yes. But I had help in other departments."

"So Hen and Karen deciding to have a slumber party and inviting Christopher for the weekend-"

"My idea, Karen enforced."

"This outfit?"

"One of Buck's Halloween party ideas. He had the firefighter, I had the cop, and we bought you a biker."

"Of course Buck had something to do with it. Why isn't he here too?"

"We decided that since he gets you all day at work, I get you tonight, and after our shifts, Bobby is going to cook us a wonderful dinner at your place where we will have a full night of alone time just the three of us."

Y/N kisses Eddie again, their hands tightening.

"My husband and boyfriend plotting against me? I like it."

"Now, all we have to do is get a couch for Buck's place."

"And tell Christopher we're married."

"If we do that, I'm gonna have to move in."

"I think I can handle that."

"Oh yeah? That means no more nights of debauchery that last until sunrise."

"But I get to sleep in the same bed as the man I love, he can sit on my lap whenever he wants rubbing my bulge on his ass, and I can kiss you over and over until I get sick. Then you can take care of me, and we can start again."

Eddie takes the handcuffs and confines Y/N's hands behind his back. Eddie guides Y/N to the bed, lifting him to have his face in the pillows and the skin-tight black shorts pointing to the roof. Ripping off his shirt and jumping out of his jeans, Eddie notices the number of candles lit around the room.

"You're lucky I am a firefighter because we are one wind gust away from a five-alarm fire."

"Maybe we could put them to good use while they're still hot."

Eddie smiles. "I love the way you think, Mr. Diaz."

#911 fox #buddie #911 abc #buddie x male reader #gay #throuple #eddie diaz #eddie diaz x male reader x evan buckley #eddie diaz x male reader #evan buckley x male reader #a little something #evan buck buckely #evan buckley #gay husbands #husband material #let's get buck a couch

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bigfan-fanfic · 10 months

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Why Don't You Take a Seat? (Batdad Fanfic)

a one shot where batdad meets ra's al ghul for the first time and they have tea together, talk while waiting for bruce to arrive

"Please, Mr. Wayne. Have a seat." the strange man says.

It's bad enough that all your camera feeds have gone dark, the last you heard over comms from your family being the sounds of combat with mysterious assassins.

"It's not generally customary for the guest to offer a seat to his host." you respond, causing the man to chuckle.

"That is certainly true. And in the same vein, not customary for the host to not know whom his guest may be. I am Ra's al Ghul."

You freeze, the name making your blood run cold.

He... looks far too young to be the same man that taught your husband back when he was training, but it wasn't like people would be scrambling to use the name of the Demon's Head.

"And you know my name, it seems."

"Of course. We have been watching you with great interest."

"That's news to me." you say, thanking your lucky stars that Alfred isn't here tonight - so that if you do end up dying, at least your boys will have a caretaker.

A few more assassins in dark clothing emerge from the shadows, setting up a tea service before vanishing. Seeing no other recourse, you sit across from him, watching as he pours your tea.

"You of course know I am well-acquainted with your husband?"

"Of course." you say, sipping at the delightful porcelain cup. "Though it would seem your daughter would prefer to better acquainted with him."

"I do apologize for Talia. She seems to think I would favor her more were she to produce a fitting heir."

"A fitting heir?

"Archaic terminology, to be sure. Successor would be the better word. For many a year now, I have entreated your husband to be my successor, though his unwillingness to kill makes him... ill-suited."

"And so Talia..."

"Believes that should she and Bruce form a union, they may together bear a child that inherits both of their-"

"That's... not how having kids works."

"Indeed. I personally prefer that my successor show their worth through deed rather than breeding."

"So...may I ask why you've been watching me?"

"Of course. You see, the League of Shadows often examines civilization - which parts of it are worth sparing, and which parts have become too corrupted, too fallen, and must be purged. Gotham is one such city."

You balk at the idea of the League having so much power - more than Bruce had estimated when he told you about them.

"It was Thomas and Martha Wayne who, nigh-singlehandedly, kept this city afloat among the iniquity and vice of its underbelly. When they were murdered, we assumed the hope of the city had been slaughtered with them."

"But who should arrive on the scene but a young upstart with no other connection to Gotham high society but his bosom friendship and young romance with its de facto prince? You, my dear Mr. Wayne, took charge of this city and became its champion. Even among the cesspool of calumny and disdain, you have lit a beacon of truth. The last bastion of such things."

"That can't be true. I'm not the only one doing things to help." you protest. Ra's smirks indulgently, like an uncle tutting at the presumptive modesty of a favorite nephew.

"You refer to your husband?"

"Not solely. There are others trying to make a difference. Like Dr. Thompkins or Commissioner Gordon."

"And yet you are the most notable, and not only does your wealth make you the most powerful, your intellect and tactical mind makes you the one most charged to affect change. I say your wealth, and not your husband's wealth, because as I know it, you have your own standing as CEO of Wayne Enterprises as well as the Wayne fortune."

"You have been doing your research."

"Indeed. The League is no simple assassins' guild, my dear. We guide the direction of the world, in what we hope to be a favorable direction. I have been remiss in the past century, allowing the world to languor this way, what with its global warming and its wars of convenience and profit. I have intended to change it through drastic action, but... you have intrigued me. Perhaps there are... other ways. No great man truly wishes to end the life of another, and should it be rendered unnecessary, our sword can be stayed."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... your way. Gotham has seen a marked turn under your direction and manipulation. Perhaps not an instant one, but a noticeable one. To us, a favorable one."

"So you're saying that Gotham's survival is... totally dependent on me?"

"For now, yes. But that may change. The reason I sent Talia to distract your husband is because I wished to get the measure of you for myself. I admit, I once considered you nothing more than an emotional chain tethering Bruce to foolish sentimentality, but I came to appreciate your tactic. Far less brutal, and one I will also admit I dismissed. I have held a sword for so long, I forgot the utility of other tools."

"So... you want to work with me?" you frown, tilting your head.

"Indeed. We have much to learn from each other, and with the combination of our approaches, we may find a greater progress than we would in conflict."

"Combination of our approaches? You mean killing people?"

"You cannot deny it would be expedient."

"Even if I accepted that, it'd be the wrong approach, even practically! Just killing the people that stand in our way would create chaos, AND it wouldn't guarantee change the way systemic reform would!"

"See why you would be invaluable?" Ra's grins, unperturbed. "However, one could argue that your systemic reform could be hastened by removing those that would prove obstacles to it."

"Or it could jeopardize the movement by giving the opposition martyrs."

"Ha!" Ra's barks out a laugh of genuine delight. "You remind me of someone I once knew. She would never let my mind rest for a moment when she disagreed with me, nor would she let me hide behind pretty words or turns of phrase."

"Sounds like you need someone like that around you." You chuckle, and Ra's smirks in agreement.

"Indeed I do. Will you join the League of Shadows?"

"I hope this isn't the kind of offer that's only got one answer."

"For once, I will accept either answer. A 'no' now may become a 'yes' in the future."

"Then I shall take some time to consider."

"Indeed. I believe your husband is about to join us anyway..."

Ra's seemed a sensible, charming man when you first met him, but it was impossible to ignore how menacing he could be - how many atrocities he had already committed and planned to commit.

Indeed, though he allowed Talia to continue pursuing Bruce, it seemed he tried just as hard to woo you to his side.

In any case, it was never going to be the last time the al Ghul family became a part of your life...

#batdad x bruce #batdad reader #batman headcanons #headcanons #dc headcanons

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morallyinept · 4 months

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A full transcribe of SILVA'S dialogue/lines from the film A STRANGE WAY OF LIFE/EXTRAÑA FORMA DE VIDA.

Includes full dialogue, and dialogue from any deleted/additional scenes available.

I've created this as a point of reference when writing for Pedro's characters, and I hope you find it useful. Even if you just want to read the dialogue. 🖤

FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO CHARACTERS DIALOGUE

☝🏻Dialogue has been fully transcribed by myself using reference to original scripts (if available), audio subtitles and using my own two ears. Therefore, mistakes can be made, however I have tried to be as fully accurate as I can. If you spot an obvious mistake, please kindly let me know. Where audio is not clear, I have marked with *inaudible* Scenes are separated for ease of reference.

FULL SCRIPT DIALOGUE:

How are you, Jake?

Oh, my back is killing me and I hear you have a good doctor in town.

No, it’s you… you look impressive dressed as Sheriff.

Well, it suits you.

__________________

I was hungry. You made this?

I didn’t know you could cook.

Of course. Twenty-five years is a very long time.

To our reunion.

Every time I drink wine, I remember when we were in Mexico and we went down into the cellar with some whores.

What a bunch of misfits.

How do you want me to look at you?

Two months… And it wasn’t madness.

When I drink, I remember every single one of those sixty days.

To your contradictions then.

__________________

Jake?

Were you hiding in the bathtub?

Are you inviting me to take a bath together?

Where did I put my underpants?

What do you mean?

I wanted to have a couple of drinks with you again, while I can still move. And, believe it or not, working with horses destroys your back.

Nothing hurts this morning. You cured all my ailments. I haven’t felt this good in such a long time. What are you doing today? We could go to Hot Mountain River.

Work can wait. It’s not every day someone crosses the desert to come see you.

Can I help?

Can’t you find someone else to do it for you? You are the Sheriff.

Ours is a strange fate.

Your brother's wife had to die for us to find each other in the same bed again.

Last night…

We drank because we were happy to be together.

He didn’t do it!

No, I would've asked him about you. Jake, don’t walk away, I’m talking to you.

I heard you had an affair with her.

Was your brother still alive?

Anyone could have pretended to have a limp, to frame him.

I came because I wanted to see you. I’ve been wanting to see you for a long time…

I thought about it, believe me. But I didn’t know what kind of welcome I would get from you. I got the feeling you put distance between us on purpose. After working together as hired guns, I proposed to set up a ranch, the two of us, but you didn’t want to!

You don’t have to be an avenging judge to be a good son.

You were the best gunman.

There was one day you missed…

Nothing. No matter how good you are with a gun, there will come a day when you miss the shot. It happens to all of us. You don’t remember?

I will say you’ve done very well on this side of the law. You’re the most respected Sheriff in the county.

But I knew that one day I would cross the desert to come and see you again.

I miss those two months in Mexico, don’t you?

I like that you’ve kept my red scarf.

I wanted to see you.

I spent the last hours showing you how much I wanted to see you. Did you love your sister-in-law more than you loved me?

We are alone.

My way is yours…

Why are you so sure it was my son?

I’ll make him go to Mexico or any place where he won’t bother you or me. It’s a big world out there.

But you don’t need to be the one looking for him! Just… Give me a truce.

You have no heart, Jake. You never did. You just like to fuck. Huh? You never loved me, you’ve never loved anyone in your life!

You gonna shoot me?

You gonna kill me while I’m half undressed? How will you explain that? A dead man in your bed still smelling of cum!

__________________

YOUNG SILVA:

Leave it to us… ¿Sí?

Let’s do it. Ladies, please, step aside.

Always. One…

__________________

Joe!

Joe? Come on, get dressed and leave.

Get dressed!

Jake has been on my tail since I left Bitter Creek.

No! And take a horse… and you get as far away as you can. Even though no matter where you are, Jake will find you.

You were two of a kind! Now get out of here before I hang you myself.

Go to Aguadulce. Old Raúl has a smithy and he will let you in. This should be enough to buy his silence.

Then you will have to work. Raúl will find you something to do.

Where are you going?

There's no time for that! Take mine. And don’t even think about crossing the border back here again.

Enough, Joe!

Enough! Holster your gun, Jake.

No! Stop! Joe, stop!

Don’t move… or I swear I will kill you.

No shit, Jake!

Now get on the horse and get the fuck out of here!

__________________

It was a clean shot, straight through the waist.

Okay, okay… you’re going to be alright.

Keep pressure on it.

__________________

These things cannot be calculated, Jake. It is destiny and we cannot run away from it.

Ours. And since you decided to follow me and look for my son, the three of us were doomed to meet, each of us armed.

I just wanted to save my son. And I am sorry I had to shoot you.

Don’t strain yourself. Don’t talk.

No-one will understand why I missed the shot, let alone why I treated your wound afterward. Rest. There’s plenty of time to talk.

You hate me as much as you want, Jake. But it won’t help your wound heal any faster.

__________________

Years ago you asked me what two men could do living together on a ranch. I’ll answer you now. They can look after one another. Protect each other, they can keep other company.

__________________

FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO CHARACTERS DIALOGUE

#pedro pascal #silva strange way of life #pedro pascal characters #silva extrana forma de vida #PPCU #silva dialogue

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astoundingbeyondbelief · 8 months

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Kaiju Week in Review (September 3-9, 2023)

I was a bit nervous about GAMERA -Rebirth-; the animation looked dodgy and Netflix has a shaky track record with kaiju shows. I'm pleased to report this is the best entry in the genre that they've put their name on. Good characters, great action (brutal as always), and actual episodic storytelling that effortlessly weaves in elements from the Showa films beyond all the returning kaiju. Watch it immediately.

Tie-ins abound for GAMERA -Rebirth-: a two-part novelization, a manga adaptation, and a prequel manga that sheds some light on [UNBELIEVABLY MASSIVE SPOILERS]. That prequel manga (GAMERA -Rebirth- code thyrsos) is being published online for free in both Japanese and English. You can read the first chapter here.

In unofficial translation news, English subtitles for GAMERA.1999 (1999) and yokaipedia (2022) are now available. The former is Hideaki Anno's making-of documentary for Gamera 3: Revenge of Iris; the latter is a fun, child-friendly fantasy from Godzilla Minus One director Takashi Yamazaki with a big ol' centipede-dragon at the end. (It's also maybe the first Japanese kaiju film I've ever seen with a major Black character.) I haven't gotten to GAMERA.1999 yet, though from scrubbing through it, it seems like a lot of dialogue was just ignored by the translator. Shame, as that's one I've wanted for a long time.

youtube

We have a teaser for Monarch: Legacy of Monsters, as well as a premiere date for the first two (out of ten) episodes: November 17. (I am being showered with Media for my 30th birthday.) The big news from this trailer is that John Goodman is reprising his role as Bill Randa from Kong: Skull Island. I assume that's going to be through flashbacks and old recordings only, since he was eaten by a Skullcrawler in that one. We also catch glimpses of two new creatures, a dragon and a crab from what I can tell. The latter looks to be fighting a Mother Longlegs.

Fandango and AMC have added mostly-empty listings for Godzilla 2000 on November 1. Fathom Events screened Godzilla Against Mechagodzilla on November 3 last year; despite randomly showing Tokyo SOS back in March, I gather they're making a tradition out of Godzilla Day. Note that the listed runtime is longer than the film itself. Predictions for the program: another message from Keiji Ota, the 2022 Godzilla vs. Gigan short, and the Japanese version of G2K. Interesting that they're running the last Toho Godzilla film to receive a wide release in the U.S. exactly a month before Godzilla Minus One has a wide release of its own here.

Gamera isn't a meta-defining Godzilla Battle Line unit... but he's Gamera in a Godzilla game, so I've been using him in every match since I unlocked him. He's gearing towards demolishing flying units, with fireballs that deal more damage against them and knock them back. A pity that he's arriving well after those units were at their most dominant.

Godzilla: Here There Be Dragons #3 still isn't giving me much to write home about, but the kaiju cult creeping to the forefront intrigues. Also cool to see Ebirah in a starring role.

youtube

Marubeni, one of Japan's biggest general trading companies, put out a bizarre commercial featuring samurai, zombies, a meteor, and a refurbished GMK King Ghidorah. The ad now has English subtitles, and you can watch a Ghidorah-centric behind-the-scenes video here.

I cannot believe I have more Cleopatra Entertainment fuckery to report on with regards to their Shin Ultraman releases, but they're truly trying to take the "Worst Film Company of 2023" title from the members of the AMPTP. Their third attempt at a barebones disc is starting to reach customers... but the ones who already received the initial replacement disc are being told no more will be sent. @starestream is trying to figure out if they'll be selling the third edition on their site, since it seems buying it anywhere else is a gamble. (Physically, the third edition looks almost the same as the first two, set apart only by the "SUBTITLED" text on the disc.) Either way, it's another blow to a movie that truly doesn't deserve this.

#kaiju week in review #gamera #gamera rebirth #godzilla #kaiju #yokaipedia #Youtube

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accio-victuuri · 8 months

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SBMS Clowning Series ☀️ v.4

I can’t believe we’re so close to the finale which is episode 36. It’s always so fast when these dramas are released but i’m not complaining that we got it faster than his other dramas. We also have a lot of content — from photos, bts and interviews. 💪🏼

The reason why I want to make this part of the round up is this scene in SBMS, it’s the last scene that the crew shot which is when SY and JB were watching fireworks. Especially the line JB said. I think i’m not the only BXG who thought of XZ’s wish for WYB when they heard this : “I hope you don’t come to the complicated and boring world of adulthood soon. It means i hope you grow up slowly.”

It’s a pretty popular CPN that the long bday messages are made by ZZ so to hear something similar in the show is sus. You can say that it’s a usual “wish” or that ZZ is not the scriptwriter. and that’s right. However, ZZ has improvised a couple of scenes in this drama. ZZ has worked closely with the scriptwriter and director of the drama — so we cannot remove the possibility that he may have brought up this line or idea.

there are instances in this drama when we CPNd and thought that ZZ improvised it and we were right. for example accidentally holding JB’s hand @ the subway or the thing about you s/o being your “charger”. so i’m not gonna be surprised if one way or another we get a confirmation about this. 💓

anyway, moving on to other stuff…

SOME SIMILARITIES/ Coincidence:

• “Eating” the tissue after eating. Normal people will just wipe it or will do that but not for long like they do. With the examples, it looks like WYB does this more and GG was infected. Lol.

• The BGM of recent douyin posts from both sides is the same 🙃. I don’t know how popular this song is now in douyin, cause this is tiktok after all certain sound clips become popular and everyone start using it. But it’s interesting that it’s videos posted the same day.

some are saying that since the SBMS post was “romantic”, this is WYB’s answer. He is matching the BGM. Also the caption ( YBO official ) had a star emoji in it. Why didn’t he just make it the sun 😂😂😂 I think the star can be connected to the Douyin update from the day before, where ZZ was holding a star toy.

• This will make the most sense to those who watched the recent episode, but there is a scene where SY asks the “bear” if Jian Bing is the most beautiful and it lights up meaning yes. Lol. That kind of shamelessness in praising reminded us so much of WYB!!!!!

• XZ WHERE DID YOU LEARN THIS MOVE HUH? Is this one of your improvs? I’m screaming!!!!

It’s like he got tips from the things WYB did before, who was younger than him and what worked to make him like/love the gremlin more. 🤣🤣🤣

• For some next level clowning, in ZZ’s weibo video post — what number do you see? 8? 👀

==============================

Interview highlights. This covers ZZ’s recent content for SBMS promos. Ones that remind us of bjyx clues and symbols. Just to disclaimer that the purpose of this is not to portray ZZ as someone who can’t be his own person. How we always have to connect things back to WYB in everything he says does not mean any harm. It’s all CPN. We are very much aware that ZZ is his own person. 😌

SINA INTERVIEW:

What stood out to me was when he talked about evaluating himself everyday so he can improve. This is something similar that he has with WYB. They only want to be better and expand their skill set. They are also open to criticism.

There was also a part where he talked about equality in relationships when there is an age gap.

“being equal in any relationship, no one is higher or lower than anyone else, everyone is in a very fair and equal relationship and in getting along.”

Do you have some experience in this ge? I have to say they are equal — especially in spoiling each other. ^^

AND LASTLY HOW HE expressed his interest in playing a charming and cute villain. Lol. He said a couple of times already, someone please listen. WYB already did Mister Ye who is sort of the villain. I hope ZZ can play something like that too.

RUXI INTERVIEW

His answers tend to very similar in these interviews and i think that’s largely because the questions are similar. Especially they ask about his experience in the drama or his interpretation of Shengyang as a character.

But in this interview, he was asked about being an actor and his answer 😭😭😭

I’m definitely still on the road to acting and becoming an actor myself. This road is still very long. I have to walk it step by step in a down-to-earth manner. It’s more interesting to me.

I mean. Just look at the tagline of my blog. Yep, the road ahead is long. We will be here for you ^^

FOX FACTORY INTERVIEW

How he talked about memorizing his co stars line as well. Some CPFs are speculating that this started with CQL. It’s because him and WYB were sharing one script book. Which btw, he never did again with his other co stars.

THIS PART which made me giggle. They were asking about the heroine he would want to play with and he completely goes back to his desire of playing the villain 🤭 If you don’t wanna answer it, just say something else. Of course a co star is important, but I think for ZZ, he is more into his role as an actor. He is focused on himself.

Also this one. A very thrifty GG! Practical. It’s in line with the fake rumors that he scolds WYB for impulse buying 😅😅😅

-END.

#yizhan #bjyx #there is no science here i’m just clowning like i always do

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demontonic · 2 months

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Ethan Landry - Perverted 3

lets ignore how the last chapter i posted was in july and pretend that im a consistent writer please:3 anyways i hope everyone enjoys this because it took me so long to figure out what i wanted to do for it. if you havent read part 2 i suggest you do that for this to make sense

Word count: 2269

TW: knives, blood, murder, suicide

“Oh my god,” Your heart dropped as you realized the killing had connections to ghostface, after last night you wanted to believe it wouldn’t get this bad. Ethan squeezed your hand softly, attempting to break your attention away from the news channel. His efforts were in vain as your own mind swelled with an endless amount of thoughts and emotions. Did Ethan purposefully intend to make you swoon in order to get closer to the group? Who was the other Ghostface? Why now did the killings start when things had finally seemed normal? The room had broken off into conversations between each other, trying to figure out how they wanted to handle it. You on the other hand remain in shambles, shaking in Ethan’s arms as he pulls you back into your room.

A silence fell upon you both, there were no words to be offered in a situation like this. Sure he could try and comfort you like you hadn’t already known he was a killer and you could try and pretend you didn’t catch him leaving the scene of a crime. No matter what you two did, reality was inevitable, Ethan was a cold blooded killer and you were a potential victim falling in love with him. Nothing now could change it, prevent it, or create a path to a life in which you two live happily ever after. The facts were plain and simple, a bright red sign flashing right in front of your eyes, still you chose to ignore it. Today was supposed to be nice, you’d finally given into Ethan but to everyone else you’d won over the quiet nerd. It wasn’t until you felt Ethan’s hands cup your face gently that you’d snapped back to reality.

“I swear it wa-“

“Of course it wasn’t you but… you know who did it don’t you?”

“…”

“I thought so-“

“I’m sorry-“

“No-“

“I am I didn’t know they were gonna do it tonight I swear I-“

“No, no, no- Ethan you’re not!”

It was quiet again after your slight outburst, it didn’t anger him but then again, did he even have the right? His hands stayed glued to his lap while he watched you go through the motions in silence. He wanted so badly to know what you were thinking, did you hate him? Have you ever hated him? Would you hate him now? You didn’t even have an answer, you wished you did but the feelings flowing through your body were indescribable. You wanted to hate him, you wanted to tell everyone he was one of the killers, maybe then it would end with no more death. What you wanted and what you’d decided before you even knew you had was set in stone. You wouldn’t say anything, ever, to anyone. If they found out you would say you didn’t know but, you didn’t want your friends to get hurt. Ethan knew this, he’d wanted to sympathize and stop everything once he’d truly begun to like you but, of course he couldn’t.

“Please- just listen to me before you hate me for the rest of eternity.” The bed shifted quietly when he tried to meet your clouded gaze but it was to no avail. Swiftly he’d kneeled on the floor, his body shoving your legs apart giving you no choice but to stare into his eyes. The same brown eyes that had instilled fear into your soul when you were hiding in the alley, that had made you blush and stutter. The same eyes that had seen you so vulnerable and raw and held the same adoration you’d once felt; before you’d discovered his little hobby.

“I wanted to stop it but they wouldn’t let me, I’m outnumbered. It's plain and simple. Even if we tried to run away from all of this and salvage whatever this is, chances are they’d come for us if they finish the job. I don’t want anything to happen to you I-“

“But you want to kill the only people who’ve ever really been my family in exchange for what? Fame? Plot? Fun?”

“Revenge.”

A knock came from the door abruptly ending the much needed conversation. Tara opened the door softly, explaining that Quinn had called her Dad for information on the Ghostface killing that was undoubtedly connected to the group. Ethan had sat on the floor in front of you while she relayed the order of events. Eventually she left, saying that they’d be going to the station to answer some questions which were pretty standard by now. You’d offered to accompany the sisters but they decided it was best to handle it alone. The entire group dispersed, breaking off into pairs and trying to grasp onto the slight normalcy that remained. Ethan had convinced you to follow him to an unknown location, claiming that he would explain everything once you’d gotten there. Of course you were concerned with the sudden idea of being alone with him but you still tried to have some sort of trust.

“I… I know that this is all going so fast and happening so sudden but, I need you to know all the facts before-“

“Before what, Ethan?” He slowed to a stop when you interjected, you sounded so drained and defeated and it hurt to know he was the reason. He could try and tell you it wasn’t his fault and that he had no part in it but he did, no matter how badly he wanted to make you happy.

“What the fuck.” You whispered to yourself, trying to comprehend why Ethan would bring you into an abandoned theater. Sure it fit pretty well for his alter ego, it makes sense considering he wanted to explain everything. At this point you’d wanted nothing more than to leave rather than bare witness to what horrors could be lying within the old theater. Of course you were right, you’d wish you hadn’t seen it, the dedication to the series of Ghostface murders. Actual evidence encapsulated in glass boxes, clothing placed on mannequins, drawings of victims and killers next to each of their own murders. Ethan walked you down to the end, it was right next to the original Ghostface killer’s display. Your necklace, gifted to you by someone you’ve held dear to your heart, was laying in one of the display boxes. Alongside it were hand drawn pictures of you and the group, and a singular box seemingly a tribute to Dewy. Your necklace had been snatched off your neck the first time you had been attacked, Amber had always admired it. The natural formed ruby was an heirloom, before your childhood friend had committed suicide she’d gifted it to you on your 16th birthday.

“My brother was obsessed with the murders, obsessed with the concept of a horror movie being real. He’d always make short films, stories, chapters to a book that he could never finish. Richie was fucked up but he was the only person who took care of me, you have to understand that Sam took the only comfort-“

“No Ethan, he’s not your only comfort at least not anymore- Ethan you have an entire life to lead. Richie made his decision, based on a wild fixation to someone else’s tragedy.”

“Wouldn’t you protect your loved ones? Would you not kill to protect that precious group you call family? That’s what I’m doing, that’s what Richie is to me, don’t you understand this is to avenge him-“

“He killed people for fun and when he was killed it ended the meaningless game he was playing. Don’t you understand the way he’s influenced you into thinking what he did was right?” Silence, anxiety, anticipation and the sound of heavy breathing separated you two. Ethan seemed to be contemplating his next moves whereas your eyes trained on the mended necklace lying on the table. It would’ve brought you to tears being reunited with the priceless gift if not for the conversation he’d initiated.

“My family was always so focused on Rich, trying to get him to be a normal kid and dealing with his problems at school. Quinn was exactly like she is now and the only girl so you can imagine what little that left me. Even through all of that he made sure I felt seen, if not by anyone else, by him.” Ethan spoke as if he already accepted the fact you’d never be able to agree with him, and he knew better than to argue. He reached into his pocket and slipped a glove over his hand before reaching over the glass box. Sliding the lip over just enough to pick up the ruby necklace before closing it back up.

“Dad got most of this stuff but Richie took this from Amber and gave it to Quinn as a last minute gift. Amber was the one who snatched it off you but I’m sure you figured that out. I fixed it without question but it feels wrong not giving it back to you.” It hung off his fingers, holding it in front of your face with what seemed like no more life in his eyes. With a small sigh you grabbed it by the roughly shaped ruby, he dropped the chain and stood silently as you admired the seamless fix. A mistake in hindsight because by then he’d placed his other glove on, slamming your head against the glass table. Thankful it was thick enough to prevent it from breaking upon impact, much less could be said about you.

Tears filled your eyes as you wailed from the pain in your temple, your legs barely holding the rest of your weight as he pushed down on you. Then it clicked, he was leaning his entire body onto you, his knife was pointed into stomach.

“I just wanted you to be able to understand the purpose of everything. You are so fucking stubborn, I don’t want to do this but I can’t let them live with his blood on their hands.”

“So you’re going to kill the one person who was willing to look past your little hobby instead of leaving your past behind? Ethan you are being fucking used-“

“No I’m not! I loved Richie, he wasn’t perfect but he treated me better than anyone-“

“Anyone? So fuck me and kill me that’s fucking bullshit, I should’ve known better than to be stupid enough to get involved with you!” Your sobs rattled your entire body, it was hard to even differentiate between his tears and yours. From where he was his tears fell onto your cheek, mixing with your own on the table. It pained him to even speak to you like this, to inflict so much fear and suffering onto you because you were right. You were trying to love him, trying to look past his faults, trying to have a normal life with him. Ethan seemed to only sabotage his own happiness especially now when he’s hurting the last person that’d be willing to love him the way he wanted.

“It’s-It’s not like that I love you-“

“Don’t say that while your knife is digging into my body you sick fuck.” Disappointment could only be heard in your cries, disappointment in both Ethan and yourself.

“Oh but it was different last night you stupid bitch!” His hand pushed your head harder into the glass, beginning to crack under the pressure. A complete 180 from the sniffling boy he was half a second ago, it terrified you despite it being one of the things that had lured you in.

“You’re such a petty asshole, I bet I was the only girl who even gave you the time of day.” Laughing in his face was his breaking point, grabbing you by the hair and tossing you onto the floor in front him. Pain riddled your spine and it was then you felt the thin wound on your abdomen. Bittersweet as the hand he’d slashed at the night before covered the leaking cut. Just as fast as he’d thrown you he was on top of you, pinning your arms down with his knees.

“Why can’t you just accept their fate? We can be together happily, alone, in peace once it’s all over. Please I’m begging you my love, don’t make me do this I don’t want to!” His face was red and wet with the rush of tears spewing from his eyes, his knife pointed at your throat while he pleaded with you. It sounded so sweet and tempting as he always was, your little obsession being your own demise was all too perfect. You knew what your choice was so you turned your head, searching for the necklace he’d lured in with. With the ruby being in sight you felt calm, at ease with your end, it felt that if anything, at the very least you’d be with your friend once more.

“Fucking kill me already you piece of shit, lowsy excuse of a man!”

The next morning everyone was convinced it was you, after not returning to the dorm it was easy to pin it to you. Yet here the group was, following Gale into an abandoned theater, stumbling upon your lifeless corpse leaned against the stage. Blood pooled around you, sourced from your throat which had been slit open. However the silver chain shown clearly under the stage lights, with ruby barely noticeable amongst the crimson liquid. Ethan in shambles crawles next to you, cradling your cold body and rocking back and forth begging for you to wake up.

The End :D I hopes you liked this small series and please don’t be shy, leave requests for any of the characters in my masterlist or horror movie franchises as I’d love to do more with the horror genre. I simply wrote the first one based off a song so it was very difficult for me to turn it into the miniseries but i promise i did my best and i hope you liked the ending<3

@hana-1235

@i-do-be-vibinn

@meh-karma

@cumbermovels

@acornacreacure

@c0untryclub

#Spotify #ghostface x reader #ethan landry #ethan landry smut #ghostface ethan #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x you #ethan landry x y/n #ghostface scream #ghostface x you #ghostface smut #D3M0NT0N1C #demontonic

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josephquinnswhore · 1 year

Note

Hiiii bub thank you soooo much for the request here’s another one I have (based on me)

TW: blood & commit and anxiety attack

May you please do a Pedro pascal x plus size reader where readers worst fear is blood and any time they see it the feel nauseous and go in to an anxiety attack. Basically I was sick last week and had the absolute worst tummy bug (I’m all better) and threw up so hard my nose bled that I almost passed out and had an anxiety attack. Basically do it based off what happen to me and if u can add Bella and Nico and Gabriela calling Pedro bc he is the only one to calm reader down from these panic attacks.

Thank you in advance

My Comfort

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Fem/Plus Size Reader!

Summary: you’re sick and Pedro’s called back from his luck to see you in a bad way.

Word Count: 2k

Content Warning: reader is sick, mentions of blood, panic attack, vomit.

Note: hi sun bun 🐰, I love you. We must be the same person fr cause I’ve been sick for over a month LMAO and I get so queasy when I see blood. UGH, hopefully this gives you what you need. I also throw up to the point where my throat bleeds lol it’s so fucked. 🫶🏼🥰 I made it pretty dramatic LOL. M sorry it’s short.

You told yourself you were fine, you could do the filming through the sickness. You were sipping on your water and drinking your raspberry flavoured hydralyte, even though it tasted like shit. Just to try and get yourself through the day, unable to tell yourself you’re not sick enough to show up for work. It was too important, it came before everything else in your life, well, almost everything. It was second in line to your boyfriend and co-worker, Pedro.

“You’re okay. You’re okay. Just one more scene to shoot, then you can go home.” You chanted to yourself as you look in the mirror trying to convince yourself it to be true, thinking maybe if you said it aloud it would enforce some truth. Your face was losing colour with every passing minute, and the darkness around your eyes was a clear indication that everything was far from okay, that you were not okay.

But you felt guilty, you didn’t want to let the team down by going home and delaying the episode when you had one measly scene left to shoot, you may as well just tough it out and get through it as best you could. It would maybe take a couple hours at most, you could do that! Right? You started to doubt yourself at the way your limbs started to ache and feel heavy. It hurt to hold your head upright.

You turn on the tap to the cold water, letting the water gather into your cupped hands before you bring it to your face, the coolness is refreshing, you exhale a deep breath to try and relax, patting your face dry with some paper towel and throw it into the trash bin. You could do this. You couldn’t give up.

“Hey, are you feeling okay? You don’t look so hot.” Gabriel sets a hand on your shoulder, his thick black eyebrows were nearly touching as he frowned, his dark brown eyes squinted with concern at one look of you, his hand feels like it weighs a tonne on your aching shoulder. “I-I mean you are, but, you know.” He gestures to you and you raise an eyebrow at him, you didn’t wanna have to deal with this right now-as much as you liked him.

“Dude shut it, are you okay?” Bella asks, her face strewn with concern for your well-being. You swallow your spit loudly, gulping down the clump that sits in your throat, feeling more ill with every passing second. “Um…I’m ok, I think.” you can’t decide what to say, unsure of whether you even believe your obvious and blatant lies. Bella looks to Nico and they know you’re lying, sharing a look of sympathy toward you, watching as you slightly sway as you stand still.

“Why don’t you just sit down for a second, have some water.” You nod to Nico, “thanks,” you mumble in agreement as she sets a gentle hand on your back, helping you sit, agreeing it’s a good idea. The bright lights of the set don’t help the ache in your head that’s contributing to your illness. Your eyes squint as your brain throbs at how bright it is, you blink harshly, trying to rid the ache that’s set in motion, the shadow of a headache you knew would grow into a migraine.

“Wouldn’t hurt to sit for five minutes.” You mumble in an unintelligible slur, as you feel a wave of nausea coming over you, it shakes your whole body to the core, the feeling settles uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach. Your fingers grasp your bottle shakily with the hydralyte, desperate to rid your body of the nausea setting, but it wasn’t your bottle, and it wasn’t hydralyte. It was a bottle of soft drink, the fizz of the soda causes a rift in your stomach that feels like it’s about to explode. The feeling builds and builds until it feels like it’s going to erupt, from your mouth.

“Oh my god, someone get me a bucket.” You hunch over in your seat with one arm wrapped around your stomach, the other holding your hand over your mouth, the nausea rising up your throat that you have to swallow down the first time it attempts its exit because you would’ve just spewed all over the floor on set. You heave again, this time Gabriel is holding a bucket underneath your mouth, the taste of the liquid makes your stomach ache even though it barely has time to digest.

The same coloured liquid comes out as clear, mostly bile the first few times, until the stench of the contents in the bucket circulates through your nostrils and churns your stomach again, twisting until it shoots up your throat, this one hurt your throat badly, the sting it made coming out has you unable to breathe for a few seconds, your lash line full to the brim with unshed tears, coughing violently as someone rubs a hand along your back, trying to soothe you.

You feel something dribbling from your nose and you wipe it with the back of your hand, not caring how disgusting it would seem to anyone else. You expect to see snot or mucus on your hand associated with the tears brought to your eyes from the vomiting. To your surprise you see a bright red liquid, your blood was coating your hand in a rugged line on your hand, your nose was bleeding.

“Oh shit you’re bleeding.” Nico exclaims, panic evident in her voice, inspecting your nose and handing you a tissue, the blood filled the tissue within a few seconds, the flow from your nostril not giving up. You must’ve burst a blood vessel in your nostril with how it’s pouring out of you, you start to feel dizzy at the sight of how much blood you’re losing. You pull back the tissue and feel it leaking through the tissue, your fingertips were now stained red from how profusely it was bleeding.

It starts with your hands trembling, your body becomes stiff and you can hardly hear anyone around you. Your fingers are shaking that badly you drop the bloody tissue, your nose is now free bleeding all over you and your clothes. Your breaths are rugged and panicked. The ache in your neck causes it to fall, your whole body falling forward destined to hit the ground until Gabriel catches you, sitting you on the floor, lying you on your side.

“Call Pedro back from lunch, now. And get the damn medic.” Bella demands Gabriel who stands in a panic not knowing what to do, he rushes to get his phone and makes the call to Pedro, Nico rushes away to find the medic on set while Bella stays with you. She’s knelt down beside you, trying to pry you upright but your body is stiff and unmoving other than the small underlying tremble of your body.

The medic arrives first, she’s kneeling down beside Bella to look at you, eyeing the teenager in shock at the state of you. “Hey hun can you hear me? It’s Cas I’m here to help.” You feel a warm hand on your body as she rolls you onto your back, the ache from the touch alone causes you to whimper, your eyes are strewn shut at the brightness of the room, it was all too much, you just wanted Pedro.

She pulls out of her bag a cuff, to check your blood pressure, the tightening of the cuff on your arm was pleasantly satisfying, slightly grounding you with each notch of pressure that was released. “Okay, blood pressures a little low but nothing to be worried about. Just going to check your temperature sweetie.” She moves your arm, shoving a thermometer under your armpit and waits for it to beep. She checks it and purses her lips together on a thin line.

“Baby, oh my god is she okay?” Pedro kneels down next to you, his hands are holding your cheeks, cupped in his own large hands the warmth from them makes you sweat, a result of your ever rising temperature. “Is she okay?” Pedro asks Cas, she puts the thermometer away. “She had a reading of 39.2 degrees, she’s got a fever, not sure what’s causing it though.”

“Hey baby, hey can you hear me? It’s me baby I’m here.” You could barely find the strength in you to open your eyes, eyelids squinting to protect your eyes from the brightness of the room. “Hey.” You mutter, with the last of your strength you could muster before you fall unconscious.

Pedro’s leg is bouncing the whole time he’s sat in the chair beside your bed in the hospital. The beeping of the monitor keeping your reading would sometimes make a commotion in the event of a momentary spike in blood pressure, “it’s just trying to regulate itself.” The nurse offered, which didn’t make him feel any better.

“Mr Pascal, it’s nice to meet you, I’m Dr Wrent, we’ve been doing some tests on your girlfriend here today. We’ve come to find that she’s somehow contracted a deadly stomach bug, it’s rare but not unknown, we can give some anti biotics to take home and she should be fine within the week.” The doctor put your folder and hung it on the end of the bed, “by the way, make sure you enforce that she takes a break, tell her to stop working so hard.”

“Right, I’ll do that. Thanks for everything.” Pedro sunk back into his chair and waited for you to wake up, the small sandwich and juice from the cafeteria sitting unopened as you lie peacefully.

You start to stir right when Pedro feels his eyelids drooping, begging him to close so he can have a moments rest. He hears the shuffling before his brain has the chance to fully lull him into sleep, rustling around in the front of his mind to wake up, sending an alarm throughout his body that you were finally awake.

“God baby you’re awake. You scared the shit out of everyone you know that?” As if you hadn’t felt guilty enough, the worry on His face made it worse. You couldn’t look at him, avoidant in your stare towards him, looking quite literally elsewhere until he leaned over the bed and grabbed your face in his hands, forcing you to look up at him.

“I’m sorry baby- I didn’t mean,” he takes a deep breath before continuing. “We were worried about you, why didn’t you tell someone you weren’t feeling well?” You should’ve just done that to begin with you knew, but you were too stubborn.

“I just convinced myself I should do it, I didn’t want to disappoint anyone by delaying the season for one last scene.” Pedro’s hand caresses your hair, fingers gliding through your hair as he calms you. “From now on you put yourself forward okay? Promise me.”

You pull your bottom like between your teeth, enjoying the sting it brings when you bite down too hard, “okay, I promise.”

“I’m proud of you though, you saw that blood and didn’t die, soooo.” Pedro trails off with a small laugh and you groan and roll your eyes, shoving his arm. “Don’t remind me, that’s so embarrassing.”

Pedro stands from the bed, handing you a sandwich wrapped in a paper bag, “you know I think they’re gonna put a scene of you passing out in the show.” You stop feeling back the paper bag and look at him suspiciously, “they wouldn’t want to!”

He simply shrugs, “you didn’t hear that from me, now eat. Need my baby strong.” You unwrap and bite into the sandwich, it contained all your favourite fillings and you smile, stomach feeling settled and the ache of the emptiness was now gone as you’d managed to swallow some food. You’d sure learnt a valuable lesson; Gabriel is useless when it comes to emergency situations.

#Pedro pascal #Pedro pascal x fic #Pedro pascal x reader #Pedro pascal x you #Pedro pascal x fem reader #Pedro pascal as Joel miller #Pedro pascal on the set of tlou #tlou #Pedro pascal requested fic

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absolutebl · 1 year

Text

This Week In BL - GMMTV Holds the Line

Feb 2023 Wk 1

Being a highly subjective assessment of one tiny corner of the interwebs. Organized by which ones (in each category) I’m enjoying most.

When they say “famous last words” this is what they mean.

Ongoing Series - Thai

My School President (Fri YT) ep 10 of 12 - They are so stinkn’ CUTE as bfs. Possibly the cutest. I chuckle a lot with this show. And that’s great, very serotonin inducing. Also 2nd half had good soapy drama tension with the music competition + the mom’s surgery at the SAME TIME (gasp). Can’t wait for next week.

Moonlight Chicken (Weds YT) 1-2 of 8 - Oh it’s great. Messy gays struggling with both internal and external conflict. It has a Taiwanese gritty queer authenticity to it. EarthMix are perfect for these roles. Khaotung is the most adorable thing ever. And GeminiFourth are fun to see as new characters. Fourth is showing off his acting chops, the way he holds his jaw and mouth for this more sullen complicated part - it’s completely different from Gun. His acting style reminds me of Nanon a bit, he’s very nuanced in his facial expressions.

Never Let Me Go (Tues YT) ep 9 of 12 - 15 minutes of cute bf and dumb tattoos and then SUFFER! I love how quickly Palm put to rest your bog standard gay boy fantasies about a bisexual’s options. Palm was basically: “All the things that you dream for me with a woman, I can do that with you.” Honestly? I wasn’t that moved by the noble sacrifice of this episode. It was fine. More peril please. Looking forward to things going very very badly for the next couple of episodes. Bring on the pain GMMTV.

Hit Bite Love (Sat YouTube) ep 3 of 6 - Baby Dom is quite the kink dilettante, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a kinkster with more varied tastes. Maybe baby just hasn’t found his true fetish yet? I feel for poor Shogun who just wants a boyfriend who treats him decently and ends up with Mr. Experimental. The humorous outcome is, of course, predictable. Not wild about the stepbrothers storyline (despite my taboo preferences). Really? I just want more King and Burger.

609 Bedtime Story (Fri WeTV) ep 11fin - With the exception of Mum, every character suddenly started acting totally OUT of character. Anygay, Mum comes back to find Dew single and all obstacles to their romance magically cleared. The pub staff setting them up was cute. But all in all it felt like we were suddenly in a completely different show. Series review below.

I cannot believe we have 3 BL’s airing AT THE SAME TIME from GMMTV. It’s insane. I remember when it was exciting because we had 3 BLs airing at the same time at all.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

HIStory 5: Love in the Future (Taiwan Weds Viki) ep 7 of 10 (or 13&14 of 20) - It’s an office romance BL, so I like that office politics is complicating matters for both of our couples. I personally don’t believe in scions (with very few exceptions, we know it tends to be bad for a corporation, and that has certainly been my experience). Still, it’s suitably traumatic to see our couples in angst over the power transition. The confession scene for the leads was very sweet. And a nice kiss. And cute bf. Taiwan always just does these beats better than anyone else.

Candy Color Paradox AKA Ameiro Paradox (Japan Fri Gaga) ep 8 fin - K needed to realize O is a big boy. Yes we get it. Bummer he couldn’t figure out that for himself and had to be told by somebody else. I do feel sorry for the bartender character who keeps having to deal with all of these gay boys and their inability to communicate and resulting overdramatic depression. Meanwhile O needed to realize K needs him. And they both needed to learn to communicate, these… journalists. Good kiss and decent sex scenes for a JBL, with an HEA. Careful Japan we may start to develop expectations. I bumped up my rating on the strength of this finale. It was good! Series review below.

Individual Circumstances (Thurs Viki) 7-8fin - I like the resolution and explanation for the conflict, a lot more than I liked the conflict itself. The kiss wasn’t awesome, but it wasn’t entirely dead fish either. However, Korea has proved that it can do better, so I was annoyed by it. Also, no shirtless scene this time around, we were robbed. Series review below.

The End Of The World, With You AKA Bokura no Micro na Shuumatsu (Japan Sun Gaga ep 2 of 8 - This is way too high heat for them to end it happily. It’s all v weird. I guess I’ll keep watching? Even if everyone dies, this one is not gonna ruin me the way Eternal Yesterday almost did.

It’s Airing But I’m Not Watching it

My Beautiful Man S2 (Viki & Gaga) - Because there are only 4 episodes, I decided to wait and binge this one. What can I say? I just do not trust Japan. Sorry I’m too scared, those of you braver than I must watch first - I salute you and look forward to the gifs.

Egoist (Japan) cinema - Japanese movies are notoriously difficult to get ahold of.

Marry My Dead Body AKA Ghost and I Becoming Family (Taiwan) - movie about a police officer forced to marry a ghost.

Cafe in Love - Can’t find it

Finished this week

609 Bedtime Story

An interesting time slip concept and a great set up ultimately disappointed. It opened strong, on one of my favorite under appreciated Thai actors: Plustor (as Vee) in a side bartender romance with younger bisexual king, Games. Unfortunately, it went downhill from there. OhmFluke’s solid chemistry and romantically soft kisses were ill served by a reformed rake meets rich-kid cheater pairing. While it was nice to see Ohm play a part with more animated facial expressions, his was the only character that remained consistent. All in all, this was a confusing show about disloyalty and parallel worlds that never made sense or stayed true to its characters. A promising start, confusing middle, and disappointing end. I don’t say this lightly, but Oh My Sunshine Night is better, and OhmFuke deserve better than either. 6/10

Individual Circumstances

A second chance romance between a movie director who was once promising and a writer who disappeared due to past hurt. Stars JunQ (main rapper of MYNAME) and Han Jung Wan (Mr International Korea winner). Reunion romances are not my thing but I liked the bratty director despite his stalking (and prob because of his naked chest). Using a guitar to torture someone is entirely appropriate, in my book/BL world it happens all too often. I did want to know what happened in the past but the mystery got drawn out too much and the tsundere character became frustratingly mean spirited as a result. I like the resolution and explanation for the conflict a lot more than I liked the conflict itself. I could tell what this show wanted to be, and what it could’ve been, but it simply never got there. In the end, like a host of other KBLs over the last couple of years, it is serviceable but eminently forgettable. 7/10

Candy Color Paradox AKA Ameiro Paradox

Innocent but talented gay tabloid journalist partners (and falls in love with) a jaded player bisexual cameraman. This is a solid JBL of the more emo, cringe, and navel gazing variety that never really resonates with me. The main pairs’ chemistry felt weak and their characters were pat (for live action yaoi, I’ve seen or read this couple a million times). Bringing Izuka Kenta in to guest star was a stroke of genius and also challenging, because he has a complex history with JBL which I could not forget as I watched him EAT up the screen so hard he made the leads feel insipid. There were a lot of aspects of this show that felt more KBL than JBL. I missed the kinky edgy pushing boundaries we usually get from Japanese office romances. It did have a stellar ending (featuring a decent kiss and 2 nice sex scenes, you go Japan) but for me CCP was fine, just no more than fine. 8/10

Look you know how I feel about JBL, when it’s good it’s some of my absolute favorite (Seven Days, Old Fashion Cupcake, Minato’s Laundromat, Takara & Amagi), nothing else whips me into wit and eloquence and film crit like it, but when it’s off, for me, it’s really off. And Ameiro never gelled with me. It was too much work to watch. I don’t like chewy BL - nourishing and necessary though it may be for others.

Gossip

Issues and Controversies of Thai BL Actors - I get asked about these a lot, so I’m just gonna point you all at this YT henceforth.

Viki picked up Boys Planet so I’m watching it. I have FEELS but I’m not going to ruin a perfectly decent BL blog with Kpop reality TV, no matter how pretty. Just know I’m over here suffering for 4 hours every week. SUFFERING. Some of the singing during the first ep alone was SO BAD it put Thai BL boyfriends to shame. I am so glad they got 3 vocal coaches in this show. People better vote with their goddamn ears and not just (as they did with iLand) much lower down. (Oo, I’m salty already.)

In Case You Missed It

Feb releases list is here.

2023 forthcoming BL master post. (see comments some are inaccurate, NOT UPDATED)

Next Week Looks Like This:

I am so spoiled these days, now I’m upset there isn’t a good KBL airing right now. Do you remember when we barely got one or two a year? What a demanding monster 2022 turned me into. Anygay, 4 more Thai BL starting this week...

Destiny Seeker (Tues WeTV ) 1 of ? - Feb 14 we think, MDL is janky on this one. Engineering student Songkram is head of dorm 3, for "strong & athletic" students. Aye is head of dorm 2, for the "good looking" students. Aye used to be Songkram's tutor and friend, but they fell apart after becoming dorm heads. Aye is actually in love with Songkram but thinks Sonkram likes someone else. Songkram actually likes Aye. So, Bad Buddy the pulp rebirth meets that weird Japanese “girls-crossdressing-as-boys for love and infiltrating secret society of hotness” tradition.

Boyband (Thurs YT) 1 of 10 - Feb 16, it’s on the tin, BL drama about putting an idol boyband together. AKA how to make ABL suffer by combing favorite (celebrity romances, Kpop) and least favorite (bad singing) tropes.

Bed Friend (Sat YT & iQIYI uncut) 1 of 8 - Feb 18, but we’re looking for the rerun/uncut, so not sure on drop date for those. Fuck buddies get messy, AKA Between Us the second cuming, this time in an office (and on a desk). I have been waiting for James to hold down (or be held down in) a BL for years! Watch out, new kings of high heat are heading our way.

Chains of Heart (Sat Gaga) 1 of 10 - Feb 18 Suspense thriller about a forest ranger, smugglers, memory loss, and lost love. Stars Haii (Cirrus in TT2) and Poppy (Porpla in YYY). Adapted from a Y-novel of the same name by TJ Tommy.

Supposedly, but I’ve no idea where to watch it:

Jack Frost (Japan) - Feb 17 After saying goodbye to his friend, Ritsu had an accident and lost his memory. His roommate, Ikuya, struggles to rebuild their relationship and help him regain his memories. In the process, Ritsu falls in love with Ikuya, but he was unaware that they were already in a relationship.

Moments Of Love (Thai) Feb 14 Foremorfilm Production movie for cinema release. Was originally Golf (Director of 609 Bedtime Story & The Eclipse) to direct stars SmartJames (LeonPhob from Don't Say No) in a series. Is now something totally different and a movie. We are all confused.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

Open boys are the best boys. Never Let Me Go

Moonlight Chicken with ALL the zingers, plus verse characters. Thank you GMMTV!

Why so cute indeed. My School President

(last week)

Current Kpop earworm? Villain by Key (Shinee) just on hard rotation. It’s great.

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konigs-whore · 2 months

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𝚃𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚊 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖-Soap Mactavish

‼️MW3 spoilers, Mentions of death, depressive themes, mentions of loss. ‼️

A/N: I’m trying to improve my writing but no matter how many times I re-write it, I still hate it.

Also, this is inspired by my random sadness.

NOT proofread, so excuse the spelling mistakes.

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

numbness fills me as I gaze upon the scene before me. My mind remains frozen, unable to comprehend the reality of it all. Emotions wash over me in waves - detachment, anger, sorrow, and guilt.

As I tentatively approach, outstretching my hand, I am struck with the realization that this is not a dream. Before me lies everything - my entire world and heart - motionless on a bed. A white sheet conceals all but your precious face, the same face I would spend hours admiring.

As I stand next to your bed, my hand trembling as it reaches for the sheet and then yours. A lump forms in my throat as our hands make contact, and a choked sob escapes my lips. Your once warm hands, now cold and lifeless, remain firm in my grasp. The comforting warmth that I cherished is now absent, lost in a place that I cannot reach.

"My love, what have you done?" I whisper. Crouching down beside your bed, placing my head on our connected hands.

Why'd you leave me behind? what happened to growing old with me.

"Forever you said-" my voice cracks, Throat burning with emotion. " I thought we had the time, had our lives.".

Waves of anguish wrack my body, releasing uncontrollable sobs. My tears cascade upon my wedding ring, tracing a path down our interlocked fingers.

The recollections of our moments together gently stream through the path of my tears. From our initial encounter, to the moment you presented the ring, how you stumbled into the fountain while kneeling down on one knee. How we swam through the water to retrieve the ring, laughing together. All the beautiful smiles exchanged and the dreams we shared of starting a family.

I really wish, we could've had one together.

Despite my best efforts, I cannot hide my sadness as it seeps out in a bitter smile. With a heavy heart, I release our clasped hands and plant a final kiss upon your cold knuckles.

“It’s difficult for me to imagine the rest of my life without you. But I suppose I don’t have to imagine it... I just have to live it”

As I gently tuck the sheet back over your hand, I run my fingers through your hair, cherishing the last moments I have with you. A melancholy smile graces my lips as I trace the rough stubble on your face, lost in bittersweet memories.

With a devilish grin, you drop onto the sofa beside me. "I believe I'll keep this look. It adds an air of sophistication and fatherhood," you announce, holding yourself proudly. I chuckle and tousle your hair. "Whatever pleases you, my dear. You are handsome either way."

A deep pain tears through my heart, as I come to terms with the fact that you will never get to experience the joys of fatherhood. Our hopes and aspirations were extinguished the day you departed from this world, taking a piece of my heart along with you.

I just want to hear you say, baby let’s go home.

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

It has been several months since your funeral. A number of individuals have come by to inquire about my well-being. Your former team make frequent visits, particularly Simon. He often stays the night, staying up late with me and reminiscing about our experiences with you, ensuring that your memory remains alive in our hearts.

As I lay awake, my mind wanders to memories of our wedding day. The sun was shining, casting a warm glow over the serene outdoor setting. You looked dashing in your tuxedo, and I couldn't help but feel like the luckiest woman in the world. Becoming Mrs. Mactavish.

I wish I could turn back time and hold you tight, tell you how much you meant to me. But life doesn't work that way, and all I have now are memories.

“Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.”

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #soap mactavish x reader #soap fanfic #soap mactavish #soap call of duty #soap mw2 #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap cod #this man needs to exist for me #need him like air and my daily bread #johnny mactavish #john mactavish x you #cod fanfic #cod angst #soap angst

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muddyorbsblr · 7 months

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thots & theories :: loki season 2 episode 1

This post will contain spoilers for the first episode of Loki Season 2 under the cut so please if you haven't watched yet, then press Keep Reading at your own risk.

What you will find under the cut: Whoring out and the return of a side of me that I never actually thought would ever come out again…"Theorist Ally" 🥴🫡

Thots

Please tell me I wasn't the only one at risk of heading to the ER from choking after seeing that first shot of TVA agents chasing Loki down the hallway like besties & fellow whores I did not have "Marvel mercifully decides to leave the mango untouched" in my 2023 bingo card. But we actually got that shot in HD now and it's blowing my tiny whoring mind 🥵😮‍💨

And all the hair flips we got once he lands from a time slip with the tense jaw and neck muscles like Sir we're trying to feel for you and feel the urge to wrap you in a blanket and give you cuddles, but you're making it really hard not to think about [redacted]

Lemme just give y'all some shots that had me feeling all kinds of ways throughout this episode:

Thoughts

Something I really appreciated in this was that while Loki was concerned about how the time slipping looked to people witnessing it, Mobius was more concerned about how Loki felt experiencing it. Precious beb deserves to have someone that actually cares to that level and that bit just warmed my cold dead heart 🥹

In the same vein as above, Mobius' refusal to give up on Loki coming back until the last possible second and even begging OB to hold off a little longer really struck a chord with me because again, he now has someone that isn't just concerned about his well-being but also will believe in him even if everyone's going to tell them to give up 💖

The scene where OB was remembering new memories from his past in realtime during his conversation with Mobius in the present was something that I found insanely clever like let me tell you I was geeking out about it on my couch at 9am on a Friday morning

The sequences where Loki begins to realize in seconds where he's been yoinked off to in the timeline was a really good showcase of how smart our stabby boi is because he was using elements in his surroundings to form a timeline in his head to estimate where he was and he's doing all this under the pressure of not knowing when he's going to disappear again and under visibly excruciating pain 🥺💖

I'm living for the fact that B-15's part of the main group of characters and she really served that look of "are you fucking kidding me and right in front of my salad" when General Dox and X-5 were having their little moment.

Speaking of Dox and X-5…something's going on with those two and if y'all are thinking "mother/son" then lemme just nudge you in the direction of Oedipus Complex because…something about those two don't sit right with me 😖😖

The whole profound emotional moment with Sylvie finally feeling like she can breathe and not have to worry about running anymore and actually eat something that isn't something she hunted would have had the teeniest bit more impact if it didn't take place in a McDonald's but I gotta admit I too have once considered trying the entire menu 😂

Theories

Let's start off with my theories surrounding the scene where they fix the Temporal Loom because I have a feeling that we're going to be returning to that sequence and that setting quite a few times towards the end of the season. And with that sequence alone I have so many questions.

Like how did Sylvie get stuck in the elevator? Who pruned Loki that allowed him to return to his present timeline and also save Mobius in the process? Who's on the other end of the line on that ringing phone in the future? Why is General Dox sending troops upon troops of Minutemen to Sylvie's location and how is she even certain that where they're all headed off to is the location they're after?

So here's a few of my theories/predictions for what we're about to see as Season 2 plays out:

Loki prunes himself – I think we're going to revisit that scene where Loki gets pruned only from a more future Loki's point of view where we see that he's the one that prunes Episode 1 Loki so that he could be extracted and returned to his present timeline. He's the one holding the time stick.

General Dox is a tertiary antagonist – in the grand scheme of the season I think she and X-5 will probably at most be a nuisance with some firepower, but they're not the biggest threat after Kang, which leads me to…

OB is a secondary antagonist – I know I know we love him right now because he's fun and quite matter of fact, but hear me out. I think that his priority will be fixing the Temporal Loom which goes against what at least B-15 stands for because each branched timeline has countless lives living in them. He knows how the loom works and he knows how to repair it, so he puts that above all else to the extent where he could try and reconcile them all once again into a Sacred Timeline. Point is, he won't want the Loom to break.

Rennslayer and Kang are the primary antagonists…and maybe also Minutes? – that casual hard launch in the beginning scenes where Loki's in the past TVA hasn't left my mind and I think this is where we're headed

And now here's where I go tin foil hat and give my most out there theory that I hope won't happen but something tells me that it will.

So…y'all know how in Doctor Who, Clara Oswald sacrifices herself into the Doctor's timeline and splits herself into thousands (maybe even millions) of iterations of herself with the singular goal of saving the Doctor? She becomes a being that is destined to make that decision again and again because the Clara that jumped into the timeline was a life that's probably already been created as a result of that very sacrifice?

That type of circular infinite path of life is like the snake that's forever doomed to eat its own tail in a circle until the end of time. That concept and that symbol is called an Ouroboros.

And now that I've given that long winded intro here's the part where some of you are about to click off and call me delulu and you know what valid but if you're still here and you wanna see the clown show here we go:

Loki will become an Ouroboros

I don't think this episode was just titled "Ouroboros" because we're being introduced to OB. I think there was a more profound meaning to the episode title, that meaning being that this is the path that Loki's headed down. I think he sacrifices himself in the scene where he faces the Temporal Loom without a protective suit on and this will cause him to split into infinite versions of himself throughout the timelines. And one of these infinite versions will find himself in the Future TVA where he sees the Loki from Episode 1 running in search of a time stick.

Now I can already hear some of you going "But Ally why would he do that?" And I'm going to pull from Loki's words directly to explain what his motive could be to do such a thing:

"I want to save my friends"

Now with all that being said, I'm totally open to other theories and I genuinely hope that my big theory is not correct because I really don't like that that's the route my brain went when trying to connect the pieces.

Gonna go and tag some usual suspect besties in this (and not gonna put this into the series tag because self preservation): @gigglingtiggerv2 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @coldnique @peachyjinx @gruftiela @lokisgoodgirl @loopsisloops @give-me-a-moose @lokischambermaid @tallseaweed @mischief2sarawr @maple-seed @joyful-enchantress @november-rayne @ladyofthestayingpower @fictive-sl0th @mochie85 @liminalpebble @simplyholl +++

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newtsniffles · 11 months

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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.’