#let the man SLEEP Holmes

[amypihcs]

And from today’s letter from Watson!

John is tired and Holmes DROPS BY HIM AT A QUARTER TO MIDNIGHT! Mind you, the man was literally falling asleep on his novel. I can imagine him interrupting mid-yawn opening the door and finding himself facing Holmes.

AND THEN THE MAN STARTS DEDUCING HIS DAY AND LIFE, as you do, obv

well, as you do. Watson is so gracious not to kill he man instantly as he raps out deductions almost at midnight to a man asleep on his feet. I want to underline this once again, Watson is a darling and too good for this world.

And then, and then and then. Watson noticed of course that there’s a case going on! 

Well, at least Holmes worries about Watson being sleepy and tries to compress the story. Such a nice boy, he’s learning well.

[loichte]

Liam: I don’t remember that. Sherlock: Do you remember that night last week when you slept in a revolving door? Liam: …No. Sherlock: Okay, do you remember when you were chased by those wild dogs for two miles? Liam: Not especially, no. Sherlock: It was in between those two things.

[cherryclxud]

Catch me if you can Lord Holmes pt2

(ENOLA HOLMES)!Sherlock x BRIDGERTON! reader

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Description: a writer by the name of Marcus Bradford has taken the Ton by storm with his weekly edition chapter of a crime story, Sherlock is tasked with finding Marcus Bradford and solving the case of the abominable bride. but what if meeting a certain Bridgerton girl distracts him from the case?

Word count: 5.8k

Warnings: none

Taglist <3 : @frost-queen @siannaplmn @annesunlight @jolixtreesunn @probabydeadbynow @chloepluto1306 @gayandfairycore @queenfairyfangirl @viylikescats @hipsternerd9 @delusional-4-fake-people

read below for credits.

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SLEEPING AT 221B BAKER STREET USUALLY came easy to Enola. Seeing as there was quite literally very little for her to do, however, for the past 2 nights it has become increasingly difficult for her not to get out of bed and shout at her brother to put the violin down. 

Sherlock was stuck, and Enola could tell by his incessant playing of the violin, the notes he was playing were all gloomy grey. With a sigh, she put her head under the pillow and slammed her hand over it to cover her ears in the hope of respite from the sound. Of course, for the first 4 hours he was playing Enola felt sympathy, but when his playing started to get in the way of her sleep that's when her sympathy towards Sherlock turned to contempt towards the violin. 

She had reached the point where she imagined scenarios of her grabbing scissors and cutting the strings, or of her taking the violin and throwing it out the window.

Somehow the music playing seemed to penetrate through the pillow, making the girl move the pillow, turn to her back and glare at the ceiling. She got up and stomped the the drawing room where her brother sat there playing the insipid instrument. 

“SHERLOCK” she shouted over the music causing her brother to play a wrong note before stopping and turning to her. “Enola? Shouldn't you be asleep by now?” he looked out the window and saw the moon still high in the sky.

Enola crossed her arms while rolling her eyes, “geez Sherlock that's a great idea, i was getting quite tired and had no idea how to remedy it, you have truly opened my eyes” Her voice was full of sarcasm yet Sherlock paid no mind to it as he was distracted.

“Hmm yes well I suppose you should get to it”.

Enola scoffed as she saw her brother pick up the violin about to resume his playing once more “Sherlock! I can't if you insist on playing at this time.” she pointed to the instrument as the older Holmes looked down at it with a sigh.

“Ah, I see, my apologies sister I seemed to have gotten carried away” he places the instrument on its stand before slamming it down on the settee with a sigh and closes his eyes as he continues to think. 

Enola turns around, happy that the peace and quiet has finally infiltrated the home, she goes on her way to her room and just as she was about to go in she stops. She turns to look to her brother, she really felt pity for him at this point, losing sleep over looking for this man who could quite literally be anywhere in England.

“Sherlock, what's wrong?”

Sherlock opens his eyes and lifts his head to look at his sister. “Nothing Enola you should go to bed, I promise I won't play anymore”

He watches as his sister walks across the room only stopping at the coffee table to pick up his tobacco pipe and hold it in between her lips in thought. “Oh look at me I'm Sherlock and I must find out everything about everyone yet never let anyone find out anything about me” she spoke in a mock deep voice as she sat next to him.

HE leaned forward and snatched the pipe from her mouth before wiping the mouthpiece with his shirt. Enola watched as he lit the pipe with a match and smoked in silence, a frown etched on his face. She decided to change the subject hoping it would get her brother to open up more about what was bothering him.

“Y/n and i have been writing to each other”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow “y/n Bridgerton? The viscount's sister?” Enola nodded 

“Yes we have been speaking since we met Nonestop, she is actually quite amusing.” Enola smiled recounting the letters they both shared. Sherlock rolled his eyes but deep inside was happy that his sister had found someone to be friends with. He was worried that his taking care of her had caused his disinterest in forging real connections with people had spread to her. He didn't want her to lean on him and not connect with anyone else. 

He found himself grateful for y/n's sudden but effective presence in his sister's life.

“She's quite like you, you know?” Enola spoke looking nowhere in particular. This caught Sherlock's attention as he looked back to his sister, “How so?”

“Well for starters she's smart…well not as smart as you, no one as smart as you” Enola rolled her eyes before grabbing a small rubber ball she found lying on the floor and bounced it up and down a few times, “She reads a lot, she told me when her brother would return from oxford for the summer she would take the books he'd read and read and study his essays and annotations” 

Sherlock, who was staring at the floor where the ball was bouncing, chuckled quietly remembering one year at Oxford when Anthony had returned from his stay with his family missing the book he was meant to be studying for the semester and sheets of essays he had worked on during the time off, and how frazzled he was trying to rewrite what he could from memory, only to have it delivered to him with a letter of apology from his sister later that night.

“You know she even read that boring book you wrote on like the two hundred and forty types of tobacco” she offhandedly spoke not noticing her brother's smile dropped “Two hundred and forty-three”

“I believe that that was the only copy sold brother mine,” she smirked

“I'll have you know I sold three copies” he grumbled looking away.

Enola laughed “That's because Mycroft and I each bought a copy in support of you”

Sherlock scoffed and stood up walking to the window and looked outside pretending to be angry at his sister. 

“Oh don't sulk brother you know that doesn't work on me, the print shop refused to print any more copies of your books in advance, that's how bad it did.” She leaned back in her seat with a smirk, “She invited me to breakfast  at Bridgerton house tomorrow, can you take me there?” 

Sherlock turned with a nod “I can drop you off and th-” he stopped mid-sentence as an idea struck him, “what did you just say?”

Enola looked at her brother worried that he was too busy to take her “She invited me for breakfast tomorrow and I wish for you to take me there. If you are busy I can take a carriage so no worri-”

“No no before that”

Enola tried to replay the conversation “I told you not to sulk, then that the book you wrote won't get printed in advance any longer”

Sherlock then turned to face away and walked to his desk that was placed in the drawing room and picked up one of the many newspapers that were turned to page 4, turned to the back of the paper and read down the page till he reached what he was looking for. 

‘Tibalt's Printing Press

5th Northumberland street

London’

Sherlock smiled looking down at the paper, “Of course, Minnie always ends up in the kitchen when she's hungry.”

Enolas eyes turn the the left as she racks her brain trying to think what in the world her brother is going on about, “pardon?”

She watched as her brother scribbled some writing on a piece of paper before marching to his pin board on the wall and sticking a pin through the newspaper set on the last page. He stepped back with a smile, Enola stood up from her seat and walked to her brother's side.

“Sherlock, is everything alright?”

The brother looked at her and nodded “It's perfect, all back on track thanks to your friend,” Enola raised an eyebrow.

“Y/n? How did she help? Wait where are you going this late?” She watched as her brother picked up his coat and the paper he scribbled on. He walked up to her and gave her a kiss on the top of her head.

“Don't worry dear sister, assuming all goes to plan I'll be back in time to take you to break your fast with the Bridgertons, sleep well!” And with that, he walked out of the flat door closing it behind him leaving Enola alone in the drawing room.

With a sigh she blew out the remaining candle that illuminated the room, her eyes stopped at the violin that stood defenceless in the room. A smirk found its way on her face as she looked back at the door making sure her brother wouldn't be back.

………….

THE CANDLE BURNED  LIGHTING ONE corner of y/n's bed-chamber, her eyes fled over words on the page of the book she was reading, a new author writing under the title ‘A Lady’ had written a book named ‘Pride and Prejudice’, y/n was completely infatuated with the idea that the author had so boldly revealed that whoever she was, she was a woman.

Unlike Lady Whistledown, this writer resorted to writing harmless fiction that was incredible to read, and unlike y/n she was courageous enough to reveal she was a female, and yet it was a complete shame in y/n's eyes to see that the books didn't do as well as she thought it deserved. 

She pulled her knees to her chest as she relaxed against the window, sitting on the window seat to be able to look outside easily. It had become her routine to sit at the window every night, therefore to anyone else seeing her wouldn't warrant any suspicion, but y/n wouldn't sleep until something in the scenery outside her window changed.

She just about turns to a new page when from the corner of her eye she sees a light flickering outside her window facing the garden, turning to look outside, she sees the figure of the personal valet of Anthony walking in the garden with a candlelit lantern, stopping mid-walk he turns to her window direction and then blows out his candle.

Y/n gave a smile and blew out her own candle, drowning out the last shred of light in her room, and stood up from her seat, shutting the book and placed it on her dresser. And with that, the valet walked back into the house leaving the girl to go to sleep peacefully.

…….

THE CARRIAGE WHEELS STOPPED IN FRONT OF THE printing shop letting Sherlock step out before paying the driver. The windows were illuminated by the candles inside the print shop, he watched as two men worked on the printing of the weekly newspaper. 

Sherlock walked over to the door of the print shop and tried to push it open only to find it was locked closed, however, the attempt to open it had gained him the attention of the two men who looked at each other before turning to Sherlock.

The older one of the two motioned to the younger man to go deal with him as he went back to work. The younger man rolled his eye as he walked to the door and unlocked it before stepping out to stand face to face with the detective, “You know we don't get many people coming here that don't know how to read, this being a print shop and all”

Sherlock stared blankly, the man then pointed at the sign hanging in the window “It says closed, there I read it for you, come back in the morning” he then walked back inside but as he went to shut the door Sherlock stopped it with his foot causing the man to turn back to him.

“I'm here to find out about Marcus Bradford!”

The man tried to push Sherlock back “If you're a fan then you have no luck here, we only print what we get given.” managing to push Sherlock's foot out he went to slam the door only to once again get stopped but this time by his hand. Once the door was open again then holmes pulled his hand back in pain, shaking it to relieve the soreness.

“I'm a detective, I just have a few questions regarding Mr Bradford and I'll be on my way.”

The printshop employee scratched his chin before motioning for Holmes to follow him inside, he took him to the older man who had previously sent him to deal with the problem.

“Theo? I thought I told you to deal with it” the old man spoke, Theo, however, sighed “yeah well he's a detective, won't leave”

The old man's hands stopped working on the press as he turned to meet Sherlock Holmes’ eye, “Aye, yes I recognise you, you're that Holmes guy, to what do I owe the honour?”

Theo spoke up before Sherlock could “he says he's looking for Bradford, Mr Tibalt.”

“You a fan Mr. Holmes?” Tibalt spoke, prompting Sherlock to glare in his direction.

“I assure you quite the contrary, I have been just tasked with looking into him and his background” Sherlock made sure to walk up to the elder man and stand about a foot away from him, standing taller than him he was trying to add an intimidation factor “I would appreciate your cooperation”

Tibalt stood staring at Sherlock for a good 10 seconds before speaking “I'm not sure if I can actually be of help, I haven't met the man, and neither has Theo, he doesn't deliver the stories himself”

“Then who does?”

“It really depends.”

“On?”

“4 men rotate in delivering the story every week, each one wears a mask so I don't see their faces. They don't say a word, all I get is the story and a letter with instructions on what to do along with the payment.”

Dead end. 

“And when was the last time one of the men?” Sherlock asked.

“About an hour before you graced us with your own presence. He'd be long gone. All I can tell you is I have never met mr Bradford or had any personal contact with him.”

Sherlock nodded in thought, his only chance of unveiling Mr. Bradford had quite literally beat him to the chase. Tibalt turned and faced away from Sherlock grabbing a freshly printed newspaper copy, “I can't help you much about Bradford but I can tell you this” he handed Sherlock the new concept that was due for release in the morning, “Something has changed, he's introducing new characters in the midst of the story, and it's clear that this chapter has shifted it all to focus on this character. I assumed it would interest you seeing as for the past couple of copies he had been facing what I assume is a dry spell of ideas” 

Sherlock looked at Tibalt before opening the paper to page 4, his eyes skimmed over the paper and suddenly stopped in his tracks, “Detective Sherrinford?” He looked up to the print shopkeeper who shrugged his shoulders and turned to get back to printing the rest of the papers.

Understanding that he most likely wouldn't be able to get more information, he left his address and told them to let him know if there were any updates, then thanked them and left to go home.

……..

LONDON WAS BUSTLING THAT MORNING, the weekly paper distribution brought by an onslaught of arguments and opinions about the new chapter in the story. The introduction of the character Detective Sherrinford had brought about mixed feelings.

Some believed that Bradford was losing his touch and was doing what he could to keep the story going, others believed that this was just a long-winded way of Marcus telling them that the real story was about to begin, especially with the way he ended off this week's chapter.

“The game is afoot?” Enola put down the newspaper against her lap, she looked towards Sherlock who sat across from her in the carriage on the way to the Bridgertons. He shrugged his shoulders as he moved the curtains to gauge how far along they were until the house, “A change I presume, seems Marcus Bradford has decided to take the story in a different direction” he replied, there was a tinge of frustration in his voice.

The carriage stopped in front of the Bridgerton house and Sherlock stepped out before helping Enola out next, the footman took them into the house where they were allowed into the drawing room where Anthony, Benedict, Eloise, Gregory and Violet sat. 

Anthony being the first to see them stood up in surprise when he saw the Holmes sibling there, “Lord Holmes what a pleasant surprise this morning” he stood up and walked to them and shook their hands before inviting them further into the drawing room in the direction of his family, “this is my mother.” Violet stood from her seat with a smile, as Sherlock took her hand and placed a light kiss on it, then Anthony introduced the rest of his siblings in the room before turning to Sherlock “To what do I owe this fine visit to Holmes?”

“I invited Enola for breakfast brother” y/n who had just walked into the room spoke as she approached the group. Sherlock watched as she and Enola hugged, then as she turned to him and shook his hand, “Good morning Lord Holmes, it's very nice to see you again”

“Likewise Miss Bridgerton” he nodded to her. “I presume you have read the new chapter out today lord holmes, He added a new character what was his name” y/n put her hand the her chin as she pretended to have forgotten the name which Sherlock could of course detect however decided not to call her out on her actions and played along “detective Sherrinford i presume is the name you are trying to remember miss Bridgerton”

“Ahh yes, you are quite right lord holmes, I'm quite forgetful when it comes to these things” she lied jokingly as she spoke, making a small smile play on Sherlock's own lips.

“It's a shame seeing as the author has now added this character, who is a recluse detective who will possibly that forever to solve a case with already many plotholes, the only way the story can go is down.”

y/ns smile fell for a second but she made sure to replace it quickly enough to not be noticeable, “I don't know, I have come to take quite the liking to Detective Sherrinford, I think he will do great to solve this case, I think this story is getting better” she spoke with a smile.

As Sherlock and y/n spoke no one really paid any mind to them. Anthony and Benedict were busy talking, Enola had struck up a conversation with Eloise and Gregory was reading the story in the paper, and no one was paying them any mind…

But violet, she could see it.

Her daughter never took the time to talk to a man for this long about anything, not even about books or stories there was something there. And she was adamant about helping it grow.

“I don't know lord holmes, I would have thought you’d like the character, I think Sherrinford is exactly like you.” y/n’s words caused Enola and Eloise to look towards them in shock, “y/n! You are completely right, how could I not make that connection earlier myself “Enola spoke as she walked to the pair quickly.

“What are you two on about, the man is nothing like me”

And there stood the three arguing about why Sherrinford is or isn't like Sherlock until inevitably, a maid walked into the drawing room and called out that breakfast was ready.

“I guess this means I should take my leave not, Enola ill pick you up in 3 hours” Just as Sherlock was speaking about leaving, Violet interrupted his farewells “Lord Holmes please do join us for breakfast”

Sherlock just about shook his head and was about to decline before Violet spoke again “I had the cook prepare extra just for you” and with that, he couldn't refuse, no matter how much he wanted to.

….

The family and the Holmes siblings filtered into the dining area, Enola and y/n sat next to each other, and just about when Gregory was about to sit next to y/n on her other side, his mother motioned for him to sit elsewhere leaving Sherlock no other seat but that one, not that it really bothered him.

The families started eating and exchanging conversation, the atmosphere was delightful, and Enola was aglow, it had been a long while since she sat down for breakfast with a family seeing as usually she and Sherlock wake up at different times and end up eating anything.

“Lord Sherlock, it really is a pleasure having you and your sister here, I must say I'm surprised I havent seen you in the ton more often, no soirees nor balls” Violet spoke as she cut another piece of the omelette in her plate. Sherlock swallowed the food in his mouth before nodding to Violet “That is indeed true viscountess Bridgerton, I simply haven't found the time to integrate into society, there's too much work and research and clients. In fact it is my fault Enola has yet to debut, I had been meaning to help her this season however i got sidetracked.” 

Violet nodded her face full of sympathy towards the two siblings, it was a known fact around the ton that the Holmes family had lost not one but both parents in the same year, their father had been taken ill for months before suffering through an unfortunately painful exit and their mother had been so in love with him and followed him mere months after due to a broken heart. 

Since then little has been known about the Holmes family, they had become reclusive and barely interacted with the rest of the ton. Sherlock and Enola, who were 9 and 2 at the time, were put under the care and sanction of their older brother Viscount Mycroft who himself was 15. It was like the Holmeses ceased to exist any longer, that was until a few years ago when Viscount Mycroft got married and Sherlock moved out to a flat in Central London, it was widely believed that Sherlock found the Viscount Holmes’ new wife to be unappealing to share a mansion with, sooner or later in a visit back home he decided he would take his younger sister to live with him.

“Well better late than never I say” Violet spoke softly with a smile targeted at Sherlock. Her eyes flicker to y/n who was eating her food quietly while listening to the conversation then back to Sherlock. “you know, there is a soiree tomorrow night at the Dunphrees,”

Anthony stared at his mother in shock understanding what she was doing “Mother!”

Violet of course ignored him knowing Anthony really is only good for ruining her plans. “We shall be attending, I say you should come”

Enola looked up from her plate excited “Oh can we brother, it sounds like so much fun” y/n snorted quickly while holding back a laugh. Sherlock glanced at her before looking to his sister whose eyes was practically begging him, “ Enola you don't had a dress for the occasion and I doubt one can be made in time” 

Y/n smirked as she looked at him, “That is no worry at all lord holmes i have 4 daughters surely I have a couple of dresses to spare that will be her size.” Violet interjected. y/n and Enola looked at each other excitedly, Sherlock's lips pressed together in a semi-frustrated smile before looking at his sister and y/n. Enola looked very excited as she shared a hug with y/n, and for a moment his eyes lingered on the Bridgerton girl, he was thankful for her existence in his sister's life, she was in fact a very interesting person to talk to, and maybe having her around would make him feel less guilty over not always being there for his sister. The said Bridgerton girl turned to face Sherlock awaiting his decision, only to be met with his own eyes looking at her, he quickly looked away while clearing his throat embarrassed at having been caught staring at her, but this action did not elude Violet’s eyee, she smiled softly at the bashfulness of sherlock.

With a sigh, he nodded albeit quite a bit reluctantly but part of him knew that Enola needed this, and in fact he needed a break, so maybe he needed this too. “I don't see why not, God knows we require a chance for respite.” Enola gleamed at the thought of attending her first soiree tomorrow.

The families continued their breakfast and their endless conversations, many topics including the breach of secrecy of Anthony and Sherlock Oxford days, they even told stories of the Duke of Hastings from their days living together. Enola revealed quite a bit of her childhood activities, and the two siblings shared their distaste for their sister in law, hyacinth chatted about how their elder sister Daphne would have almost been married to the prince of Prussia had it not been for her love for the duke, this conversation managed to segway into Eloise talking about Lady Whistledown and who she may be.

“Speaking of hidden writers,” y/n spoke as she turned to look at Sherlock “How has your hunt for Mr Bradford lord homles, someone of your calibre must have reached some conclusion.”

Sherlock nearly choked on the tea he was drinking, everyone at the table went quiet actually quite curious about his findings. “Lord Sherlock you found Mr. Marcus Bradford?” Gregory exclaimed, having been quite a fan of the writer's weekly updates. 

Wiping his mouth with a handkerchief the detective shook his head “I'm afraid I'm still looking, he has proven to be quite a difficult man to find. I went to the printing shop that prints and distributes the weekly paper, unfortunately, they have no clue who he is either, seems he doesn't deliver the chapters himself for all I know he is on the other side of England.”

y/n’s eyes moved to the side in thought as everyone sighed in frustration expressing their disappointment in the possibility of not knowing the writer behind the book. 

“Well that would make no sense” y/n spoke up causing all eyes to move to her.

“It makes perfect sense miss Bridgerton, there are other places in England a man can live other than Mayfair” Sherlock spoke sarcastically, confused as to why y/n would find such a simple ordeal strange, his words caused both Anthony and Benedict to chuckle.

y/n glared at her brothers then directed her glare to Sherlock “Laugh all you want men, I have a point to make. Tell me Lord Holmes why would a man on the other side of England write a story only for it to be published in Mayfair only? Surely he wants to see the fruits of his labour in person, even if he doesn't take the credit for it.”

“What makes you so sure that the man only has it published in Mayfair and not all over England?” Sherlock spoke, now completely serious, of course, he was quite upset that a point like this could have fled his mind. He had been too busy looking for the man himself when the actual paper held most of the clues he would need anyway. He thought it would be best to listen to y/n seeing as it was her words that triggered him to find the first clue in the first place.

Something told him that she knew much more than she let on about this case.

“Simple. We receive two different newspapers per week, one is the English paper, and the other is the Mayfair weekly paper, and yet the story only appears in the Mayfair weekly. That means your elusive writer is either an idiot-” Violet scolded her daughter for her use of an insult, however y/n brushed it off with an apologetic look aimed at her, before facing Sherlock again “-and is sending a copy of his writing to every separate town and city in England rather than just placing it in the English paper that goes all over England, or he is walking among us here in Mayfair”

The two stared eye to eye for a good 10 seconds in silence that even Colin had to clear his throat to almost ease the tension. Sherlock was the first to speak, “Well deduced Miss Bridgerton, you seemed to have caught on to a point I seemed to have missed” he smirked, “This is the second time, one more time and I may just have to engage you.” y/n’s smile dropped at his words and her face heated up as violet and Enola let out a quiet gasp. Sherlock cleared up his throat and quickly went to fix his wording.

“Engage you in other cases i mean, sometimes I could use an outsider's eye on the matter” he spoke while avoiding y/n’s eyes, his fingers tracing the rim of the teacup in his hands. y/n was in a similar situation but had a small smile that danced on her lips.

“Holmes doesn't jest” y/ns smiled as her eyes shot up to look at Anthony who had made a habit of ruining the moment “Y/n is a young lady and shouldn’t really be exposed to some of the cases you deal with, don't you agree” she glared at him. “And what of it brother? What does my being a lady have to do with a case? It’s not like crime stops when I walk in the room just because I'm a lady.” she spoke while rolling her eyes, she knew her brother meant well but sometimes he was overbearing. 

“y/n-”

“Actually viscount Bridgerton, I completely understand your argument” Sherlock's words caused y/n to look at him disappointed “However as Miss Bridgerton has worded it wonderfully, crime doesn't stop because the fairer sex exists. I truly believe there is no such thing as protecting them from the truth, only hiding the truth. I think Miss Bridgerton would benefit from being challenged by a few questions, no need to see a crime scene herself. I do this with Enola all the time, and she doesn't seem to mind at all.”

Enola quickly nodded at her brother's words in agreement “It's true Lord Bridgerton, it’s quite fun, like solving puzzles, it keeps me occupied and gives me the ability to spend time with Sherlock.”

Violet interjected before Anthony could speak again,” These are quite bold ideas you share lord holmes, not many men would agree with you.”

“And not many women too” Eloise muttered with an eye roll.

But Sherlock kept his resolve and looked to y/n and his sister before looking back to Violet, “Well viscountess Bridgeton, I am quite a fanatic of what many may call strange ideals. I believe that a day will come, when a war will break out,” the whole table gasped in shock at his words, “one half of the human race against the other, the invisible army always standing by the men's shoulder, there has to come a day where us men stand back and view women as equals who deserve respect and demand to be heard”

 “I think it's a wonderful idea lord holmes, you letting y/n help out in your cases that is.” Violet broke the silence as she clasped her two hands together, she met eyes with y/n who smiled at her, she smiled back and gave her daughter a wink.

If he were to be the man her daughter would love, then she would rather back her up than be against her and cause her daughter to abstain from the thought of love or marriage in general.

Gregory sat up excitedly “Lord Holmes! When you do find Mr. Bradford do you think you can get him to sign a copy of his books for me?” 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow with a smile at the excitement in his voice “Thats IF, but I don't see why not”

“No, it’s WHEN, Lord Holmes, I’m sure you are much closer to the man than you think” y/n spoke while motioning to Anthony valet to fetch her more tea with a smile. Sherlock looked at the teacup in y/n’s hands in confusion “I’m not sure im any closer to finding him, no one in the ton knows him”

The valet held the teacup as he poured tea for y/n as she spoke “Who says Marcus Bradford is the writer's real name?” it was like clockwork, Sherlock looked at y/n as she spoke, and the teacup slipped out of the valet's hands dropping some of the contents of the cup straight into y/ns lap. Sherlock quickly grabbed a tablecloth from in front of him and started dabbing the tea on her lap, them action caused her eyes to widen and for her to stand up quickly and move away, Anthony and Benedict stood up, both rushing to their sister, countless apologies were spewed from the valet's mouth. It was actually quite chaotic.

“It’s fine, I'm fine” y/n spoke with a nervous smile. “ one of the downsides of being a girl is wearing many layers, though I suppose in this case it is an upside” she let out a giggle while looking at everyone, her eyes moved to the valet who was still apologising “no harm no foul Hudson, I'm fine” 

“I may have to get changed though, Enola,” she turned to face her friend, “Why don't you join me, we can look for a dress for you to wear for tomorrow's soiree”

The younger Holmes got up with a smile and joined her as the two rushed off to y/n’s room.

Everyone returned to their seats and slowly continued on with their conversation, however, Sherlock felt uneasy now in his seat, looking up in front of him his eyes met with Anthony’s eyes, who almost seemed to be glaring back at him.  The eldest Bridgerton brother hadn't missed how Sherlock reacted to the tea dropped on his sister, he wanted to diminish any feelings that may be growing from y/n towards Holmes as fast as possible, to him Sherlock wasn't right for his sister.

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AN: First of all I am absolutely blown away by the number of likes and requests for tags I have gotten, I love you all, literally thought this story was going to flop. I'm sorry it took a while for the second chapter to come out hopefully next chapter won't take as long. TRULY LIKE WOW.

This chapter has so many easter eggs feel free to let me know which ones you found out through my ask box or comments, and if there is smth you would like me to add in any upcoming chapters let me know too<3

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I do not own Bridgerton

I do not own Sherlock or Enola Holmes

and I most certainly don't own the abominable bride story

I do not own Sherrinford

they belong to their rightful owners

I only own the fic idea.

[loveinhawkins]

Eddie is writing new song lyrics. Dustin discovers them on a random Saturday when they’re having pizza at Steve’s; Eddie asks Dustin to get one of his old campaign notes, and Dustin reaches for the wrong journal.

“Oh, not that one,” Eddie says with a shrug, but his eyes go a little thoughtful at the sight of it in Dustin’s hands. For some reason he pauses, and then he says, “You can still read it if you want, man.”

And Dustin stares at him, certain it’s a trick, because Eddie is notorious for ensuring that any potential Hellfire spoilers are kept under lock and key. But then he opens the book and reads.

And he gets it.

The lyrics are clever, because they hide under metaphor, apocalyptic imagery and all that stuff, but it clicks when Dustin gets to a verse about a tune echoing through a mall, ‘and it’s a song you know, you’ve known it all your life,’ and he’s suddenly thrown back to when he explained how Steve worked out the location of the Russian code, and Eddie was taking it all in, eyes as round as pennies.

Dustin sets down the notebook and says, “It’s about us.” It’s not a question.

Eddie nods. “Yeah.”

“You make it sound a lot more poetic than it actually was,” Dustin says.

But Eddie doesn’t tease back, just gives a contemplative little smile and says, “Really? I don’t think so.”

And that’s as far as they get in talking about it, because Eddie suddenly glances away, and his smile changes ever so slightly, gets softer around the edges. He turns back to Dustin and mouths, Look.

Dustin does. Steve has fallen asleep, curled up in the corner of the couch. His head is just barely resting in his hand, nodding forwards precariously every so often.

Dustin hears Eddie give an almost silent tsk, which is funny; he must have picked it up from Steve. He quietly goes over and moves Steve with a gentle touch until Steve’s head is resting comfortably against the cushions.

Steve murmurs wordlessly, eyes closed, then settles back into sleep.

Eddie catches Dustin’s eye; he mimes, Shh with a wink.

And something in the back of Dustin’s mind falls into place. …Huh.

There are days when Eddie has the journal and days when he doesn’t—he cycles through notebooks constantly, most of them having been started with a specific purpose before devolving into chaotic scribbles for anything and everything.

But this one stays consistent.

And whenever he does have the journal, he lets Dustin open it to any random page and read for as long as he likes.

It doesn’t exactly take Sherlock Holmes to figure out that a verse waxing lyrical about a protective soldier finally laying down his armour and resting is about… someone in particular.

And that makes Dustin wonder whether ‘and it’s a song you know, you’ve known it all your life’ isn’t just about a mechanical horse playing Daisy, Daisy. In fact, maybe it’s not about that at all.

He doesn’t mention anything, just says that Eddie’s writing is good when he hands the journal back over. It’s hardly a major compliment, except every time, Eddie says, “Thanks,” in an almost uncertain tone Dustin’s never heard before, like just hearing that’s really touched him.

And then one day Eddie loses the journal. Dustin doesn’t realise what’s wrong at first, just knows that Eddie is agitated, rooting around in the back of the van when Dustin sidles in for a ride home after school.

Dustin sees movement outside, and he looks up to see one of the substitute teachers who’s always got a stick up her ass standing at the school entrance. She’s holding Eddie’s journal.

“Uh, Eddie?”

“What?” Eddie snaps. Then he follows where Dustin is looking. “Oh Jesus fucking Christ.”

But he doesn’t let any of his irritation show when he hops out of the van and heads for the teacher.

Dustin knows Eddie talks a good game when it comes to sticking it to authority, all I’ll flip him the bird and so on, but there’s none of that arrogance now. Dustin can’t hear what they’re saying, but he can read the body language, the teacher’s tight-lipped smile, the way Eddie has crossed an arm over his chest self-defensively; he looks suddenly very young and unsure of himself.

The confrontation ends with the teacher handing Eddie the journal—more shoving it at him, really. Eddie gives her a curt nod before he heads back to the van, slamming the door shut as he gets inside.

He throws the journal in the back, and Dustin, who has carelessly destroyed countless textbooks, somehow finds himself saying, “Watch it, dude! You’ll rip it.”

Eddie doesn’t reply. He reverses out the parking lot and makes a turning for Dustin’s house, grinding his teeth.

The silence goes on until it’s unbearable, and Dustin tentatively asks, “What did she want?”

Eddie laughs, a nasty, thoroughly unconvincing sound. “Oh, ya know. Just returning lost property. Good fucking Samaritan.”

When he gets home, Dustin finds a note from his mom, that she’s over at his aunt’s and there’s some leftover pasta in the fridge. Dustin checks, and there’s easily enough for two.

He runs outside thankfully before Eddie has gone.

“You can’t expect me to be left in the kitchen unsupervised,” Dustin says. “I might burn it down.”

Eddie snorts. “From sticking pasta in the microwave?” Then he seems to hear himself and adds, “Yeah, somehow wouldn’t put it past you, Henderson.”

So they end up eating lasagne straight out of the dish together, playfully battling for the last slice like their forks are swords.

“What did she really want?” Dustin asks eventually. He can’t help but notice that Eddie had brought the journal in with him, keeps tapping his finger on the cover uneasily.

Eddie sighs, rubs a hand down his face. He nods down at the journal. “I’d left it in a classroom that some middle schoolers use for Drama Club. Apparently there’s some concerns about the appropriateness of—”

“That’s bullshit!” Dustin says. “Why would she even—”

“Dustin,” Eddie says very quietly. He closes his eyes. “You know why.”

And Dustin does. That’s why he’s so damn angry.

Because some of the lyrics (not all, but some), are love songs. And a good number of those are unambiguously from the point of view of a boy, speaking to another boy.

Eddie sighs again, presses a thumb into the inner corner of one eye. It looks like he’s warding off a headache. Dustin knows that he isn’t.

He could say I don’t care that you’re gay, but that doesn’t sound quite right; it isn’t about not caring, it’s about…

“You know I like you, right?” Dustin says.

Eddie gives a choked little laugh. He drops his hand, opens his eyes and says, with a faint smile, “No shit? I guessed you wouldn’t share lasagne with your mortal enemy.”

“True,” Dustin concedes. He presses on. “But I meant, like…” He bats Eddie’s hand away from the journal so he can tap it instead. “Like this. It’s all a part of you, and you’re really cool, so that means—like, it’s all cool. It makes you, you. You know?”

For a long moment, Eddie just stares at him. “You said you so many times, I don’t think it’s a word anymore,” he says, but he’s blinking a lot, and Dustin sees his lips quiver. “Um. Thanks.”

He still sounds sad which absolutely will not stand. Dustin gives him a few seconds of reprieve, before he launches at him with a karate style chopping motion.

Eddie chuckles. “You little shit!”

And they tussle until, breathlessly laughing, they’re both stretched out on the couch on their backs, side-by-side.

“You should let Steve read some,” Dustin suggests.

Eddie’s laughter trails off. “Mm,” he says, non-committal.

“I mean it!” Dustin recalls a verse he’d read only a couple of days ago, one that wasn’t dressed up in symbolism.

And you want to tell him you’re enough just like this darling, you always have been

“I don’t know,” Eddie says. “So far that stuff’s had an audience of one, and I think he might be a bit,” Eddie gestures with his thumb and forefinger, “biased. Being family and all.”

Dustin smiles, feels a proud little glow in his chest. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’ve seen Steve hiding love poetry books. Like he underlines that shit. It’s embarrassing.”

Eddie cackles. “Well. Some of my shit’s embarrassing so…”

Dustin claps his shoulder gravely. “I mean, I wasn’t gonna be the one to say it.”

Eddie pushes him nearly right off the couch; he pulls him back before he can fall. “Oh, fuck you.”

They’re quiet for a bit, and then Dustin suggests a movie, and when he’s putting the VHS in, he catches Eddie watching him with shiny eyes.

“Hey,” Eddie says. He smiles. “I love you.”

And God, it’s so much better hearing those words like this, with Eddie in front of him, safe and whole.

And Dustin doesn’t need to rush his reply this time. He picks up the journal and passes it to Eddie, careful of the binding.

“I love you, too,” he says, and the proud glow in his chest feels even stronger. “Now get writing, Shakespeare.”

[sherlock-is-ace]

In The Man with the Twisted Lip, Holmes brings Watson to the St. Claire's home to spend the night. This wasn't planned, they meet in he opium den by chance and Watson joins Holmes in his adventure impromptu.

When they go to sleep, Watson is wearing a night shirt under his over coat, while Holmes is wearing his casual robe over his normal day clothes (ok cause he didn't actually sleep that night).

The only one who knew he was spending the night someplace else was Holmes, he's the only one who could have prepared.

Holmes let Watson wear his night shirt to bed <3

[chimielie]

cw f!reader , mild fraternal violence , atsumu’s terrible lying skills

“I know something you don’t know,” Osamu singsongs, standing in the doorway of their shared bathroom and peering over his brother’s shoulder at his reflection in the mirror.

“Yeah?” Atsumu grunts, yanking a comb through his hair and glaring back at his twin. “Spit it out, shitty ‘Samu. I got places to be, you know?”

“Ouch, don’t shoot the messenger,” Osamu drawls, leaning against the doorframe. “I know that you have a date tonight and you think you’re being sneaky about it.”

“Do not,” Atsumu scowls immediately, dropping the comb and turning around, because he is the worst liar ever. “I don’t even—what are you—I’m taking myself on a date, how about that, it’s called self care, ever heard of it? Huh? Okay? Huh?”

“Okay,” Osamu says, “You’re wearing a tie.”

“I can wear a tie if I want to,” Atsumu sneers, fiddling with it.

“Last summer, at Uncle Jun’s wedding, Ma had to literally threaten to shave your head to get you to wear one.”

“I’m a man now,” Atsumu sticks his chin up, examining his jaw. “I can wear a tie. Hey, did I miss anything while I was shaving?”

“You don’t have any facial hair to shave. And you have a hickey right there.”

“What? Seriously? Where?” Atsumu panics, turning back and forth.

“Ha, I got you—hey!!! Don’t hit me, asshole! I’ll tell Ma!!! And you—you left your fucking bouquet out on my desk, by the way. I told you to stop putting your stuff—no I swear I’ll kill you get offa me get off!—on my desk just because yours is too messy!”

“It was there for five seconds! You left all your laundry on my bed the other day—“

“Where was I s’posed to put it, the floor?”

“Your closet!” Atsumu roars. “Oh, shit, what time is it?” He drops his brother’s shirt collar abruptly.

“5:30,” Osamu says, dusting himself off. “What time you gotta be there?”

“She’s walkin’ over here now, probably,” Atsumu says, rushing back to the bathroom. “Fuck, well since you know, can I use your cologne?”

“It’s the same one you have?”

“It’s better, I don’t know,” Atsumu argues. “Just gimme it, it’s like one spritz.”

“Fine,” Osamu grumbles. “Hey, ‘Tsumu, I know something else you don’t know.”

“What,” Atsumu rolls his eyes as he walks around, frantically shoving his keys and wallet into his pockets, picking up the bouquet—delicate red and white flowers, not bad, scrub, thinks Osamu.

“This ain’t your first date,” he says smugly.

“What are you, Sherlock Holmes?” His brother says. “How d’you figure that?”

Osamu mock-stretches before counting off on his fingers. “One, you never walk home with me and Suna anymore. Two, there’s some flowery shit that appeared in our shower, and I know I didn’t buy it, and you’re not walkin’ around smelling like lavender and honey, so you’ve gotta be sneakin’ someone in. Three, you came to practice two weeks ago with an actual hickey, y’know, when you kept missing sets ‘cause you were in such a good mood.”

Atsumu blinks at him, finally lost for words.

“And,” Osamu says, tone somewhat gentler. “You seem a lot happier lately. Less, y’know, hard on yourself. Whoever it is, I think she’s good for you.”

“Thanks,” Atsumu says, swallowing roughly. “You’re so sappy.”

“Says the guy holding the flowers.” And trying not to let his eyes water over, but Osamu doesn’t say that bit. He can spare some of his brother’s dignity.

“It’s our six-month anniversary,” Atsumu says quietly. “Please don’t tell Ma yet, okay? She’s always on about volleyball bein’ enough of a distraction from school, I know she thinks dating is too. I just wanna—I want her to like my—”

He says your name just as the doorbell rings.

“Her? You’re dating—?” Osamu’s tone is incredulous. “Hold on, you can’t go yet. She’s like a million times out of your league—”

“I know!” Atsumu beams at him. “Keep your mouth shut or you’ll regret it. Tell Ma I’m sleeping at the dorms with Suna. Bye!”

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Jeremy Brett (My Fair Lady)—he’s such a himbo sunshine boy in my fair lady <3 later on he gets dark and brooding as sherlock holmes but right now he’s just a dumb little summer child with no braincells <3

Johnny Weismuller (The Tarzan movies)—no propaganda submitted beyond the pic [below]

This is round 3 of the bracket. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage man.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut]

Jeremy Brett propaganda:

“Please take my humble offering of propaganda for bisexual icon ✨️Jeremy Brett✨️ and his early career! <3”

"not technically propaganda because it won't let me save the images but just found out my bi king jeremy brett played patroclus <3 https://www.jeremy-brett.fr/crbst_183.html and also apparently dorian gray in the 60s and basil hallward in the 70s?? range."

“… as a dashing D'Artagnan in The Three Musketeers (1966/67) (Duelling is no problem! XD)”

“dropping to sleep - Jeremy is far too handsome to play d'art and also too tall, lol”

[skylarsblue]

★RDR2 Incorrect Quotes★

(If you see duplicates from my COD version of these? Shh, no you didn't) ★Border made by @fairytopea★

Ms.Grimshaw What are you doing, you oaf? Young!Arthur, staring at Y/N: They’re pretty. Ms.Grimshaw …and you’re ugly, now get back to work.

- (Pre-joining the gang) Abigail, trying to get paid: What’s your favorite color, John? John: Blue. No, green. Abigail: Awesome! I love learning about you. John: I fucked up, it’s yellow.

- Arthur, cutting a huge knot out of John’s hair: I fucked up, we gotta go bald. *head locks him still* Young!John, flailing violently: WAAAAAHHHH-

Seán: Psst, Lenny, ay mate, wake up! Lenny: Huh- Wh-what? What is it? Seán: I heard something outside the tent. Lenny: What? Seán: Like a woman crying in the distance, but I couldn’t hear her footsteps. Lenny: Okay?? What do you want me to do? Seán: Come look with me! Lenny: Hell no! Seán: Why not? Lenny: I got too much melanin and too much sense for that white people shit. You wanna let demons get you, be my guest, leave me out of it.

- (John HAD to have SOMETHING that captivated her, for humor’s sake? We’ll say he had jokes)

Abigail: You have to find my darling husband, I’m so worried about him. Arthur: Seriously, what do you see in that guy? Abigail: He makes me laugh.

- Micha: I've got the urge to say something. Arthur: And what's that? Micha: The N-Word- Arthur: WHOA-

- Bill: But seriously, is it your whole emo thing that she’s into or what? John: …yeah, long flowing straight hair, very emo.

- Karen: This- Hmm. Tilly: Be nice. Karen: I’m findin’ it. Mary-Beth: …it takes you that long to find- Karen: It does, it does.

- (O’Driscoll troubles) Kieran: Arthur we’re going to get murdered. We’re going to get murdered by a man who can’t tie a fucking bow tie. Arthur: At least he won’t torture us, can’t tie a rope either.

- John: Ugh, you know they’re gonna make us do one of those tacky family happiness photos that comes in the restaurants shitty frame. Tilly: Why are you so fucking negative all the time? John: Wh- uh- I just- Arthur: *slowly sucks tea through straw*

- Seán: Someone just said; “You’re a criminal!” Seán: *handkerchief on, gun in one hand, bag of money in the other* Seán: Well I’ll tell ya what, Sherlock Holmes. You are unbelievable.

- The Gang: Arthur is dying and Micha is a rat! Dutch, dancing with money: *insert that audio that goes “I don’t give a fuck cause I’m a ✨millionaire✨, I do what I want, middle finger in the air!”*

- John, drunk: You think the wind is ever tryna tell us something and we don’t know how to hear it anymore? Charles, loading up a drunk Arthur into a wagon: I just want you to stop saying odd shit.

- Abigail: If we lose, I’m gonna cut the judge. John: Wh- you brought your switchblade?? Abigail: Mhm. John: But they patted us down on the way in, where did you hide i- ohhhhhhh.

- Arthur: …you ever wish you could just, turn into a bird and fly away from everything? Charles: I think we need to get you to a therapist for depression. John: I’d wanna be a wolf. Charles: And we should get you psych evaluation for Autism.

- Sheriff: You seem like a reasonable and good natured person. Arthur: *looks around* And you look like you need glasses.

- Abigail: What would your father say?! Jack: Uhhh “I’ll fix it!” And then make it worse until luck comes around and makes it work, and then act like that was the plan the whole time? Abigail: …that’s my bad, I should’ve used a different phrase to express my disappointment.

- (I dunno why but John being super mean to some people is so fucking funny to me. I don't hate Bill, but bullying him is fun)

Bill: You enjoyin’ the wife everyone else paid to have? John: You mean the woman I never had to pay for? The woman who liked me so much, she didn’t ask for any money to sleep with me? In fact; she liked me so much, she married me? The woman who makes me a warm dinner and kisses me everyday? Mother of my child? John: I am enjoyin’ yeah. What about you, Bill? Bill: John: You enjoyin’ your lonely life, you unlovable sorry sack of shit? You enjoyin’ having to pay for someone to pretend they like you? Cause they never actually do. They hate you actually, like me. I hate you. Eat shit and die, Bill.

- Arthur: …him? Really? Mary-Beth Don’t be mean! Arthur: He looks like a rescue dog, Mary-Beth. Mary-Beth: I know, I like that! Arthur: ….you like that?? Mary-Beth: His pathetic wet eyes and general wimpy stature have captivated me. Arthur: *sigh* Whatever makes you happy.

- Bill: At the end of the day, Arthur. I am a MAN. Arthur: A MAN WHO’S GAY. You like fellers GETTHATTHROUGHYOURHEAD!

- Dutch: I have a plan. Hosea: You haven’t planned shit. Dutch: I’ve planned it.

- Hosea: Arthur! What on earth are you doing?! Young!Arthur: Getting rid of this demon. Young!John: *screeching and trying to get out of Arthur’s grip* Hosea: And why do you plan to get rid of him? Arthur: Because, Hosea! He woke me up by leaning over me and whispering, “I know what death feels like, it’s cold. Have you felt death?” Arthur: HE’S CLEARLY EVIL, HOSEA Hosea: That’s just how children are, Arthur. Dutch: He’s right son, put the boy down. Dutch, leaning and whispering to Hosea: But maybe we should buy a Bible just in case. Hosea: And a cross.

- (Modern au and suicide joke)

John: It’s not a phase! It’s a lifestyle, you just wouldn’t get it! Arthur: You think I didn’t go through the “I can’t tell if I want to kill myself or everyone around me” phase? Come on. John: What? I don’t wanna kill myself at all. Arthur: … John: … John: Should I- should we go talk to Hose- Arthur: We should forget this conversation happened. Take this Nirvana CD and keep your mouth shut.

- Abigail: …John. John: Yes, my angel? Abigail: You forgot something. John: No I didn’t! I took the list with me, checked it three times, even crossed things off when I put it in the cart! See, look. Apples, frozen hamhocks, cranberry juice- Abigail: John. You took Jack with you. John: Abigail: John: Abigail: John: SHIT I LEFT HIM BY THE PASTA SECTION Abigail: STOP STANDING THERE AND GO GET HIM!

- Jack: Pa, how did you get mom to marry you? John: Well son, I- John: John: I have no idea. Jack: Should I ask mom? John: I’ll be honest, I don’t think she knows the answer either.

- Charles: You did good back there. Arthur: Oh? Heh, nah, you did all the fancy stuff. I just helped. Charles: Don’t undersell yourself, Arthur. I wouldn’t be complimenting you for no reason. Arthur: Oh yeah? And here I thought you were just trying to fluff up my ego. Charles: Wouldn’t hurt to do when you work so hard, no? Arthur: Now you’re just being’ sweet- John: Can y’all wait til we’re done before you start your spiritual dick sucking? Arthur: Can you repent to the lord fast enough to save your soul in the time it’ll take me to throw you into the damn ocean, Marston?!

- Arthur: Do you even have a brain? John: Do you even have someone that loves you? Arthur: John: John: I heard it that time, I’m sorry. Arthur: This is what Abigail hears sometimes, just so you know. John: I heard it that time, I got it. I- I’ll just- Arthur: Whiskey, full bottle. The nice kind. John: Apology alcohol, got it.

-

NPC: My husband’s parents are so crazy. In-laws always are, huh? Abigail: Well, uh-

*John being an orphan* *John’s adoptive dads being criminals, one particularly off his rocker*

Abigail: ….aha, yeah;;

- Abigail: John Marston, you useless, foolish, stupid man! Bill: To hell with John! Abigail, suddenly with a very large gun: NO ONE INSULTS MY HUSBAND.

- Arthur, holding up a proper painting he actually put time and effort into: Could a depressed person make this? Charles: The painting: *a wolf in the rain laying it’s head over the body of a deer shot with an arrow* Charles: I’m, in fact, more convinced you have depression now. Arthur: …yeah this wasn’t the best evidence for my argument, huh? Charles: No. Not at all.

- John: What are you talking about? That’s completely normal, it’s like having opinions. just cause it doesn’t happen to you doesn’t mean- Tilly: No, John! No. It’s not normal to have that reaction to the sound of hearing metal on metal. John: No look, uh- Arthur! Arthur come here! Arthur: What now? John: What happens when you hear metal on metal? Like, a can bein’ rubbed with a knife. Arthur: Ugh, I hate that sound. It makes my damn skin crawl, like I got beetles underneath. Makes me wanna skin myself to get’em out. John: Right! See, Tilly? It’s not just me! Tilly: ????

Charles: …and you never got them evaluated? Hosea: In hindsight, an autistic diagnosis probably would’ve made more things make sense. But, what can ya do.

- Arthur after a dog didn’t positively react to him: Maybe this is my final straw. Charles: No. Arthur: It might be. Charles: It’s one dog. There are twenty that you stopped to pet along the way here, plenty more for you to pet after this. Arthur: You don’t understand, this is devastatin’. Charles: Arthur, please- Arthur: Utterly devastatin’, Charles.

- Arthur, tipsy: Just cause you’re gorgeous don’t mean I’ma do whatever you say. Charles: Drink the water, Arthur. Arthur: *grabs the glass* Yes, sir.

- (Got a Y/N one, also, modern Au)

Arthur: That’s the Aberdeen farm. Y/N: …what’s wrong with it? Arthur: What’cha mean? Y/N: The vibes, they’re off. Arthur: …the…vibes? Y/N: The energy, Mister Morgan. The vibe of the place. They’re off, they’re weird, wack even. I sense insidious and wretched wavelengths wafting from the aura of that property. Arthur: I see…well, to answer your question, it’s cause they are weird. And I ain’t even confirmed why cause I don’t really wanna know. Y/N: I see you can also sense the vibes are rank. Arthur: …sure, whatever that means.

- Micha: Well I think- Y/N: Well I’m certain no one fucking asked, Micha! Not a single damn person asked what the hell you thought, ever! In fact, I’m pretty sure you don’t think. I’m pretty sure your skull fills with all the bullshit in your organs, and it just spills out your mouth! Micha: Micha: I- Y/N: Shut up, Micha!

- Arthur, after Albert explains some super dangerous plan in order to get wild animals near him to photograph: You’re stupid, I like that in a man.

- Y/N: Bye Arthur, bye Karen, bye Hosea, bye Arthur. Sadie: You said ‘bye Arthur’ twice. Y/N: I like Arthur.

- NPC: Lovebirds, eh? Sadie: Arthur: Sadie: I’d rather eat a poison ivy plant with Holly Berries for dressing. *looks at Arthur* No offense. Arthur: No no, none taken. All things considered, I’d rather dive into a pit of tar and then drag myself face first through a plain of rotten chitlins. Sadie: Completely fair!

- Bill: I need you to realize you ain’t in charge here. Y/N: I need you to realize I don’t give a shit.

- Arthur: Hey Charles, uh, I got an Uhm…a spiritual question. Charles: Any particular reason you chose to ask me? Arthur: Uh well- I didn’t mean for it to be like that- I just- Charles: *sigh* What is it? Arthur: Do you know what it means when an elk stands up on its back legs? Charles: That means- Charles: WE SHOULD LEAVE, we need to leave, that’s what that means!

- Jack: …why are your boobs so big? Charles: They’re not boobs. Jack: Do you have to wear a brasier? Charles: *sigh* Arthur: He asked me the same thing a couple weeks ago, don’t think to hard bout it.

-

(Story spoilers!!) Y/N: I'm sorry, let me get this straight. Y/N: You picked up that man when he was a destitute child, grieving and starving. Taught him almost everything he knows. Y/N: Then, you did that with, what? Three others? In similar circumstances? Y/N: Created a sense of family and community, a strong bond between so many misfortuned people. With your trustworthy long term friend by your side. Y/N: And then. Y/N: One RAT. WHO IS OPENLY ANTAGONISTIC AND REEKS OF SUSPICION AS MUCH AS HE DOES HORSE SHIT, SOMEHOW CONVINCES YOU TO GO OFF YOUR ROCKER AND HARM YOUR GANG?! Y/N: Explain! Dutch: Dutch: Dutch: He praised me- Y/N: YOUR PRAISE KINK GOT YOU TO AIM A GUN AT YOUR SONS????

- Arthur: Naaah they’re an angel. Lenny: They punched Bill in the face. Seán: They told Strauss he was a waste of human material, in his own language, which they’re not fluent in. Mary-Beth: They framed Micha for a crime and got him put in prison again. Arthur: Like I said, an angel!

- John: Woman. (Translation: Darling.) Abigail: Moron. (Translation: Lovebug.)

Arthur: You tellin’ me they’re being affectionate right now? Jack: Can’t’cha read subtext, Uncle Arthur? Arthur: ???

-

(Insert Alcohol is truth serum reference)

Drunk Bill: Not to be gay, but you’re gorgeous bro. Kieran, afraid: You don’t have to be gay to appreciate a man’s beauty. Absolutely shit-faced Bill: Nah, like I’d fuck you, bro. Kieran, terrified: Okay, never mind!

- (How I imagine their first couple years together went)

Dutch: Dutch: Dutch: Dutch: How do you feel about me? Hosea, naked & beside him: ….we’re sharin’ a bedroll, Dutch. Dutch: Yes, but what are we, Hosea? Hosea: ….we’re both naked, alone, in a tent, Dutch. Dutch: That doesn’t answer my question. Hosea:

- (This one's sad, not funny, sorry-) John: You’re such a hypocrite, why is it that anything I do that you’ve done before that you get so bent outta shape?! Arthur: Because I’ve done it before you, John. John: So why do you think it’s fair to tell me not to?! Most people are proud when their younger brother ends up like’em. You don’t want anyone like you, is that it? Arthur: John: John: …oh. Arthur: Now that you got my point, will you take my god damn advice without a big fuss…please.

- John: She drives me insane! She somehow managed to make me the angriest I’ve ever been almost daily. NPC: Then leave her. John: The fu- no. What? She’s the wind beneath my wings, my darling wife, my beautiful angel. How the hell could you even think to suggest such a thing? NPC: But- John: Get outta my sight, you fuckin’ disgrace.

[thesummerpetrichor]

𝓒𝓪𝓻𝓶𝓮𝓷: 𝓢𝓽𝓪𝔂𝓲𝓷’ 𝓾𝓹 𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷’

Javier Peña x afab!fem!reader

Summary: If he thought giving into his urges and fucking you at his embassy’s end of year dinner would lend him any relief from your antics, Agent Peña was wildly mistaken. Day two of your weekend getaway brings you the realisation that you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger.

Warnings: 18+ only minors DNI you will be blocked. Mentions of DEA, reader is the ambassadors daughter, thicc age gap [reader is in her early 20s Javi is in his 40s], petnames, cigarette smoking, alcohol consumption, minor drug use, sex under the influence [minor dubcon], daddy issues ™, mommy issues ™, mean!brat tamer!dom!Javi, brat!reader, daddy kink, size kink [javi is describe to be bigger than the reader], degradation, playing footsie, use of clothes as restraints, semi public sex, fucking in the hot tub, thigh riding, one spank, a few slaps [I had to], phone sex, cream pie, unprotected P in V [don’t do it!!]. Let me know if I missed anything 🫶

Word count: 10.4k

A/N: Part two of the three part getaway series. A long time coming so I hope you enjoy. Things are messier and nastier and only get worse from here. 🫶🐝💗

🍓Part One 🍓Masterlist

Carmen, Carmen

Staying up 'til morning

You twirled the phone cord between your fingers. 

After getting back to your room the previous night you cleaned up and slipped into bed– exhausted and content. The smell of Javier's clary sage and cedarwood perfume insisted on clinging to your skin, despite the fact that you’d showered, and lulled you into a heavy slumber– the cold sheets swallowing you and sending you to dream land. 

The night went mostly peacefully, considering your mind endlessly conjured up images of Agent Peña trying to explain why he missed nearly half of his embassy’s dinner party when all he was required to do was escort you outside for some fresh air. 

As you lay in bed he was likely in front of your father, lying through his teeth about the fact that you weren’t feeling too well, that you had a headache and decided to retire to your room. Pretending like he hadn’t been fingering you under the dinner table, like you didn’t clean his cum off your dress and face minutes ago. The thought made your head spin, and in the best way. The infamous Javier Peña, the man who didn’t let anyone or anything control him– unable to control himself. 

You fell asleep that night feeling like a winner, undefeated, but that was only until you could once again feel the ghost of his touch on your inner thigh, the prickle of his stubble on your cheek, and the brush of his lips against your jaw. The man was haunting you. 

The ac was on full blast, but the room felt hot and muggy. Somewhere along the line you’d tossed your sheets off your body, still asleep but not oblivious to the tension building in your core. 

Images of Agent Peña projected in your closed eyes like a stuttery film reel. In your sleep these images were brief, but vivid, and distinct, and some of them unreal and dream-like. Your imagination took flight, and it wasn’t long before you could almost feel him against you, and his hands were roaming your body, and he was grabbing your hips, and he leaned down and kissed you roughly. You felt his breath on your neck, and his hand slipped between your aching thighs, and – 

You woke up in a cold sweat, and you were sure you could feel your heartbeat caught in your throat. The room around you felt small, and your chest rose and fell uncomfortably as you hit the bed, with uninterrupted force, once again. Shifting about uneasily you could only hope your little indulgent wet dream was an outlier. 

You glanced at the clock beside you. 

6:00 AM 

And that’s how you ended up where you were– scrambling for the phone on the bedside table and impulsively trying to Sherlock Holmes your way into getting Javier’s room number. 

When you first heard his name being called across the reception the previous day you remembered seeing someone toss him the keys to his room. He carried them with him everywhere. Even when he sneaked up beside you back at the restaurant. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing your brain to reconstruct the image of his keychain dangling from his fingertips, trying to form out the room numbers carved into the wood from the blur. You sat there for a good forty seconds, praying for a bible level miracle until from the fuzzy memory you made out the numbers. 

736 

Sure, your plan was far from foolproof, but worst case scenario you’d wake up Noonan or something. There wasn't much to lose. So you twirled the cord between your fingers and listened to the ring of the call. 

The receiver clicked as it was picked up from the other end, a gruff half sleepy voice coming through the static. 

“Buenos días?” you rolled your eyes, even on vacation the man couldn't help but answer so formally. He sounded half dead as is. 

“Relax Agent Peña, you're on vacation.” 

“Jesus Christ-” He breathed in an exasperated sigh, in that half questioning half irate tone. “You sound a little tired. I hope I'm not disturbing you, Agent.” Despite being playful your voice was hushed and thick with sleep. So was his. 

“No no , not at all-” he sighed heavily, tone monotonous, and you heard him fiddle with the phone cord. “I was just running laps around my room.” You rolled your eyes. 

“What's got you up so early babydoll?” The fact that he didn't know immediately why you’d called him at the crack of dawn was beyond you. Did he think you wanted to have a little chit chat? You decided not to mention it. 

“Dreamt ‘about you.” letting out a heavy breath, you sank back against your pillows, letting the sheets swallow you. “‘S that so?” Your words seemed to peak his interest, and despite only having known him a couple of hours you’d figured out there was nothing more effective at accomplishing that task than stroking his ego. 

“Couldn't sleep.” He couldn’t see it, but you pouted nonetheless. 

“Oh yeah? And ya had to wake me up early in the damn morning?” He wasn’t as annoyed as he was a moment ago. His voice was lower, deeper, softer. Something told you he didn't mind. 

“Need you.” 

He chuckled lowly. “Already, babydoll? Barely been ten hours.” The smugness seeped through the phone, you could practically see his cocky smile. If you weren't as desperate as you were you wouldn’t have let it pass. 

“Couldn’t stop thinkin ‘bout you.” It was difficult not to give in quick and easy. You wanted to make him work for it, but that plan only lasted till you heard that voice of his drip like honey through the phone. 

“Thinkin’ bout what?” You heard his sheets shuffle delicately as he presumably propped himself up. That demanding voice had you clenching your thighs together as the ache built. So you relented, telling him what he wanted to hear. It was true either way. “Your cock. How you made me cum.”

“Yeah?” It wasn’t a question. “Thinking about how daddy stretched you open?” The ‘yes’ that escaped your lips was broken, mostly thanks to what he called himself. 

“Insatiable aren't ya babydoll?” His subtle accent seemed a lot more pronounced so early in the morning. Not quite a southern drawl, but flaunting the Texas charm nonetheless. You hummed and fiddled with the hem of your sleepshirt in an attempt to occupy your hands. 

“Yeah, and now you’re all wet ‘n achy?” It was more a statement than a question, one dripping with faux sympathy. You whined another quiet yes, running your cool palms across your inner thighs. It was difficult to relent to his mocking, but you were dripping for him, and you needed the release. 

“Poor little thing…you touch that pretty pussy thinkin’ of how I made y’a come on my cock?” 

“Nuh uh. Didn’t touch.” You said proudly. And you were proud– of your self restraint, not quite proud of how desperate you sounded. He hummed and sounded equally proud. Maybe even a little impressed. He sucked in a breath, and you heard his sheets crinkle again. 

“my cute lil pussy’s drippin all over those panties?” he didn't let you respond. “Or should I ask if my little slut’s even wearing any?” My little slut. He was right. He practically owned your body. You couldn’t even sleep without thinking of him. 

As for your panties, you were, but you wished you werent. You were sure the fabric was soaked, you felt it cling to your core. You wiggled your hips in frustration, desperate for any amount of friction to ease the ache between your thighs. 

He hushed your whines again, the moan slipping past your lips as you squeezed your breast making you sound increasingly incoherent. 

“Not a thought in that head’ve yours huh? can’t even get the words out?” Your hand danced up to run along your upper body, fingers teasing over the swell of your breasts as you sucked in a sharp breath. He wasn’t wrong. 

“S’okay babydoll, you can touch.” you heard him swallow thickly, enough to convey that he might have been just as desperate as you. He heard your huffs through the phone, and in his condescending way shushed you gently.  “Tell me how wet ya’ are f’ me baby, feel how wet y’are f’daddy”  

He didn't need to ask twice. With your lust blown gaze tilted downwards your fingers danced across the skin of your inner thighs. They brushed the hem of your panties as you dipped your hand between your legs, teasing yourself with feather light touches.

An obscene moan bubbled in your throat as you ran a finger over your throbbing slit. Your panties were soaked, barely a barrier between your fingers and your aching pussy.  

“Hmm so wet daddy, ruined em.” it took every fiber in your being to resist the urge to pull them aside, your voice higher than it usually was. 

“I know babydoll, I know.” his faux sympathy had your breath hitching. “Imagine how wet you were for me last night.” The thought made you shudder. If you thought you were on edge you couldn’t imagine just how hot you were when he was around. Reminders of the night before sparked in your head. 

You rubbed yourself over your thin cotton panties. “Feel how wet you were ‘round my cock?”

“Jus’ for you..” He hummed in satisfaction, and you once again heard his sheets shuffling. “That's right baby, just for daddy.” He hummed. “Thinkin’ bout that cute lil face of yours, fuck. Those pretty eyes lookin’ up at me.” 

You recalled him above you the previous night as you kneeled in front of him, your lips wrapped around his thick cock as you gazed up at him. 

“Daddy need your cock..” your thighs closed around your hand, your digits drenched in your slick. You heard him curse under is breath, the unmistakable sound of his hand on his cock filling your ears. 

“Ohh- fuck, rub that pretty lil clit for me babydoll” You pulled your panties aside, finally letting your fingers meet your weeping core. You started slow, following the low hum of his voice as it emanated through the phone speaker. 

“Feel good?’ Closing your eyes you nodded–  imagined him laying on his bed, on his back, eyes screwed shut as he tried his best to decipher your breathy sighs through the phone. You hated giving into him, confessing how much you ached and longed for him, but you just couldn’t help yourself– especially when he rewarded you. You shuddered as you teased your clit. 

The image had you lost in your own head for a few seconds. 

“Use your words, slut” he sternly reprimanded. The world felt like it was spinning, and you only got more light headed when you let him take control. “not as good as yours.”  The cotton of your panties clung messily to your wet cunt as you pulled them off, sliding them down your legs and off your ankles.

“Fuck babydoll”  He sighed in aproval, “can see ya already, hand between those pretty thighs.” The fact that he could imagine you with your hand between your legs in nothing but your sleepshirt, as you thought of all the things you wanted him to do to you drove you wild. 

There was nothing more exhilarating than being the subject of his dirty fantasy. 

“Fuck yourself with your fingers” You pushed a finger in your dripping hole, sighing and letting your head rest back against your pillows. They didn’t feel like his, not quite hitting the spots he did the previous night, not stretching you open. Desperately needing to feel full you were quick to slide another finger in your aching cunt. 

As if he could read your mind he was quick to interrupt you. “Just one” his voice was strained but just as commanding and stern as before. “Don't be a greedy slut, now” Whining, you wanted to protest, but something about his tone forced you into submission. 

He hummed at your obedience, indulging you a little .“Feel how tight you were around me?”

“Fuck, bet those lil fingers dont feel as good as daddys do they? I know babydoll, wish I could take care of that pretty pussy..” he bit back a breathy moan “Yeah, they look better wrapped ‘round daddy's cock huh?” In no time your soft fingers moved back to circling your clit, and you felt that tight knot build in your core.

“Yes daddy, ahh, please.” You heard his breath quicken, you could almost feel it tickle the nape of your neck. You did miss him, you missed the way he engulfed you in his big arms, how he liked to rag doll you around, and force the brat out of you. 

“Give yourself another baby..”

Your hips hurt, you felt like jello, hot to the touch. Your mind wandered further as you fucked yourself with your fingers– what it would feel like to have your legs on either side of his thighs, his hands grabbing and kneading the flesh of your hips like he had the previous night.

You didn't even realize how loud you were being, a string of incoherent noises slipping past your lips as the tension built in your belly. You wouldn’t have realized if Javier hadn’t angrily bit through the phone. “Shut that whore mouth of yours. Wouldn't want your pops hearing you moan like a lil slut.”

It only made you ache more. “Should’ve bent ya over my knee at that table, showed him what a dirty little girl ya’are.” your skin going hot and cunt throbbing around your fingers at his obscene words. 

“Could teach him a thing or two about instilling good manners huh?” Javier could teach him a thing or two about quite a lot to be honest, and the thought made you crave him even more than you already did. The line crackled gently as he panted, and you imagined him thrusting into his fist as he thought of you.

“Maybe ya’ wouldn’t have turned out such a fuckin’ brat.” your movements sped up. “dirty lil girl, gettin fucked by a guy twice her age.”

“Can fuckin hear it.” his breath quickened. “Dirty little thing, ya’ liked that didn’t ya’? Can fuckin hear how bad ya’ need it.”  He growled, and once again you could make out the sound of his hand over his cock just barely over the static. 

“Don’t worry babydoll, gonna take care of that tight lil cunt.”  You felt a bead of sweat drip down the side of your forehead.  

“daddy ahh-” how words caught up with you, had your jaw dropping open. He knew what he was doing, and he made sure to let you know he did. “Dirty lil thing. Close huh baby?”

You could only moan and whine, unable to form a coherent sentence that conveyed just how badly you needed to cum. You were so close, far too close to hold back any longer. That of course, didn’t sit well with Javier. 

“If ya tryin’ to convince me, it aint workin. Use your damn words whore.”

Your movements were quick and sloppy, eyes fluttering shut and head tilting side to side as you neared your release. “Daddy want it”  You bit the words out, hips wiggling atop your sheets as they attempted to meet your hand. 

“Look at that, ya missed the magic word baby.” he chuckled darkly. “Know you want it babydoll, but it don't matter, you take what I give ya’, don’t you?” 

You whined, and kicked your legs delicately, frustrated at how unyielding he was. You could barely form the words. 

“Please daddy, wanna cum, please, need it so bad.”  you paused momentarily, voice small and desperate and breathy, “please lemme cum daddy..” Good manners always seemed to work with Javier 

“That's it. Good little slut.” he hissed, rather urgently as he tried to suppress a groan.  “Ohh Fuck. cum for me, cum for daddy.” He sounded as close as you did. 

The line went silent, and you imagined Javier on the other side trying desperately to hear your whines. His drawn out groan was the last straw, accompanied by the mental image of him spilling all over his fist– the one you had playing in your mind as a loop. 

“Daddy, gon- gonna cum- ah-” Your back arched off the mattress, eyes squeezing shut and jaw going slack. Your walls squeezed and throbbed around your fingers as you came in a wordless cry. 

“Ohh fuck babydoll.” His voice just barely got picked up by the receiver. You lost track of the obscenities that left his mouth as he neared his release, a stray “babydoll” lost in the mix of snarls and grunts. You would have given anything to see him as he was– on his back, his thick cock in hand, eyes screwed shut and brows furrowed. You would have given anything to have your lips wrapped around him again. You felt your pussy clench and pulse around your digits. 

There was a distinct lack of air in your lungs, and you struggled to catch your breath as you lay back against the sheets. You bit your lip as you heard him catch his breath. You’d just gotten off, but if you could you knew you’d be right at his door if he asked you in a moment's notice. 

His voice cut through your thoughts. “Thanks for the wake up call.” you imagined how he was likely running a hand through that soft brown hair of his, you could make out the action from his strained voice. 

“You're welcome” there was a short pause. Your brain buzzed, working overtime. Now far less anguished than you were before your snappy mouth was back at it. “And daddy?” you hovered your finger over the disconnect button, unwilling to let him have just a moment's peace. 

“Babydoll?” his ears perked up everytime that word slipped past your lips. Your very own Pavlov’s bell. You imagined his raised brows, big brown eyes hopeful, and probably far less droopy then when he first picked up the phone.  

“Don't be late, wouldn’t want the ambassador to get worried.” you pressed the button, the beep that followed returning you to your deafening and lonely silence. 

—

Only seventeen, 

but she walks the streets so mean

It was extremely odd to see the embassy employees all in beach shorts, flip flops, and Hawaiian shirts. It was jarring. Like when you saw your teachers out of school. People funneled in one by one for breakfast. Since their bosses couldn’t seem to leave them alone for more than a couple of hours at a time, they managed to make an event out of it. 

You walked in beside your father, who had his phone plastered to his ear, and had decided his life’s mission was to keep his line busy as to avoid your mother’s incessant calling. Still blissed out from the morning, and in a considerably better mood than the night before, you decided to ignore the drama intermittently. 

From the entrance of the restaurant you spotted Javier in the large open space facing the beach, in a white shirt, and black shorts. The shirt managed to be simultaneously too tight on his bulging arms, and slightly loose around his torso. It looked criminally soft, and was unbuttoned just enough to expose his tan chest, and give off the impression that he’d just rolled out of bed. Boy did you know that wasn’t true. He was sharing a cigarette with Colleen again, and was anxiously fiddling with the sunglasses atop his head between drags. 

His eyes caught you as you moseyed your way to your table. Commendably, he tried not to be as obvious undressing you with his eyes this time, probably because you were standing right next to your father, who was himself, trying to suppress the glare he was tempted to shoot the agent. The man was in a bad mood and it wasn’t even nine yet. 

The table was narrow, but might have been the longest one you’d ever seen in real life. It was a nightmare, trapping you between whoever you had the misfortune of being seated beside. You wished it was a buffet, at least it would give you an excuse to escape to grab refills. 

You took your seat, sandwiched between your father and Maria. Only one side of your arrangement was agreeable. You felt a tad bit better when Agent Peña eased in right opposite you. 

By the looks of it Javier was just as unenthused about the seating arrangements. In reality he had it a lot worse than you did– Owen to his left Stechner to his right. He’d even been separated from poor Colleen who had the misfortune of being stuck next to chatty deputy Neil. The only two things that made a DEA agent bearable were their general charm and ability to make conversation. Deputy Neil had neither of those things. 

After having skipped the previous night's meal thanks to Javier and having survived on the snacks stacked in your room, you were looking forward to breakfast. To Javier’s dismay however, no amount of hunger– of any kind and any severity was enough to quell your antics. 

Owen pulled his chair out, patting Javier on the back as he took a seat. The latter practically recoiled from the touch, but smiled politely anyway. It was admirable– his ability to not let these freaks get to him. There was not one tolerable person in his periphery besides Steve Murphy, who had been working pretty much independently since he was appointed to attaché, and yet the man showed up everyday, slept with any willing woman, and lived his life. He didn't care for their validation, approval, or acceptance, and it was perhaps exactly that that made them hate him as much as they did. 

You watched him interact with his colleagues, far more up close this time. The scowl he famously sported deep set on his face, arms leaned on the table and on either side of his cutlery. As always he was commanding, and resolute, delivering responses to pesky questions with far more patience and authority than you had expected. You clenched you thighs under the table. 

Conversation moved on and it wasn’t long before he fixed his eyes on your platinum chainlet, on the blue diamond hanging from your neck. He seemed to like it. Or maybe he liked how your tits looked in that dress. You were almost completely sure it was the latter, Javier Peña was no gemologist.

“Buenos días, tío.” Maria leaned to your side obnoxiously to catch his prying eyes as she took her seat beside you at the table. 

“Buenos días, ria.” Javier turned his head briefly and put on a tight smile. Idiot. There really was nothing in that head of his. If he thought he was doing a good job not arousing anyones suspicions he was sorely mistaken. The former pinched your leg under the table, and rolled her eyes at what she liked to call your “nauseating arrangement” with her godfather. 

Breakfast started with fruit, and boy did it look heavenly– practically every color of the rainbow on your plate. You popped a strawberry in your mouth, only half paying attention to the tremendously boring conversation you were unfortunate enough to be stuck in the middle of. 

You were certainly distracted, enough in fact to have only noticed minutes later that you were not the only one not paying attention. Agent Peña seemed to be rather preoccupied with your eating, enough so that he had to quite literally be shaken out of his daze to participate in the rest of the table's conversation. 

You watched the way his eyes kept drifting back to the way your lips wrapped around the fruit, how you’d bite into it slowly, and dart your tongue over your lips. He was shameless and importantly he was just begging  for a show. 

And who were you to say no to the great, the ever important DEA attaché Javier Peña? You caught and then pretty much forced his eyes to yours from across the table. If the man wanted peace, he was not making it easy on himself. He was trying to be nonchalant about the whole situation, but he was admittedly shit at it. 

Rubbing his temples with his index and thumb he tried desperately to hide his face as he watched you take a bite of the dragon fruit you had stabbed with your fork– eyes trained on the way the pink juice escaped your lips and dripped down your chin. You watched his gaze darken in warming, and it made your breath hitch to think about just how he wanted to set you straight. 

You licked your lips, reaching for the white table napkin and watching it stain pink as you dabbed away. You watched his adam's apple bob as he swallowed nervously, and shot him the sweetest smile you could muster. You knew where his mind was, you knew he was thinking about the way you’d wrapped your lips around his cock the night before, around his fingers, and tasted him on your tongue. You were sure of it when he shifted in his seat uncomfortably, and politely asked your dad to repeat himself as he tried his best to engage in the conversation. 

By the time the waitress came along offering water he was practically dying to get out of the table. For someone who had been so courageous the night before he was blushing like a schoolboy. Now that he was on the spot his pda policy was changing. You weren't even touching him yet. 

The waitress leaned down beside you, and offered you regular and ice water. From the corner of your eye you watched Javier's face as you opted for the second option. Of course you asked for ice. What was he expecting? For you to give it up because he couldn't get his mind out of the gutter? In that weather? He was delusional. 

You took a sip and held the cube between your teeth, he watched it start to melt as it brushed your warm lips. You sucked on the cube, lewdly eyeing him and leaning your hands against the table. Your tongue brushed your bottom lip. 

“Agent Peña, you’ve met him before haven’t you?” 

Javier cleared his throat, then forced his eyes away from your supple lips to answer your father’s tedious questions. 

Poor man, he just couldn’t catch a break 

But he wasn’t on a break, he was still technically at work, and who were you to deal with, compared to all those scary, dangerous, criminals he spent all day with. Surely, you weren’t affecting him all that much?

Your lip tugged into a gentle smile as you watched him clear his throat in a rather obvious indication for you to get a grip. But that was no fun now was it? You stretched your leg under the table, tapping Javier’s calf with the arch of your foot. It didn't take much effort, his long legs already far closer to yours than he would have preferred for this particular situation. It was all meant to be really, the table could have been any length, yet here it was, so awfully narrow that just a minor stretch of your leg would have your soft skin brushing against his. 

He visibly flinched, and to anyone paying attention probably looked like a man possessed– responding to the apparent touches of a ghost that had snuck their way between his legs. 

But to his dismay he wasn't dealing with a ghost. He was dealing with you, and you had decided you liked the way your leg felt slanted between his, the way his skin felt as you trailed your foot along it. 

He was lucky no one ever paid attention. 

You glanced at the ambassador, who was ever engrossed in his interrogation of Javier’s deputy. If he was smart he would have noticed Peña hadn’t taken one trip out of the resort– clearly getting his fill right where he was. If he was smart enough he would have noticed the fact that you were playing footsie with his attaché under the table.

Most of breakfast passed in slow, agonising torture. With your eyes trained on his as you teased him unrelentingly. Just like he had the night before he was pained by your actions, just itching to get out of his seat and smack some sense into you. 

At one point you accidentally dropped your napkin under the table, and as you bent down to fetch it took the liberty to run your fingers against his calf when you dragged the napkin back up with you. When you looked at him once again he was a little short of red in the face.

If anything he should have been thanking you. 

You knew better than anyone the world of elitist superficiality, pseudo intellectualistic hacks, and narcissistic bureaucrats, all trying to climb the ladder. Hell you lived with one 18 years of your life. Javier could do with a little distraction. 

Your phone buzzed on the table beside your pink stained napkin. 

It was, of course, your mother. And she was of course, demanding the details of your return home. Details that you didn’t have. Details that the ambassador had likely not even clarified yet. But then again your mother didn’t care about the details. She wanted something, and the rule was that she always got it. With no care of who got stuck in the crossfire. 

The information was completely useless to her, but that wasn’t the point. She didn’t want it for practicality, she wanted it because she wanted control. 

You wanted to ask why she didn't ask him herself, but you already knew the answer. Nothing was new, you were their messenger. It felt like a cruel trap to force you into keeping contact with either of them. 

As much as you would have liked to continue bothering Javier with your under the table antics, you knew the task at hand was top priority, and that as much as you didn’t want to engage him, you were better off just clarifying the details with your father, and sending your mother along her merry way, knowing she had control over the both of you in some form or the other. 

You watched your dad as he leaned towards his deputy, mentioning something about the budget. 

“Dad-” 

You opened your mouth once again, only to be interrupted and ignored. 

“D-”

If there wasn’t a plate in front of you you’d have slammed your head right into the table. 

It went on for a good thirty seconds, you trying to catch his attention in the midst of something that would be, to anyone else, rather unimportant. But work was important, more important than whatever you had to say. In a moment you felt like that five year old kid again, tugging at his sleeve and trying to drag him to that thing you wanted to show him. 

It was humiliating, and pathetic, but it was more pathetic that you still cared, like some child. So you exhaled, struggling and rolling your eyes at Colleen as if to indicate you weren't as bothered by the situation as you were, who gave you a knowing sympathetic smile. 

Generally, you didn’t make a habit of making conversation with him in public, or in groups. He was constantly preoccupied, and no matter what you did you’d end up wasting upwards of ten minutes trying to get his attention. If it wasn't as time sensitive as it was you’d let him drone on, but you also realized leaving your mother out of the loop would only be another thing you needed to worry about. At the end of the day what did it matter to him, he’d be oblivious whilst you dealt with the complaining and whining.

Suddenly, you felt a brush of a foot against the inside of your calf, gently, up and down. Javier wedged his leg between yours, bumping your knee ever so slowly with his.  When you looked up at him he was listening to your dad. He stopped your restless legs, gently soothing their movement with each brush of his skin against yours, gaze still fixed on the conversation at hand. 

You felt your eyes burn with hot tears as he dragged his foot along your calf, then continued to bump his knee with yours, his eyes unmoving as if nothing had happened. His touch was soft, and gentle, and barely there like the night before, just this time there was nothing sexual about it. 

You pulled your leg back, folding your napkin and excusing yourself to get ready for the day. You felt his eyes follow you out of the restaurant.

—

It's alarming, truly

How disarming you can be

Eatin’ soft ice cream, 

Coney Island queen 

It had been a couple of hours since breakfast. You’d traded in your summer sun dress for a bathing suit and tie around, its sparkles twinkling against the glow of the sun. 

Despite how much he seemed to be excited to indulge you that morning you’d think you’d never met, forget fucked Javier the way he was avoiding you. He tried to be subtle about it, occupying himself in conversations with everyone from the embassy receptionist to the ambassador. 

Hell he even decided to join in the DEA volleyball game, the one that was happening right across from where you’d splayed out your beach blanket along with your friends. Just close enough to let him enjoy the view, but not close enough to arouse any suspicions. 

The sun beat down on his golden skin. This was probably the most you’d seen him interact with the other DEA folks. By the looks of it they were just as surprised as you were to find him joining in. If only they knew. 

The dirty old man. 

Truth be told, as shameless as you were, you felt a little pervy looking at him the way you were, you wondered how he had the confidence. Each second you passed gawking at his broad frame, the way he seemed to get just a little bit aggressive when the game picked up pace. It felt like something you shouldn't have been doing in public. But since when did you care about that? You imagined what he would say to you if you were alone, how he’d tease and reprimand you for your staring. 

“Just couldn’t keep your eyes off could you?”

“Desperate slut.”

He was one to talk. The man was far more of a slut than you could ever dream to be, and here he was calling you a whore. 

He wanted to have his cake and eat it too. Stay far away and preserve his sanity, but also secretly indulge in whatever perverted fantasy he had swimming in his head.

He took his little half time game break to discreetly watch you lather on your sunscreen, the way your hands roamed your body, down your bare legs and shoulders. You put on a little bit of a show, inching your hands under your tie around and towards your inner thighs. He’d called you a whore less than twelve hours ago but the man couldn't keep it in his pants for 10 minutes. 

He did not look pleased. Not when he wasn’t the only one who could enjoy the view. Those junior agents of his had been watching you like a hound of hungry dogs. If there was one thing he couldn’t seem to handle, it was a bunch of mid twenty nobodies who could barely last twenty seconds eyeing what was his. 

Your father made his way to the makeshift court just in time for a second game, to Javier’s dismay. He peeled his eyes away from you, reaching out to shake the ambassador’s hand and pass him the ball. 

You watched from a distance as the two of them engaged in friendly banter, how Javier had managed to figure out your biggest irk in less than forty eight hours of knowing you was honestly impressive. He praised your fathers great service skills as the two racked up points on the scoreboard, sharing high fives and pats on the back. It was sickening. The coward didn’t even have the courage to look you in the eye in front of your father, and then decided his MO was playing best friend with him all afternoon. 

You leaned back on your beach blanket, staring the sun right in its white face and hoping it would burn your retinas enough so that you’d never have to see that bastard with that man again. This whole thing was one thousand times less fun when Javier was getting along with your father. 

You rolled your eyes under the cover of your sunglasses.

—

She says, "You don't want to be like me

Lookin' for fun, gettin' high for free

I'm dyin', I'm dyin'"

She says, "You don't want to get this way

Street walk at night and a star by day

It's tirin', tirin'"

You’d spent your day enduring the most obscene questions from your friends, all excited and far more interested than you’d initially assumed to know every gorey detail of your little adventure with Javier. 

The drinks went down one after the other, you didn't even notice the sun had set. Javier remained out of sight, and you guessed it was a good thing, because you’d have jumped him the first chance you got. 

First to give him a piece of your mind, and then to let him fuck you sensless. 

It was ironic, popping gummies with a DEA agent on your mind. But Sophie had offered you some, and after a long day of thinking far too much about far too many things you decided it was a good idea to relax a little. 

As had become routine the music from the beach side restaurant preoccupied you as you sat in the hottub, muscles taking a moment to untense under the water and bubbles. Your father had a private dinner with the former ambassadors that evening, but said it would be better if you didn’t tag along. They were going to talk business and it would bore you. 

You were grateful, but probably not as much as the rest of the embassy, who could enjoy their night in peace. 

The effects of the gummies were kicking in, and if you thought Javier consumed your thoughts before, his name was pretty much playing on loop in your head now. It had been a while since everyone retreated to their rooms, exhausted and far too intoxicated to be laying about in the hot tub. You knew he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Further muddy his reputation and risk his career or deprive himself of the joys of being with you. 

You reached for your phone behind you, clicking it on and squinting your eyes on the time. 

2:00 am. 

You lit a cigarette, swinging your legs under the water and watching the moonlight illuminate your skin. 

Part of the reason you tagged along this drag of a vacation in the first place was because you didn't want to wile away your summer, fearing staying at home you’d be cooped up in your room all day. But here you were half way through the weekend, wondering where the time went. 

“Shouldn’t be smokin so much” He had a way of sneaking up on people, that Javier Peña. A regular entrance seemed to be just too mediocre for him. Frankly, you admired his love, or rather his addiction, to chaos. How in the world someone like him ended up a narc was still a mystery to you. 

“You an activist all of a sudden?” You were turned away from him, but rolled your eyes non the less. You heard him sigh, and with your back still turned to him you heard him take a step or two towards you, then stop, sigh defeatedly and continue forward. The man was fighting himself, and it was far more entertaining to you than it should have been. 

Turning to face him you leaned your elbows on the uneven stone that formed the deck of the hot tub, knees tucked under you as you sat atop the step leading into the water. He was still in his shorts from the morning, but had lazily half buttoned on his white cotton shirt from under which your eyes caught the mild sunburn on his exposed chest.  

Squatting down to your level he let his eyes linger on your barely covered chest– on the diamond pendant that twinkled in the sun, and had caught his attention on that first day in the lobby. It sparkled against the cut of your breasts, floating in the blue water and brushing against your skin. 

“This is not going to work if you keep sucking the ambassador's dick.” 

“yeah , this-” he pointed between your bodies. “needs to stop.” The water rippled gently, much to the disappointment of Javier, whose eyes were trained on the distorted image of your body under the surface as you waded your way between his legs. He made space for you to come closer, but didn’t indulge you any further. 

“But why?” You didn't really mean to, but you ended up dragging the ‘why’ out to the point you sounded like a desperate, pathetic mess. He almost flinched when you reached your hand forward, fingertips tracing soft shapes on his skin, right up to the hem of his black pool shorts. Then again, despite seemingly wanting nothing to do with you he moved just that little bit closer. Just enough to give himself away. 

In an attempt to crumble his resolve you leaned your cheek against his thigh, pouting up at his yearning gaze. “Didn’t ya’ like it daddy?!”

He sucked in a breath. “Dont want your pops wondering who the fuck you’ve been callin’ daddy.” he looked around and then leaned closer. “cuz’ it sure as hell ain’t him.” You felt you skin heat, the subtle throb between your legs building. 

“Since when do you give a shit what the ambassador thinks?” you pressed your lips to his skin, the faint aroma of his sunscreen invading your senses. Javier looked at you incredulously, but you were too dizzy to care. 

“He's my boss, babydoll.” You giggled in response, dragging your lips against his inner thigh. Just as it was the night before the immediate and very real thrill of what you were doing and who you were doing it with persuaded you to keep going. 

“But don’t you want to daddy?” your eyes fluttered shut as you spoke, words coming out slurred between your pouted lips. If getting high made you anything, it was seemingly desperate for Javier. You leaned your head against his thigh once again, resting it there as you gazed up at him through glossy eyes, meeting his gaze for the first time that night. 

Admittedly, it was not a good idea. You shouldn't have expected otherwise from a DEA agent. 

“Are-” He squeezed your cheeks between his thumb and index, dragging you off his thigh till you were inches away from his face. “Are you fucking high?!” He was stuck somewhere between furious, surprised and in disbelief– eyes incredulously searching your glazed ones. Closing the gap between you, you pecked him on the lips, making sure to accentuate the obnoxious ‘mwah’ sound you were for some reason, in your delirious and giggly mood, compelled to make. 

“Just a little…”

You didn't believe his good employee act. A man so consumed by all things pleasure, one of the most hedonistic people you'd ever met, and he supposedly never smoked a joint? The man was a liar and you could see right through it. 

You’d push that button another day though. 

You giggled, tilting your head and taunting him. “Are you going to arrest me, officer?” 

“I ain’t an officer babydoll.” He rolled his eyes, tapping your cheek roughly. Everywhere he touched left you wanting more. 

“Babydoll this, babydoll that, you're boring me Agent Peña.” Your lust blown eyes searched for him and you leaned your body, dripping with water, against his. He didn't seem to mind, legs unfolding till he was seated with his feet in the hottub. 

“You know you're a lot like your father.” he narrowed his eyes and seethed, still letting you press your face into his shoulder as you tucked yourself into his side. The thought was nauseating, but you were glad if he passed you down anything it was his stubbornness. 

“Oh really? Dont tell me you wanna fuck him too?” You lifted your head and sank back into the water, just in time to watch him rub his eyes in exhaustion. 

“No, but you sure as hell like bossin’ me around.” 

Tilting your head you rose to your knees. ““I'm not the one who keeps crawling back for more” you trailed a finger across his chest “you’re here, aren’t you agent? out of your own violation?” His eyes were fixated on the swell of your breasts, but moved to your face as he grabbed it between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Hmm, didn't look like that when you were gawking at me this morning.” his nose brushed yours. 

“Was returning the favor.” you shifted to whisper beside his ear. “God knows this isn't a part of your job.” You had been quite bold sober, but the intoxication seemed to aid your snappy mouth. 

You caught the twinkle in his eyes again– the one you’d seen the first night, back at breakfast and at the beach. That look of his he gave you as a warning not to push his buttons. “Keep runnin that mouth babydoll. Let's see where it gets ya” 

He fixed his gaze on your face as you reached for the buttons of his shirt. You fiddled with them, undoing them as slow as you could possibly manage. After he’d been getting an eyeful of you over the past two days you were quite satisfied to have him as exposed as you were. 

He inched closer, easing himself into warm water, one hand on your waist the other on the granite behind him . He was finally at your level, close enough for you to pepper kisses along his sunburned chest. He hissed at the contact, sucking in a breath as he felt your lips, cool from the ice in your drink, ease the subtle burn. 

His neck, his chest, you left practically no part of him untouched. Your hand sneaked up his leg as you palmed the bulge in his shorts. You watched him hiss, bit your lip in satisfaction when he could barely get your name out of his mouth. 

You shifted to straddle his thigh, sighing at the temporary relief to the pressure building between your legs. “Don’t seem so mad to me, agent Peña..” He scoffed, but didn’t do anything to stop your actions. 

The urge to push his buttons ran high, and you knew only good could come from you indulging it. Unable to hold back any further you shamelessly rolled your hips against him, sighing at the subtle relief it brought to your aching center. 

Swallowing your moan in a kiss he played with the side of your bikini bottoms, toying with it. His hands slipped under the fabric, thumbs brushing against the swell of your ass. 

Now soaked with your slick, it did little to cover your aching pussy. You squealed when you felt him slip his hand between your bodies, yanking the pathetic excuse of a cover up aside to let you press your bare cunt against his thigh. 

“You’re not as scary as you make yourself out to be, aren’t you, daddy?” 

He guided your hips over his thigh, agonizingly slow, the wet friction on your clit enough to have you pressing against him in further desperation.  “‘Ya’ can’t even help yourself huh babydoll?” he growled in your ear, taking your earlobe gently between his teeth. 

The heat traveled up your neck, scorching your skin till it reached your cheeks. The soft skin of your inner thigh continuously brushed against the threaded lower seam of his shorts, getting increasingly tender with every pass. 

He squeezed your breast as flexed his thigh, each pass of your cunt sending your eyes rolling back into your head. Agent Peña was enjoying himself just as much as you were, no matter how much he refused to admit it. 

You were delirious, drunk literally and on pleasure as the words left your mouth– soft and slurred. “Knew you were full’ve shit, Agent Peña.” 

His hands stilled you on his thigh, his face hardened, palm coming down to meet the side of your face swifty before you could even realize what happened. You felt you pussy clench pathetically around nothing. 

Sure, he liked the control, boy did you figure that out the hard way, but it seemed like he had a no tolerance policy when it came to back talk. He had to have known that your biggest motivation to do anything you’d been doing was to get a rise out of him– his scolding, his ‘putting you in your place’, was not so much a punishment as it was a reward. 

You squirmed against his newly found grip on your waist, his words and the sting on your cheek only prompting you to attempt to rub yourself against him once again. Javier was not going to let that happen. “Watch that whore mouth of yours.” 

With his thumb and index on either side of your face he shook you slightly from side to side, his other palm coming down against the side of your face once more. 

On command, and somehow a little out of your control, a soft “sorry daddy” slipped past your lips, hands going to snake around his waist for a sense of comfort. Javier liked being mean sometimes, and you never knew it better than when in an attempt to put you in your place his palm struck your sore cheek once again. 

Whining at his actions you grabbed the fabric of his unbuttoned shirt, tugging him closer impossibly. “Your pops didn’t teach you any manners did he?” he tutted at you, stroking your head in a surprising display of gentleness. It still, however, dripped with condescension and mockery. 

The sting on the side of your face felt like it was burning, but he didn't seem to care. You felt the desire bubble further in your core.  “Don't you worry babydoll, daddy’ll make sure you behave” he landed a firm spank to your ass, making you yelp and fall forward into his chest. 

“Someone’s gotta fuckin’ look out for you,” Smiling, he pinched the cheek he’d just slapped, seemingly enjoying your little “ow”s. “cuz your old man sure doesn’t. ain’t that right babydoll?” Hot tears pricked your eyes, making them flutter shut at the sting. You turned your face as he planted a soothing kiss below your ear. 

Javier took your chin between his fingers, directing your face down to where you were straddling his lap. His free hand snaked between your bodies to cup your barely clothed mound. 

“This tight lil pussy’s mine. Only daddy gets to make her feel good, fuck her.” He rubbed soft circles on your clit, making your hips shift to feel the little friction. His actions had you far more desperate than before. “When she feels good, ‘s cuz daddy’s lettin’ her.” He murmured darkly, sparkling brown eyes raised in a subtle warning towards yours. “Ya hear?” 

You nodded, but he only landed another spank to your ass, prompting you to use your words. 

“Daddy decides.” He leaned forward, large palm once again capturing your face. 

“What was that? Know you can be louder babydoll–” he squeezed your cheeks harder, biting out his words. “heard it last night.” 

Mewling, you repeated yourself– this time louder, but also feeling smaller. His skin felt warm as you leaned your now tender cheek against it in an attempt to get back into his good graces. 

“That's better, ain't that right?” Javier smiled gently, hands guiding you over his thigh once again. “So much better when you listen huh?” You could only manage to nod. 

“All this just for some attention, huh babydoll?” he brushed his knuckles against your soft skin. He talked down to you, patronizing you, but it only made bare down on his thigh harder. “Fuckin’ pathetic.” 

Your lips turned to a downward tilt. He matched your pout, still stroking your skin. “Hate to see it don't ya? pretty little thing like you, whoring herself around” he brought your hand to his hard cock, letting you rub him over his shorts. 

‘Like a free use hooker.” You felt your pussy twitch at his words, at the way he chuckled darkly before he spoke again. 

“Could give the girls at the brothel a run for their money.” 

Rather haphazardly, he pulled you to straddle his lap, a new sense of urgency taking over in the wake of your mild submission. You felt his hard length press against your pussy and shuddered. 

“Want it inside, daddy, please” That white cotton shirt of his you so loved was discarded and tossed to the side of the deck in seconds, letting your hands roam freely across his body– grab onto his broad shoulders. 

“I know baby” he stroked your arm gently. “Just needed daddy’s attention” You resumed softy grinding against him, his hands once again taking hold of your hips. 

Sighing, you closed your eyes, letting the quaint atmosphere of the sleeping resort shift you in your own little private universe for the time being. All was lost in the mix of tempered moans and sighs, your delirious state only heightening the pleasure. 

Javier’s hand slipped up your back, under the band of your bikini top to unclasp it discreetly. You would have barely noticed if it wasn't for how he groaned as he slipped it off you, palm immediately moving to palm and squeeze your breasts. He kissed up your bare stomach, then your collar bones, letting you press your lips to his when you urged his face up to yours. 

He always tasted the same– cigarettes and whiskey. You could get used to it if you were being honest. He was drowning you in his presence, when he was around nothing else seemed to matter besides getting him inside you, or getting on his nerves. You wondered if you really had as much power over him as you thought you did. 

You kicked yourself for being so oblivious and distracted. Before you knew it the strings of your bikini top were being slipped off their clasps and being used to bind your hands together. The guy was a cop, and probably a pretty good boy scout guessing from the unmoving boxknot he made at the back of your wrists. The string was tight, any of your movements prompting an unfavorable friction against your skin. 

You felt him smile against your cheek as you pulled back, twisting your body side to side in an attempt to free yourself. Your face burned in humiliation as he chuckled at your futile attempts, and frustrated huffs. 

“Told ya baby..” 

“You are such a dick.” Humming, he pulled you down onto his lap further, dragging your dripping cunt against his cock. “You’ve gotten lucky tonight, brat..” 

With your hands tied behind your back there was no choice. You had two options, sink back and let your head fall under the water, or sit pretty for him on his lap. The time of your bratting around was far from over, but you let him have his little measly victory. 

He lined his thick cock up with your warm center, teasing your aching hole and just barely pushing in. “You gonna be a brat the rest of the night?”

You squirmed, shaking your head vigorously. “You gonna stop being such a fuckin slut? Runnin’ ya hands all over yourself at the beach-” He pushed in just a little bit further, his tip breaching your warm center. “Givin’ those boys a show?” 

You blubbered out an urgent “no daddy”, shifting side to side as you screwed your eyes shut in frustration. You could barely take it any longer. From the way Javier had his eyes trained on you it seemed like neither could he. 

With a deep but broken groan he pushed inside you in a single swift thrust, stretching you open on his thick cock. It was a relief to be full again, the sensation ghosting over you since the last time. His hands smoothed up and down your thighs under the water, squeezing the flesh of your ass till you yelped. 

“Think your pops out there? Walkin’ round, tryna figure out where the fuck you disappeared?” He growled in your ear, obviously proud of himself beyond measure. His cock was nestled deep in your pussy, shallow thrusts hitting that sweet spot inside you you could barely reach in the morning. 

“thinks I'm sleepin.” you panted. You felt him twitch inside you. 

“Dirty little girl.” He laughed mockingly, then met your hips in a harsh thrust. You rested your forehead against his, letting him place kisses to your slack lips and watch your eyes flutter shut. 

You felt small in his lap, engulfed by his presence and broad shoulders, onto which you attempted to rest your head against as your hips rose and fell over his. You nipped the underside of his jaw, then pressed a kiss there. “Little brat” 

The water made a seductive splashing sound as you shifted. Anyone in the vicinity would be immediately privy to what exactly was going on. The mix of alcohol, drugs and Javier’s hands on your body spread a fuzzy tingle across your skin. 

Your lips parted in a wordless cry, you were so so close. 

“Such a good little slut when you finally fuckin’ listen” his cock hits your sweetspot in the perfect angle as he rocks his hips up into you. You’re barely doing any work, letting him use you as you sit on his lap. 

“Gonna ruin this pretty lil body for all those boys. Fuck you like you need.” He grunted in your ear, throbbing and pulsing inside you. “Cuz on one else can babydoll.” 

The coil in your belly was quick to tighten, you felt your walls quiver around his cock as you began to cum. You bit down on his shoulder as you came undone, trying your best to stay quiet amongst the sound of bubbling water, crashing waves and chirping crickets. He fucked you through it, groaning as he felt your pussy suck him in. 

Javier was quick to follow, thrusts getting shallow and sloppy as he fucked into your wet heat, an incoherent “babydoll” falling from his mouth as he painted your pulsing walls with his warmth. 

The sound of crashing waves seemed deafening as you both caught your breath, the certain mess you’d made on his lap not bothering you at the moment. You were still imobile thanks to your restraints, and lay your head on his chest as he peppered soft kisses to the cheek he’d slapped and pinched minutes ago. 

His hands snaked behind your back, untying the unmoving boxknot he released your hands from the makeshift restraints, then ran his thumb over the sore flesh. You sat atop his lap, still stuffed full of his cock– softening inside you. He tried to similarly pepper the tender flesh of your wrists with soft kisses, but you pulled them away, twisting them for comfort. 

For a man who had slept with the entirety of Colombia he sure liked to take his time with the intimacy. He held you to his chest– still rising and falling and pulled out, tucking himself back into those infamous black pool shorts. Just as he did the day before he stroked your skin gently under the water, and instinctively you pulled your legs together when he reached between them, thighs closing around his hand as he shifted your bathing suit back in place. 

In that blissed out mood he layed back in the hot tub, letting the bubbles wash over his chest, pressing his warm lips to your even warmer cheek and sighing up at the sky. With how preoccupied you were the night before you’d missed the clear skies of Cartajena. It was difficult to remember the last time you could actually see the stars. He kissed your cheek again. 

Shifting your head to the side you placed your hands on the outside of the hottub, lifting yourself off his lap and out of the water. He looked at you, somewhat confusedly, but didn’t push you further. You felt your tie on skirt stick messily to your upper thighs. It dropped to the floor with a heavy plop when you undid it. 

You reached to grab his discarded shirt off the ground. It was seeped in the scent of his sunscreen– a fresh fougère, crushed grass, and lavender. He leaned his head back, watching as it clung ever so slightly to your wet skin when you slipped it on– the white fabric turning translucent. He kept his eyes on the shameless show you put on for him– reaching down to shimmy off your wet bikini from under the shirt's cover. You felt his spend lewdly trickle down your leg.

“Makin’ me walk back cold?” he breathed jokingly, lifting his head off the granite and nodding it towards you. 

“I can take it off” You smiled as you reached for the top button, undoing it. He watched, for whatever reason expecting you to stop. You moved down another, then another, and another. 

You caught the subtle tick in his jaw. “Put it back on. Now” 

“M’kay daddy..” bending and reaching for your bathing suit that had formed in a pile on the warm ground you met his gaze, the collar of your, rather his shirt riding down too close for comfort. 

And to think he’d tried to ignore you the whole day. He was crazy. You stood up straight, beginning to walk back into your room. 

“Don’t forget about me this time, daddy..”

The boys, the girls

They all like Carmen

She gives them butterflies

Bats her cartoon eyes

She laughs like God

Her mind's like a diamond

Audiotune lies

She's still shinin'

Like lightning, whoa, whoa

White lightning

Thank you so much for reading, please let me know what you think. Made myself sad by making her refuse Javi’s aftercare but we’ll deal with that later. This took way longer than intended so I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you to everyone who reblogs my work you keep my writing. Dividers and banners by @ Saradika 💗🫶🐝

[cinellieroll]

☆ random obey me headcanons part 4!

satan and diavolo ♡

part one (lucifer, mammon and simeon)

part two (asmodeus, levi and barbatos)

part three (beelzebub, belphegor and solomon)

small note: last part is here wooh! i apologize i wasn't able to add the others. i just didn't know what to put for theirs bc im big idiot. i might make some of them soon tho! i'll probably make aot headcanons next but there will be delays bc exams are next week 😔 i'll also plan on putting more characters in one post next time so stay tuned!

☆ satan:

- likes friv.com, y8 games and papa games.

- picked up the habit of meowing out of nowhere when he's bored or enters his room. only does it when he's alone ofcourse because no way he'll let others see him like this. (everyone knows he does it they just don't say anything)

- he really liked enola holmes and other movies where it has detectives. it just riles him up more and more and wishes a hard ass case will just appear in the devildom already so he'll be first in the scene.

- don't get me started on how many times this man has tripped on his pile of books. he never really learned his lesson and just kept the books on the floor because he enjoys watching cats step on each one

- watches mat pat theories with you and levi. that's when he genuinely started gaining interest in games and sometimes fear he'll end up like levi one day.

- before he was able to manage his anger, he used to pull on his hair really hard. he'd have bald spots for years. thankfully he takes care of it now and it's perfectly luscious and soft.

- gets pissed when he sees people leaving pens uncapped like this is a waste of ink

- also gets pissed when his brothers leave the bathroom door open. he'll use his sleeve to cover his hand and close the door like a clean freak (i do the same thing)

- snores really loud when he sleeps on the couch. yes, the couch not his own bed. the couch.

☆ diavolo:

- he finds pleasure in buying a lot of unnecessary stuff. never learns from his lesson and just kept buying little trinkets and giving silly excuses for it.

- "but barbatos! doesn't this pig just look so cute on my office table? look! i even bought 300 packs of those tea leaves you ordered last time! isn't that great :D?"

- "my lord those tea leaves cost 100k grimm each-"

- he loves to spoil people so much it's so insane. you mentioned you like tanghulus? he ordered barbatos to make 20 of them. oh you really liked that furry coat made by a famous designer? he just bought you 5 pairs of it in different colors. your welcome.

- he likes onesies

- takes really long showers as well. he recently caught up to this thing called an "everything shower" and got invested. now he can't go on with his day without using body washes, oils and cleansers. a demon prince always has to be fresh and well maintained.

- he's always very excited to see you so when he rushes for a hug it's required to pick you up. who cares if he gets scolded by barbatos or receives a glare from belphie? you enjoy it and so does he!

- beautiful thick thighs and ass cheeks it makes me go what the fuck papi chulo

- enjoys the idea of cosplaying. doesn't care what he wears as long as gets to go out and dress up as a character. a dinosaur? sure! princess diavolo?! say less!

another note: we just reached 30 fucking followers hello??1!1(1?@? thank you so much !!! (⁠●⁠♡⁠∀⁠♡⁠)

[mintmatcha]

cw: cisfem reader, reader is part gnome, reader wears glasses, sacrilege,

One, two, three. You swirl the last bits of tea counterclockwise and let the bits settle into shapes, order forming from the chaos.

"Are you trying to read the tea leaves?"

You peek up over your glasses. Holm is watching you, head resting against one hand. His cheek is smooshed forward so far that his eye is forced closed in an exhausted wink, and you can't help but smile back at him.

"Maybe."

"Using my blessed tea? My holy herbs?" He frowns, mouth comically down turned, a upside-down U. "That's sacrilege."

You tilt the mug his way. "So you don't want to know what they say?"

That earns you a soft smile, warm and fleeting. It ends with a sigh. "Only if it's good."

It isn't. The leaves tell you of bad decisions, of regrets and heartbreak. You spin your cup once more and watch it all turn to flurries.

"Things are always good with you."

"Hm." He reminds you of a cat, emotions reserved and measured, lips lifted in the middle by his short philtrum. "Hm, hm."

You hadn't intended to end up here, but a couple glasses of wine and a couple bad decisions led you right to his door, a moth to flame. When he answered the door, you told him the inn was full, that other friend's places were too far. It was an obvious lie, but he let you in anyway, made you tea and threw wood on the fire.

He stirs his spoon until his tea swirls, spoon never touching the mug's edge. It's silent, methodical, perhaps a bit soothing.

"The neighbors are going to talk, though." Holm stays placid, voice soft. The silken fabric of his sleep clothes are wrinkled only on one side-- he side he sleeps on, you imagine. "I'm not supposed to be alone with a woman after dark."

He's more devout than most in this part of the country. Prayer at sun rise and sun down, a diet free of meats and alcohol, perfect celibacy; he's the paradigm. Common doesn't have the correct word for the position; monk, priest, shaykh: none of them are quite correct, but close enough that most get the idea.

A holy man.

Certainly someone that shouldn't be having you stay the night.

"They won't." You tilt your mug side to side and the dregs of tea leaves, still wet, catch the light. The shapes change and shift. They still aren't good. "The neighbors know you wouldn't do anything."

"They don't know that." Holm hums. "I// don't know that."

There's a dwindling silence between you, a tension you can't cut through. The unspeakable thing between you grows.

"If something was going to happen between us, it would have already happened."

The fire catches in his eyes as he looks your way, bouncing from one eye to the other, then down to your mouth. He lingers there for a long moment, lids so heavy that you finally understand how thought can be sin-

"Let me get your bed set up."

You take his mug to the sink as he goes down the hall, rustling in closets. The house's quiet is heavy and hearty, so thick you can't swallow it down.

"You can take my bed tonight." He calls down the hall. "Mickbell and Kuro didn't clean the futon last time they stayed over and it's covered in hair."

A headache is already starting to thrum at your temples. Tomorrow, you'll regret all of this, but tonight, you can blame the alcohol.

"I'm not going to ask you to do that."

Holm comes from his bedroom and just shakes his head. You don't fight it; the fire is low and the sun is only a couple hours away.

Even if it wasn't, you'd still stay.

"The sheets are fresh." He musses his hair and its delightfully fluffed, red touched brown has reminds you of your family's old hunting dog. "I'll sleep out here, so I don't wake you in the morning."

Neither of you move. The last bits of fire are dying in the hearth, painting shadows long. Darkness is threatening to engulf you both, swallow you whole, and you use the last bits of light to admire him and his casual, understated beauty-

"Don't." Holm's voice is brittle.

"Don't what?"

"Don't do it."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do." Neither of you move. "It's why you came here."

Your eyes are better than his in the dark. You can see how he seeks you on in the darkness, eyes slightly narrowed.

"My Gods are important to me." His brow is knitted firmly, but his mouth is soft, open. "My spirit is important to me."

"I know."

"If you start, I don't know if I'm strong enough to stop."

He steps closer. "So, don't." Another step forward, until you can feel the glimmer of mana around him. "We can't."

"Okay," you say. "I won't."

"Don't tempt me."

"I'm not."

"Good."

There's only a singular moment before he breaks. He draws you in like a breath, hands clumsily finding your cheeks and cupping them forcefully. The kiss itself is messy, with his nose bumping into your cheek and his lips missing yours, but he takes corrections well. You tilt your head slightly and he meets you there, mouth slotting into yours. You busy yourself with the front of his shirt, undoing just enough buttons to slide your hands against the warm, soft skin of his chest.

The kiss remains chaste, just the friction of skin against skin, until you part your lips more and more, him chasing the contact with wanton want--

Your tongue slides against his and he moans, unabashedly and unembarrassed, into your mouth. Holm pulls back, panting so hard that his chest bumps into yours.

"You-" He swallows, glancing down. His hands slide down your shoulders and to your chest, cupping them clumsily, meekly, hopefully- "You taste like wine."

And he dives in again to suck on your tongue.

The rest is a flurry. Your head spins, your chest aches like it might burst, and Holm keeps kissing you with that earnest, amateur passion that makes your heart sing. Your glasses are knocked halfway off of your face, drooping off your nose. Holm walks your down the hall step by step, in between gasps of breath and nips of teeth, until the cool down of his bed presses against your back.

His bed is fluffy pillows, white sheets, and down. They smell like musk and like they were dried in the sun,

Holm breaks away for a moment, jagged breath against your cheek. His tired eyes are barely open, but they still watch you with a gentle admiration.

"You look like an angel."

Your heart drops. No, this isn't holy. Not at all.

"Oh, Holm." You place a hand on his shoulder and push him away right before his lips find yours again. "We can't do this."

He doesn't move, but you can feel the resistance drain from his muscles.

"I'm choosing you," he whispers. "I know what doing this means and I'm choosing you."

He reaches for your cheek, pleading.

"Let me choose you." Holm's touch is heartbreakingly fleeting. "Let me worship you."

You almost break. You want to break.

"I can't let you do that."

[kalifornia1025]

The Three Students Pt. 2 (Spoilers)

Pt. 2 notes, let’s go!!

Starting off with John being the disaster drunk that he is…I’m not surprised John would be the ‘I lOvE yOu GuYs So MuCh” drunk

I forget John is a snorer (worth noting that Sherlock HATES people making noises in their sleep INCLUDING snorers, but somehow doesn’t have any problem with John’s snoring)

Mariana and Kayleigh bonding over Taylor Swift was sweet (not a Swiftie myself, but still sweet)

At least John isn’t the only one that ‘overdid it’ while at Oxford. Sherlock honey you were up until 5am, GO TO SLEEP!

‘Sleeping Beauty’ - hehe John’s our Sleeping Beauty (as he looks like shit, I imagine)

Poor John is gonna be SUFFERING through that hangover

Oh?? John’s drunken adventures gave them a clue? Good for him, I suppose?

Oh God, I just KNOW the speech is gonna SUCK

John, stop losing your shoes!! 

‘A very particular shoe’…hmm 

Prometheus mention? Must be to make up for them changing from the original Greek exam in the og story! Really good connection between the myth and the current case

Ew shut up Miles, that isn’t ‘speaking your mind’, that’s just being an arrogant prick. Humble this piece of shit, Sherlock!

Sherlock: “Oopsy, there’s a lie”, YES SHERLOCK get his ass!

It’s the moment we’ve all been expected: the big speech! Poor Sherlock, he’s so nervous

Good on him for switching over to something he’s more confident in: the current case!

Yes Sherlock, get in your element! It’s so sweet hearing him get so into the case and explaining his deductions, and I LOVE all Sherlock Holmes deduction scenes where he explains his thinking!

Personally I think Sherlock would also make for a GREAT professor (ironic considering a certain professor becomes a problem later on…)

Sherlock: “Oh deary deary”, stop being so cute, Sherlock!

Hehe yes Sherlock, make that SMALL MAN admit his real height! (He’s not even that short, but he deserves to be bullied)

Nice callback to Sherlock looking for ‘a very particular shoe’ while getting shoes for John! Knew that was gonna come back up later

Kayleigh, You did all this in order to go to a TAYLOR SWIFT CONCERT?! I will say, Swifties are committed

“Only through a Doctor from Swindon and an Accountant from Sociedad have my studies in the human condition had become all the more enlightening” d’awwww Sherlock you love them!!

Oh God oh no Sherlock no don’t read that IT’S THE BAD SPEECH AHHHH THE SECONDHAND EMBARRASSMENT

HA Sherlock still being the snack thief he is!

Aaaaand that’s it for the Three Students case! This was a fun one. Not in my top three for the podcast’s cases, but definitely a fun one. 

I don’t know if alcoholism is thought of differently in the UK (especially when it comes to UK university norms) but even as an American I can tell that alcohol is becoming far more relevant to John than him just ‘partying like a student’. Reminder that he was drinking a beer in the middle of the day during pt. 1, and this was BEFORE they stepped foot at Oxford! Personally…I hope the podcast recognizes this as a real problem; same goes for Sherlock’s drug addiction. I really don’t want these things to just be running jokes. I’m not asking for full episodes of rehab or whatever, I just want them to ACKNOWLEDGE that these are problems. 

Anyway, great case and now it’s just waiting for the next one. Fingers crossed we start getting to the meatier cases soon!

[iamsherlocked1479]

Admit it

Word count: 1.9k words

Description: Sherlock believes that lingerie is pointless so y/n decides to prove him wrong, no matter the costs.

Warnings: 18+, very angsty, BJ, P in V sex, choking, slut shame

A/N: this is my apology for not posting as much hope you like it! But chapter 11 is about halfway done atm.

“I don’t get it!” Sherlock shouted at the television screen, jolting you awake with his movement, you had fallen asleep on him again, which of course he didn’t have a problem with.

“W-what now?” You ask dazed from your sleep

“These adverts look at those women.” He pointed to the ad you had seen thousands of times for a designer company showing off their new lingerie.

“Its just an ad?” You say confused, this is your punishment for letting him get to intrigued in the reality tv shows you watch, his attempt of proving he could be a normal boyfriend.

“Yes but I don’t get why lingerie is so amazing.” He turned to you

“Because its a way to feel pretty, seductive almost.” You laugh

“But you don’t need lingerie to look beautiful.” He added

“You know you should use that line more often.” You laugh

“I really don’t understand society.” He sighed and turned his head back to the screen.

“So you wouldn’t care if i wore something like that?” You ask

“I prefer you in nothing, we both know that.” He squeezed your thigh

“No but its meant to make their partners want them more. A treat i would say.” You thought how you ended up explaining the use of lingerie to your boyfriend who was very much experienced by now in the arts of physical relationships with you.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does.” You laugh “its like when you wear that purple shirt that’s slightly too tight for you” you smirk as his brow raises

“That actually explains a lot.”

“Never mind the show is back on.” You point to the screen

“You’re just going to fall asleep again.” He smiled

“Would that be a problem?” You ask

“Never.” He added, and as usual he was right. You woke up the next morning in you shared bed trying to work out how you’d gotten there but then remembered your conversation from last night, maybe he would like it if you wore lingerie. You hadn’t exactly tried that before, you knew he was probably out on a case so you got dressed with your mission clear. Finding the perfect lingerie to seduce the great Sherlock Holmes, who also happened to be the man who never had physical relationships with anyone, in a physical relationship with you.

You started out with a few common clothing shops with nothing really taking your fancy so you decided it would be better to look in the expensive shops, like the one from the advert. You browse the isles being amazed by the different styles and colours in all shapes and sizes before finally seeing the perfect set.

On a mannequin in front of you was a purple laced bra and panties set. It was almost the same colour as his shirt so you knew it would be perfect, the bra was lace and obviously see through and the panties would fit your figure just right.

It was early evening by the time you got home, and Sherlock’s violin could be heard throughout the apartment. He smiled when he saw you, but didn’t stop playing. It was obvious whatever case he was on was really toying with his mind mind.

“I’m just gonna take a shower.” You yelled not expecting a reply, it was time to put your plan into action. You showered and washed your hair, whilst also performing for the various bottles of shampoo that probably wished they didn’t need to hear the same verse from careless whisper three times over. You towel dry your hair enough so it wouldn’t be dripping wet, without getting too frizzy the next day and slipped on the lingerie. And god it was perfect, there was no way in hell even Sherlock holmes could deny you didn’t look good, you weren't one for loving yourself too much but this made it difficult.

You left the bathroom wearing only the lingerie and Sherlock was still playing, but upon hearing you enter the room he began playing a careless whisper mocking your singing.

“Was I really being that loud?” You laugh

“I’ve heard worse.” He still hadn’t turned around, dam his stupid mind palace.

“So what case are you stuck on?” You ask moving to the kitchen and ignoring the severed human limbs to make tea.

“A soldier was murdered, found dead in the shower, no way in, no way out and no signs of a struggle. Just dead, it appears as if a ghost killed him.” He still hadn’t turned around, god he was arrogant sometimes.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” You ask

“Yes and is there any biscu-.” He stopped and finally laid his eyes on you. Your back was to him, your ass clearly showing.

“Everything okay back there?” You smirk

“W-what are you wearing?” He asked, you could have swore you heard a gulp.

“Oh this little thing? I picked it up today. What do you think?” You tapped the tea spoon on the cup and turned around, he watched your every move as you entered the living room. You place the tea on the table and walk over to him, now he was intrigued. It was time to play your game. “Sit please” you push him back into his chair and he falls back with a huff his eyes scanning every part of your body.

“I- I think its n-nice.” He watched as you teased him moving your hips as you turned around allowing him to look at everything.

“But you see I’m not sure about it, could you have a closer look?” You step towards him, and place yourself in his lap straddling his legs, with your chest in his face, his hands slid up your legs towards your hips, but you pushed them away. “Ah ah, remember I thought you didn’t see the point in clothes like this. In my opinion i’d say they’re pretty effective.” You could feel him twitching beneath you,

“Maybe they are helping a tad bit.” He shuffled in his seat trying his best to do as you said but he wasn’t going to admit you were right.

“Pitty, I thought they were working.” You began circulating your hips, grinding yourself against his growing length, letting out small moans of pleasure. You watched as he gripped the arms of his chair tightly at the sensation of you rubbing against him. You moved your hands to his chest and unbuttoned his shirt. His fingers moved closer to you tracing along your leg, but you stopped your movements and tutted. “Admit I was right and maybe I’ll let you touch.”

He grunted frustratedly he wasn’t one for admitting he was wrong, but here you sat in his lap grinding against him and he couldn’t even kiss you. “Shit” he sighed “fine you were right” you smiled at your win and pushed your lips against his and began moving faster.

“I can’t help myself around you, fuck baby.” He trailed his lips along your neck going in between the crevice of your breast with his tongue, he pulled down the straps of your bra and pulled your tits free. He took one into his mouth, nibbling the nipple slightly while gripping the other with his hand.

You gripped his hair pushing him further into your chest letting out more moans edging him on. You pushed your soaked cunt harder on him, making his cock rub against your clit beginning to causing the knot in your stomach to grow tighter, growing closer to your release. He purred into your chest as your wetness soaked through his trousers, which grew ever tighter with your work. You couldn’t hold it back any longer your hips jolted as you came,

“Oh fuck Sherlock yes, fuck you’re so hard its s-so good.”

“Mmm fuck i can’t wait any longer.” He stood up and carried you through the hall towards your bedroom, his lips still locked to yours as he kicked the door open and carried you to the bed. He dropped you there watching as you knelt below him, wiping the hair stuck to your sweaty forehead.

“Want your cock, baby, I need it.” You whimpered as you unbuckled his belt. You pulled down his boxers and watched as he moaned as you licked a stripe down his length before gently sucking on his balls as your hand pumped him slowly. His head knocked back with a sigh of relief as you reached his tip again, and slowly began bobbing your head down over it, working your tongue around him before sinking down a little farther. You tried your best to swallow around him he helped by pushing himself in gently letting out deep moans the further you got. His hip’s jolted again as you pulled back and worked on the tip again, he was becoming too sensitive and he hadn’t even fucked you yet. He pushed your mouth away and brought you to his gently gripping your throat.

“Don't think I forgot you wouldn’t let me touch you, I won’t let that go unnoticed. I’m going to make sure you can’t walk for a week.” He pushed you onto the bed and positioned his frame over you, he practically ripped off the panties and entered with a hard thrust causing you to yelp and grip to the bed sheets. He pushed hard into you the sound of skin slapping skin filled the room accompanied by your moans, you clawed at his back as he fucked you

“Look at you so cock drunk, you think you can parade yourself around like a little slut in my apartment and get away with it. Do you?” He asked

“N-no.” You whimpered, leaning your head back as your back arched

“No what?” He grabbed your chin making your eyes level with his dark blues

“N-no sir.”

“Good.” He flipped you over and knelt over you, slowing his pace, taking more time to push harder into you. “Now say you’re sorry.” He slapped your ass, hard smiling as a pink gleam appeared

“I’m sorry.” You whimpered

“Good girl, now we can enjoy this.” He sped up his pace and placed one hand under you, his thumb rubbing your already swollen clit. The pulse of you clit sent waves through you as you squirmed, he fucked you hard through your orgasm

“Oh fuck, sherlock just there, thats right!” Your voice was muffled as you buried yourself in the sheets pulling them from the corners.

Sherlock groaned, he loved the sight of you being this way around him, so cock drunk you couldn’t even hold yourself up. He too was reaching his end the way your pussy clenched around his cock was enough to set him off, spewing thick white ropes deep inside of you and collapsing onto you.

He took a moment to cat his breath, his cock still inside you before pulling himself off the bed,

“Looks like you need another shower.” He held out his hand as you turned and sprawled onto the bed

“I can’t, too tired.” You say breathlessly

“I told you you wouldn’t be able to walk.” He smiled while wiping the hair stuck to your forehead.

“Hmm” you groaned as your eyes fell closed. Sherlock fixed the sheets around you before wrapping your body in a cover and allowing you to sleep. He showered before going back to his violin, this time thinking only of you. Though he would never tell you, maybe just this once you were right.

[riddlerosehearts]

list of acd canon sherlock holmes things i absolutely love

(and am going to mostly put under a readmore because i made most of this list while rereading the entire canon so it is very long! listen i just think sherlock holmes is the best character ever and i need to share my love for him--)

immediately upon being introduced to watson he grabs him by the sleeve, starts excitedly showing off his bloodstain testing experiment, and claps his hands “looking as delighted as a child with a new toy”. once he finishes, his eyes glitter and he puts his hand on his heart and bows “as if to some applauding crowd conjured up by his imagination”.

watson: “i object to rows because my nerves are shaken”

holmes: “do you include violin playing in your category of rows?” he asked, anxiously

he’s noted to be extraordinarily knowledgeable and zealous in his studies, and yet on the same page it’s stated that he doesn’t know the earth travels around the sun and once watson tells him about it he immediately decides to forget about it because it’s not relevant to his work. this is where the famous “brain attic” monologue comes in.

watson writes this list about him and then throws it into the fire in despair:

has a habit of laughing in a way that’s described as bursting into an “explosion” or “roar” of laughter

frequently does this at crime scenes:

enlists a gang of street orphans to help him on his cases, pays them for their work, and generally treats them as equals but also playfully talks to them like a general to his soldiers

plays the violin for watson to help him get to sleep

is incredibly knowledgable on anything from different types of tobacco, to the ways one's trade can influence the form of their hands, to medieval pottery and stradivarus violins. and yet, i reiterate, does not know the earth revolves around the sun.

has a tendency of waxing poetic about the meaningless of existence, particularly when he’s bored from not having any cases to work on

once said about a dog “i would rather have toby’s help than that of the whole detective force of london”

used the word “doggy” when speaking to toby

once told watson “i don’t wish to be theatrical” despite all evidence to the contrary

disguises himself as an old man just to play a prank on watson

watson: “i think i had better go”

holmes: “not at all, doctor. stay where you are. i am lost without my boswell.”

is known to wiggle in his chair when he gets excited about a case

discovers that a man has tricked his own stepdaughter into a fake marriage so he can keep her at home and control her life and inheritance. acknowledges that said man hasn’t done anything illegal but still tells him “there never was a man who deserved punishment more” and that he ought to get whipped for what he did, and then goes to actually get his hunting crop, causing the man to run out the door at top speed

let a criminal go free because it turned out the man he murdered was trying to force said criminal’s daughter into an unwanted marriage

was suddenly made to participate in the wedding of someone he was tracking for a case, came home and laughed about it for several minutes, exclaimed “well, really!”, laughed for several more minutes, and only then did he actually tell watson what happened

responds to the king of bohemia insulting irene adler and saying she’s not on his level by saying coldly: “from what i have seen of the lady, she seems indeed to be on a very different level to your majesty”, which is basically him saying “actually she’s way better than you, so fuck off”

refused to shake said king’s hand

built a pillow fort in a client’s house so he could think better

let a poor jewel thief go because he cried, because it was christmas and therefore it was the season of forgiveness, and because the case was really easy anyway so it’s not his fault if the police are too stupid to solve it themselves

always reassures clients that they can trust him and watson and speak freely around them

is willing to waive his fee for clients who can’t afford to pay him, because according to him his profession is its own reward

this entire scene from speckled band when he gets confronted by his client’s abusive stepfather:

this nice little example of the gentleness he often displays with his clients:

the adventure of the copper beeches. just, all of it. a woman he doesn’t know comes to holmes for advice about a potential job she’s interviewed for and they both agree it sounds incredibly sketchy, she says she’s gonna take it anyway because she needs the money, and he’s like “well i wouldn’t want any sister of mine doing something like this but FINE i guess, just please write to us and let us know if you’re okay and if anything bad happens we’ll drop everything and come help you immediately”, and then the job does in fact turn out to be super sketchy and they drop everything and get on a train as soon as she writes to them

sometimes spends several hours out on walks through the park or the town with watson just relaxing and talking with him for the sake of it, despite watson frequently noting that holmes doesn’t have much appreciation for nature

“we have had the good fortune to bring peace to many troubled souls. i trust that we may do the same for you,” he says “in his easy, genial way” to a potential client who’s clearly very upset and sleep-deprived

is completely wrong about a particular case and asks watson to remind him of that case next time he gets overconfident

is noted by watson to be very neat and methodical in his methods and way of dress, while simultaneously being one of the messiest people ever who keeps his tobacco inside a persian slipper and his unopened letters held up by a knife in the center of his mantelpiece, keeps tons of criminal relics which apparently somehow end up in the butter dish sometimes, and keeps countless stacks of papers and documents all over the place

tells watson anecdotes about his past just to avoid cleaning up said documents

deliberately knocks over a table, shattering a glass fruit bowl which then sends oranges rolling all over the room, and then blames it on watson and runs away

says snarky things like “when gregson or lestrade are out of their depth–which, by the way, is their normal state” and “you’ve done very well, watson! it’s too bad you’ve missed everything of importance”

laughs when watson suggests he’s being modest about his abilities

picked up a rose and got all sappy and poetic about it

more specifically, picked up a rose and said that religion can be a science which involves a lot of careful deduction, and that flowers are a source of hope and proof of the goodness of god due to the fact that they aren’t a necessary part of life but are still so beautiful anyway

recovered an incredibly valuable government treaty for a client and had it served to him on a platter at breakfast because, in his own words, he “never can resist a touch of the dramatic”

faked his death and then revealed to watson that he was still alive in a manner that even he admitted was unnecessarily dramatic

had a full-scale wax model of himself created and used it to fool his enemies

made a diagram out of breadcrumbs to explain something to watson

broke into a blackmailer’s house for a case because he believed it to be morally justifiable, and admitted that he always thought he might make a good criminal

held watson’s hand while they were burgling said house together

twice

allowed said blackmailer to be murdered in front of him by one of his victims and then refused to take the case when asked because he just hated the guy that much

“flushed up with pleasure” when watson complimented him

asked watson to sell his medical practice and move back into 221b with him after the death of his wife. and then secretly gave a relative of his a ton of money to buy watson’s medical practice at the highest price watson would ask for, just so they could live together again

was nearly brought to tears by lestrade saying he was proud of him

let a dog lead him around on a case, multiple times in different stories

was very gentle with a client who he knew to be the victim of an abusive marriage and allowed the man who killed her husband to go free out of sympathy for their situation

noticed watson looking sad and touching his war wound and tried to cheer him up by echoing his thoughts and providing a deduction of how he knew what he was thinking

mentioned watson’s sparkling eyes in said deduction

talked about nothing but violins and his favorite violinist for an hour while he and watson had lunch together

likes going to classical music concerts and getting lost in the music

does scrapbooking

chuckles and rubs his hands together when he’s happy

this:

takes getting called "the devil himself" as a compliment

let a killer go because he had only killed in retaliation for the unjust murder of his lover, and holmes felt that he might’ve done the same if someone were to kill the woman he loved

on a completely unrelated note tells a guy who shoots watson “if you had killed watson you would not have got out of this room alive”

also reacted like this when watson got shot:

went undercover to supposedly give a guy secret government intelligence documents, and then gave him a book about bees instead

frequently disguised himself either for cases or just to fool watson and was noted to be a great actor

once disguised himself as an old woman with a parasol

tried the best he could to talk a young woman out of marrying a man who had a history of “collecting” women for sport and destroying their lives, and admitted to watson that he thought of her as he would think of his own daughter

was prone to “imp-like moods”

sent watson a message to come over at once ("if convenient--if inconvenient come all the same") just so he could infodump to him about dogs

wasn’t surprised that a dog died of grief shortly after its owner’s death, because of “the beautiful, faithful nature of dogs”

listened with great sympathy to a depressed woman who wanted to tell him her tragic story, picked up on hints that she was planning to commit suicide, talked her out of it by convincing her that her life does have value and then called her brave for choosing to live

got lost in thought looking out the window at the publicly funded elementary schools and randomly went on about how he believes they and the children who attend them are beacons of a brighter future

made hot cocoa for watson

shook hands with a baby

retired to the countryside to live on a farm and become a beekeeper.

[allwaswell16]

A fic rec of One Direction fics that are romantic comedies or have a rom com vibe to them as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers! You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading!

—Louis/Harry—

🧡 You Drive Me Crazy (but it feels alright) by MrsStylinson

(T, 102k, movie au) Bridget Jones' Diary AU.“Harry is not short for Harold,” he corrects, his voice as thick as molasses. He lowers his eyes to Louis’ sequined lapels, rubbing one between two fingers. “Is this small or extra small? It looks lovely.”

🧡 Don't Stop Thinking About Tomorrow by @1diamondinthesun

(NR, 84k, movie au) the American high school AU loosely inspired by She's All That.

🧡 Gemma's Dad (Could Use A Guy Like Me) by @lululawrence

(NR, 82k, age difference) Louis wasn't planning on getting home and learning that Gemma's dad had gotten the house in the divorce and was dealing with things by focusing on work, the house, and his newly planted garden. It becomes obvious early on that Harry is a bit lost and Gemma is worried about him. To help both of them, Louis is more than happy to help Harry find himself again.

🧡 Let Our Hearts Collide by @crinkle-eyed-boo

(M, 76k, movie au) When Harry, a lonely transit worker, saves the life of the handsome commuter he's been secretly pining for, an innocent mistake results in Liam Payne's family believing that Harry is engaged to their son. A While You Were Sleeping AU

🧡 i must admit i thought i'd like to make you mine by @disgruntledkittenface

(M, 50k, girl direction) Blindsided and scrambling to save face, Louis lets herself get talked into a fake relationship with her new friend Harry. 

🧡 From Dust to Lust by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom

(E, 45k, Australia) the one where Louis and Harry are fly-in-fly-out mine workers, coincidences are totally a thing, karaoke is an underrated form of foreplay, and the universe most definitely works in mysterious ways.

🧡 Love Isn't Always on Time by @softfonds

(E, 45k, movie au) Falling in love with your best friend sounds like a good idea, until he comes back from a work trip engaged to another man. A Made of Honor AU.

🧡 Until That Day by @kingsofeverything

(E, 44k, movie au) Hoping to witness Harry leave another groom at the altar, Louis heads to Holmes Chapel, where nothing goes as planned, and he finds himself falling for the serial heartbreaker. A Runaway Bride movie AU

🧡my only working remedy by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf

(E, 42k, famous/not famous) His Team steps it up a notch when Harry is in between movies and they do a promo by launching the contest “Win a Date with Harry Styles!” Everything goes wrong for Harry's Team when the winner is a guy, Louis Tomlinson. 

🧡 crown me with your heart (your love is king) by @perfectdagger

(G, 41k, movie au) The Princess Diaries 2: Royal Wedding au in which Harry is the Crown Prince of the small island of Eroda and Louis’ uncle is trying to take the throne from him, with a slight a/b/o twist and some more.

🧡 Set the Sky Alight, Oh Holy Night by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 33k, roommates) One house, five almost-strangers (plus Niall), six new beginnings.

🧡 From the Start by @allwaswell16

(E, 32k, fake relationship) Louis has no idea that one act of kindness will cause his life to spiral out of control. But that's what happens when his new friend fake proposes to him and a video of it goes viral.

🧡 Making Waves by @haztobegood

(E, 30k, movie au) the one where Louis can’t remember, Harry needs money, and Niall has a plan. An Overboard AU.

🧡 Supposed to Be by kikikryslee / @flamboyantommo

(M, 26k, movie au) the Geek Charming AU where Harry's a film geek, Louis' a popular jock, and they both need each other to get what they want.

🧡 Retiens la nuit by TeamLouis / @teamlouis2023

(E, 26k, movie au) Everything is too much for Harry. His exboyfriend, his job, his whole life actually. Flying across the globe to find a quiet place for Christmas holidays is exactly what he needs. The Holiday AU

🧡 And I’d Marry You Harry (Because You Forced Me) by @2tiedships2

(NR, 24k, movie au) The Proposal AU featuring Harry as Sandra Bullock, Louis as Ryan Reynolds, and all the fun a fake relationship and forced engagement can bring.

🧡 in the end I started thinking about the beginning by @infinitelymint

(E, 21k, wedding planner) When Louis returned from Malaysia to attend his best mate Zayn's wedding, he hadn't expected their wedding planner to be Harry Styles.

🧡 i'd never sing of love if it does not exist by wildestdreams / @lavendrhaze

(M, 20k, movie au) “This…,” Louis said. “Use each other for sex…at all hours of the day and nothing else.” or a No Strings Attached AU

🧡 Your secret's safe with me by lightswoodmagic / @lightwoodsmagic

(M, 7k, royal) when Louis' favourite singer comes back and announces he's performing again, him and the rest of his group chat decide to go. When Haz, the man Louis' fallen in love with without meeting him, says that he can't, Louis tries his best to convince him with a drunken phone call, hearing his voice for the first time. 

—Rare Pairs—

🧡 Eight Days by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

(T, 22k, Liam/Louis) Louis and Liam got hitched in Vegas, completely forgot about it for more than a decade, and it comes back to bite them. Sort of.

🧡 I Got the Recipe (And It's Called Black Magic) by @fallinglikethis

(T, 10k, Liam/Louis) Louis needs to believe in love again, and with a little help from Almost-Liam Payne, Harry makes it happen.

[holylulusworld]

Mr. Holmes Maid (2)

Summary: You’re his maid.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Maid!Reader

Warnings: angst, power imbalance, dub-con (just in case) cuddling/sharing a bed, master-servant relationship, the reader was an orphan, mentions of physical abuse against the reader (childhood/implied), inappropriate behavior

Mr. Holmes’ maid (1)

Mr. Holmes’ maid masterlist

Four months after Sherlock came to your room for the first time, one of his former classmates came for a visit.

Everything was normal. You prepared tea and biscuits. While you followed the strict codes of conduct and were not allowed to speak to Sherlock’s guest, he wouldn't stop asking you questions you didn't want to answer. The man didn’t want to take the hint that you were uncomfortable around him.

His hand brushed against your bottom more than once, and he shamelessly stared at your chest.

“I wondered why Sherlock had a maid all for himself. Now I know,” he grinned and patted his lap. “Why don’t you give me the same treatment you give your master.”

“I-“ you didn’t know how to react. This man was just awful, but you weren’t able to fight him. You were only a maid, and he was your master’s friend.

“What’s going on here?” Sherlock came just in time to save you. He cocked his head and watched you whimper in distress. You never acted like that. Not in front of him, or his brother.

“I only offered your maid to sit on my lap, my friend,” the man patted his big tummy. “Maybe she likes me more than you. You’re always so…strict.”

“We are rather acquaintances, than friends. I haven’t heard from you for years,” Sherlock stepped toward you to stand by your side. “Maid, please retreat. We have to discuss manners you wouldn’t understand.”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes,” you never felt more relieved than in that moment. The man scared you in more than one way.

You curtsied and left the room, walking as fast as your feet would carry you.

All you wanted was to be away from this man and his demands.

Your loyalty belongs only to your master, Sherlock Holmes.

“This person,” Sherlock angrily entered your room. He cursed under his breath, using words you never thought belonged to his vocabulary. Your master was angry. Why, you didn’t know. “How dare he come here believing he can offer me money to get my maid.”

“What?” You sat up on the bed, suddenly wide awake. “I don’t understand.”

“He called me rude and unreasonable because I didn’t want to hand my maid over to him,” Sherlock pushed his locks out of his face. “I haven’t heard of him for years, and he comes here to steal my maid.”

You didn’t understand. Why would a man you never saw before come to Sherlock to get you? Your lips wobbled and you felt like a cold hand gripped your heart.

“Do not fret, my dear,” Sherlock said. “I sent him home, not without giving him what he deserved.”

You glanced at Sherlock, shocked at the sight of his split knuckles.

“Mr. Holmes,” you got up from the bed to take care of his hands. “We need to clean the wounds. Let me help you.”

“I cleaned the split skin,” he said, and gently ran his index finger over your cheek. He hummed and watched your shoulders relax. “He will never bother us again. We should rest now.”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes,” you murmured, already used to sleeping in one bed with your master. “I changed the sheets and got you another blanket. It’s getting colder, and you are not used to the cold.”

“So sweet,” he cupped your chin with his index finger and thumb. “I wonder if your lips taste sweet too.” Sherlock leaned closer. His lips almost touched yours when he dropped his hand and stepped away from you. “I-I should…no…I need to reread a few papers. Have a good night.”

Sherlock left your chamber and didn’t return that night. It was the first night you spent alone, and you felt cold and lonely.

“Mr. Holmes, there is a letter for you,” you shyly glanced at Sherlock. He was engrossed in reading another letter. “I have finished my chores for today. I’ll retreat to my chamber to knit.”

“Wait—” He suddenly got up. “I need your opinion on something.” Sherlock walked out of his office to get a blanket. “I got it for the winter. You said it’s cold in your chamber and I thought of you.”

Sherlock pushed the blanket into your hands and turned his attention toward the letter without waiting for your answer. Your heart fluttered. He got a warm and soft blanket for you, and it meant the world to you.

“Have a good night, Mr. Holmes.”

You woke like any other night with Sherlock’s arms locked around your body like anchors holding you to him.

“You’re awake,” Sherlock murmured your name. “Why?”

“There is no reason,” you whispered, afraid to tell him the truth. You woke because of a bad dream – or rather a memory from the past. This happens once in a while if you allow yourself to think of the past too much.

“Do not lie to me, maid,” he sounded angry, and you flinched. “You were crying in your sleep and tried to get away from me.”

Forced to tell him the truth you took a deep breath. “I had a bad dream,” you sniffled. “I dreamed of the orphanage I spent my childhood at. The children called me names, and the nuns hit me with a ruler.”

“You never told me that you grew up in an orphanage,” he sounded surprised, and his tone softened. “Why did you never tell me?”

“I’m here to serve, not for chatter. That’s what I've been told all my life. I didn’t think it was important,” you murmured. Sherlock never asked questions about your childhood. He only cared about your reputation and your cleaning skills.

He inhaled sharply. A habit when something angers him.

“I need to know every detail. Details are important,” he said. “I want you to tell me everything about your past. Now!”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes,” you hoped he’d lose interest and forget about your nightmare in the morning. “I was all alone, and the other children didn’t like me. No one ever told me why they didn’t like me. I tried anything but…” You wiped your eyes. “No one ever wanted me.”

“You’re here now,” Sherlock whispered in your ear. “Safe and sound.”

The night was shorter than usual. Someone yelled Sherlock’s name and harshly knocked at the door. You woke, startled by the man screaming your master’s name.

“Open the door!” the man yelled even louder. “You dishonored my wife!”

“Y/N, I want you to stay here and try to get more sleep. Let me handle this,” Sherlock slipped out of bed and grabbed his robe. He threw it on and left your room.

You couldn’t go back to sleep. His warmth left your body, and your teeth chattered. Scared you listened closely as the man calmed and repeatedly apologized to your master.

“People these days,” Sherlock reentered your room, closing the door with a loud thud. “He dared to come to my home and scare my—” He looked at you, unsure what you are to him. “Never mind. He came to the wrong house.”

You nodded and lifted the covers. “Are you alright, Mr. Holmes.”

“Of course, Y/N,” he took his robe off and joined you in your bed again. “We will sleep a little bit. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”

“Mr. Holmes, what a pleasure to see you,” the owner of the boutique spluttered, obviously excited that the infamous and wealthy detective came to his boutique again. “What brings me the pleasure of your presence.”

The man smiled widely and almost drooled all over your master. You got ignored, like most of the time. Well, your simple dress and appearance don’t catch the eye of many people. In the end, you’re only a peasant, not a person to most of the people you meet.

“I need a new wardrobe for my—,” Sherlock cleared his throat when you didn’t react, “maid. Y/N, come here.”

“Mr. Holmes,” you were surprised he told the man that the dresses and winter coat he ordered weren’t for Enola, his sister, and ward. “Do you want me to have a look at the dresses for your sister?”

He sighed, exasperated. If Sherlock hated one thing, it was waiting time. “The dresses are for you. I need you to try one on. I don’t want to waste my money on dresses not suiting you.”

“I-“Confused you look at the owner of the boutique. He looked as shocked as you.

“I need her to represent the household, Holmes. I cannot let her run around in a torn dress,” Sherlock touched the back of your dress, gripping it tightly until you heard a ripping sound. “See, the material is the worst. I have a reputation to protect.”

“Mr. Holmes,” the man nodded eagerly. He called for his wife to help you try on one of the dresses. “Of course.”

Sherlock hummed and looked around the boutique. He wasn’t interested in buying another vest or coat. Your master tried to distract himself to not follow you and watch you redress. He was a gentleman after all…

“Oh, look at you,” the boutique owner’s wife cooed. She told you to look in the mirror. The woman in the mirror staring back at you wasn’t you. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

The biscuit and rose-colored silk bustle dress with lace trimmings fitted you like it was made for you. “It’s beautiful,” you replied, but didn’t know what else to say. You've never worn a dress like this before. In lack of words, you remained silent.

“Let me get Mr. Holmes,” she finally said and left you alone with your racing heart. Why would he buy you a dress like this? Maybe it was another test. He’d buy it for his sister, or some other woman and wanted to remind you of your place.

“What do you think, Mr. Holmes?” She came back with your master by her side.

Sherlock looked you up and down in the new dress. He hummed and clasped both hands behind his back while going around you.

“It’s well done,” he said. “I’m satisfied with your handiwork. Let’s try on the others,” Sherlock stopped right in front of you to watch you drop your gaze. “Shall we?”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes,” you murmured, unsure how to react to his behavior. “What do you want me to try on next?”

He cocked his head to glance at the dresses. “The red one. I liked it the most.” Sherlock followed you. Hand brushing over your back. “I hope you like it as much as I do. You will look beautiful in it.” He whispers the last part.

Your heart was beating out of your chest. Sherlock’s hand on your back felt warm and soothing, still, it was inappropriate. He openly showed affection toward a peasant.

This could ruin his reputation, and yours…

Part 3

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