#sherlock finally gets laid

[fictioninmyblood]

I Meant That Shit

Summary: N’Jadaka gets tired of waiting for Y/N to forgive him and come home, so he decides to let Killmonger bring her back, kicking and screaming if necessary.

Warnings: 18+, noncon/con, smut, D/s themes, Entitled and pissed Erik being devious. Shouldthere be a warning for angst?

A/N: This was supposed to be short, but here we are. Enjoy my sexually starved thoughts.

A/N: Also, idk if this needs to be said, but I write for my demographic - black females. This has been my disclaimer/notice.

A/N: My work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than this) without my explicit consent and recognition.

After his reluctant rehabilitation, there weren't many things that brought out his killer instinct anymore. However, it seemed that lately, despite all the sparring, therapy, and meditation sessions, Erik couldn’t shake the urge to knock some sense into his girl Y/N. 

A few weeks prior when she told him she needed space and couldn’t stay in Wakanda and ignore her life anymore, he said some things. She took it the wrong way and told him they were over, as if.

When she first left, Erik was sure she’d break down and FaceTime him or use the kimoyo beads he taught her to use. She was always more vocal about missing him, so he just assumed she’d break down and restart their communication. Imagine his surprise when a whole two weeks rolled by without so much as a text, call, or video chat. He was desperate for anything from her, even a verbal lashing, but by the time a month came and went, he felt like a fiend going through withdrawal.

During week six, his excitement to finally lay his eyes on Y/N was quickly cut short when he realized she was still talking to his family even though he had been getting the silent treatment. That displeasing information lit him like a powder keg when he saw another man in Y/N’s background, getting dressed no less. T’Challa dragged him from Shuri’s lab ready to bust a gasket when his babygirl asked Shuri to go into a different room and his little cousin actually listened! His whole family was against him again it would seem.

When T’Challa got him back to his room, all he did was pace. It was ten full minutes of the king warily watching his cousin stew when M’Baku walked right into the line of fire as Erik turned to beat the shit out of his cousin. T’Challa easily dodged the current threat on his life as the giant grabbed Erik’s hands in one of his, quickly disarming him and making the pouting man even more enraged. 

“You all have been talking to her this whole time?” N’Jadaka roared.

“Just Shuri and I. She made us promise to let you figure it out for yourself, but you’ve been failing miserably cousin! Absolutely clueless!” T’Challa replied.

Erik struggled against M’Baku’s vice grip to no avail.

“No shit Sherlock. I’m gonna whoop yawls asses. M’Baku let me go.”

“Not until you promise to have a conversation with your mouth instead of your hands. I am not prepared to get involved in another war between you two.”

Erik took a few deep breaths. “Fine, I’m good.”

Once M’Baku was sure there would be no immediate violence he let go.

“You better start explaining real fucking soon T,” Erik spat, pointing an accusatory finger at T’Challa.

“Okay! Okay! Y/N is struggling to accept that you actually want her around long term!” T’Challa word-vomited.

If the prince wasn’t already enraged, the king and tribal chief would’ve laid out in hysterics at how N’Jadaka’s face screwed up. “How sway! How?!”

“From what Shuri has explained and I’ve gathered in my eavesdropping is that she thinks you only want to claim her without actually growing with her. Everything is on your terms, your way, in  your time. She’s been far more  patient than most would be with you so I can’t say she’s wrong.”

Erik jumped at T’Challa, scaring him and the big gorilla chief. “I oughta beat you up for keeping your mouth shut.”

“She and Shuri threatened me within an inch of my life and they scare me more than you. Besides, according to them, you can’t keep relying on us to figure out what’s going on in your relationship and I couldn’t find a valid disagreement.”

Erik nearly did slap T’Challa at the last sentiment.

“Aye aye!” M’Baku shouted, getting between the two yet again, “He is being truthful now. That counts eh? And if I may interject, I think you’re aiming your anger at the wrong person.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Erik said, deflating under the weight of that truth, “but his ass still bout to pay me back and I know just how.”

————-

A few hours later…

“You know, when I told you that you could pay me back with The Royal Talon Fighter, I didn’t expect you to tag along.”

“Who else was going to keep an eye on our Wakandan technology or keep you from murdering anyone in the vicinity of Y/N, especially any man?”

Erik rolled his eyes and huffed. “I guess.”

“Or Y/N from killing you for just showing up jealous despite being radio silent since long before she left Wakanda.”

“Alright alright! You made your point. Damn! Just drive the fancy metal.”

—

Erik was all confidence until the second they landed in Atlanta. Yeah, Killmonger was out for blood and was ready to bring their girl back kicking and screaming if necessary, but Erik N’Jadaka Stevens? He was a nervous fucking wreck.

T’Challa and M’Baku’s words really struck a nerve and he had nothing but time to stew over them on the ride to your family’s hometown ranch. Before he met you, Killmonger made all the decisions, kept him alive and ahead of the game, whatever game he was surviving at the moment. He lived like that for well over a decade when he met you, but you didn’t bat an eyelash at his swift mood swings, his bloodthirst, or his possessiveness, often putting him in place. You handled him with love and care, showing him how to become the softer version of himself without sacrificing your boundaries too much. He was quickly realizing that he sometimes pushed too hard, took too much, neglected your requirements. It was your stern patience, however, that was enough to allow you to become the first person to get him the person instead of him the killer to come out and communicate, interact, and live rather than survive. 

You did it for him a second time around when he came out of cryo too. He hadn’t told you anything about how he would go about his goals, opting just to disappear and execute so it was a surprise of a lifetime to wake up to your beautiful Y/E/C. After getting over his initial anger over you seeing the worst of him, you were the first person he responded to or let touch him during his recovery. Even going so far as not allowing the medical staff to redress his wounds if he was awake.

Only your touch soothed him, only your voice gave him peace. You made him less of a killing machine and more human again, made him want to address the tsunami of emotions and trauma that he lugged around. He didn’t want to jeopardize your willingness to be that for him but he recognized how you were always giving all you had just to receive an inch of progress from him. If that.

Unfortunately, all of his introspection and nervousness flew right out of the truck T’Challa had them in when he saw you walking up to your personal guesthouse with a man in tow. Killmonger immediately took the reins pushing him and his feelings down into the abyss, and leaping out of the car before T’Challa could come to a complete stop with his cousin calling after him.

“Y/N!” Killmonger shouted from the end of the long-ass driveway, rage evident in his voice.

Y/N was haphazardly trying to get her drunk cousin up the stairs while nervously dropping her keys when she heard Killmonger. She’s only encountered him a few times since meeting Erik, after the first time she brought him back to himself, he did his best to keep that part from her. It didn’t always work since any repressed feeling or issue the man had was poured into his alter ego, feeding his desire to be wild and untamed in his decision-making. So she knew he was out for blood with just the sound of her name.

She got the key in just as Killmonger got to the beginning of her walkway up to the house. As quickly as she could, she pulled her cousin in, slamming and locking the door in her partner’s face, leaving the beast to bang on her door and demand entrance.

“I’m not dealing with your bulldozing tactics Kill! You can come back when Erik is ready to face his fucking feelings and have an adult conversation!”

“If you know what’s good for you and that nigga in there, you better open this ghatdamn door Y/N!” He roared in response.

Y/N’s cousin couldn’t stop laughing, no matter how much she waved him off. Getting trashed 3 nights in a row after a bad breakup and crashing with his favorite cousin after hearing how she was hiding from both the world and the love of her life as well didn’t prepare him for seeing her so out of character. One second she was fleeing from the man, the next she was big and bad from behind a locked door in all her 5’5” glory. It was comical as hell to him.

“You know you look constipated when you cuss? Like that stick in your ass is fighting every syllable.” He said, immediately dying in another fit of laughter at his analogy.

“Who the fuck is that in there with you, Y/N, and don’t fucking lie!”

“The next man. Nice to meet you. You must be the ex.” her cousin shouted out in a drunken slur to Y/N’s horror.

Yeah, she knew she wasn’t in the wrong, and there was no reason to defend herself against this man, but she knew not to press certain buttons once Kill made an appearance. Her cousin, unfortunately, had no discernment to see that he had just pressed the biggest red button Kill had when it came to her.

Y/N watched the myriad of emotions that crossed Erik’s face through the peephole, praying to every ancestor and display of the creator she could think of that this man wasn’t going to go full psycho-killer on them both. The last thing she needed was him taking several steps back in his healing just to unnecessarily add another scar, maybe 2 with how pissed he looked. 

Y/N turned back to her cousin, ready to kill him for putting her in even hotter water, only to find that nigga was sleep, leaving Y/N to deal with the consequences on her own. 

As soon as she had that thought her ears piqued, taking in how silent it had gotten. All she could hear was the crunch of gravel as T’Challa finally pulled in and got out. When she peeked outside the peephole again, she was met with a confused T’Challa looking for Erik.

A chill ran up her spine and her blood ran cold as she slowly turned to her current worst fear; Killmonger pissed as hell, staring her down with a knife to her cousin’s throat.

“Give me one good reason not to paint your brand new carpet with this nigga’s blood Y/F/N then fuck you on the new color.”

Putting her hands up in a placating manner, Y/N slowly inched towards Kill, stopping when he dug the knife just slightly deeper, exposing a thin line of blood, as her cousin slept unawares.

Donning a submissive voice as if she was talking to a wild animal, “Erik, baby calm down.”

“Don’t baby calm down me! You out here giving other niggas what’s mine? Mine Y/N!”

“That’s not–”

“Don’t tell me that’s not what’s going on when you’ve been M.I.Fucking.A. for weeks! And the first thing I see both on video chat and in person is you with some random?! I’ll murder every nigga to ever touch you, keep tryna play me.”

“Nobody’s playing you Daka, look closer, you know him. I promise I haven’t been stepping out on you.” Y/N continued on, internally rolling her eyes at the toddler temper tantrum she had to placate this nigga out of. “My stupidly in love, trying to escape his own heartache, and loves drama when drunk cousin that you have met several times was just egging you on.”

Kill looked closer to the man’s face and released the filter of rage clouding his judgment, upon closer inspection he realized they’d met at several of the many family gatherings he’d attended with Y/N/N. Slowly easing the knife from her cousin’s throat, Erik struggled to fight back tears at his behavior. He was proving he wasn’t good enough for her, he hadn’t actually changed all that much. Kill took the reins once again, unwilling to let him process his feelings of abandonment and betrayal just yet. Rushing towards Y/N, he laid the knife flat on the side of her face, taking up residence on the other side.

Biting a huge hickey along her jawline, before grasping her earlobe in between his teeth, Killmonger growled, “So if you ain’t been fucking him, who you been fucking?”

Although Y/N knew she logically had nothing to feel guilty about, how he was questioning her made her want to lie down and worship him as an apology regardless. She took a deep breath to center herself, understanding that any sign of nervousness would be taken as an omission of guilt.

Y/N ran her hands up his arms and over his shoulder blades to hold his face in her palms. He reluctantly released her earlobe to allow her to face him, naturally allowing the blade to rest against her neck ever so gently.

“N’Jadaka. Erik, baby? Look at me, I have been trying to live without you miserably for the last few weeks. I’ve only been going out since Y/C/N got here and I have to beg for breaks because I’m basically his chaperone. You believe me don’t you?”

Erik looked at her with suspicion clouding his eyes. He dropped the knife and held her throat in his hands, squeezing just tight enough to hint to either pleasure or pain, pushing her against the front door.

“Ion know. Why should I?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Y/N took a chance and palmed his face, caressing his cheekbone with her thumb. “Cause you know that no matter how much you stress me out, isolate yourself from me, or threaten anyone who seems to have more access to me than you, that I love your crazy ass.”

Erik squeezed a little tighter, not enough to hurt her but enough to reassert his dominance. Y/N put a hand over his, doing her best to ground herself in the feeling of his hands rather than how much she wanted to cum from the pressure of them.”

“Sorry,” Y/N squeaked out, “I love every version of you, no matter how threatening any of them may be and I physically can’t stand to have anyone else touch me the way I let you touch me.”

“Say it again.”

“I love you?”

“Nah, princess, the other part.”

“No matter how threatening-” she started, but was cut off by the growl emanating from Erik’s chest and the pulsing release and pressure of him allowing her small gasps of air. “You know what I mean Y/N, don’t test me lil mama.”

Erik held his squeeze on her neck, tilting it ever so slightly to lick the side of her face and hold her earlobe between his teeth, tugging.

Y/N couldn’t hold back the guttural moan if she tried. Just barely keeping her eyes from rolling back and donning her sweetest sub voice, she said, “I physically can’t stand to have anyone else touch me the way I let you touch me big daddy. It literally makes me nauseous.”

Erik released her ear with a wet snap against her face, “It does?”

Y/N hummed and nodded her head as best she could in her current predicament.

Killmonger covered the forgiving face Erik started to make, replacing it with one of his stern, unyielding looks. “Then why you leave me and give me the silent treatment for weeks?”

Y/N whined at the tightening of his hands, closing her eyes to savor the pleasure only he could illicit lighting her body on fire.

Erik bit her bottom lip roughly, nearly drawing blood. “That’s not an answer.”

Losing the battle against her libido and subspace, Y/N whined again.

In a faux sweet voice Erik said, “Awww, is little mama already too far gone in her head thinking about all the ways imma mark you.”

Y/N nodded again, lost in the many images she’d acquired from her sexual experiences with Erik and Kill over the years.

“Good.” And with those words, Y/N was suddenly looking at Erik’s ass and the floor as he stomped upstairs to her bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.

He tossed her on the bed and roughly stripped her of her clothes, halter top first, bottoms and panties all in one fell swoop last, leaving her heels on.

He positioned her over his knee and popped her cheeks until her bottom was flushed with his favorite shade of reddish purple and warmed his hands with the heat she emanated.

By the time he was done, Y/N wanted to be a ball of tears, but could only sniffle, her voice too shy to make an appearance when Kill took the reins of their scenes like this for fear of upsetting him further.

Erik used his knee to spread her legs open far enough to see her flower drenching her thighs in her nectar for him. He took two fingers to swipe some of it onto them for him to put in his mouth and savor, groaning at how much sweeter she seemed to have gotten since last he held her.

He laid her onto the bed and got up to undress himself, slapping her already sore ass when she didn’t move a muscle.

“You know what’s up. Face down, ass up lil mama.”

Y/N groaned but slowly inched her way into position. Already feeling like jello, she barely put an arch in her back, struggling not to lay back down and pass out.

Killmonger was not happy with that. After he’d removed everything except his grills and chain he let both his palms come down on her cheeks simultaneously.

Sounding more animal than human, “If you don’t assume the position like you got some sense, I swear to the gods Y/N.”

She was still lethargic, but was eager to experience less of his painful assaults and more of the pleasurable ones that she knew were around the corner. It took all of her strength but she was able to inch herself into position, deepening her arch just the way he demanded with her arms by her side and her cheek resting against the comforter.

“Good girl.”

With how pliant she was to his commands and the evidence of how much she trusted and wanted him dripping down her thighs, it took all of his restraint not to plunge himself into her until he felt her cervix try to push him back out.

Y/N smiled faintly at the praise, humming and wiggling her ass in response.

Killmonger grasped her wrists as he knelt to get up close and personal with his pussy. He spread her lips so he could get an eyeful of her throbbing clit and blew on it, eliciting a guttural moan from Y/N, before replacing his hand back on her wrist.

“Just you wait mamas, you gonna be screaming and crying by the time I’m done with you.”

He licked her juices on both thighs, leaving hickies all over them both before he finally put his whole face in her pussy and ate. If it wasn’t for the grasp he had on her wrists, she would have collapsed immediately.

Erik was a good kisser in general, but Killmonger was a master at french kissing, especially her pussy, until she was questioning whether or not she still wanted the pleasure. Those deep soul sucking kisses always made her question her sanity.

He slurped up and suctioned her clit into his mouth like that’s where it belonged, flicking it with the tip of his tongue until she came with a silent scream, without ever releasing her tiny bud. Then he released it with a pop only to hold her lips open and spit directly onto her hole, watching his saliva drip down onto her clit. He flattened his tongue and licked like the dog he could be until she was a whining, moaning mess, tears streaming down her face just as promised. 

Once the first sound hit his ears, she couldn’t stop the noises he was pulling from her if she was mute, let alone at the mercy of his insatiable thirst for her most animalistic responses.

Kill continued his assault with his tongue, moving through her folds in a rhythm only he knew. After he’d gotten two more orgasms from her that way, Y/N alternating between screaming and crying, he latched his plush lips back around her clit, assaulting the sensitive bundle of nerves, and plunged his two most trustworthy fingers into her, immediately finding her gspot and caressing it with an incessant ‘come hither’ motion until she was squirting and creaming uncontrollably. Not willing to let go just yet he dragged it out for what seemed like forever since she briefly lost consciousness and came to, lips still parted in the O of her silent screams, with his mouth still eagerly slurping up the waterfall his fingers were responsible for. All Y/N could do was turn her head the other way to watch what she could see of him, whining and moaning.

When she could barely release any more spurts he released her, licking his hand, fingers, and forearm clean as he slowly stroked his hard as steel member. 

In the great deep of her sex haze, Y/N mumbled, “He brought dick too? How are we gonna survive dick too when he almost killed us with just his mouth and fingers.”

Erik chuckled at her ramblings, proud that he was, as usual, responsible for her senseless words.

When his precum made an appearance, he swiped it up with his thumb and rubbed it into her pussy, almost immediately replacing his thumb with the tip of his dick. Wanting to savor this moment of finally being able to reconnect with his pussy, he played with her, just like that. Rubbing the tip of his dick in both of their juices, up and down her pussy lips, circling her clit, and coming to apply just enough pressure to her desperately clenching hole, only to rinse and repeat. On and on he went, teasing them both until his quietly whimpering babygirl was back to guttural whines.

He knew she was right where he wanted her mentally when she started begging.

“Please big daddy, I’m so sorry. Please baba E, please baba, please. Please please please please please pleaaaaaasssssseeeeee.”

When he was good and ready, he pulled her up by her throat until she was flush against him, licked her tears from her cheek, and forced her to look him in the eyes.

“You don’t do that disappearing and silent treatment shit ever again Y/N. You hear me?”

Y/N nodded and blinked at him with a puppy eyed look that damn near melted the ice caps of his attitude, but he was quick to remind her who’s big daddy in their relationship.

“When I told you, you were mine, I meant that shit mama.”

“Yes, baba,” Y/N squeaked out.

He tongued her down with one of his sloppy french kisses and as soon as he felt her body relax in his hold, he did exactly what his body had been begging for since the second he saw her. He pushed himself into her until he felt the tip of her cervix try to push him all the way back out, savoring the fucked out look she wore as her body spasmed with the unexpected orgasm, he held them there letting her ride it out. 

In this moment he was grateful for the years of curated discipline since the way her pussy clamped onto him almost triggered his own mind numbing orgasm. Although he successfully staved off his nut, he couldn’t stop the way all of his fight was knocked right out of him.  Finally rid of the aggression that his Killmonger personality oozed, Erik was able to finally take in his queen, his Y/N, in all her sex hazed glory.

When she finally came down from her high he started moving, giving her slow and deep strokes as he showered her face and neck with kisses, hoping his attempt at lovemaking showed her just how priceless she was to him, how desperate he’d been without her.

Kiss, “I’m sorry too mamas,” kiss “I know how much you love me and I don't understand why,” kiss, “you,” kiss, “insist,” kiss, “on pouring all of the best parts of yourself into me.” He couldn’t help but shed a tear at the relief he felt, having her in his arms again. “I promise to do better,” kiss, “to listen and pay attention more,” kiss, “to treat you like the empress you are,” kiss, “just say you’ll come home with me,” kiss, “promise you’ll take your rightful place by my side mamas,” kiss, “claim your right as my queen.”

Y/N was a moaning, whining mess, barely holding onto consciousness and shedding her favorite kind of tears, just as promised.

Erik tucked his face into her neck, struggling to keep himself from cumming too soon since her pussy was gripping him like a boa constrictor, indicating that yet another orgasm wasn’t too far.

He held himself in the deepest parts of her and put a little whine in his hips. “Please mama, come home with me.”

Just when he thought he could hold out no longer she arched into him and screamed yes over and over, overwhelmed with her orgasm, and squirted all over them both. Erik came in her almost at the exact same time, his orgasm nearly knocking him out with how it overcame him from head to toe. Both of them slumped into the bed.

—

By the time he finally started to get up, her screams had quieted back to whimpers.

Erik slowly and gently removed her heels from her feet, massaging the soles with just the right amount of pressure.

He cleaned both of them with a warm washcloth and ran the tub, placing some bubble bath soap, epsom salt, essential oils, and dried rose petals in the water. Wanting to balance out the intrusive way he barged back into her life, he lit some candles and incense as well, and placed his favorite body oil of hers on the counter.

When he came back to get her in the tub, she was silently staring into space in the same place and position he left her. After he got her to turn over and sit up, he scooped her into his arms bridal and brought her to the tub, gently placing her into the suds.

Once he saw her relax he went back to the bedroom to strip and change the sheets, wanting their transition back into the room to be seamless. When he came back into the bathroom her head was leaned against the edge of the tub, eyes closed, and tears were streaming down her face, alarming him to the fact that although he’d won the battle, he was still losing the war with treating his girl with the care she really was looking for from him.

Choking up himself, he kneeled next the tub and leaned over her face, kissing the droplets left behind.

“I’m so sorry mamas. You know that right?” His voice cracked at the end.

Although she started nodding yes, she ended up shaking her head no.

“Can you open your eyes for me please?”

Y/N shook her head no again.

“Pretty please?”

Again she shook her head no. She was too scared to look him in his eyes, anytime he touched her or they made eye contact she folded to his desires and needs, abandoning her own.

A little defeated, but determined to win all of her back, not just her body, Erik switched tactics.

“May I get into the tub with you and hold you?”

Y/N hesitated a few moments before she nodded yes. As soon as she heard the rustle of him standing back up she scooted forward allowing him to sit behind her.

Once he was seated, Erik gently pulled her into him, urging her body to use him as she did the edge of the tub. The moment she relaxed in his embrace, head lolling slightly to the left, he started kissing up and down her neck from where her ear met her face to her collarbone.

When he felt enough time had passed, he tried to get her to open up to him again.

“Lil mama?”

Y/N hummed.

“Tell me what’s on your mind please, I promise to listen.”

Y/N held up her pinky and asked, “Pinky promise?”

Erik locked his pinky with hers and brought her hand to his lips, softly talking against it, “Pinky Promise.”

She pulled her hand away, putting it back in her lap to join the other one, under the water.

Taking a deep breath she started.

“Am I a toy to be played with Daka?” Erik was ready to answer but kept silent, knowing she needed to get all of her thoughts out before he interrupted her. “To be taken out of storage to be used and then tossed aside when you’re not getting the desired result anymore?”

Rubbing the sides of her thighs and suddenly very scared, he said, “ no mamas.”

“Then why do you get to demand time and attention and energy from me, but when I ask for a sliver of honest communication, the smallest amount of all three resources you have to offer me, you shut me out? Why is it only okay for you to communicate what’s going on with you and us when you feel like it, when it's convenient? Why do I always have to beg for you to lean on me, to use me softly? Why do I have to beg you to let me hold you. Why don’t you ever just ask? Why do I have to grovel at your feet to be held by you? Why is the only time you make love to me when you’re trying to win me back? Why?” 

By the end of her list, Y/N was sobbing. Erik wrapped his arms around her body and tucked his chin in the curve of her neck and let a few tears drop himself before he answered.

“I don’t know mamas. I guess…,” he wiped the tears from his face and gulped down the rising tsunami of emotion that she so easily created with just a few sentences before he wrapped his arm back around her, “...I guess I’m just terrified.”

“Of what baby? Haven’t I been here? Haven’t I done the best to support you with all that I am, to remain honest with you and show you that I am loyal to our future?”

He kissed her shoulder and said, “you have. I just-”

Y/N pulled out of his arms to finally look him in the eye, “You just what? Aren’t my efforts to build a life with you enough?”

Erik palmed her face and gave her a deep kiss, hoping to transfer all of his emotion into it.

He put his forehead against hers and said, “I’m just so fucking terrified of losing you. To have the warmth of your love snatched away at a moment's notice. I’m terrified in a way I haven’t been in so fucking long that I just convince myself that its better to pull away and show you how unworthy I am of the full magnitude of your love.”

He pulled away and kissed her forehead, grateful she was finally looking him in the eyes again. “But this time of separation showed me I am nothing without you, just a hollow shell, no love to warm my soul and bones. Even the care and concern of my family isn’t enough to fill the abyss that’s created in your absence.”

Y/N swiped away the stray tears from his face, “that’s-”

“I know. Super intense.”

“Yes. But I was gonna say a relief to hear. You never really give me any verbal confirmation that you feel as deeply for me as I do for you unless I say I love you first.”

“I know mamas, but I promise to do better, be better, for you.”

Y/N pecked his lips. “No Baba. For you. You need to talk your feelings out loud so you can hear it too. You need to know that the only reason you’re able to love me so deeply is because you love yourself that deep, if not deeper, first. Understand?”

Erik smirked, yet again grateful that he had such a wise and loving partner who always held up the pieces of mirror he’d sworn he’d broken to pieces.

“Yea lil mama, I understand.”

“Good…,” Y/N kissed him again, deepening the kiss but teasing him slightly with how lightly she moved her lips against his. When she pulled away, she almost regretted bursting his bubble. “...cause I’m not going back with you until I’m ready.”

Erik’s face instantly fixed itself into a scowl. “But-”

Y/N held a finger to his lips. “I said when I’m ready, not never. I came home to get back to taking care of me, love me, and understanding what my needs are.”

His pout deepened.

“And I learned that I need to stop jumping when you say jump. So I go back when I feel that I’m ready, not because you showed up and demanded it of me. Okay?”

He was a little deflated, but still holding onto the hope of her eventually coming back with him.

“Okay, but I’m staying with you until you’re ready.”

“But-.” 

It was Erik’s turn to hush her with a finger. “I already know what you’re going to say and my duties will be waiting for me when we go back together. Now that you’re back in my arms I’m in no hurry to lose the privilege again.”

“You’re not!”

“You’re right, cause I’m staying.”

All Y/N could do was chuckle, understanding that she’d lost this battle and relishing in the fact that she won the war. It seemed he was finally starting to understand what she needed because although she was indeed going to complain about him having responsibilities to return to, she really did need him to stay. That abyss he had was mirrored in her heart and only time with him would close it back up.

Both satisfied that they worked through the root issue, they went back to enjoying the bath, Y/N comfortably resting her head against Erik.

When they were all pruney and the water was verging on cold, Erik stood them up to drain the tub and turned on the shower to rinse them both. After he dried them both, he quickly lotioned his body with shea butter, grabbed the body oil and guided Y/N hand in hand, back into the bedroom.

He laid her on her back first to moisturize and massage her front, kneading out all of the tension she held. When he was working his way back up from her feet, he couldn’t help but get stuck between her thighs, using his thumbs to massage circles up them until he reached her pussy again.

Y/N slightly parted her legs, letting one bend and fall open for easy access. He immediately used one hand to part her lips so he could see her clit clearly.

Erik leaned down to softly kiss her clit a few times before he pulled away and used the thumb on his other hand to rub slow circles. He admired her form as he brought her to orgasm leisurely. 

He went back to massaging her thighs until she returned from the heights of her pleasure.

His voice was more gruff than he wanted when he told her, “turn over.”

She easily compiled and continued his massage, paying extra attention to her sore ass.

When Y/N was 2 more seconds away from sleep and he was satisfied with his work he urged her under the covers and joined her. She tried to grab his hardened member to return the favor but he grabbed up her hands, kissing them to soften the blow.

“No, I needed to show you how softly I can treat you, I don’t need to cum right now. Sleep.”

Y/N pouted and whined, wanting to feel him connected to her again.

She lifted her leg over his as they faced each other and inched as close as she could with her hands in his, feeling his dick graze her pussy lips.

Putting a little more base in his voice, “Ay! What I just say lil mama?”

She whined out, “I don’t care, I just need to feel you in me Baba.”

Erik grunted. 

Y/N donned her best puppy dog pout and begged with her words and body, wiggling in his hold and being able to feel the lightest brush of his hot skin. “Pleeeeeeaaaaassssseeee?”

“Fine, but careful what you asked for…” he said, sheathing himself in one stroke and stilled her hips before she could start moving. “...you just might get it.”

He released her hands and tongued her down, palming her face.

“Sleep Y/N.”

“But,” she said, her face scrunching in confusion.

“You can keep me warm, but that’s it for now, okay?”

She started to whine again but was cut short when he wrapped the hand palming her face around her throat.

“Sleep mamas. You’re going to need all of your energy in the morning.”

She wasn’t necessarily happy, but she also wasn’t necessarily dissatisfied. She did get her wish after all.

“Ok.”

Y/N tucked her head under his chin and started to drift before she sleepily said, “thank you for showing me how much you care Baba E. I’m really happy you’re here.”

Erik kissed her forehead and squeezed his arms a little tighter around her.

“Thank you for letting me.”

He was answered with her cute snores and let the sound lull him into the best sleep he’d had in too long of a while.

[piastree]

Take a Chance with Me | OP81

oscar piastri x reader (fc: huh yunjin)

— Part 1

Next Part

Summary : Y/n's mistakenly takes someone's drink at a party. Despite the initial embarrassment, they engage in light chit-chat and discover a sense of familiarity. Oscar introduces himself, and they exchange greetings, marking the beginning of a new chapter in their story.

Notes: hiii! this is my first writing, if there are any grammatical errors or some other mistakes i wanna apologize in advance. I hope you like it and have fun while reading this<3 lemme know if you like it thankyouuuu

Y/n chuckled when she remembered how embrassed it was when she took the wrong glass and sipped it like nothing was wrong. But she could feel the confused look from someone beside her. "I'm thinking you might have grabbed mine by mistake." She glanced to her side, wondering if the words she had just heard were indeed meant for her.

"Huh?" She finally turned to fully face that man. He chuckled at her puzzled expression, but eventually, with a raised eyebrow, he pointed to the glass she was holding. "Oh my goodness! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to take your drink." Her eyes widened in shock, and her heart raced as embarrassment flooded over her. He held back his laughter. "No worries. I can take another one," as he said, he cracked a grin like a friendly cat. His eyes squinted playfully, giving off a vibe that was both laid-back and amused. "Let me grab you another one." "No need for that, I-" Ignoring him, she sauntered away to fetch a new drink, intending to replace the one she had mistakenly taken from him earlier. It didn't take long for y/n to return. Once she returned, they engaged in light chit-chat, chatting about who invited them to the party. It wasn't until later that she realized the guy she'd been talking to looked kind of familiar. "So, which friend brought you here tonight?" she asked. "Oh, just through some mates, racing circles and all. What about you?" "Just here with a friend. By the way, you seem oddly familiar. Have we met before?" "I get that a lot. Maybe you've seen me on the street or something."

She just laughed, shrugged it off, and took another sip of her drink. At the same time, he shot her a cheeky smile, sneaking a few glances while she checked out the scene around her. After a bit, he decided to break the ice, "I'm Oscar, by the way."

"I'm y/n. Nice to meet you, Oscar."

With a cheerful smile, they exchanged a warm handshake. It marked the beginning of a new chapter in their story.

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, landonorris, mclaren and 365,288 others

oscarpiastri Wowee… that was a cool weekend 🧡

view all 3,637 comments

user just calm down bro, it's your first season💀

user our starboy!! so proud🧡🧡

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yourusername such a fake rookie

oscarpiastri i like to keep things low-key🤭

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user your pace and overtakes are 1000/10 🔥👏🏻

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, yourbff and 1,288 others

yourusername camera crumbs

view all 101 comments

yourbff MYY GIRLLLL<3

user cutiesssss

oscarpiastri those flowers have nothing compared to u

yourusername lol you're making the flowers jealous, i'll let the garden know it needs an upgrade😂

user what oscar is doing here????

user did i miss something??

user OSCAR?!!?????? FLIRTING TO A GIRL???

yourusername chill guys he likes to joke around😂😂

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bring it home, boy!

yourbff uhhh i can smell something fishy yourusername care to elaborate, sherlock?

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yourusername

tagged: oscarpiastri, landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, yourbff and 14,555 others

yourusername P2 and P3, boys!! Enjoy your moments. What a day to remember 🧡

view all 957 comments

user CUTEE OUTFIT Y/N!!

user and now lando also here? who's she

user wow oscar put earmuffs on her??

user at this point i won't believe if they're just friends

landonorris oh now i'm your friend?? cool thanks

oscarpiastri stop overacting💀

yourusername should i post a whole photo dedication for you?😉

landonorris i'm not looking for trouble

user what is that mean landooo?? bcoz someone must be jealous?😂

user look at how oscar defending her lol

oscarpiastri you owe me a drawing of a four-leaf clover on my helmet

yourusername stay tuned for some top-notch artistry<3

user oscar indirectly said that y/n was his lucky charm!!

"Can't you stay for one more night?" Oscar asked. He walks over to y/n who is arranging her luggage a little hurriedly.

Y/n smiled before saying, "work can't wait. But I promise I'll come another day."

"Okay, i'll counting the days until you return."

She laughs, then stands up and pulls Oscar into her arms. "You're doing a good job. Keep going!"

"I'll miss you." He hugs her tighter, as if he's not willing to let her go.

"Me too."

They fall into a moment of silence, soaking in each other's warmth before having to go back to being apart for a period of time they don't know how long.

She never expect the party that night to lead her into a complicated situation, where she has to love someone who is out of her reach. Remembering how stupid she was that night for not recognizing Oscar right away when his face looked so familiar, and how Oscar didn't say anything until she finally realized.

"Oh! I have something for you."

She opens her bag and takes something out. A bracelet with a four-leaf clover. "I don't have the skill to draw, and I wouldn't risk making your helmet look ugly."

Oscar takes the bracelet and immediately puts it on. "I can't agree more. But it's more than enough," he replies mischievously while laughing. He is so happy to see the bracelet now neatly wrapped around his wrist. "Thank you."

"Your lucky charm when I'm not around."

yourusername

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, yourbff and 16,581 others

yourusername life lately😴

view all 1004 comments

user syntax error babe my brain stopped working when i saw u 

user i just can’t get enough of this hair omg

user me too! so gorgeous😭

yourbff red y/n is too legendary

comment liked by oscarpiastri

yourusername is this genuinely a compliment or a subtle jab?

yourbff lmaoo babe😭

oscarpiastri wish u were here

yourusername me too</3

user oh you are not with oscar rn :(

user man is so clingy what should i DO

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oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, lewishamilton, charles_leclerc and 221,681 others

oscarpiastri A second reason to smile 😁🏆

view all 2564 comments

mclaren what a weekend!

user this man’s gonna be world champion one day🙌

comment liked by yourusername

user i refuse to believe you’re a rookie man

yourusername me too

user y/n camping on oscar's comment section

yourusername my driver of the day!❤️

oscarpiastri ❤️

user what's with the red heart???

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yourusername also congrats to lando!! proud of both of you🔥👏

landonorris thankyou, y/n! btw come to the race, someone is missing you

user man is so wHIPPED

yourusername p.s hope oscar recovered well after lying on the floor

comment liked by oscarpiastri

yourusername added a story

someone is smiling ear to ear @/oscarpiastri

yourbff lmaooo he looks so happy yourbff he's completely in love with you yourusername grateful is an understatement<3

landonorris his eyes speak love lol yourusername shut upp lando landonorris glad both of you finally opened up about your feelings yourusername thankyou 2 u❤️

user his emotions are written all over his face

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, logansargent, landonorris and 540,188 others

oscarpiastri thanks for mistakenly grabbing my drink. Grateful for every twist of fate that brought you into my life🍻❤️

view all 5555 comments

user spill the tea we want to know more about the storyy!!

user my oscar and yn cutie<3

user hope for your happiness, oscar and y/n!❤️

landonorris how long did it take you, mate?

yourusername felt like forever

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yourusername thankyou for never telling me you are oscar piastri the mclaren driver of formula 1😒

user NOOOO SHE MUST BE SO CLUELESS

logansargent he is the worst

oscarpiastri u know i didn't mean to keep it a secret, babe

user THEY ARE SO CUTEEEE

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc, georgerussell63 and 85,128 others

yourusername love you always, Oz! May the four-leaf clovers always on us🍀❤️

view all 6514 comments

oscarpiastri love you too, always🍀❤️

comment liked by yourusername

thankyou for reading! don't hesitate to give me a feedback❤️

[fandom-oneshots-etc]

✨ Dropping by to request literally anything sherlock x reader - would love something with awkward idiots in love ✨

🍄 Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

🍄 Genre: Fluff

🍄 Summary: When Sherlock goes off on a frantic tangent, John knows exactly who to call, the idiot in love with him...

🍄 Word Count: 2084

🍄 Abbreviations: N/A

🍄 Warnings: N/A

🍄 Note: I hope this is what you were looking for Anon! :)

“What’s he doing this time?” you answered the phone as John’s name appeared. You had become so accustomed to the calls at all odd hours of the day, usually all pertaining to your high-functioning sociopath of a friend, Sherlock. Odd hours like the one now.

You had just sat down in your cloud chair, kindle in hand ready to read the next chapter of your gripping (b/g) when the phone had pinged, angrily vibrating against the coffee table-top. A puff of air had moved the stray hairs touching your face as you instantly recognized the personalized ring tone you had installed. You knew that John wouldn’t call you unless it was at least a code blue, blue-in-the-face blue. A colour code the two of you had created to describe the different moods of Sherlock Holmes.

“I’m so sorry-” You rolled your eyes with a little smile. “He’s just off on one. He solved the case, you know the one with the woman and the suitcases? He’s been off the walls since then. Can’t get him to settle, he’s talking about renovating the flat, knocking walls down for more ‘thinking space’. I think Mrs Hudson’s threatened to evict him already,” You couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped your lips at the thought of the sweet old woman threatening your tall friend, knowing very well that she’d mean every word. You could already picture the offended horror on Sherlock’s face at her threats.

“I’m on my way,” you reassured before hanging up the phone and pushing yourself out of the comfortable chair. Slipping your kindle into your bag, you grabbed your keys from the hook and turned off the lights. You didn’t bother changing out of your night clothes,, instead your threw a long coat over your pajamas and slipped on your trainers before heading out of the flat. You weren’t exactly keen on the idea of getting a cab this late at night, but you preferred that over walking the streets alone in the dark.

Thankfully, Baker Street was only a few roads away and the journey was nice and short with the lack of traffic at this time of night. Looking up at 221B you could see tat it was one of the only lights on in the street. You slipped the spare key out of your bag and unlocked the door to 221B.

Mrs Hudson reached the bottom of the stairs in an angry flurry huffing as she passed, a few rushed ‘oh dear’s escaping her lips as she passed you, only briefly making eye contact as she scurried back into her flat, red-faced. Taking that as your cue, you started up the stairs to the flat, fully expecting to see the flat in complete disarray, and you weren’t disappointed.

The papers from the now-closed case were still strewn across the flat, stuck to the walls, laid out on the desk, tucked under the tea cups on the small side table. The tea cups, several sat on the desk untouched and probably growing a few types of fungus that Sherlock could happily describe for you. The pillows from the sofa were thrown about the flat as Sherlock stood on the sofa, feet buried in the sofa cushions and tape measure I hand as he stretched it across the wall in front of him, a HB pencil clenched between his teeth.

“Thank God you’re here!” John poked his head out of the kitchen as if weary of the man in the living room. He gestured for you to step into the kitchen, with a final glance at the tall consulting detective, you slipped into the kitchen.

“How long has he been like this?” you asked, setting your bag down on the cluttered kitchen table. Piles and piles of old experiments were stacked tall, filling up almost the entire surface of the table and from the darkening black patch by one of the chairs you had no doubt that Sherlock had blown something up today, yet another thing to add to the list of problems for you and John.

“A couple of hours now, I stupidly thought that solving the case would change his mood, but it only seemed to make him more antsy for another one-” He sighed. “Sorry it’s so late, I know you usually sit down and read about now. I didn’t want to bother you but with Mrs Hudson threatening eviction I thought it best not to wait.” You smiled at your friend and shook your head.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s been a while since he’s been like this so it was expected sooner or later. Better sort him out before Mrs Hudson really does chuck him out.” The two of you chuckle at the thought of a homeless Sherlock, it’s not really a sight either of you can imagine fully. But you had no doubt that his homeless network would really find him the best spots in London to squat.

“You don’t mind if I take a quick walk do you? I’ve been cooped up in here for a few hours trying to sort him out, just need bit of fresh air.” You shook your head and hurried John out of the kitchen door and down the stairwell. You knew it would be easier to deal with Sherlock without John around anyway. Not that John was a problem, but with Sherlock like this and his habit of making unsavory comments without fully thinking of the consequences, it would be easier than having a row start between the two flat mates.

You paused for a moment and brushed your finger against the black mark on the table top and inspected the pad of your finger. That’ll come off with some polish, you decided. Stepping back out of the kitchen and into the living room, your eyes zeroed in on the consulting detective who had now abandoned the tape measure and was gently knocking against the wall looking for a hollow sounding area.

“No.” You spoke clearly, catching the attention of the detective who had yet to notice you. Spinning on his heels, his eyes flashed at you wide and adorable. It kind of reminded you of a child who had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. His mouth started to open but you shut him down quickly. “No,” You gave him a stern look. “That wall has all of the major electricity lines and one of the main water pipes. No.”

“There’s no way you could possibly know that just from looking at the wall-” Sherlock argued.

“No I couldn’t. I know because I had to get the schematics for the flat after you started shooting the walls because you were banned from in-person cases and blew the power out in this side of London,” You reminded. “An event that Mycroft still calls ‘The Great COVID Blackout’.” Sherlock’s nose scrunched at the mention of his brother. “Now, are you going to sit down or am I going to have to use that self-defense training program you insisted I go on to incapacitate you?” You could almost see the cogs turning in his head as his eyes narrowed at you, trying to deduce if you were serious or not. Your unwavering stance must have given him his answer as he slowly stepped down from the sofa and settled his feet back on the floor calmly.

“Why are you here?” You were very rarely offended by Sherlock’s blunt words, it just wasn’t worth the energy when you also knew that he rarely meant it to come across in that way. “No, don’t answer that. You’re here in your night clothes, your kindle is tucked in your bag and your hair is done up which means it’s late- John called you. Why?”

“Probably because his roommate was threatened with eviction after planning to renovate their rented flat and set the landlady off.” “Mrs Hudson wouldn’t evict me. She still owes me for getting her husband executed.”

“Favours do expire Sherlock. They have their limits.” His eyebrows furrowed.

“Really?” You nod. “Oh. Well John wouldn’t let her evict me.” “Have you been experimenting today?” You think back to the two mugs settled on the kitchen counter, one sporting a brownish green sludge at the bottom.

“Yes, why- Oh.”

“Right come on,” You clapped your hands, moving towards him and grabbing one of his hands to pull him over to his chair. You ignored the sounds of protest from Sherlock as you settled on the chair and tugged on his arm. “Sit down,” you instructed. Sherlock sighed and complied, dropping onto the floor and crossing his legs underneath him. You grabbed the TV remote and switched it on. “What should we watch? Bones or Criminal Minds?” you pondered.

“Why do we have to watch a crime show? They’re always so inaccurate-” You flick the TV onto an episode of Criminal Minds. “Look, the killer’s using tape- what about finger prints? They don’t need to study his behaviour, just find the prints-” You smiled softly, fiddling with a few strands of Sherlock’s curly hair in your lap as he rattled on about the mistakes of the Unsub and the BAU team.

It was around an hour later that John returned to the flat. Pushing open the front door of 221, he was relieved to hear nothing. The light under Mrs Hudson’s door was now off, meaning she had slipped into bed, no longer tormented by her tenant’s renovation plans. The light on the landing let off a soft glow as John started up to the flat. A heavy wave of relief swept through him as he noticed the lack of banging, drilling, sawing or any construction noises at all. You had managed to talk him out of it for now. He reached the top of the stairs and could hear the muffled sounds of the TV in the flat. Stepping into the kitchen he could see that the place was still a pig sty but at least there wasn’t any knocked down walls or partially constructed extensions. The mess could be dealt with in the morning.

As he turned the corner and peeked - still a little cautiously into the living room - a soft smile graced his face. Your back was pressed against one of the arms of Sherlock’s chair, your legs swung over the opposite side. Sherlock’s was still perched on the floor with his legs crossed, his head dropped back against your stomach, with your right hand resting on top. Your fingers rhythmically threading through his curly brown locks, soothingly. John flicked his eyes up to the TV screen to see an episode of Criminal Minds playing, Sherlock’s face scrunched in distaste as he watched the team profile the murderer. Your other hand held your kindle tightly, your fingers set comfortably around the flower pop socket on the back as you occasionally flicked the pages with your thumb.

John couldn’t help but watch in awe for a moment. No one he knew had ever been able to soothe Sherlock in the way that you could. Not him, not Mrs Hudson and certainly not his brother, not even his parents had this calming effect that you had. He wondered if Sherlock would ever confess to the effect you had on him, or explain why you had such an effect on him. John knew the reason, Mrs Hudson knew the reason… did Sherlock? Did you?

You were always just as oblivious as Sherlock. John had mentioned to you once or twice about how you effected the consulting detective, but you couldn’t see it. You wouldn’t admit to the effect you so clearly had on him nor would you confess to the butterflies that whirled in your stomach whenever you were this close to him.

You caught John’s eye and must’ve made an educated guess of what he was thinking as you rolled your eyes and shook your heads. Deciding that now was probably not the time to bring up the obvious pink elephant that shared the living room with the three of you, John mouthed a ‘thank you’ to you and you nodded, letting out a quiet yawn. He bidded a quick farewell to the pair of you before shuffling out of the kitchen and upstairs to his room. On his way up the stairs, he couldn’t help but wonder how long the two of you would remain oblivious.

As he reached the top of the staircase he paused and chuckled. Lovesick idiots.

[olderthannetfic]

You've encountered site changes over time as a fan elder, what do you make of Tumblr potentially being put out to pasture? Tumblr was my coming of age fan site, and im looking for advice to transition to the next thing with grace and less bitterness than I feel now.

--

Ahaha. God, you should have heard the howling about LJ. "Fandom is over!" "Never again shall we dwell in fandom's True Home!" etc.

Hell, this endless "only LJ was good" crap turns up in replies here on posts where I as OP have very clearly laid out why that's rose colored glasses nonsense and you can so make friends on tumblr, have a conversation on tumblr, etc.

I had my crabby phase about this during the transition from Yahoo Groups to LJ. A lot of the real olds had it over paper zines and the transition to the internet.

I don't know if reading these hilariously samey old posts would help. It does give perspective, I think.

--

As for what you should do, do what I did with Tumblr:

1.

Look around to identify the Next Thing fandom is going to camp out on.

It may take a few guesses and some time to figure this out. You will likely not be an early adopter. Fandom was well established here by the time I joined at the end of 2010. Of course, by now, all those 2009 and before accounts are long gone, but at the time, I was a n00b joining other people's space despite having been in fandom for ages.

2.

Don't expect to enjoy it

I didn't join tumblr because I liked it. In fact, I despised it. I kept right on despising it until a brief stint in Sherlock fandom, a fandom that was so active here at the time that I was able to finally see the good aspects of the site's structure and features.

This is the mistake a lot of people make. They give things a cursory try, don't enjoy them, and go "not for me", forgetting that the last site also had a steep learning curve that was either difficult or that they didn't notice because they were in a different phase of their life.

Bitterness and grief are, frankly, an inherent part of the process. You can try not to be a debbie downer in your public comments, but you can't just not feel those things during the awkward part of the transition. Sometimes, acting positive and cutting off excessively negative thoughts can make you feel less negative overall, but it doesn't happen immediately.

3.

Accept that feeling cranky and old is both a you problem and a state of mind, not a property of the new site

Relatedly, the way we remember fandom platform X feeling usually has more to do with us being in college with fandom friends down the hall or having discovered Our People for the first time or some other time when we had a lot of energy and positive emotions. Often, we were in the throes of a first or new fandom love too, probably for some megafandom that other people also cared about at the same time.

When fandom is leaving some site, there's a grieving process anyway, but we're also often in a worse part of our lives for starting new things. We're busy. We're tired. We're between fandoms. We feel like we already paid our dues to build up our community. Why should we have to start again?

But let me tell you, you always need to start again eventually. I go to a weekly vidders' zoom chat, and a lot of the people in there are old as balls, including Kandy, the person who invented vidding back in the 70s. She's a lot of decades and a few cancers in, and she had to relearn how to vid on a computer after transitioning from slideshows to VCR vidding back in the day. If bad health, platform changes, and dead friends were going to stop her, she'd be long gone.

It's like sharks: you stop swimming, you die.

This isn't just about fandom, obviously. It's about avoiding a midlife crisis and, later, about avoiding feeling emotionally geriatric even when your body is falling apart.

Change gets us all, but being mentally old is a choice. The real reason I gave tumblr such a try was that I had been so resistant to getting on LJ. I was 20. Even a year later, it was fucking embarrassing to have been a crotchety old hag as a college student. I promised myself I'd soldier through the next change instead of dragging my feet about it. And it totally worked in the end! But boy did it not make the transition any less unpleasant emotionally!

4.

Find your joy

As is obvious from the above, the vast majority of the problem is just emotions. Fandom has been on a million broken sites with shitty features. We go where the people are, regardless of whether it has the technological aspects we liked at the last place. The actual shape of that platform is largely irrelevant.

What does matter is whether we as an individual fan are still excited and happy about something. I was between fandoms recently and went looking around for BL series I hadn't watched yet. People kept suggesting things set in the present day with too-cheesy production values and too many banal schoolboys in modern day settings without even anything spicy going on. I realized that the BL/danmei scene wasn't really cutting it for me and I should go for production values and genre and non-canon ships. You probably scrolled annoyedly past the picspams that resulted.

(Of course, hilariously, someone has now shown me the trailer of Red Peafowl, so someone may be making BL that feels like it's for me after all. Look at all that badwrong and very dark color grading.)

When you're in a good place emotionally, it's a hell of a lot easier to weather any change, and when you have a new fandom, it's a lot easier to connect with other fans.

A lot of people wait around for lightning to strike twice. They found their first fandom by accident, and they expect it to happen seamlessly again. For me, it's far more productive to brute force it: collect up a big list of what's popular or what's new and go through it till you find things you might like, then try them all.

And part of this, obviously, is not waiting for other fans to make the party happen. The more you need to join something other people are already doing, the less choice you'll have in fandoms or in platforms. If you aren't picky and just go where the tropey longfic is, that can work, but even then, favorite authors disappear or go to fandoms you hate and former megafandoms dry up. If you're the one bringing the party, it's a lot easier to find a new fandom or platform or community to have fun in.

[milknhonies]

Wails of Wedded Bliss

Masterlist || Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: Sherlock Holmes is forced to marry you...and it is clear...he does not appreciate the union...thanks Enola...

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x wife!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Domestic r4pe, P in V intercourse, Forced/Arranged Marriage, Loss of Virginity, Loss of Innocence, Domestic Violence. Wedding crashing.

Word Count: 9k

Author Notes: This story has been published in the past on Tumblr on my old account @milknhonies-old-account since I have created a newer account and I am reposting it here.

11:35pm Monday 28th April 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

“You know Sherlock, matrimony is not as wicked and cruel as you might believe,” said his companion one day beside the fireplace of their flat.

The detective was slumped in his chaise playing away at his violin obnoxiously. The terrible tune of Frère Jacques made the doctor wince as it hit his ears sharply. Sherlock Holmes had found himself in a mental state of his own man made dramatics...

“Et tu Watson?” Sherlock sighed and put the violin down before wiping a hand over his face, “My dear doctor, I have no desire to restrain myself to the shackles and torture you inflict onto yourself.” He rose to his feet with a lengthy groan and sat his instrument aside. The depressed sir stumbled over a pile of discarded books to get to the drinks trolley.

The wine bottle cork popped loudly as he tugged you open.

It was no mystery. Sherlock did not entirely approve of Mary Watson purely out of jealous spite influenced by the attentions of his friend. When the pair married Sherlock stood stiff and tight lipped. He reluctantly handed over the ring as John’s Bestman.

Over the engagement and even during the marriage, Sherlock did not cease his sly childish comments made from time to time.

John however had caught his wife in conversation and debate on numerous occasions with the detective. Mrs Watson and Mr Holmes were not friends by any means, but they tolerated each other under limited circumstances. They found smart enjoyment in each other.

The doctor had come to visit his friend under the revered request of the older Holmes brother...Mycroft. There was finally an expectation...Mycroft wanted Sherlock to make a male Holmes heir...Perhaps it was scandalous rumour but John wondered how true the gossip of the older brother was; being a pillow biter or an infertile gentleman...especially with the pressure to have Sherlock marry and procreate.

Sherlock poured himself a glass of wine and downed it quickly. He set the glass on the mantle and shook his head slowly.

John tried to smile, “Mary and I have fun.”

Sherlock scoffed jealousy.

John had been married and moved out of Baker Street for six months now. Sherlock dared not ask the condition of Mary’s pregnancy.

“What fun? With your lace doilies and Shepard’s pie?”

His friend smirked, “I enjoy Mary’s pie very much, Sherlock...” He pursed is lips and tapped his cane to the floor, “Perhaps you need a slice of your own?”

Sherlock glanced at his friend. He narrowed his eyes as he returned back to the chaise, careful to not trip again on the books and loose papers that laid across the floor.

“My own pie?” Sherlock crooned as he laid back into the cusions, “Why do I get the sense that we are not speaking that of a pastry?”

The doctor tilted his head and cleared his throat, staring off into the fire, “Mrs Hudson has confided in me that you’ve resorted to returning here with...friends from Mayfair Row of the fairer sex.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. The old hag of a landlady needed to keep her nose out of his business. He was making his rent on time, it shouldn’t matter who he kept his business with.

The detective groaned and rubbed his eyes, “Merely cases, dear John.”

The doctor bristled, “Do not lie to me Sherlock,” he waved his finger, “I know very well what you do with those women...it’s only a matter of time you ask me to check your pecker. God knows what they carry.”

Sherlock shrugged and sniffed loudly.

“For goodness sake man...” John scolded, “Have you no heart whatsoever then for the dear girl you are to marry?”

The detective rubbed his hands and laced his fingers, “Why should I?”

“Sherlock!” his friend hissed, “Have you not even considered the notion she might also resent the concept of matrimony as much as you?”

“Is that possible in women?” Sherlock quirked, “Good Scot! I sound like my brother.”

“Your own sister is still dragging her feet through her engagement to the Tewkesbury boy on what...a year almost now?” the doctor tapped his cane on the floor thoughtfully.

Sherlock huffed, “Enola is not a woman.”

In the eyes of the law she was...she needed only pick a wedding date and commit to it.

Sherlock wouldn’t have the luxury of a long engagement. The wedding was next week and he had quickly agreed to the contract. He would marry under the financial clutch of his brother...Mycroft threatened to cut off all entire bank in regards to Sherlock’s unpaid drug debts...

After the cold leads to the trail of Madame Moriarty...the detective found little sleep in the night...Sherlock befell the unfortunate antidote of cocaine to help him stay awake and opiates to keep him asleep...John loyally helped those sweating events and threatened to put him in an institute if he didn’t cease his regular consumption.

Perhaps, John wondered, Mycroft was intending to cease the draining of his pocket by using a wife to tame Sherlock’s spending habits. John decided then and there that Mycroft truly was an idiot.

“You’ve not told me her name...” the doctor said in the long silence.

Sherlock looked at his feet and sighed, “Y/N...her name is Miss Y/N Y/L/N.”

The surname was familiar to the doctor, however not personally.

John nodded gradually and scratched his moustache, “Mrs Y/N Holmes of Baker Street...it’s got a little ring to it. A simple lift to the breath don’t you think?” he mused.

The other man glared at him, he didn’t like John making fun of the situation he’d been coerced into.

He deflected, licking his lips, “Mary has grown fat.”

John cackled at the poor insult, “Swollen with my child. I’m glad you have finally noticed. I look forward to seeing your future wife just as ‘fat’ one day too.”

“Please John, my ingestion!” Sherlock shuddered, cupping his lips.

The cane tapped again at the floor, “Surely she isn’t so unsightly?” his friend asked.

“She is most plain,” Sherlock complained, before he peeled through the papers at his feet and held up a board of hard card to his friend, “Here...my brother thought it kind to send me a portrait, to invoke my eagerness, but as is clear...my mind is not swayed.”

John took the photo carefully and moved his spectacles from his pocket to his face, he gazed upon your printed face in the glow of the warm orange fire.

The doctor raised a brow and snorted, “This girl? Sherlock...I believe your disregard to the union prevents you from seeing her true potential. I think you will make fine and handsome children.”

Sherlock looked on to the fire and continued to shake his head stubbornly, “I need a case Watson...not a wife...”

The doctor felt his resolve failing, he donned his hat and scarf, “Perhaps she is your next case...after all why would anyone agree to marry you?” he stood and left Sherlock to ponder until the embers of the fireplace burnt out black and the last light of the room was succeeded by the wretched dawn.

09:00am Monday 5th May 1890 Saint Marylebone Parish Church, London, England.

A lengthy breath escaped your chest as your fingers pinched your pearly white gloves.

Twenty was a scary age...you walked a line of spinsterhood.

This was it...

You were lucky to be here. Lucky to have this offering...the circumstances were complicated. You were illegitimate but nonetheless still cared for by your father’s parents. They pitied you and your past. Good Christians with empathetic hearts, they chose to raise you when your father abandoned you for a wife who despised the concept of living beneath he same roof as her husband’s bastard.

You were grateful and honest and polite and strived to please your paternal grandparents. When they presented to you a engagement contract, you dared not waste or drain any more of their kind financial generosity.

You were amazed by the name also on the document...

You were being asked to marry The Sherlock Holmes, London’s notorious detective.

You were stunned. You accepted.

His brother, the dealer of the contract was a friend of your grandfather and had been the proposer of the deal. The two men seemed to always sit together in parliament house.

You hadn’t even met your husband to be...today during the ceremony would be the very first time.

As your grandmother fixed your veil in the carriage ride to the church, you caressed the front of the bible in your lap. You prayed to God this marriage was right and meant to be.

“You are not as pretty as my daughter’s, but as our ward after all these years I am sure you will be a suitable bride to Mr Holmes,” she muttered under her breath.

Her husband happily scolded, “Nonsense! Our granddaughter will be a perfect match to the greatest detective of London.”

He leant beside you and pinched your nose under the veil, “My little girl is the prettiest princess today,” his fingers laced with yours and kissed the back of your gloves hand with his silver beard covered lips.

“Thankyou grandfather.”

The corner of your lips jerked up. He was the warmer of the two...but it was confided that your grandmother who sat sullen faced in front of you was merely putting in a facade. Your grandfather told you early at breakfast that your grandmother wept last night, sad to see you off to be a true married woman of society.

The accomplished their task, raising a young lady of good standing and half decent breeding.

The carriage came to a screeching halt.

The cold breeze hit your face as your grandparents climbed out of the carriage door. Your delicate gloves fingers reached out and were supported by your grandfather.

You passed your bible to your grandmother who exchanged them for a modest bouquet of flowers and lace.

The chapel was massive but you knew there would be only a small audience.

Your feet climbed the stairs and patiently waited for your escort. Your grandfather’s wobbly knees had to rely on you and his walking cane. Your grandmother climbed behind him to insure he didn’t fall and hurt himself or drag you down too.

The wooden church doors were open a jar.

The whistling wind made you feel like you were entering a funeral rather your own wedding. You were not opposed to matrimony but the dead silence and stares at the front of the pews made you blood feel cold...

A gentleman you knew as Mycroft Holmes was sitting in the front pew and rose to attention as you were entering.

There was three other men standing at the edge of the room.

The priest, and the groom and his best man.

Your husband to be was handsome from the distance you could see if him. His lips remained stern in a flat line however and his brows appeared knitted, perhaps he was...displeased?

Sherlock Holmes was accompanied by his infamous companion...Doctor John Watson. A war veteran.

A woman you had never met was mirroring his position to the left side of the church, your chosen maid of honour...but as she turned the slight curve of her belly spoke out... pregnant. A matron of honour.

Your grandfather clenched your arm and kissed the side of your head. You began your steady approach down the island with your grandmother now leading in front to find her seating on the front left pew.

You tried to not share too directly at your future husband’s frown. Perhaps he was tired or not aware he was frowning at all and just deep in his thoughts.

You passed your bouquet to your matron of honour.

Your arms felt shaky, this was it...a lifelong commitment ceremony.

When you paused before the alter, the priest bowed his head and asked your grandfather, “Do you giveth this woman to be married to this man?”

He gruffly cleared his throat “I do,” and turned you to face him, his hands squeezed your arms gently before he carefully lifted your veil above your face and over your flower covered hair. He smiled softly, tears beaded in the corner of his eyes. He leant closer and kissed your cheek, in your ear he whispered gently, “God bless my darling girl.”

Sherlock was quickly removing his white glove and pocketing it in his inner breast side blazer.

Your grandfather turned you around to face the priest. He placed your right hand into the holy man’s who then carefully removed the glove you wore and passed your naked fingers into the warm clammy hands of Sherlock Holmes. His reaction to your bare face was out of surprise...you did not know if his wide dark blue eyes were a good sign or not.

The priest tied a small white ribbon around your wrists, connecting you and Sherlock in symbolism.

He turned back and floated up to the stairs of his stand. He opened his holy book and said out to the very small group witnessing, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man...and this woman in holy matrimony.”

You felt your throat tighten and your mouth dry as Sherlock’s thumb softly rubbed the back of your hand. Your eyes glanced over to his face...his frown had disappeared, he was wearing the smallest of smiles. Relief swept through you, he was happy for now and that is all you cared for.

As the priest continued his holy speech on the reason of marriage you thought about your duties as a wife. You would now look after your husband as you have cared for your grandfather. You would bring forth a hot meal for dinner and host luncheons with other married couples of society. You would rub his sore feet and shoulders and prepare him a bath when he required it after his days of long tiring work. And most importantly...you would lay back and take him within to create children. You would spend the rest of your life expected to make your husband feel appreciated and loved. You were to be his other half, his Eve to his Adam.

He had the important duty of caring for you financially and supporting your future children and their education.

If he was a detective you knew his intelligence meant you would make very brilliant minded babes. You would make society proud.

You had seen Sherlock face in the papers but they were of illustrations that did not capture the colour and humanism of himself

“-Into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined,” the priest softly finished.

You felt Sherlock sigh and when his thumb stopped rubbing your hand, you tried to return the same rubbing onto his fingers.

It was a silent language of greeting and comfort...

‘hello, how do you do?’

‘I am well, thankyou.’

“Therefore, if any man can show any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace.”

The groom glanced over his shoulder and his lips appeared to tighten...they fell into a frown and his hand grip loosened...was he...your heart deflated...was he not wanting to marry you?

You tried to restrain your emotions.

The priest peered down at you both, “Kneel.”

Sherlock and you with your hands still touching and bound slowly bend to your knees before the altar. The holy man pulled out a bowl and pinched his hands into the holy water.

He flicked both of your faces as he spoke, “I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined together in Matrimony, ye do now confess it. For be ye well assured, that so many as are coupled together otherwise than God’s Word doth allow are not joined together by God; neither is their Matrimony lawful...”

There was no way you could mention how you were concerned Sherlock’s reaction might’ve been worldly. He remained silent to.

Your grandmother once told you how people who marry often do not love each other until years later. It happened to her, so you had within your heart the trust that as long as you put in the effort to be the perfect wife, Sherlock would eventually grow his love for you.

The Priest smiled at you both and nodded his head,

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes wilt thou have this woman Y/N Y/L/N to thy wedded Wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?”

Your eyes glanced to his face, he appeared, flushed.

“Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

Your groom looked over your hands and then glanced up at your face, his throat bobbed, “I will.”

His thumb rubbed your hand again.

You tried to smile...it was hard when he didn’t appear as enthusiastic about the union as you had hoped. It reminded you this was really just a contract between his brother and your grandfather.

“Y/N Y/L/N wilt thou have this William Sherlock Scott Holmes to thy wedded Husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?”

Your eyes stared up at the Priest who was dictating the vow, “Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

Your voice for a moment caught in your throat. You looked to the floor and nodded, “I will.”

The priest then stood away and proclaimed, “Now ye have proclaimed to god, now tis time you proclaim your vows to yourselves.”

You felt Sherlock tighten his grip and faced him still kneeling beside him, his voice wavered as he proclaimed, “I, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, take thee Y/N Y/L/N to my wedded Wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

A pause in the air reminded you it was now your turn to repeat the solemn vow.

And for a split second...you wondered if agreeing would be a sin to god...you would do this all...but love...could you love a man who you did not know, honour a man who may not love you?

You nodded and properly looked into his eyes, trying to vow earnestly.

“I Y/N Y/L/N take thee William Sherlock Scott Holmes to my wedded Husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.”

He glanced away and his lips parted, it was if he wanted to say something to you...before he closed them and eyed the priest. Ah yes...you were still in a holy ceremony. Talking could come later.

The priest nodded to you both and gestured to your hands.

“Now the groomsmen may please administer the ring.”

Sherlock removed his other glove.

The man who stood behind him, John, stood carefully forward after stealing a small ring from his breast pocket and passed it to Sherlock.

The priest untied your hands and your groom delicately took your left hand. He removed your other glove and pocketed it.

“With this ring I thee wed,” He pinched your forth finger before sliding the cold golden band on, it felt slightly loose, “With my body I thee worship.”

You finally took the time to actually look at his full face as he vowed to you. His blue eyes were dark and sparkling like a night sky or a ravenous stormy sea. In the corner of his right eye was a fleck of brown...oh yes...the stony sea side by the waters, they were his solemn eyes covered by curtains of thick dark lashes.

“And with all my worldly goods I thee endow,” he trailed off softly.

His lips were thin, wet and soft...his skin flushed in a soft pink but not overly obvious, his neck was a shade lighter to his ears and cheeks.

You heard the distant hum of the priest standing above you both.

The groom cleared his throat, “In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

The priest clapped his hands and joyously announced, “For as much as William Sherlock Scott Holmes and Y/N Y/L/N have consented together in holy Wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a Ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be man and wife together, rise now as Mr and Mrs Holmes. In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

Everyone in the church echoed the everlasting word...“Amen.”

Sherlock and you rose steadily back to your feet. He let go of your fingers. Your hands limply fell aside. You turned back to your grandparents and smiled.

You were now a married woman before God.

The holy man brought around the script of lawfully paper to sign your name and the names of your witnesses. The parchment was laid across a small serving table where there was a small ink well and pen waiting.

Out of necessity you went to the table first.

When you signed your maiden name and then scripted out your new surname, you were now under the law of man the wife of the British detective. Your eyes fluttered shut...it was done...you were no longer considered the poor bastardess soul that had been disowned by both parents...you were now The Mrs Holmes. Wife and a future mother of Holmes sons and daughters.

Your matron of honour came closer to your side and politely smiled, “Mary Watson, my husband is the groomsmen. You are most beautiful and I must demand Sherlock cherishes you rightfully.”

She was a beautiful. Her gown at a light blue cooled her wild complexion. With her blonde hair and rosy pink cheeks, she glowed in her motherly state.

You returned the grin, “A pleasure Mrs Watson, thankyou for being here on this special day.”

She leant across you and signed the paper before laying her hands on your shoulders thoughtfully. You looked over your shoulder at the man who was now your husband.

He was shaking hands among the male participants. He was smiling. Your souls felt relieved. When he looked at you, the was something strange...he looked you entirely up and down... His face dropped, back to his deep thoughts.

He bowed his head to you before he brushed passed you leant over the certificate to officiate his name, however before the pen could meet the paper there was a persistent cry.

“I object!” Screamed this mousy tone that echoed the chapel walls, “Sherlock! I am sorry I am late! Stop! Stop the wedding!”

The sound of running feet screeched along the stone floor.

Everyone’s face split into shock as a boy who was a little younger than you for appearance sake came racing down the pews.

Yet as the boy ran closer, you could see the hat fall of his head and a wave of beautiful brown locks flowed down their back...her back...it was a girl in dirty boys clothes. She looked a kin to a chimney sweep with the amount of spot over her face and her hands and shirt.

“Please!” she heaved onto her knees to catch her breath, “Do not continue!” she raised her filthy palms in praying pleas to the priest.

“What is the meaning of this!?” your grandfather said losing his temper at the foul interruption of a seemingly happy union.

“Enola!” the two Holmes brothers shouted in union. They looked to each other accusingly before looking back at the girl.

The young woman glanced between you and Sherlock and started shaking her head.

“Enola,” Mycroft hissed and grabbed the girls arm roughly, shaking her slightly, “look at the state of you! What is the meaning of this? You were not permitted to attend and yet you come here uninvited nonetheless!?”

You were frightful of the way Mycroft shouted at her and brutally shook her. The young woman appeared scattered, she looked at you and then to Sherlock again.

“You were too late Enola,” your husband frustratingly sighed, “Mycroft let her go, this is my fault.”

Too late...wait....what...

You were stunned...speechless and confused...

Did Sherlock...have another love? Did this young creature hold his affections?

Mycroft loosened his grip. She sprung away from the older Holmes, “You are married, perhaps before God who I know you don’t care for!” And dashed passed you and waved the certificate with only your name on the paper.

“What blasphemy is this?” your Grandmother now announced with annoyance.

“But see?” The young woman named Enola ignored her and ran up to Sherlock, “Your name is not here, so legally you are not married Sherlock, you can stop this!”

His nose flared and his face darkened to pink. You could hear how his knuckles cracked as he made them into fists. He was furious. His angry eyes flashed at you and back at the girls.

You felt stunted...this girl was right...

Your chest deflated...you were not married, no, you were still in fact Y/N Y/L/N the bastard daughter of a Lord who was not permitted the privileged respect of your legitimate cousins and siblings. You were not a honourable woman still...you were still covered and stained with your parents sins.

The comforting hand of Mary Watson touched your hand. You started trembling.

Your heart ached. Your hopes to be veiled in a honouring title as a wife were diminishing by the second.

“I can help pay off your debts when I marry,” she quickly spurted, “Do not let Mycroft rule over you like he has done all these years! Do not marry a woman you clearly do not love Sherloc-”

“Enola!”

You gasped. You jumped as his voice bellowed and boomed through your ears and throughout the stone walls of the church. This dramatic scene was incredibly unorthodox and the priest himself seemed amiss and confused on how to handle the audience of the church.

“Enough!” Sherlock angrily hissed and shook his head.

He tore the paper from her hands and slammed it down on the priests stand before gracelessly signing his name.

“There!” he spat and slapped the paper against the priests chest, “It is done!”

He proceeded to storm out of the church leaving you and the rest of those in attendance in shock. “Sherlock! Wait!” Mrs Watsons husband shouted as he gathered his hat, coat and cane from a pew and hobbled out hurriedly after him.

Your chest tightened...you felt a rush of air escape you. You felt rather like your entire body had been spun around too many times. The embarrassment you felt before the audience was horrible. Tears were watering up into your eyes.

You felt abandoned.

It was quite obvious to you and everyone in the church...

Sherlock Holmes did not want to marry you. Why were you so unlovable?

You felt your legs grow wobbly. Carefully with the kind support of Mrs Watson you sat down in a pew.

Your grandmother did not look at you. She stared at the cross hanging above the ceiling and sighed. Her wrinkled lips turned downward. She did not approve of your behave or his.

This wedding was a distasteful event.

Your grandfather was shaking and needed to also sit down. The priest and Mycroft helped him to the opposite pew chairs. His hand was strictly clenching his chest.

And everyone but yourself was glaring at the young girl in boys clothes...

“Enola,” your matron of honour mumbled, “I think it best you leave until you are ready to apologise to your brothers wife...”

Your breath hitched and you gasped out of shock.

So she was not a old girlfriend romantically begging for love from your now husband...no instead the name came ringing through your ear. Enola Holmes...of course...the less experienced Holmes detective...

You dared not speak. You knew your tongue might be venomous and hot as a flame. You were in shock and a state of silent rage and sadness. You could’ve slapped the stupid looking girl whose face was full of surprise and regret.

You weren’t entirely sure how to express yourself. You felt humiliated and rejected. All those years of silence and a straight face after what your father had said to you...it broke you...

Your own husband did not want you. We’re you that much unlovable? We’re you cursed to feel this way?

Your grandfather was the only man in your life left that you felt honest adoration from...and his time was coming soon to an end in his old age.

You muffled your sobs into you gloves as you heard Enola run out of the church.

It was your brother in law who then came to kneel before you and hold out to you a handkerchief, “My sincerest apologies dear sister. I dared not think Sherlock or my sister could be so wicked a pair until now. All I can beg is you accept your role and keep your sweet countenance.”

You wondered suddenly why he was not the brother you married instead. Before you focused on such a thing you remembered that lusting for another man, your husband’s brother, was a grave mortal sin and incredibly improper before a holy priest.

Taking the cloth you sighed and covered your face, “Th-thankyou Mr Holmes, I do hope to make your brother very...” you croaked and tried not to break into tears again, to avoid them you swallowed hard, “very happy.”

You took a cool deep breath and forced a smile onto your lips. It hurt. Your cheeks stretched and painfully ticked.

He nodded and smiled, “I am sure you will my dear, I am sure you will, allow me the opportunity to escort you to your cab, your grandfather...”

You both looked at the older man whose anger had made him out of breath, “is still unwell.”

You said your subtle goodbyes. You kissed your grandfather’s balding scalp and scratching softly at his beard. He kissed the inside of your palm. His eyes watered, he didn’t want this for you. He looked down with shame.

In your eyes now you understood be would be the last man to have ever loved you.

Nodding you accepted his arm and thus concluded the wedding...

11:23am Monday 5th May 1890, 221 Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

Mycroft had hailed you a cab as your husband so nobly left into the one that had been rented for the both of you.

Your brother in law loaded you inside and had said he would look after your grandparents to make sure they got back to their own home safe and soundly.

You closer the curtain to the window and let your heart sob.

A sad bride on her wedding day, how terribly melancholy and cliché....

You didn’t expect romantic puppy dog love found in frivolous novellas, however you never expected such humiliation and horror to strike you on such an important date. This would be something you’d never forget...

The abandonment of another person in your life.

You were in a state of utter distress. You clenched your skirts tightly beneath your fingers. Yoh violently tore at your veil and the pins in your hair that held the specific style.

As the carriage cam to a halt the driver called out your destination, you pulled the curtain back and looked at the street.

221 Baker Street...your new home.

You opened and slid out of the carriage by yourself. You lifted your skirts, avoiding the black mud that your shoes squished into.

You climbed the front stairs of the building gradually and knocked at the door.

You waited five minutes before resorting to desperately banging. The horse cab had taken off and there was no going back.

What you desired most was a chance to sit down again and collect yourself before you sobbed hysterically on the street in the public eye. You already held the strange case of some being still clad in your white wedding gown.

When the door finally creaked open you fought every bone in your body not to storm your way through inside.

A wrinkle hand pushed the door open, followed by a steady voice of an older woman, “Why, hello my dear!” she said, “You must be the new Mrs Holmes then?”

A woman with wide eyes too close together with glasses and a loud clattering chatelaine on her waist opened the way to you.

Her hand launched out and tugged you inside by your wrist.

“Come, come in, please!”

You let her pull you inside the building and shut the door behind you.

As she locked the front door she spun to welcome you in an unexpected hug.

You normally would be shocked by such impropriety of embracing a stranger so quickly. But in your state of distress you leant closer into her arms and sniffled.

She pulled away, “My dear,” she gasped, “It is your wedding day, why the tears?” Your wet eyes went round and round as she jittered about you, admiring your dress and pinching at the soft material. “I did not expect you to arrive here so early. Oh and where are my manners! I’m Mrs Hudson dearest, I am your land lady and housekeeper.”

You fiddled with the ring now solid on your finger. You bowed softly to her, “My name is Y/N I don’t expect you to call me Mrs Holmes, Mrs Hudson, please call me as you will be my name,” you mumbled and wiped your eyes. They were pink and puffy.

She clicked her tongue with dismay.

“I presume Sherlock has brought you to this state...” The elderly woman smiled sadly, her wrinkles spread out, she took your arm and led you up a flight of stairs.

“Darling, I am just happy you are here. Your husband can be such a bully sometimes, but don’t tell him I said so. Your belongings arrived early this morning and I was just finishing putting your belonging away in your room.”

“Mrs Hudson,” you whimpered, “thankyou greatly for I have had a trying day...”

She gave you a copy of the home key to the 221B door.

Inside you were received with a scent of ink and tobacco. A very masculine smell. Clearly this was the home of your husband.

“Sherlock can be quite the messy tenant so I pray you will be fast enough to clean up after him,” Mrs Hudson stated bluntly.

“He has all his things thrown around the apartment and his excuse is always it has been done for a bloody case,” she made a high pitch sound and quickly covered her lips, “Forgive me dear, I don’t usually swear.”

You smiled sweetly and sighed, “Do not ask that of me Mrs Hudson,” you shook your head. Your grandfather had a terrible habit of doing many deeds and saying many things unfit for the ears of a lady.

She sighed with relief and clapped her hands. By taking your arm once more, she guided you through the homestead and presented you the premises.

Here there was a fireplace in the living room, nearby a bathtub had been carried from one of the bedrooms, it’s linens already prepared and laid over the copper surface. A fresh bucket of coal and wood sat beside the fireplace layout. The floor covered in a fine carpet and the curtains were the thickest of velvet.

“Kitchen is down stairs, shared by us both dear but I supply most meals as is the tenancy agreement so you needn’t burden yourself with those tasks, I do ask you wash your own linens. We have a alley line out the windows.”

You nodded as the woman kindly spoke to you and introduced you to your new life.

It was when you passed two doors you realised there was two bedrooms.

“Sherlock is sometimes a overly private person. Especially to the contents of his cases and clients. He owns the only key to his bedroom so I’m afraid I cannot show you his room until he arrives. This one, where Doctor Watson once resided is now yours.”

You opened it up and noted the empty trunks around the room which Mrs Hudson had emptied earlier.

“Doctor Watson lived here?” you asked over your shoulder as you stepped into the quarters.

You visually took in the fine canopy bed and a small desk and wardrobe in the corner with a large window that led out to the alley wash line, a balcony area and stair case up to the roof above.

Mrs Hudson went around and closed the suitcases and trunks gently, one by one. You started to explore which drawers she had placed what undergarments and jackets and what dresses had been hung in the wardrobe and which books she had stacked onto your desk and where she placed your accessories on your vanity.

You were not surprised by the condition of a separate sleeping quarter. Your grandparents slept in separate rooms...but that was because your grandfather was a loud snorer and suffered from nightmares of his time in the wars.

This marriage, you worried, would also lack a lot of physical contact...

“I am going to carry these empty trunks up to the attic dear,” Mrs Hudson stated as she lifted the empty wooden boxes. Your eyes widened and before you could offer assistance she had moved spritely out.

You opened the window to your room, allowing light into the space. You sneezed. It seemed the particles in the light showed Mrs Hudson forgot to dust the area.

You opened the small doors. The noise of the outdoor city crept in. The smell of the salty mud in the street tickled your nose.

Intrigued to enjoy more of your space you came out to look more around your home. It was smaller than what you came from, that did not make you any less grateful. This would be better than living in the gutter of the slums, you were sure.

The idea you now had a home of your very own where you could independently invite people over for tea and luncheon was exciting, your husband be damned if he didn’t allow.

12:07pm Monday 5th May 1890, 221 Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

When Mrs Hudson returned after removing the last suitcase and storage box, you politely requested she help you out of your wedding dress...

Her grey eyes widened at your request, “Did you not wish to await Sherlock’s return my dear? Traditionally the husband loves to take of this gown of all gowns.”

After his actions today...you were not sure you wanted to please him or suffer his very untraditional behaviour. You doubt he would be kind or patient enough to unbutton the line down your back.

You shook your head, “Thankyou for your suggestion Mrs Hudson, but my mind remains solid, I wish to resort to a dressing gown. I don’t intend to welcome any guests today other than yourself and my husband.”

Not willing to question your choice, she smiled warmly, “Alrighty dear, turn around then.”

Her wrinkly fingers pinched at your spine line of buttons starting from your neck downward.

“Forgive my prying dear...may I ask how the service went? I had expected you and Mr Holmes to have arrived together.”

You sighed and pinch the bridge of your nose. The moment you arrived you sensed this line of questioning would eventually occur...

“It was sorely interrupted by my sister in law...I believe she was attempting to save her brother from the wails of...” you smirked, and sarcastically drawled, “wedded bliss...”

You could hear the old woman cackle behind you, “Ah that Enola Holmes is a trouble maker and their mother if I might say so myself.”

“I did not witness his mother at the ceremony?” you noted openly, you presumed their parents had passed away.

“Oh no, probably not. Eudoria like a ghost in the walls some days. Very secretive that woman but good company I assure you, a comedian.”

How unusual to state so openly their mother was a trouble maker and yet good company...was such a thing possible?

“She...Enola...revealed his...true desires...or lack of...to be my husband...he left the chapel in a great frustration.”

Mrs Hudson’s worrisome tone opened out to you, “Oh no my dear, I am sorry to hear such a thing...I did say earlier some days he can be bully so I must pray he doesn’t treat you like that furthermore.”

You nodded sharply, “Perhaps my husband needs a bigger bully to tame his actions. Maybe he needs a good humbling?” you snorted a laugh. You felt a sudden pause in Mrs Hudson. You sensed her stepping away. Her sudden silence disturbed you

You looked over your shoulder to observe her but what came in view was a elderly woman gaping at a hard face man at the front door...Sherlock.

“Mrs Hudson, I do not believe it is a duty of yours to undress my bride and so I must find myself saying, I forbid you to touch her so intimately again,” he quipped as he shed his blazer and hung his top hat on the coat rack.

The room had become cold despite the bright sun shining into the apartment.

You felt exposed with your back flared out.

You turned your body for your front to face him.

The housekeeper snorted, “If you hadn’t abandoned her in the chapel this morning perhaps you would’ve been here to do it yourself.”

Your jaw fell open at her boldness. The man grimaced and smiled tightly with fire in his eyes, “Mrs Hudson?” he asked sweetly, “Get out of my apartment. Now.”

It was scary and yet so calm as he said it. His tone was full of a unspoken threat. The elder woman jerked up her chin and nudged him as she left the main room.

Sherlock swiftly locked the door behind her.

“So...Mrs Holmes...” He muttered bitterly, “You appear to be in need of a hand there with your wedding dress. Come here...wife...so I may relieve you of your strains.”

He spat the word ‘wife’ through gritted teeth. You did not feel safe...

“I...I’m sorry for what I said,” you mumbled, looking away from him as he stepped slowly closer to you.

He looked at you with a harsh face. His finger twirled in the air...silently demanding you turn.

He might as well have slapped you with the way you gasped. You bit your lip tightly to not cry now in front of him again. You turned away from him and began to pull down the bodice of your gown.

“Do not be,” he scoffed lightly, “You were merely stating what lay in your mind...”

You felt him behind you, hovering over you. You felt his fingers dug into the strings of your corset.

You pushed the bodice down to your hips. You untied the string of your bustle. When the springy cage collapsed, your white skirts fell passed your hips and down to your ankles.

“To this day,” Sherlock hummed, “I seek when women return to the corseting stays of only their chest. I don’t like pulling all these strings loose.”

You nodded slowly. You wanted to not disagree with him or voice your opinion. You had made the mood direly cold and you felt it was your duty to make him happy once again.

You stood from foot to foot nervously, “I had the means to merely shred my dress and not my underlings, you needn’t remove my corset-”

He cut you off blunt and brashly, “I want to see my wife naked and I need to pull these strings before I lose patience and cut them off, so please stay still.”

“Naked?” you gasped as he tugged roughly, making the whale bone loosen further around your waist and hips. You lost your balance and fell forward onto the lounge.

He twirled you around to face him, “Yes, naked,” and pushed the corset up and over your head. You felt suddenly like a trapped animal on the cushion lounge. The chemise was light and sheer...it did little to hide your breasts....

He got to his knees in front of you and started to unbutton your shoes.

“You know how to perform your wifely duties yes? You do not require an anatomy lesson I hope? A woman of sublime education should know how one copulates with another.”

You clenched your thighs tightly together, tol afraid to move as he stared up at you. Very tiny movement of your nodding made him hum approvingly.

You were feeling hot...sweat beading at the back of your neck. You were not sure whether you were ready to have him so carnally especially in the middle of the day. You were unsure if this was appropriate to be doing at all.

As he removed both your shoes...his hands tenderly pulled at your white stockings....his hands creeped up your legs and pulled at the ribbon garters... Your bare feet felt cold to the air.

You jumped as the feeling of his lips pressed to one of your knees.

It was the first kiss he ever gave you.

His hands were wayward and you frigidly laid still. You were still too scared to move. His hands cupped your covered breasts softly.

The breath in your chest was quickly stolen out in a gasp and a unpreventable shaking moan.

His face rose up and his nose nuzzled to yours. It was so intimate and sudden...you were frightened and turned your face away to shudder...

“W-wait,” you softly begged.

He pulled back and huffed, “Yes, you’re corrct, I am overly dressed as well it would seem.”

He pushed up to his feet and plucked at the buttons of his vest. His finger unkindly tore his cravat from his throat and thumbed down his trouser lifting suspenders.

You felt your knees rise up to your chest. You were unsure if he wanted you to help, if that was a part of the duties of the bedroom....you were still not in the bedroom however...

“I believe this copulation would be easier in the bedroom, my dear Mrs Holmes?”

You didn’t understand straight away what he meant...you were frazzled...surely men who hated their wives didn’t do this? Had you pleased him so quickly that he didn’t care about whatever you’d don’t to frustrate him?

He looked at you dumbly and tilted his head, glancing to your bedroom door.

His hand held out to you, “Shall we?”

Your mouth felt impossibly dry but your loins grew a buzz and you felt a need to self pleasure...was this lust allowed in a marriage bed?

You carefully rose to your feet.

He pulled you closer and closer to your room and finally closer to your own bed.

He gently pushed your shoulders down for you to sit on the soft mattress

He removed his shoes and pushed down his loose trousers. His breeches, he started to unbutton. You looked away from his face and up to the ceiling.

You heard his breeches hit the floor. You didn’t want to look at his intimates... He shed his shirt and started to pinch at your chemise.

“Lift your arms up.”

From the corner of your eyes you could see his bare chest.

You were trembling with your limbs above your head. You didn’t know this man...he was Sherlock Holmes the great detective but that is all you knew.

And you were letting him see you in a state of your most open self...

He pulled the material over your head and he groaned as he gazed at your totally nude chest. Your nipples hardened in the cold breeze wharfing through the open window. Your arms fell to quickly cover your chest, you were too cold and shy to be so exposed like this to him.

He noticed your shivering. He turned away and went to close the window and shut the curtains. With strange admiration you noticed his tight and strong backside and thighs.

You flushed and accidentally whimpered when he turned around and you saw his cock. It wasnt like the statues in the museum...nor the medical books you perused..

It was...larger, and brutish.

You bit your lip and clenched your thighs again.

Would be hurt you? You were curious as a young girl about sex like many. Among your friends you had heard that the larger the male member the more agonising coitus would be.

You quickly recalled a time as a girl your grandfather took you to a horse auction and a stallion had broken his way into the mares pen. The great black beast look the white squealing mare most violently.

Would Sherlock pin his body above yours and bite the back of your neck to keep you beneath him...

You gulped loud enough for him to hear.

His hand pushed your shoulders back slowly.

“Spread those pretty thighs Mrs Holmes, show me what is now mine...”

Your fingers dug into your arms as you held yourself. Pathetically, tears came creeping out the button ducts of your orbs and escaped down your cheeks.

You swallowed the sob building in your chest. You didn’t think this intimacy would be so frightful and terrorising...

He stared down at you with a mean smirk. He scoffed and shook his head. He touched your knees and helped force them apart. Your spread thighs revealed your hairy centre at the crease of your drawers crotch...

He hummed approvingly. He stuck two fingers into his mouth and sucked them loudly and lewdly...

You choked on your tears and covered your face with your hands unable to watch anymore...you felt everything nonetheless...

Those fingers trailed across your thigh and tapped at your peaking labia. Your eyes felt wide.

A light shriek jumped from your throat as his hot mouth latched to your neck and you gasped while his tongue tickled your flesh.

You felt a single finger wiggled its way around your pearl bundle of pleasure before trailing and prodding into the space of your body...the hole. Your vaginal entrance...

“A hairy pussy cat...I might need to change that...”

You didn’t understand what filth he was suggesting. You knew your pussy referred to your entrance but to change it made no sense to you...

His free hand gently pulled your wrists away and pushed your hands to sit above your head.

With his soft mouth he wetly trailed his tongue along your skin arouse down to your fuzzy covered underarm and across to the swell of your breath. You squeezed your eyes shut with difficulty as you felt the tip of his nose nudge your teat...

His hot breath covered your nipple.

It stirred a strange, painful warm down your belly and arousal between your legs. You felt the wet essences of pleasure seep from yourself...

You shuddered loudly and groaned into the head of his curly hair as his finger pushed inside, stretching you out. You blanched at the thought remembering his thick cock was worth four of his fingers at this moment.

The sound of his finger was squelching and wet.

His second finger flickered to get inside of you. You tore away your mouth and loudly groaned as he entered and spread your insides.

Your belly felt tight. You let out a moan.

He kissed along your jaw and pushed his mouth over your lips. You didn’t know what to do. It was like he was sucking at your lips and licking them with his tongue.

You felt your experience come to light. You and on some occasions of youth touched yourself intimately in the dead of the night when all in the manor were asleep...your soft sighs muffled by your own pillows were heard only by yourself. The scratching sounds of your hips rolling against a thick blanket between your legs were maybe mistaken for a skittering rat in the walls.

You urges would decease the touches when you were reminded by your own senses that your genitals were not your prize but your future husband’s to touch. It was a sin to steal what would belong to him.

And as you laid beneath Sherlock and recalled those desperate nights of silly humping you bucked your hips into the touch of his fingers filling and stretching your way.

It was good to be a virgin...you didn’t want to be a slut ...you worried he would see you as many saw you.... Like your mother a prostitute....

You kept yourself pure for this moment but for the first time you wondered if that was a good choice. Was the lack of experience...a good thing for men?

And after sometime of him thrusting his fingers in and out, you felt the soft hot skin of something touching your hole....the tip of his cock.

“Sh-sherlock,” you worriedly whispered, “Please...w-wait.”

Your husband grunted and lifted his hand away from your hole to run his thumb across your tear wet cheek.

“You are aware it will sting...nothing has been inside you like this before.”

“Yes,” you whimpered. He kissed your wobbling mouth and used the tips of his fingers to press on your clit. He rubbed you slowly and realigned his tip to your hole.

“Allow me to open your doors with my key, wife. Fill your home with children.”

You shouted up at the ceiling as he thrust hard and fast into your body. Your lower body felt like a hot poker was ripping up into you.

You gasped and choked on a silent squeak before a few seconds past and the air filled your lungs making you scream and cry out as your life changed forever...

It was like he had cut you inside. And the pressure had not left you. His cock was dug deep and snuggly buried inside your tight hole.

You hit him. Your fists banged his chest with the little strength you had left.

“Stop! Get off me!” you wailed.

With bruising grip he held your arms down either side of your head. He was too strong for you to pull and push off. You sobbed out for your grandfather, so scared this would kill you.

His hips pulled back. You both gasped.

You groaned at the sight of his dick leaving you, covered in dark burgundy blood. It yellowed his pale member.

You felt sick and turned your head away into your covers.

“Please,” you begged, “Let me go.”

He sighed and shook his head, his mouth latched to your ear, “No...you can do this Y/N...this is the price all wives pay.”

He sheathed back inside of you. This time the burn of your walls was a little less.

The smell of metal was in the room. Your blood scent hit your nose finally. You could taste it in the back of your throat.

The way his hip bones punched down and roughly scrapped your pelvis made you hiss.

His mouth forced it’s way onto yours again in a passionate kiss. You whimpered and begged him to stop again as he thrusted inside. It hurt too much...you whined and sunk your teeth into his lips and caught the tip of his tongue.

“Fuck!” he roared and pulled back violently. His lips and yours covered in bright red blood in contrast to the red waves between your thighs.

“Get off!” you screamed again. You tugged your arms weakly. You tried pounding your heels into the back of his thighs.

He rose his hand high and you squeezed your eyes shut waiting for a blow...it did not come. You heard him yell angrily and hit the blanket instead.

He tired himself out of you, the force made you choke. The taste of his warm blood in between your teeth had you spitting aside the covers.

He pushed off the bed and stomped angrily out of the room, slamming your bedroom door shut. You sniffled and turned onto your side, crying as the burn between your legs struck you. You felt empty and sore. Like his hand had punched inside your body.

This is not at all what you anticipated as a married woman...

Why would any woman ever love their husband after cause such agony as that in their beds...

You reached out for a pillow and tugged it to your face. Your nose rubbed deep into the soft goose feathers and let your tears meld with your snot.

You curled up and clutched your sore side...

It was a pain comparable to your menses.

You prayed for help or someone like your grandfather or Mycroft to come and save you.

HELPINES:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

[delicate-moon-princess]

Hello, if it's alright to request stuff, may I ask for some soft smut with Sherlock? Like morning, sleepy makeout in bed or something along those lines? Thank you!! I really love all your work! Keep up the great work!!

Taste of Home

Summary: You wake up next to Sherlock in bed after months of being apart. It never felt like home when he was gone. And now finally, he’s there to fill the void in your heart.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, kissing, thigh fucking, unprotected p in v, sleepy sex, cock warming, a tad emotional?- Let me know if I forgot anything!

Word Count: 2k

Any typos are my own!

A/N: Of course, thank you so much for the request! Here’s a very soft and sleepy Sherlock for you, nonnie ❤️

Daylight flooded the room, waking you as it beamed onto your face. The curtains had not been closed, and you were facing the window. The brightness made your eyes ache and you pouted as you covered them.

It was far too early, you decided. You sighed as you tried to go back to sleep, burying your face in the pillows. When you shifted, confusion filled you when your bare skin rubbed against the soft sheets. You realized you were nude. It was not like you to sleep without clothes.

You lifted your head and looked around. A shuffling sound came from behind you on the bed, making you look back. A familiar sleeping face greeted you. Your husband. Sherlock. Who was also nude, judging by the way the blanket draped low on his hips. You had a perfect view of his chiseled torso and defined v-line.  

It all came rushing back to you when you looked at him. He came home from a very long work trip the night before. And after a quick dinner, he made love to you till the early hours of the morning. You remembered falling asleep in each other’s arms immediately afterwards.

It was no wonder he was exhausted. As were you. After the workout he put your body through, it was almost like you hadn’t slept at all.

Even now as you gazed at his dozing features, you felt like you could easily fall asleep. Nevertheless, you carefully rolled over so you could get a better look at him. You laid your head on the pillow next to his as he faced you, taking the time to admire how beautiful he was.

To say he was beautiful was an understatement. His curly brown locks tousled, which softened his appearance. His long lashes fluttered as he slept. He looked so peaceful.

Who were you to disturb him? He worked so hard all the time. This last particular case he was working on had been especially tough to solve. Of course Sherlock Holmes closed the case, but even the famous detective ran out of steam.

He deserved to sleep in for as long as he liked. His brows began to twitch as you admired the lines in his face. You tilted your head and watched him. At first, you thought he was dreaming, but then his eyes opened. He took in the sight of you, before he gave you an enamored smile.

“Mrs. Holmes…” Sherlock murmured groggily. “Good morning.”

You didn’t have time to say it back, because his lips were on yours the instant the words left his mouth. Your eyes fluttered shut, letting out a pleased hum. Good morning to you too, husband. He hummed back as you lifted a hand to his cheek, your tongue coming out to lick his bottom lip. When his taste hit your tastebuds, you shivered. 

That taste. You missed it so. Like wintergreen and tobacco. It was both bracing and earthy. A taste of him this early in the morning was a treat. 

Your mouth watered as you avidly drank down what you could from his lips. If you could bottle up his taste and drink it every morning, you would. He tasted like comfort, like home.

Then, the warmth of his lips was gone. You sluggishly opened your eyes, finding him looking at you as his fingers stroked your cheek.You tried to savor the residual of his saliva on your tongue.

“How long have you been awake, dear?” His question took a moment to register with you, given how exhausted you were. Based on Sherlock’s lazy caressing of your face, you could tell he was just as tired as you.

“Not long.” You muttered when your sense of understanding came back to you.

“Why didn’t you wake me sooner, darling?” He asked you, letting his hand rest on your cheek.

You melted, leaning into it. Bringing your hand up to cover his, you nuzzled your nose against the lines of his palm.

“You needed your rest.” You whispered, pressing a kiss to the crease of his thumb.

“After all the time we were apart, what I need more than anything is to spend time with my gorgeous wife. And I need to be awake and conscious to do so.” He pointed out to you, his voice still laced with sleep.

Sherlock moaned when you nibbled gently on the ball of his palm. His fingers flexed, and he lazily rested his forehead on your temple.

“Or at least lucid enough to admire how angelic you look in the morning.” He yawned softly, his face falling to your neck. “Though I am having trouble keeping my eyes open.” He mumbled against the flesh of your collarbone.

“Perhaps we should rest a little while longer.” You suggested, your fingers in his soft curls.

“Hmm… perhaps. Then again, we should get up and get ready for the day. My guess is we’ve already slept past breakfast. I fancy your idea much more, however. Staying in bed, with you.” He nudged his nose along your jaw, inhaling your sweet scent.

“Sleeping. Staying in bed, sleeping.” You corrected him, smiling softly.

“Hm? Oh, sleeping. Yes, of course.” He hummed innocently, his lips on your jaw. “I wouldn’t be surprised if I find it hard to fall asleep, though. You smell too good.” He moaned, tugging you closer.

You gasped when you felt his erect cock against your stomach. His manhood twitched when it touched your belly. 

“And so warm. I’ve missed your warmth.” He murmured, squeezing his length between you as it leaked onto your skin.

His seed was sticky as it oozed onto your flesh. You shivered, it was so warm and you were reminded of last night when he shot his fervid seed inside you. A large hand grabbed the back of your thigh, lifting it so your legs spread slightly.

“I’m willing to bet you're also wet for me.” He reached down to grab the base of his cock. 

You watched him guide his manhood towards the crease between your luscious thighs. It wasn’t until he slipped in with ease that you realized your inner thighs were covered in your fluids. Not only a result of his current actions, but also the very pleasant dreams you had of him last night.

A deep blush bloomed on your cheeks. Sherlock further situated his erection, nestling it between your wet folds. You jerked and gasped, your clit pressed against his solid length.

“So wet for me. Mmm…” He gave a sleepy smile and hum. Then he pulled away to look at you. “Tell me, my love, did you dream of me?”

There was no chance of hiding anything from him. His question was answered when you lowered your head bashfully. You took interest in where he buried himself in your thighs, watching as he shifted his hips. The top of his shaft nudged your delicate bundle of nerves. A heat rose in your belly, making you mewl as you rolled your hips.

“I dreamed of you. The entire time I was gone, I dreamed of you every night. It was the only thing that kept me going, the promise that I had you at home, waiting for me.” He sighed as your thighs squeezed him.

“I knew soon enough I would be back here, surrounded by your warmth. Your smell. Your taste. U-Ugh, your taste.” He groaned as he pulled out from between your legs. Your clit was rubbed the other way. You arched your spine with a breathless hiccup.

“Like the sweetest honeysuckle. I can't get enough.” He grabbed your cheeks, moaning as he brought you into a deep kiss. 

His tongue slipped into your mouth, lavishing yours in sensual licks. Your flavors paired beautifully together. Honeysuckle and wintergreen. Sweet and refreshing. It made your cunt pulsate as you swallowed.

“Sherlock.” You hiccuped, your hands falling to his chest and you weaved your fingers through his chest hair.

You squeezed your legs together, gripping his cock as he continued to buck between them. He panted against your mouth, hitching your leg up onto his hip. He reached down, rubbing the tip along your now exposed slit.

“I need to be inside you, darling. Need to feel you.” He exhaled into the kiss, and you greedily drank down his breath.

He lined up with your dripping hole, and slowly sank into you. Sherlock held your hips, squeezing when you sucked in a breath. Your body accepted him inside you easily. Like it was welcoming him home.

There was nothing better than this. Being wrapped in the arms of your beloved, being as close as two people can get. Yes. This was home.

You whimpered, pulling him closer with your leg. Pulling away from the kiss, you opened your eyes to stare into his. You cradled his face in your hands.

“I-I’ve missed this.” You admitted, your chest heaving in soft pants as he shallowly began to thrust. “I’ve missed you. I dreamed of you too, Sherlock. Every night-ah!”

You sighed in pleasure. The tip of his cock nudged your cervix and it felt like all your nerve endings sparked. He was so deep.

He cradled your bum, easing in and out you. Your words caused him to moan and press his head against yours. 

“Did you always wake up wet for me?” He groaned, licking his lips as he waited for your response.

“Yes. Yes, everyday.” You whined as you remembered the mornings where you woke alone in bed. “It always felt so… cold without you here. I dreamed of this every night. And each morning, I ached for you to fill me. I-I felt so empty.”

A whimper escaped you, your emotions jumbled from the mix of pleasure and fatigue. Sherlock shushed you, grinding his hips to remind you of how not empty you were at the moment. His pelvic bone grazed your clit. You melted, your face falling against his neck as you moaned.

“It’s alright now, my love. I’m here. I won’t ever leave you empty again.” He promised you, burying his face into your shoulder as he gained a little speed, though his pace was still slow and lazy.

His deep momentum had you to the edge in no time. It was all too much. You felt every inch of him and it was making your drowsy head swim. Sleep sounded so good right now, but cumming all over your husband’s cock sounded even better.

“I’ve got you, dove. You can let go. I’m here now.” He breathed into your ear, pulling your body impossibly close.

With one last jolt of his hips, you came with a soft cry. Sherlock quickly pressed his lips to yours, swallowing down all your sobs as he gave his own gasps. He pressed into you all the way, shaking as he shot his load deep inside your cunt. His hot, thick seed covering your cervix only prolonged your orgasm.

You felt his heart thudding in his chest as he pressed it to yours. He held onto you tightly, and you clung to him. As your climaxes subsided, both of you were left panting.

You never wanted this moment to end. Being one with your husband, it was euphoric. Why did it always have to end?

He shifted, and you whimpered. You tightened your leg around his side. He grunted when you clenched down on him in an attempt to trap him inside you. His hand squeezed your ass.

“Relax, darling. I told you, I’m not going anywhere. I promised not to leave you empty again, didn’t I? The both of us are going to get a bit more rest, as we stay just like this. And when you wake, my love, I will still be here. Inside you.” He hummed in content as he closed his eyes,  stroking your back to relax you.

You were able to unwind once you realized he wasn’t going to pull away. Closing your eyes, you burrowed into his chest. A soft sigh escaped you, blowing around some of the hair on his chest. Sherlock pressed a kiss on the top of your head.

“Rest now, sweetheart. I’ll keep warm. And full.” He murmured, his low and comforting voice made your eyes droop. 

The warmth of your husband helped lull you to sleep. Your dreams were once again filled with him. There was no need to worry about waking up aching and empty this time. Because Sherlock was back home, and everything was whole.

A/N: Look at me, finally getting another fic done😅 Sorry it’s been a bit, I’ve had a horrible case of writer’s block. I hope you enjoyed, love you all! ❤️ Taglist: @sunshine-with-daisy @leigh70 @islacharlotte @lysarria @kebabgirl67 @pandaxnienke @identity2212

[iguana-eyanna]

What They Didn't Know Was Missing

Summary: It's hard to come into terms of becoming a mother, but Sherlock reassures you that he'll remind you every day that you are worthy of being one to your child.

Warning: pregnancy symptoms, labor, mentions of abandonment, mentions of gun violence

It was around noon at 221 Baker Street. Sherlock was walking back home with a small packaged box in hand, holding it a bit tighter than he should.

He makes his way to his apartment, walking on the steps as he turned his key to the room. He looks around, not minding that his organized mess is gone and the smell of his pipe no longer lingered in the air.

Sherlock was territorial when it came to his home, but he made changes in his life when he met you.

You were the owner of a barkeep, feisty, and wasn't afraid of telling a man off when he didn't pay his tab. So when Sherlock came to the bar to ask about a suspect, you'd only answer his questions if he was a paying customer.

Either he was desperate to find answers or he just wanted to stay to talk to you for hours, the Holmes man paid a heavy load.

You both weren't afraid of courting each other in public, even if you two weren't of the same status. But, it was time to change some things. Your pub that you've built from the ground up turned into a legit business and Sherlock turned from his lone wolf days and finally proposed to you.

"I never knew I was alone until I met you, and I don't want that feeling again."

Your ceremony was small, Enola and his mother shed a few tears and you couldn't believe that his eldest brother, Mycroft, came (he never liked you due to your independent spirit, but he started to tolerate you more. Call it a win). Being married for about half a year has been a dream. But like a dream, one has to wake up.

Once Sherlock takes off his outdoor attire, he searches for you and lands his eyes on a figure on his couch.

"Hi." he whispered softly as he kneels to your level as you laid on the couch.

You turn around to face him and give him a tired smile.

"Same symptoms as yesterday?" He asks, unpacking the small box in his hand.

"Yes. When you left this morning, I awoke abruptly and felt sick." You said as your stomach churned.

"Here, chew this." Sherlock said, taking out an herb that was small as a chestnut.

You leaned your head further as he fed you the piece. You slightly grimace at the taste.

"It taste like grass." You said.

"I didn't know that you eat grass." He said, smirking. You lightly smack his chest as you lie on your side.

"It's already fighting off the nausea. How did you know it will work?" You ask.

Sherlock sat on the ground while he combed your hair with his fingers to help you relax.

"I remember my mother used it when she was pregnant with Enola."

You pause at his words, feeling your face pale.

Pregnant... the word scared you.

You got up from your lying position as Sherlock dotingly helps you too. He sits beside you as you laid your head on his shoulder. You've been feeling some sort of way since a doctor diagnosed you alongside your husband's deduction. Secretly, Sherlock was thrilled that he would become a father, he never thought he'd had a chance of having a family of his own.

He looks down at you, his eyes gazing at how you've been losing sleep and appearing almost crestfallen. He knows why you’ve been feeling like this, but he wants to hear it from you first.

“Please, love. I just want to know how I can help you.” He murmurs.

You begin to sniffle as you try to avoid his gaze.

“You can’t, Sherlock..” you said as you were about to get up.

He softly grabs your wrist and guides you to his lap, holding you still so you won’t leave him.

“You won't abandon them.” Sherlock’s voice rose.

“How can you be sure?” You ask, feeling the hot tears roll your cheeks.

You were given up as a baby, growing in an orphanage. When you were old enough, you ran away and decided to work at a pub when they needed a maid. The owner loved you as their own daughter, so they wrote you in their will to become the next barkeep. But even after your entire journey and becoming a business owner, you felt so incomplete of why your parents gave you up.

“Because you are full of love. You’re able to teach our child how to love, you’ve taught me how to love. There is not one ounce in my body that tells me that you will leave them. And I'm usually right all the time."

You chuckle loudly as you wiped away your tears. Not a lot of people saw this soft side of your husband, and you slightly feel selfish that you want to keep this side of him all to yourself.

You lean into his chest as he holds you closer to him, his hand suddenly resting on your now-showing bump.

"I promise you, I'll be there every second. Even for the birth."

You look at him worried, as it wasn't common practice for the father to be present for the birth. You haven't recovered from the stories from your friends who are midwives.

"Sherlock, I don't think that -"

"My love, I will never let you doubt yourself for one moment. I'm going to be there in your time of need. We'll be alright, trust me." He says, kissing the side of your temple. Sherlock wasn't any conventional man, so you knew his words were true.

You smile up at him as you cuddled closer to one another as you stare down at your abdomen, anticipating the life you're growing.

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

"Where is he!?" You screamed as you feel a contraction take control of your body.

"Sherlock's been working on a case since noon." Enola said, trying to support you in your distress.

"Typical, that man." You gritted as you sat on the edge of your bed, feeling the contraction go away.

After Sherlock went out during the day, Enola decided to pop in and say hello. She was going on and on about that Tewkesbury boy and suddenly you felt your water broke. Enola was shocked as well as you were and decided to call for her mother as she had no idea how to deliver a baby.

As on cue, your mother in law comes with hot boiling water and a towel on her shoulder, smiling at you.

"How are we doing dear?" She asks, putting the pail down.

"Like my body is splitting in half." You heaved out, gripping the sheets in your hand.

"It means it's almost time. Let me have a look at your dilation." Eudoria said, kneeling down.

You begin to cry, fearing that your husband was going to miss the birth of your baby.

A hostile knock echos the apartment alongside your moans, and Eudoria orders Enola to send off the person interrupting.

"I'm afraid you have to push, my dear." She said, seeing that you've dilated.

You shake your head, crying.

"I can't do it. Not without Sherlock."

"It will all be alright, we need to get this baby out so you can finally see them. Enola! Come quick, I need you to support your sister!"

Enola comes barging in, looking a bit pale at you.

"Please, don't freak out." She begs you.

You're about to ask what's wrong until Mycroft comes in, trying his best to hold your husband up as he was badly wounded.

"I'm sorry, he saw a sniper a few feet from us. Sherlock tried to push me away, but the bullet..."

You begin to sob, seeing your husband like this.

"Take him to the couch and treat his wound, you're upsetting her." Eudoria commanded, not wanting you to be in hysteria.

"No, I'm fine. I'm not- leaving my wife." Sherlock grunted, knowing the bullet went through some flesh and his pain was manageable.

His mother and brother shared an uneasy look, but after you cry again, Mycroft guided his younger brother to you.

Sherlock held your hand as you squeezed it tight, gritting your teeth as the contractions were doubling.

"You're here." You teared up.

"You know I wouldn't have missed this." Sherlock said, kissing your palm as he crawled behind you so you can rest behind his chest.

"Alright, are you two ready to have your baby here?" Eudoria asks. You look up to Sherlock who smiles at you as you shook your head, anticipating the greatest pain you faced to meet.

The birth was excruciating, and there were moments when you wanted to give up. But Sherlock kept whispering in your ear, urging you to keep pushing. Soon, you welcomed a healthy baby who was crying as loud as a symphony.

Now you were in bed, resting with your baby in your arms as Sherlock returned after saying goodbye to his mother, brother, and sister.

He stands there by the door frame looking at you, smiling at such a heavenly scene.

"How are you feeling?" Sherlock asks, knowing you're beyond tired.

"I feel so at peace, I can't take my eyes off of them." you whispered as they were sound asleep. Sherlock slowly makes his way to you and slips within the sheets.

"I was so unsure of what type of mother I'll be... but seeing them now, I never want to let them go." You said.

You turn to see your husband crying a bit, knowing since the day you found out you were pregnant that you'd be an amazing mother.

"I never doubted for one second."

Your foreheads connected as you breathed in his scent.

"I thought I almost lost you." you said in a low tone.

Sherlock sighs, knowing that any case he'd take would permanently take him away from both of you.

"You'll never lose me, I'll promise both of you that." he whispers.

You both lean in for a kiss and stare down at your baby once more. Two lonely souls found each other and they found what they didn't know was missing: love.

[starryeyedmunson]

lessons in the bedroom - e.m.

pairing: eddie munson x female reader

summary: eddie teaches you how to give a blowjob.

warnings: smut (minors LEAVE): oral (m receiving), pet names: sweetheart, baby, one use of ‘hun’; mention of a heterosexual hook up appointment; swearing, stupid jokes

author’s note: enjoy eddie munson’s masterclass on head. enjoy :)

pt. 2 ; pt. 3

word count: 2.9k

“Shut up, asshole.”

“I’m not judging you,” Eddie was in a fit of laughter. “I just can’t believe it. I knew you were a virgin, but you haven’t even-”

“Can you just help me? I’m having this guy over tonight, and I can’t be flying blind out here,” you snapped. Eddie had been your friend for a while now; you felt comfortable with him regarding everything. Everything would also include your sex life, or rather lack thereof. This was the first time you were inviting a boy over; you had gone on a couple dates with him already. He was nice, and you thought it was time to finally give him an inch. What that inch was, however, you had no idea. So there you were, standing with your arms crossed and interrogating Eddie for instructions on how to give a blowjob.

“Okay, okay,” he finally stopped laughing. “Do you have a vague idea of how to go about it?”

“I mean,” you started. “I know you put your mouth around it.”

“Alright, Sherlock, you’re set.” You threw the plastic water bottle in your hand at his head, and he dodged it as he fell into laughter again. “No seriously, is that all you know?”

“That’s it, I’m getting help from Steve,” you huffed.

“Wait, wait, I’m sorry, okay? I’ll be cool, promise,” he put his hand up to swear it to you. “First and most important rule: absolutely no teeth.”

“Hm,” you thought out loud. “That makes sense. Wait- do you have, like, something I can practice on? Like a banana or something?”

“What about this place makes you think bananas are something you would find in it?” he snarked. You rolled your eyes, but you knew he was right.

“Okay, smartass, so how would I know if I’m doing it right?” you probed.

“You could always practice on me, sweetheart,” Eddie winked. You gave him a blank stare as your mind calculated the best way to actually accept the clear joke of an offer. “That was not serious,” he said slowly.

“Well do you have any alternate ideas because that is the only plausible one you’ve suggested,” you spoke quickly.

“You are not perfecting your head game on me,” he said flatly. “Even though free blowjobs are both great and hard to come by, I’m not making you do that.”

“You aren’t making me,” you dragged out the sentence. “I need help. Here, think of it this way: I get the guidance I need, and you get a blowjob that is totally tailored to you.”

“You’re being serious right now?” Eddie questioned. You nodded your head, walking over to the bed and reaching for the blanket.

“Here, you can put this over my head so you don’t get weirded out by the sight of your best friend sucking you off,” you offered the blanket to him, and he took it slowly from your hands.

“Uh,” Eddie scratched the back of his neck. “Alright, but this is purely for research. Scientific method, all that shit.”

“Do you even know what the scientific method is?”

“Heard it somewhere, I think- that’s not the point.” Eddie unfolded the blanket and laid it over his thighs. “Okay, first thing’s first: do you want to learn laying down or on your knees?”

“I feel like I should try and fit into the stereotype if I’m gonna go all out,” you put your hands behind your back.

“Alright,” Eddie opened his legs to make space for you. “Kneel down here.” You slowly moved in between Eddie’s legs, bending your knees and putting your hands on the ground for some support as you got into position. You looked up at him, and he inhaled deeply. “I’m gonna take off my pants and stuff now.”

“Please don’t narrate,” you shuddered. Eddie tightened his lips, unzipping his jeans and pulling them down to his ankles. You could see his half chub through his briefs, much to your surprise. “You’re already- hey!” Eddie threw the blanket over your head.

“You don’t get to narrate either,” Eddie fixed the blanket so it was settled more evenly over you, then leaned back on his hands. “Okay, showtime.”

“Jesus, don’t say that,” you scoffed. “Just tell me what to do, Munson.”

“Uh,” Eddie sighed. “So take it in your hand and give it a few pumps through the cotton.” You reached up and grabbed his clothed cock, your hands light and barely gripping him. “You can tighten your hand a little, yeah like that,” he exhaled as your grip hardened a little more. “Okay, now go slow at first, just up and down the shaft.”

“Like this?” you stroked him, just as he described. You could feel him hardening more with each time you rubbed him. “Hello?” He didn’t say anything for a bit, and you got worried.

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered. You didn’t really know if the speech impediment was a good sign, but you continued anyway. He reached under the blanket and put his hand over yours, causing you to stop. “Here, I’m gonna take off my underwear now, is that okay?”

“Sure,” you took a deep breath.

“No, not ‘sure.’ I need you to say yes,” Eddie pressed. You smiled softly to yourself, grateful that even in the completely non-platonic situation you were in Eddie still cared for you in the way a best friend would.

“Yes,” you complied. He moved his hands towards the top of his briefs, slowly pulling them down and letting his fully-hard cock spring free. You helped him lead the fabric all the way down his legs to meet his jeans, and you were faced with the sight of your best friend’s dick. Your eyes widened, actually surprised at his size. “You walk around with this thing?”

“Please stop talking,” he pinched the bridge of his nose. You giggled from under the blanket, and Eddie sighed. “Alright now do what you were just doing, nice and slow.” You resumed your motions, finally able to feel the thick veins that ran up his cock. You narrowed your eyes and your tongue peeked out of your mouth in concentration, trying to keep the steady rhythm that Eddie had showed you.

“Should I start now?” you had a small voice, and Eddie barely heard it through the blanket separating you two from each other’s view.

“Yeah, you’re gonna want to get it slick first, so try and spit on your hand or, like, on me,” he instructed.

“Well I don’t have the best aim, so I’m not doing that,” you defied.

“You kind of have to or else it’ll- holy shit,” Eddie breathed out. You had pooled saliva in your mouth, making your tongue extra wet and licking a stripe up the bottom of his shaft. It caught Eddie completely by surprise, and he was beginning to think you weren’t as inexperienced as you led him to believe.

“What- was that wrong? Fuck, sorry,” you freaked out.

“No, the opposite, sweetheart,” he sighed. You shrugged your shoulders and repeated your action, this time running your tongue in a zigzag pattern to cover more ground. You heard Eddie groan from above you, and that plus the nickname ‘sweetheart’ had you feeling a little more confident about how you were doing. You shifted so that your head was above his dick, and you let yourself drool over it, the spit dribbling over the top half that hadn’t gotten any attention yet. You resumed your hand motions, stroking up and down with a lot more ease than you had before.

“This is pretty straightforward, actually. I feel like I’m not doing too bad, right?” you wondered out loud.

“Yeah, you’re n-not bad at all,” Eddie managed, too lost in the feeling of his cock in your hand. “You ready to actually start?”

“I think so,” you focused back on the throbbing dick in front of you. “Do I have to put the entire thing in my mouth at once?”

“Not necessarily,” he answered. “You can slowly work your way down if that’s more manageable. Just start at the tip and then go down a bit, then come back up.”

You took another deep breath, opening your mouth a little to take his tip in like he said.

No teeth. Got it.

You let your plush lips cushion around the pink head, only encompassing that at first before moving back up to the top. You repeated yourself, slowly inching down more each time. You pulled off of him completely, still stroking his leaking cock. “You’re gonna need to give me some verbal feedback instead of this heavy breathing up there.”

“Yes, it’s- yes,” he groaned. “If I don’t say you’re doing anything wrong, you’re doing everything right.” You nodded to yourself, then wrapped your mouth around his tip again. You bobbed your head up and down slowly, too scared to go any faster. Your hand was stationary at the base of his dick, and you felt the blanket moving as Eddie fit his hand around yours. He guided it up to just below your mouth, and with each sink and rise of your head, he held your hand to follow it. You soon got the memo, picking up the pace ever so slightly and moving your hand on your own. “Fuck, baby, just like that,” he just about moaned. Eddie’s grip loosened, but instead of taking his hand out from under the blanket he laced his fingers through your hair. He picked up some of it, making a sort of ponytail and holding on tight as you blew him.

On the other side of the blanket, Eddie was trying to stay as quiet as possible. He couldn’t believe that you, his best friend, were on your knees in front of him with his dick in your mouth. The way it fit perfectly in between your lips, the warm feeling of your tongue running up and down him, the perfect pace you had set yourself at. It had his mind wandering to how your pussy would feel, what it would be like to endure your pulsating walls against him as he made you scream his name. He had always fantasized about that, but he never considered it a plausible reality.

But there you were, entrancing him as you hollowed out your cheeks and created a pressure in your mouth. Your pace was drastically faster than how it was at the beginning, and your tongue was now swirling around the head, lightly grazing over the slit at the very top. You had no idea what to do with your other hand, so you put it high up on his thigh. Your grip tightened, earning a moan from the boy above you.

Am I supposed to be doing something with his balls right now? You literally had no idea, so you decided to just go for it. The hand that was on his thigh moved to just under your head, and you lightly grazed the two sacks beneath the cock you basically owned at this point.

“Holy-” Eddie now really moaned. You froze, terrified that you had fucked up.

“I didn’t know what to do with my other hand,” you defended yourself.

“Please, please do that again,” Eddie keened. You were surprised at first, but then a smirk appeared on your face. You took his cock back in your mouth, but this time you grabbed onto his balls a little tighter, massaging the both of them to the same rate you were bobbing your head. “Don’t s-stop,” he whimpered. Your hair in his hand was now being tugged on, keeping you at a consistent speed. You rolled his balls in between your fingers, and he pulled on your hair tighter, eliciting a moan from you. Eddie felt it in his cock, the vibration running through him and causing his head to fall back.

“It’s getting a little hot down here,” you stopped again, and Eddie had to collect himself. “Should- can I take the blanket off?”

“If you w-want to,” Eddie was still trying to find his footing with his words, and you realized that you had him in the palm of your hand. Literally. You slowly lifted the blanket over your head, revealing Eddie’s flushed face and the small beads of sweat along his hairline. You looked up at him, but he wasn’t making eye contact due to the possible implications that he didn’t want to address at the moment. You furrowed your brows, but you knew as you took your hand and wrapped it above the other one on his cock that he would break. You began wringing your hands around him, moving up and down while your wrists rolled back and forth. You took his balls into your mouth this time, sucking and flicking your tongue slowly as to play with them.

Eddie was in a blissful turmoil above you. His one hand was still gripping your hair for dear life, while the other was clinging to the sheets. He was swearing under his breath, letting out a small shit, baby every so often. His eyes were screwed shut as you had your way with him, and dared himself a glance at your frame kneeling in front of him.

He was doomed. Your makeup was slightly running, your eyes trained on where your mouth was ruining him. The visual of your hands going up and down his strained cock along with your tongue and lips kneading his balls was sending him into a frenzy, and when you hit him with those innocent doe eyes it was almost all he could take.

“You look so f-fucking pretty, sweetheart, you know th-that?” he praised. “Doing so good down there, so good for m-me.” You were now working with ultimate conviction, the flattery doing its job. “G-gonna, shit baby h-how do you know just how I l-like it,” he was falling apart in front of you.

You sucked on his balls with a little more force, your hands moved at an even faster pace, and you were determined to make him cum. You popped off his balls and replaced your mouth with your hand, taking his entire cock into your mouth. It was hitting the back of your throat, and your gag reflex was on the verge of being triggered.

“I c-can’t, gonna- oh god.” He couldn’t warn you in time, but the twitch inside of your mouth was your alarm that he was spent. With your entire mouth around his length, you could feel each surge of the cum that shot through and out of his cock, the hot fluid hitting your throat and forcing itself down your esophagus. The salty taste was foreign to you, and you honestly didn’t like it. But you didn’t totally hate it either. Your preferences didn’t matter as it was already filling your mouth. The last pulses of his cock played out, and you slowly made your way back until his dick was no longer in your mouth. A dribble of his cum was trickling out of your mouth, and you used your thumb to collect it before putting the thumb in your mouth, sucking off the semen.

Your gaze moved up to find Eddie gawking at you. His lips were parted, and his breathing was inconsistent. His entire face was red and damp, and his hands were in his matted hair. Yet he still looked so pretty, so submitted to you as if he was the one keeling at your feet. Your eyes darted around the room until you looked back at him.

“Well?” you said, completely unassuming. Eddie let out a loud but exhausted laugh.

“Don’t bullshit me, hun. That was not your first time at all,” he closed his eyes and sighed, finally at rest.

“Why would I lie about that?” you were offended. “That is, like, so beyond embarrassing.”

“I don’t know why you would lie about that, but you definitely did.” Eddie flinched at you smacking his leg, but just chuckled as he looked back down at you.

“What can I say, I’m a natural,” you gave him a small smile, and he dropped one of his arms to put his hand on your cheek. He rubbed his thumb lightly across your skin, the moment containing a hint of intimacy. You put your hands on the ground and got up to your feet, brushing off your shins and knees. “Well, thank you. You know, for teaching me.”

“I should be thanking you,” Eddie snickered. You rolled your eyes, turning around and grabbing your jacket. Eddie was pulling up his bottom articles of clothing while you weren’t facing him, and he was just pulling up the zipper when you turned back around. “Off to your house?”

“I guess so, yeah,” you said. “Gotta show off my new party trick.” Eddie gave you a tight smile, and he walked you out to the front door. “So,” you turned to face him. “This little experiment is confidential, right?”

“Oh definitely,” he laughed. “Robin and Steve would lose it, and don’t even get me started on if Dustin were to somehow find out.”

“Perfect,” you giggled back. An awkward silence fell over the two of you, and Eddie cleared his throat and opened the door for you. You walked outside, giving Eddie one final glance. He gave you a smile, and you saluted him.

What the fuck did you do that for?

He raised his eyebrows and gave you a little salute back, and you groaned in embarrassment and trudged down the stairs. You heard Eddie laughing behind you as he closed the door, finally reaching your car. You got behind the wheel and took a deep breath, turning the car on and heading for the actual performance you just had the dress rehearsal for.

Hopefully what worked on Eddie would work with this guy.

[gummydummy19]

Hi Gummy😌❤️

since we're talking about kinktober...

How about Sherlock(Henry version) and semi-public sex (or something like voyeurism?)

I'm imagining Sherlock and reader (friends or lovers) are on a case when they are close to being discovered their true identities when Sherlock suggested that they could "make love" to fool the guards in (let's say) this brothel.

they could be faking it (till the vibe becomes too strong) or they are truly in love so they went at it anyway😋

Feel free to change or add to my lil thot😌❤️

OH GOODIE!! I love getting requests and I love love LOVE this idea!

Kinktober day 1: semi-public (Sherlock Holmes x F reader)

Moan

A/N: I must admit I don't really like voyeurism but I really loved the request so I hope I still did it justice <3

Content Warnings: smut, friends to lovers, "let them hear" trope, banter, giggles, fluff, swearing

You didn't have any family. The girls at the factory were your sisters, you all knew each other through and through. So when your friend Rosaly went missing, you knew she counted on you to discover the truth.

The entire country knew of Sherlock Holmes and his incredible detective skills. According to the papers, there wasn't a case he couldn't solve. So you scraped together nearly all your savings and traveled across the country to see him. Sadly, when you arrived at his office on a chilly autumn afternoon you were disappointed to find it empty. With nowhere else to go, you decided to wait it out.

Sherlock Holmes had always been quite the gentleman... and a handsome one at that. He arrived at his office somewhere in the afternoon. He wasn't usually this late, but he was stuck on a case and had indulged himself in one too many drinks the night before, leaving his body tired and his head hurting. However, his headache was quickly forgotten when he noticed a shivering young woman on his office's doorstep.

"Excuse me miss, can I help you?" he asked politely.

"O-oh...I'm s-so sorry...I'm...I n-need..." you shivered

Sherlock took off his big, long coat, wrapping it over your shoulders as he helped you up. "Hush now, little one. Let's get you inside first, shall we?"

Once inside he quickly lit a fire and offered you a hot cup of tea while you told him everything. He agreed to take up the case and after enduring a lot of your begging he agreed to let you join him too.

And thus your adventure with Sherlock began. He offered you the sofa in his office to sleep on and you kept the space tidy and clean for him in return. Surprisingly he found you worked quite well together. You were fearless and smart and on top of that, the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.

After nearly two weeks of working together, you were finally close to finding out where Rosaly was, through clues that she had left for you.

The puzzle pieces were finally falling together, all you needed was one more piece of information, and according to your last clue, this was where it was supposed to be.

"A brothel?!" You observed as you looked up at the tall building.

There were pink and red lights flowing through the half-closed windows you didn't dare to stare at for too long.

"This is the only address I can find according to those numbers. It has to be here." Sherlock stated.

You took a deep breath. Time to put on your big girl pants.

"Alright. Let's go then," you said, already starting to marsh forward

"Hold on there, little one." he pulled you back by your hips, "You are not coming in there with me."

"What would you have me do then? Stand out here in the dark all by myself?"

You had a good point.

"Fine, but you will do as I say. Understood?"

You rolled your eyes but agreed anyway, joining him as he made his way through the door.

"I need a room," he stated firmly.

"Mister Holmes! Of course!" The lady greeted him with a smile, "I'm sure you don't need an empty room, right?" She joked, "Shall I send up Elisabeth-"

"That won't be necessary." He interrupted quickly. You were sure he was hoping you hadn't caught that, but unfortunately, there was already a jealous twinge spreading in your stomach.

"I brought my own. Just the room will do," he added and then the lady looked you up and down, making a heat surge up your cheeks.

"Sure thing," she replied, looking through her keys, "Only the best for the country's best detective."

She shot you both a wink as she handed him the key and Sherlock quickly took your hand and led you upstairs.

"Go to the room and lock it. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"What are you gonna do?" you asked, a bit worried

"I'll be right back." He repeated before closing the door behind him.

You did as he asked and locked it before silently taking a seat on the bed.

You looked around the room as you nervously toyed with your fingers. The sheets were soft and fluffy. You couldn't help but wonder which secrets they held. Which forbidden sights they had-

*knock knock knock*

You startled for a second until you heard his voice say "Open up..."

You rushed to the door and quickly let him in, locking it again behind him.

"I know where she is."

"What?" you asked, your brain still foggy for everything that was going on

"Rosaly. I know where she is. I know where to find her. We can be with her first thing tomorrow." he spoke again

"I..." You didn't know what to say, so you just did what felt right. You lunged forward and hugged him, whispering a couple "thank you's" as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

He was about to say something when a loud knock startled you yet again.

"Everything okay in there?" a male voice yelled.

You looked at him in panic. They must have seen him wander around the place.

"Moan." He said

"W-what?"

"Moan," he repeated

"W-wha...like...like we're m-making love?"

"No, little one" he grinned, "like we're fucking."

You didn't have time to think as Sherlock Swirled you around and pushed you against the wall with a loud thud.

"Moan, NOW!" he growled.

"Ah!" you moaned, earning a grunt from him in response.

"Do it again, louder," he whispered.

"OH!" you moaned again, louder, just like he asked.

"There you go," he praised, "good girl." There was a grin plastered on his face that made you blush.

Two can play this game, you thought.

You pushed him backward making him fall on the bed, earning another loud groan from him as you crawled on his lap.

"Oh, Sherlock!" You moaned passionately, as your eyes fell shut and your hands found his chest "OH yes YES." you couldn't help but giggle at your own theatrics, making your body bounce a little.

You weren't paying enough attention to his face to notice that the grin had melted away the second you straddled him.

"Oh yeah right THERE, please!!!" you tried to contain your laughter when suddenly Sherlock flipped the both of you over making you gasp.

"YEAH? Feels that good?" his voice was lower now and you could feel his bulge press right between your thighs.

Suddenly...it wasn't so funny anymore.

"Cat got your tongue?" He whispered, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

"I...I don't...I didn't..."

"Is it me that turned you into a stuttering mess or the fact that you're moaning for an audience?" He teased, pressing kisses down your neck to the swells of your breasts, currently threatening to spill out of your dress as your chest heaved underneath him.

"Sh-Sherlock..." you moaned, in earnest this time.

"Shush Sherlock? Do you wish to silence me, little one?" he grinned devilishly as his hands wandered under your dress, caressing your thighs.

"Oh....please..." you whimpered

"Now now, little one, I know you can be louder than that." he chuckled, fingers toying with your undergarments.

"I n-need..."

"Need what? Huh?" he ripped the fabrics in his way until he finally found what he was looking for. "Ah yes, needy you are indeed, as I have never felt a pussy quite as wet as this one..." he teased

"Come on, little one, tell me what you need."

"you..."

"louder..." he whispered lowly in your ear, teeth grazing the shell of it as he left little nibbles all over.

"you...YOU!"

"That's it!" he groaned as he lowered his pants, teasing your wet opening with the sticky tip of his cock.

"Tell them who's making you feel this good!"

"S-stop..."

"Want me to stop?" he smirked, knowing full well your sentence wasn't finished

'N-no! No, please just...AH FUCK!" you screamed as he entered you bare.

"There you go! Scream like the wanton little harlot you are!"

You didn't know if those words were meant just for you or for the men outside but in the moment you didn't care, as it made you squeeze his hard cock even harder.

"Sherlock! Please...please..." You didn't know what you were begging for, seeing as he was already seethed deep inside you, but somehow begging was all you could.

"Stop teasing..." you managed to get out. He loved how sweet and helpless you looked under him. How you managed to look so kind and innocent while he was balls deep inside you remained a mystery to him. Oh sweetheart..., he thought to himself

"....feels so fucking good..." he groaned, dropping down closer to you as he started to gently pump himself in and out of you.

"O-oh..." you moaned, tangling your fingers in his dark curls.

His hand hadn't left your face, while his other hand went on a mission to find the place where you were currently connected, somewhere between all those layers of fabric.

He tilted his hips, angling them to hit a spot inside you that made your eyes flutter, yet when his fingers finally reached their destination they shot open again.

"SHERLOCK!"

"That's right, princess. Let them know who's fucking you this good!"

He continued to pound into you, but despite his rough words, his actions were surprisingly gentle.

"M'gonna...gonna..." you keened, feeling yourself climb higher and higher.

"What do you need, little one?" he groaned, clearly getting very close to the edge as well.

"Little harder...just a little..." you whined, quietly.

Sherlock obeyed, gently building up his thrusts until he was smacking into your pussy perfectly.

"That's right! Need it harder, huh?" he yelled out loudly again.

"YES YES HARDER" you played along before whispering "Kiss me, please..." Making not only his cock but also his heart swell.

He immediately pressed his lips down onto yours, swallowing your moans while his fingers kept strumming your sensitive pearl.

You came hard around his cock and kept pounding into your clenching pussy perfectly. Your left hand pulled at his hair while your other hand clawed at his back so hard his shirt ripped a little.

Your orgasm triggered his, and he let out a loud groan as he shuttered above you while spilling his hot seed deep inside your womb.

You both lay there, a little out of breath. Sherlock had his head buried in the crook of your neck, where started pressing gentle kisses while you played with his hair and traced invisible lines on his back.

That night you and Sherlock stumbled down the stairs of that brothel equally rosy-cheeked. You in your ripped-up dress, he in his torn shirt. You walked out hand in hand, two dozen pairs of eyes burning holes in the back of your skulls, but neither of you cared, for the passion glowing hot in your chests would outburn them all.

A/N: IM SORRY IF THIS WAS SHIT IM ON MY PERIOD AND IM JUST A BIG SAP IM SORRY I APOLOGIZE IM JUST A GIRL YOUR HONOR.

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[marchtothefuckingsea]

Break A Leg - Castiel

My Masterlist.

Word count: 750, short n fluffy

Warnings: None.

Summary: Reader with a broken leg sleeps at the table because they don't think they can make it back to their room. Cas finds them, and even though he can't heal them, he finds a way to make up for it.

I groaned, stretching my leg out. I stretched the rest of my stiff muscles, wincing when a jolt of pain traveled up my leg. Blinking hard, I widened my eyes and tried to get them to focus. The room spun a little, forcing me to squeeze them shut again before I threw up. 

I hunched over the table, soon finding my forehead on the table when I began to drift off. I needed sleep. Looking down at my leg in its cast though, I was almost positive I wouldn't be able to make it to my room without falling down. I groaned again, shutting the old book and placing it further away from me on the desk. Shrugging out of my flannel, I balled it up into a makeshift pillow. I crossed my arms in front of me, and I was asleep as soon as my head was cradled in my elbows. 

Castiel pulled the bunker door shut behind him. "Sam. Dean." He called out. Wandering through the halls with a bit of purpose in his stride, he saw a figure, their leg in a cast, slumped over the library table. 

The book was closed, and he frowned. They hadn't fallen asleep doing research, they had intentionally fallen asleep here. Their broken leg was stretched out in front of them, clunky with the cast.

He wished he could heal them. 

A hand touched my shoulder, and I startled awake. My eyes were blurry with sleep, but I recognized the tan coat the person in front of me wore. "Cas?" I groaned, stretching my arms out in front of me and turning to him.

"You slept here? Intentionally?" He asked me immediately.

"No I- I guess I fell asleep doing research." I smiled apologetically. "Every little bit helps, right?" 

He was frowning now. "The book is closed." He said flatly.

"And? Nevermind, just-" I winced at a sore muscle in my neck. "Should've known that was going to happen." I muttered under my breath.

"You need to sleep. In a bed." 

"No shit sherlock." I sighed. "But I'm fine now."

"No, come on." Before I could protest, he was hauling me to my feet. I staggered slightly, but he was careful not to let my injury get jarred. 

"Why didn't you go back to your room?" He asked as we limped down the hall. 

"Wasn't sure I could make it." I mumbled abashedly. He was silent until we got to my room, and he had helped me to sit on my bed.

"I should be able to heal you. I'm sorry." He apologized, guilt evident on his face as he pulled away.

"It's okay, Cas. Hey," I said to get his attention back on me. His gaze had drifted off like it did when he was beating himself up over something. He turned back to me. "It's fine. Don't blame yourself." 

"If I had my grace-" 

I cut him off. "Don't even go there." I said sternly. "It's not your fault." He sighed, but didn't reply. His frown had lessened, but I knew he wasn't out of the woods yet. 

"If you want to make it up with me…" I trailed off, and his eyes met mine as he tilted his head to the side. "You can stay here." 

"I will." He shifted on the edge of the bed.

"Get comfy."

"I am." 

"No Cas," I stifled a laugh, but not my smile. He gave me a curious glance. "Lay down. Get comfy."

"Oh." 

I was quick to add. "If you're comfortable with that, of course. You don't have to-"

"I'm more than comfortable with it." He had a fond smile on his face now. I felt my face heat up when I wondered what he meant by that. 

He kicked his shoes off and shrugged out of his coat and jacket. I scooted to the side with a wince. "Careful." He murmured. He laid beside me in a half sitting, half lying down position. I startled slightly when his arm snaked around my shoulders. 

"I'm sorry, is-"

"No, no. It's more than comfortable." I repeated him, smiling as I leaned against him. Sighing contentedly, my aching body finally relaxed for the first time in days. I felt Castiel lean his chin on the top of my head, and his hand wrapped around my bicep as I unconsciously curled closer to him. I had been more exhausted than I thought, because in his presence, I passed out almost instantly. 

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery

warnings: swearing, argument, menstruation

Sherlock paced the flat, occasionally tapping away on his phone. I sat in John’s chair, curled up around myself as tightly as I could.

“Sherlock.” I said. He continued to ignore me. “Sherlock.” There was a raise of the eyebrow but he still continued to ignore me. “Sherlock Holmes!” He jolted and frowned as he turned to look at me.

“What? What could you possibly want that is more important than this case?” He asked, venom dripping from his voice.

“and what about that case is more important than your partner being in pain?” I shot back. Sherlock looked me over.

“I see nothing wrong with you.” Sherlock scoffed.

“of course you don’t.” I muttered, getting up and grabbing my coat. “You’re such a fucking machine that you can’t even tell when your partner is in the middle of their period.” I shrugged my coat on and opened the door. “When you get your shit together Sherlock, call me. Until then…” I shook my head and left. I could hear him calling for me but I ignored him. Mrs. Hudson came out of her flat and looked up as I came down the stairs.

“what’s all that yelling about?” She asked.

“Sherlock being a dumbass as usual.” I muttered as I paused in front of her. “He thinks the case is more important than whatever I have doing on right now so I’m going to leave him to his own devices until he can get his shit together.”

“John will be back soon. Maybe if you wait…” I shook my head and sighed.

“I can’t wait for John to come back. I’ll rip his head off while we wait.” I admitted. “And as pissed as I am at him, he doesn’t deserve it.” Mrs. Hudson rubbed my arm.

“be safe luv.” She said before letting me leave. I wandered the streets of London, grabbing fish and chips from queensway before taking the London eye. I watched a couple take a picture in front of the parliament building, kissing before giggling at each other. I smiled softly to myself, pulling my phone out of my pocket as it buzzed.

‘The case can wait. You’re more important to me than anything. Please come home -SH’

biting my lip, I texted Sherlock back. I explained that I was still pissed off at him and I would be back later. I didn’t receive a response so I pocketed my phone and continued to walk around the city. When I had reached whitechapel, I started to head down towards the Jack the Ripper museum. I paused when I saw Sherlock leaning against the building.

“Sherlock…” I said, looking around before stopping in front of him. “What…”

“I’ve been an idiot.” He said, reaching out to touch my arm. “You always come here when you’re pissed at me. Or life. You’re looking for something to help solve it. Why I don’t know but it’s admirable. The unsolvable case.” He chuckled and shook his head. “You’re admirable. Everything about you. And you are more important to me than any damn case.”

“glad you finally noticed.” I said, chuckling as I shook my head. “John knock some sense into you?”

“Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock admitted. “And you. I didn’t realize that you were feeling like shit. For all my deduction and reasoning…I failed you.” Sherlock wrapped his arms around me. “I’m sorry. Really. How does going home sound?” I nodded, wrapping an arm around his waist as he turned to lead me back to baker street.

“strange to hear you apologize.” I mused as I laid my head on his shoulder. Sherlock hummed in agreement.

“Someone must have really knocked some sense into me then.” He teased. I smiled at him. Sherlock leaned down and pressed a kiss to my head. “If you ever need help solving that case…I’d be happy to help.”

“I think I’ve got this one.” I said, pausing and turning in his hold. “But thank you.” I leaned in and kissed Sherlock with the sun setting behind parliament.

[maaarijaaa]

Mine ❦ Sherlock Holmes Part Eighth

Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: Sherlock Holmes, the most famous detective in the world. After finishing a case, he decided to visit Enola and his mother. On the first day of the visit he laid his eyes on a beauty, you 

Disclaimer: I do NOT allow for my work to be translated or posted anywhere else on this app or other platforms. English is not my first language so let me know if I made any mistakes!

Words count: 1.5k

A/N: I am finally done with this story🫶🏻The prologue would be posted in a few hours to see their married life with some kids maybe👀 This part might be bad but I have tried my best❤️‍🔥

Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated🫶🏻🫶🏻

Its been a week since you have sene each other.

A week of both of you crying, not sleeping and worst of all, not eating.

Your own father could not recognize his own daughter. He was there for you the whole time and you were thankful for that but you were still angry at him for even trying to set you up with Mycroft.

While you and Sherlock were heartbroken, Mycroft on the other hand was very happy. He knows that soon or later you will be his and your father and him would finally start a business together.

You did not know this but Mycroft was coming over to your fathers house to chat. What you also did not know is that Mycroft brought a red velvet box with him, with your engagement ring being inside of it.

What Mycroft did not know was that a little bird was watching him while he prepared the ring in his study, that little bird would be Enola who would later tell her other older brother,Sherlock, before its too late.

Mycroft gets out of his carriage and sees that your dad is waiting at him at the porch of your house.

“Nice to see you again, Mycroft” your father spoke.

“Well its been a week since I last saw you and your beautiful daughter so I thought why not visit you” Mycroft spoke.

They walked into the house and later on into your fathers study room.

“Before we talk about some business I wanted to show you something.” Mycroft spoke to your father.

“I have brought your daughter a gift and wanted to ask for your permission…”

You father first stared at the ring then Mycroft.

“To take her hand in marriage. I love her deeply.” Mycroft knew himself that it was the biggest lie he has ever told your father but, business is business.

You father was in the disbelief, he did not expect that.

“You know, she is going thru a hard time but maybe you should ask her the question, you have my permission. I want what’s best for her and I think you marrying her would be a great idea.”

While Mycroft was happy that he got your fathers permission to marry you, Enola struggles to get Sherlock out of his bed.

He was very angry at himself for hurting you.

He was not getting very much sleep or eating very much. All he could think about is you.

Your beautiful face, your soft lips that stretch into a beautiful smile whenever you lay your eyes on him and your eyes that he always found beautiful.

While Sherlock was lost in his thoughts, Enola successfully got her brother out of the bed by pushing him and Sherlock falls on the floor.

“Ouch! What was that for?” Sherlock asked his sister

“Well since you did not wanna listen to me, I had to do it the harder way!”

Before Sherlock could even say a word, Enola cut him off

“If you don’t do anything, Mycroft is going to marry Y/N!”

Sherlock’s eyes widen at what Enola just said.

“What do you mean he is going to marry her?” He asked his sister.

“He went to visit her and her father this morning and brought a ring with him!!!”

Sherlock looked at his sister before rushing off to get ready. He needed to fix this.

While getting ready he wondered why Mycroft would marry you. Mycroft had zero interest in you and then it him.

The woman that was flirting with him at the event came with Mycroft and saw her around him few times. He formed the dots and realized that it was Mycroft’s plan all along.

“That son of a bitch!” He mumbled

After getting ready, he rushed down the stairs and ran to your house.

Meanwhile you were getting ready, you heard the voice that sounded too familiar.

Mycroft.

You rolled your eyes. He just loved destroying your life at every chance he got.

You dad knocked on your bedroom door.

“Honey, are you awake?”

You quickly grabbed your robe and put it on before shouting

“Yes father, I am awake! You can come in!”

Right after you said that you see your father entering your bedroom with no other than Mycroft him self.

Your father came up to you and hugged you.

“My only daughter, you have grown into a smart and beautiful woman. I am becoming old and when my time comes there will be no one to take care of you.”

“Father, what are you talking about?” You shed a tear.

“This morning, Mycroft came up with a wonderful request.”

You looked at your father and then Mycroft who was pulling out a red velvet box and was getting on his knee. You stopped breathing at that moment.

“Today is one of the happiest days of my life. Today I came to ask your dear father to take your hand in marriage and to my surprise he agreed. So will you, my beautiful Y/N, be my wife?”

He then opened the box and reveled a beautiful ring with a diamond on it but you knew you could not accept it. Your heart still belong to Sherlock.

Just as you were about to open your mouth, you heard someone running through the door.

“Y/N!!!” Sherlock shouted.

You then ignored your father and Mycroft and ran down stairs.

There he was. He finally came for you.

You ran into his arms and kissed him passionately.

Mycroft was pissed to say at least while your dad was more confused.

“What are you doing here Sherlock?!” Mycroft asked angrily.

Sherlock pulled away from you and looked at his brother.

“I came here to see the love of my life and I also came here to make something clear. Don’t you have anything to tell, Mycroft?”

You and your father stared at Mycroft slightly confused.

“Where is your friend Vanessa by the way, is she destroying other relationships and marriages now?”

You stared at Mycroft and then you too collected the dots. This was one of Mycrofts shitty plans.

“It was one of his many plans. Enola searched your office this morning and found out that it would be easier for you to make money and become businesses partner with her father by simply marrying her. When he passes everything that he would leave for her would be given to you. You found about our relationship and decided to use ur friend, paying her to play my so called “mistress” so that you could end us, but you know what?”

Just then, Sherlock put his arm around your waist and pulled you to his chest.

“Even if you tried it a million times, you would not succeed because my love for her and her love for me is stronger.”

Just then, Mycroft leaves the house, throwing a tantrum outside your house.

Sherlock pulls you close and presses a soft kiss on your lips.

“What now?” You asked him

“Well, do you want to get married. I don’t have a ring with me so I can not really propose you in a traditional way but..”

Sherlock could not finish the sentence since you cut him off with a kiss and said

“Being your life would be the best thing that has ever happened in my life.” You said while pressing your foreheads together.

You then turned around around and saw your father smiling

“I am sorry I wanted to do what’s best for you. And you Sherlock, have my full permission to marry my daughter.”

You and Sherlock looked at each other, smiling before kissing again.

You could not wait to get married….

Tag list requests are closed since there are just too many requests❤️ turn on you notifications to get notified🫶🏻

[hwangcore]

pinned! — k.sm

warnings: smut, reader has a bit of a hand kink (me too babe), oral sex and orgasm denial (f receiving both), they fuck against a door, unprotected sex (please don’t do this at home), soft dom seungmin makes a return <3

wc: 2.9k

note: ty to the anon who requested this!! it is very self indulgent i will not lie, but i had fun writing it!!

enjoy <3

If Kim Seungmin was one thing, it was the bane of your existence.

Okay, maybe you were being a little dramatic.

Kim Seungmin was many things. He was quiet for the most part, but also thoughtful, funny, sweet, and he was definitely the cutest boy you’d ever met. Kim Seungmin was without a doubt the best boyfriend you could’ve asked for.

But right now you couldn’t focus on any of that. You weren’t thinking about his thoughtfulness, like when he got you that butterfly bracelet you’d been eyeing for weeks (the one that was currently on your wrist, because you refused to ever take it off). You weren’t thinking about how funny or sweet he was, or any other parts of his personality that you’d fallen head over heels for. No, you weren’t thinking about any of them.

Because right now Kim Seungmin, who was sitting across from you at one of the tables in the library meant for studying, was twirling the stupid little puppy pen you’d gotten him between his stupidly long fingers, making you unable to focus on anything else besides how hot your boyfriend was with his stupid, veiny, attractive hands.

So yes, Kim Seungmin was the bane of your existence, and the cause of all your problems.

After what was most likely several minutes of you staring at his hands and imagining all the nasty, dirty, pleasurable things he could do to you with them, Seungmin finally broke the silence.

“I can feel you staring you know.”

“Good.”

He finally tore his eyes away from the book laid on the table in front of him, looking up at you with a raised brow. “Are you that desperate for my attention?”

He was still messing with the pen, and you spared his hand a quick glance. “It’s your fault for distracting me.”

“I’m not even doing anything. Maybe you should work on not getting distracted so easily.”

“Trust me, you were doing plenty. Are doing plenty.”

“Am I?” He finally put the pen down to cross his arms, leaning back in his seat. He was wearing his glasses today, and it made him look even more attractive in your mind. Either your sexual appetite had skyrocketed, or Seungmin was just unfairly hot in everything he did. Probably both.

“Yes. You know exactly what certain parts of you do to me.”

“Ah yes, I’d almost forgotten about your hand kink.”

“I do not have a hand kink!” You protested, probably too loud for a library, but this was the one on campus filled with college students. They’d probably heard (and seen) weirder things than a couple arguing over what kinks one of them had.

“Really? That’s not what you were saying the other night when I had my fingers shoved in your mouth and you were drooling all over them.” You knew exactly what night he was talking about, and you fought back a shudder at the memory of how hard he made you cum.

You rolled your eyes instead. “Yeah, because I couldn’t say anything, Sherlock. You kept shoving your fingers deeper every time I tried to.”

“Like you didn’t love it.” Seungmin scoffed.

You moved to the edge of your seat and began rubbing Seungmin’s ankle with your own, wasting no time in going higher to brush over his shin and calf as well. “I never said that I didn’t.”

Even though he pretended to be unaffected, you knew your boyfriend too well. You knew exactly how much he liked the cute little pastel blue skirt you were wearing, as well as the white thigh high stockings you usually wore with it, today being no exception. And you especially knew how much he liked to fuck you in them.

The two of you engaged in a silent staring contest, practically daring the other to break first.

“Are you really trying to play footsies with me in the library?” He asked, grabbing your ankle and moving your foot back to the floor just as you reached his knee.

“Well I was…” You pouted. “C’mon Seungminie, don’t you wanna have your way with me? Fuck me until I’m crying for it? Hmm or maybe you’d want to shove me down on my knees and make me choke on you?” You bit your lip, glancing down at his hands again. “Mm, doesn’t that sound nice? My mouth on your perfect cock, your hands in my hair, pulling it as much as you like?”

Seungmin clenched his jaw, and for one brief second you thought you might’ve actually upset him, but then he was slamming his book closed and standing up.

“You’re so fucking insufferable sometimes, you know that?” He grabbed his backpack from the seat next to him before walking to the other side of the table and holding out a hand.

“Well?” He prompted when you merely looked at it with wide eyes. “You wanted me to fuck you so bad you were talking like someone in a cheap porno, and I’m not gonna do it here, so let’s go.”

“Wait, for real?” You grabbed your bag and took his hand, letting him tug you up and smiling giddily when he wrapped his arm around your waist.

Seungmin rolled his eyes as he began guiding you out of the library. “Like I’d be stupid enough to pass up my girlfriend offering her pussy up on a silver platter.”

“Kim Seungmin!”

You could feel his lips curl up into a smile as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Oh, so now you’re shy?”

You’d barely made it into your dorm room before Seungmin had you pressed up against the door with his tongue shoved down your throat, kissing you like you hadn’t seen each other in months. You moaned against his lips, reveling in the feeling of having him pressed tight up against you after feeling needy for so long.

Eventually, when the need for air became too strong for either of you to ignore, Seungmin pulled away from your mouth with a quick scrape of teeth to your lip.

As he began kissing and nibbling on your neck, you couldn’t help but giggle. “Now who’s desperate?”

“Still you,” he mumbled, before biting extra hard on a more sensitive spot.

“Says the one trying to maul my neck.” You hissed.

He soothed the stinging flesh with a swipe of his tongue and sucked on the spot briefly. “You were the one trying to give me a foot job in public.”

You made a face, and just as you were going to tell him to never say the words ‘foot’ and job’ right after each other, his hands, the things that started it all, dropped down from your waist to your thighs, just above where your stockings ended. They slid up slowly until he had them firmly planted on your ass, and squeezed.

He moved his head away from your neck to brush his lips against yours. “And you know exactly what this skirt does to me, honey.”

You held back a smirk, blinking up at him innocently. “The thigh highs too, right?”

“You’re a menace to society.”

You moved your hand down from where it was resting on his chest to cup him through his jeans. “You know what they say baby, you are what you eat.”

Seungmin shook his head, but you could tell he was trying to hold back from laughing. “I hate you.”

“Love you too.” You pecked his lips and squeezed his dick. “Now, are we just gonna talk and grope each other or are you going to throw me on the bed and have your way with me?”

“Actually I was thinking-“

“That’s dangerous.”

“-that we could skip the bed today.” His fingers began playing with the band of your panties, snapping the elastic against your hip.

You narrowed your eyes. “If you’re thinking about shower sex you can forget it right now. My knee still hurts from slipping last time.”

“No, not the shower sweetheart.” He kneeled down suddenly, pulling your underwear off and stuffing them in his back pocket. “I was actually thinking about just taking you right here.” He bunched your skirt up and began leaving soft kisses along your thighs.

“H-Here?” You stuttered. “Like, like right here? Against the door?”

“Against the door.” He hummed, kissing along your hip bone, getting closer and closer to where you needed him the most. “Is that okay? Can I have you right here honey?”

“Yes, yes, please, I-“ You gasped as he grabbed your thigh and moved it to rest on his shoulder, exposing your pussy to him. “I’ll let you fuck me anywhere Seungmin just please do it now.”

“I’ll remember that.” He mumbled, burying his face in your cunt and licking a wide strip up your folds before stiffening his tongue and pushing it inside you as far as he could.

“Fuck! Fuck, Minnie, Seungmin, oh my fucking go-“ The hand not gripping your hip and holding your skirt up moved, and suddenly his thumb was rubbing slow, wet, circles on your clit.

The sensations of his mouth licking, sucking, and kissing all over your pussy along with the perfect amount of pressure he was using to stimulate your clit was pushing you towards the edge faster than you could comprehend.

“Seungmin, fuck, I-“ An extra hard suck made your eyes roll to the back of your head. “I’m gonna cum, please, please, can I cum? Seungminie? Can I?”

“Hmm,” The vibrations from his mouth made your legs shake, but then he was pulling away with one last lick to your clit. “No.”

“Seungmin!” You whined, trying to escape the tight grip he had on your hips, but to no avail.

Eventually, when you finally stopped thrashing and simply leaned back against the door, Seungmin stood up and gathered you in his arms, letting you rest your head on his shoulder and nuzzle into his neck. “Are you done with your tantrum now?”

“Fuck you.” You muttered. “You’re an awful, rotten, terrible person.”

“Oh really?” He kissed the top of your head. “I guess I should go home then, since I’m such an awful, rotten, terrible person. Surely you wouldn’t want someone like that to fuck you, no?”

Your grip on his shirt tightened. “Don’t you dare.”

“Then let go of me and let me get you ready for my cock.”

“I am ready, I’ve been ready, just stick it in already!” You whined.

Seungmin sighed and kissed your forehead. “How romantic.”

You glared at him. “If you wanted romance you should’ve asked Felix to date you.”

Your boyfriend jerked back as if he’d been slapped and scrunched his nose up in a look of disgust. “Are you trying to make my dick go soft? Because I can assure you, mentioning my roommate is the fastest way to do that.”

“Come on Minnie,” You huffed. “Don’t you wanna fuck me? Get your cock nice and wet inside my hot, tight, little pussy? I promise I’ll treat you so good.”

Seungmin sighed. “And the bad porno talk is back.”

“Well that ‘bad porno talk’ just made your cock twitch against my hip.” You raised a brow.

His cheeks flushed a soft pink. “Shut up. Do you want me to fuck you or not?”

“I think we both know the answer to that babe, do you even have to ask?”

“Not really, no.” Seungmin turned you around and pressed down on your back, making you arch so your ass was sticking out. “I just like hearing how desperate you can get for me.” You heard a zipper being pulled down as well as the shuffling of clothes, before he pressed up against your back and you could feel his cock rubbing up against your pussy, coating it thoroughly in your slick.

“C’mon Minnie, please, please,” You were getting worked up again, but you knew Seungmin loved it. “Want you so bad, want your cock so bad, please fuck me.”

“Alright sweetheart, calm down.” He kissed your cheek softly and rubbing his hands up and down your sides in an attempt to soothe you. “I’ll fuck my pretty girl just like she wants, don’t worry.”

While one of his hands moved up to your blouse to start unbuttoning it, the other went down to guide his cock into your soaked pussy.

“Fuck-“ He breathed once he was buried to the hilt inside you. “You really weren’t kidding about being wet, were you.”

You shook your head, focusing on how good it felt to finally have him inside you after being desperate for him almost all day.

His other hand finally got your blouse unbuttoned, and he wasted no time in pulling the cups of your bras down and replacing them with his hands, squeezing and rubbing his thumbs over your nipples. “You okay for me to start moving sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” You whimpered. “P-Please move.”

He pulled his hips back slowly, making sure you felt every ridge and vein on his cock, before shoving himself back in. It only took a few more thrusts like that to have you whining at him to go faster.

“But I thought you said I could have you any way I wanted? What if I wanted you like this?” He moved his hips away, leaving you with his cock buried only halfway inside.

“Seungmin!” You sobbed, feeling tears start to form in your eyes. “Don’t tease me, please, just-just want you to fuck me like you mean it.”

Seungmin pressed back up against you, burying himself as deep inside you as he could get. “Poor baby,” He kissed along your shoulder, up your neck, all the way to the corner of your mouth. “Look at me sweetheart.”

You turned your head and immediately his lips were on yours, kissing you deeply.

“You really need it, huh?” He asked breathlessly after breaking the kiss.

You nodded pitifully. “Don’t wanna think about anything else but you and how good you make me feel.”

“Alright sweet girl, I’ll be nice.” He pressed another kiss to your neck.

His next thrust, and every one after that, felt like anything but him being “nice”, but the amount of pleasure and pure fucking relief of finally being fucked like you wanted was too much for you to try and say something sarcastic. You couldn’t think of anything but Seungmin, Seungmin, Seungmin.

“Fuck, baby,” He moaned, voice deeper and breathy, and you couldn’t help but clench around him, loving the fact that you had just as much as an effect on him that he did on you.

“Fuckfuckfuck- Sweetheart, darling, don’t fucking do that or else I’ll cum before either of us want me to.” His right hand left your breast to smack down harshly on your ass, and you bit your lip to stop yourself from doing something embarrassing. Like whining just from having your boyfriend spank you.

“Seungmin, Minnie,” You panted. “Please, gonna cum soon, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

“Yeah? Is my pretty doll gonna cum for me?” His thrusts stayed the same, no speeding up, or slowing down, nothing. It was the same, rough yet steady pace he had set, and the consistency drove you crazy, edging you even closer to your release.

“Please, please, please!” You weren’t sure why or even what you were pleading for, but Seungmin seemed to know your body better than you did, as the hand previously gripping your ass slid around your waist and down to where the two of you were connected.

All it took was one, harsh rub on your clit paired with the fingers of his other hand pinching your nipple, and suddenly your pussy was clenching around him right as you came with a loud sob that vaguely sounded like your boyfriend’s name.

“Good girl,” Seungmin groaned. “Such a good girl for me, aren’t you honey?”

You could only manage a weak nod as Seungmin continued fucking you.

“Where should I cum baby? Hm? Where do you want it?”

“In-Inside, Minnie. Please. Wan-Want your cum so bad.”

It was like something in Seungmin snapped as his grip on you grew tighter and he started fucking his cock into you even harder. “I love you sweetheart, love you so much. You’re so good, so good, love your pussy, love your tits, love you, loveyouloveyouloveyou-“

You both moaned as Seungmin came inside you, filling you up with his hot, sticky cum.

“That was so good,” You breathed, leaning your head against the door. “Fuck.”

You could feel Seungmin’s mouth curl up in a smile as he buried his face in your neck. “We just did.”

You groaned and half-heartedly tried to push him away. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

He ghosted small kisses all over your neck and shoulder, still not pulling out. He knew you both wanted to stay connected like this just a little longer. “Says the girl who tried to seduce me in a public library.”

“Well, duh.” You rolled your eyes, grabbing the hand that was still cupping your breast and bringing it up to your mouth to press your lips to the back of it. “Have you seen your hands? They’re irresistible!”

Seungmin snorted as he pulled his face away from your neck and kissed your cheek. “I’m glad you think so.”

You sighed happily, snuggling back into him. “Love you, babe.”

“Me or my hands?”

“Seungmin!”

[ten-cent-sleuth]

A Galling Yoke, Part 14

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for the “Take care of them for me, will you?”, “You have no idea what you mean to me”, and Having feelings for someone you hurt squares on my July Break Bingo card

See this post for main info, including a masterlist and synopsis. See this post for warnings.

Word Count: 2.8k

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x f!Reader

Rating: Teen

A couple of hours after Sherlock and William left, one of them returned. It wasn’t until Sherlock walked through the door alone that the reality fully sank in for you: your little brother had overturned his life for you. He had done so of his own volition, and it was entirely possible that he would end up a happier man with the freedom of being a low-status commoner, but you knew you were not successful in reassuring yourself when Sherlock became alarmed and gathered you into his arms.

“Do not cry, petal. Please—I hate to see your tears.”

“Oh, heavens,” you sniffled into his chest. “I have been crying a lot, have I not?”

Leading you to the settee, he said, “Not any more than is warranted given the series of upheavals your life has been recently.”

That got a wet laugh out of you. “Are you actually validating expressions of emotion, Sherlock?”

“Only yours.” He froze halfway through lowering himself to sit beside you. “That is, I care only about your emoti— No, I mean being emotional is only reasonable when it is y— Oh, for pity’s sake.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth to stay the giggles at his sudden ineloquence. The man could monologue on the spot about dastardly deeds and murderous mysteries, but he got tongue-tied trying to comfort a friend! He seemed to recognise the incongruity himself, as he dragged a palm down his face and practically flopped down beside you.

“I am already bungling the one request he made of me,” he groaned.

You sobered quickly at that. “What do you mean? William? What did he say to you?”

“Naught surprising. Asked me about my…” He waved off the rest of the sentence like it was a nuisance of a housefly.

“Your what?” You gawped. “Your intentio—?”

“And then he told me to watch over you in his absence. His single, final request. As I said, naught surprising.”

The scene materialised in your imagination: William emulating Sherlock’s graveness as best he could so that he could deliver his message sternly, “Take care of her for me, will you?” With a fortifying inhale, you let the imagery dissolve.

“What…did you answer?” you questioned, inexplicably nervous to know.

He arched an eyebrow. “Internally, I was rather offended that he thought he had to ask. As though I am going to let you go after only just getting you back.”

Your eyes dropping, you fidgeted with your sleeves, suddenly—and untimeously—remembering that you were in Sherlock’s clothes.

“Ah.” Blast! Really!

“Externally, I reassured him that you can take care of yourself, as evidenced by the past decade and a half—and, frankly, even before that.”

You raised your gaze to smile up at him, pleased by his approbation.

It was his turn to fidget for a moment. “Of course,” he started, flustered, “that means not that I shall stand by. It is clear to me now that I know not always what is best for you—but I do always want what is best for you. No, indeed,” he went on, coolheaded and self-assured now, “I have learnt my lesson and shall never abandon you again.”

Smile widening, you scooted closer to him and tentatively laid your hand on top of the one of his that lay on the settee between you. The back of his hand was rough, cracked by the dry winter air, but all the stronger and warmer feeling for it. “I believe it, sir, and I welcome your presence in my life.”

He, with great care, turned his hand over and threaded his fingers through yours.

Entranced, you smiled down at the sight for quite some time. Your hand fit perfectly in his. This felt just as snug as, though headily more intimate than, being tucked into his side on the street, your arm hooked around his elbow. When you looked up, you found Sherlock’s stare fixed on you.

“Is aught the matter?”

He frowned. “Yes. Or, well, no, not if you would…” The frown deepened to a scowl. “Would you like to know why you are ‘petal’ to me?”

You blinked a few times. The forbidding visage did not match the personal direction this conversation had swerved, until you recognised the discomfort lining Sherlock’s form.

“I have wanted to know since you came up with that little nickname, if you recall,” you replied, keeping your tone light to hopefully lift some of his discomposure. “I only stopped pestering you for an explanation after years of your continual refusing.”

His eyes darted to and from yours. “Well, I continually refused because it was…sentimental.”

“Ah.” Not again! Say something cleverer than that, for heaven’s sake! “Sherlock, the last thing I wish to do is embarrass you. You need not tell me. I had only been curious, and I am content to not know.”

“I wish you to know,” he said, his gaze finally settling on yours. “I always had. It was only my confounded hubris that kept my lips sealed—you know how it is at that age, thinking you can have it all, and I thought I could have you and keep you at a distance at the same time. But now, now, I would have you know that there is naught I guard more closely or hold higher up than you, even any semblance of being superior in my immunity to…well, to sentiment.”

In other words, the olive branch of olive branches, the goodwill gesture of goodwill gestures. The first step of many future steps. You smiled. “I would love to know, sir.”

He shifted closer, close enough that his and your knees touched. “We spent many hours out-of-doors, exploring, talking, getting into minor trouble.”

You smirked. He paused to shoot you a withering look.

“Yes, minor. It was never that bad.”

“Go on, Sherlock.”

“Right. Well. It did not take me long to notice the resemblance between you and the flowers we’d come across, their petals bright, budding…beautiful, of course.”

“Of course,” you said, sounding surprisingly controlled for how quickly you’d lost your breath.

“Yet the petal is a protector,” mused Sherlock. “It is crucial to the survival and prosperity of the flower—but also to its pleasantness. Its homeliness, in a way. The analogy was puerile, yes, but privately charming, and it stuck. When I saw you again, after all of these years apart, these thoughts came back to me, but more…more meaningfully, I suppose, than when I first had them.”

Unsteady, you nodded in understanding. You recalled Sherlock scandalising your butler and your father alike by addressing you with such familiarity; you recalled him trying to cover his tracks by playing it off as something he and Mycroft did. But no, the elder Holmes brother would sooner call you pest than petal. You had allowed Sherlock’s little white lie because you truly had believed it to be a thoughtless slip…and all along, it had been anything but thoughtless.

“The more the old nickname arose in my thoughts,” he said, “the more meaning it carried with it. Even though much has changed for us—and, indeed, between us—I still find you to be the most resplendent, most vivacious part of my life.”

“Truly?” you breathed.

“Well and truly.” He moved the hand of yours that he held into his lap. “That you are astounded surprises me not, for I shall be the first to confess that I am perplexed as to how such tender feelings can persist here.” Balling his other hand into a fist on his knee, he muttered, “It is the epitome of illogic, to care for one whom I have hurt.”

“I have hurt you as well, Sherlock,” you reminded him softly.

“Yes, and yet…” He lifted your hand to his lips and punctuated his words with kisses to your knuckles. “And yet, I would have you, petal. I—your brother simply wants not that you be without friends, but I, selfishly—I would have you as my lifelong puzzle, I would be the certainty throughout your uncertainties…”

In quick succession, memories flashed in your mind: All the times Sherlock had given you his right arm to maximise the support of your injured knee, had taken the time to explain his thought process to you instead of spouting his conclusions and expecting you to follow along, had given you space in his life and work despite his instincts to take it all up himself, had spoken up for you when something discomfited or somebody distressed you. All the ways he had encouraged your theories and supported your contributions to the case, had reached out with logical reasoning and impassioned promises alike to ease your mind whenever necessary, had been attuned to your moods at all and striven to keep you from losing yourself in your troubles or your thoughts, had somehow allowed you to reflect on your past without regret. Together, they formed a mural you had somehow not noticed being built in your heart until this instant—a mural that proved nothing was more certain than that you, without knowing, without having to know, had let Sherlock Holmes into your lifeblood.

“…if you would have me, my lady.”

A tiny breath escaped you. If, indeed. “You have no idea what you mean to me, Sherlock.” Pulling your hand away from his mouth, out of his grip, looping it instead around his neck along with your other arm, you dragged him down to you.

It was not like the kiss from this morning. Indeed, it was not like any kiss you’d ever experienced before: here, in this cranny of the world alone, the air was richer with Sherlock’s warm and enveloping musk, your lungs fuller with the bittersweet blend of old rifts and nascent reconciliation; now, uniquely in this pocket of time, your skin met Sherlock’s in a collision of years-old longing singing out and weeks-long control unravelling at the seams. These precious few minutes were inimitable.

Only the tightness in your gut grounded you as your heartbeat raced high and hard to match the melody of Sherlock’s. His hands roving from your hips to your shoulders were all that propped you up, his hungered breaths into your mouth were all that sustained you.

And soon, that was not enough. With a groan deep in his throat, Sherlock desperately hauled you closer by the nape. You were crushed against his firm front, but with the song in your breast all the louder and higher for it, you sank into the stinging sensation of not being able to catch your breath. Gasping, you raked your hands through his hair, soft curls giving way to your fingers’ ministrations, and tugged at the ends. He nipped at your lips in reply, and you couldn’t help but smile against his mouth at his playfulness.

Your smile widened even as he, pulling away, exhaled a soft laugh and brought you against his chest.

“Are you well?” you asked, still grinning. Your heart and lungs remained abuzz, thrumming with the exhilaration of this moment, of it being real, of you being in it. Deep down, you ached for all the moments you’d lost to resentment and self-grief, yet your blood sang with the triumphant understanding that you had never lost yourself, you had never been given up on.

“I am. Rather…perfect, actually.”

At that, you curled up tighter against him, hiding your smile in the crook of his neck, and he dropped a kiss into your hair.

“I was merely thinking,” he murmured, “having ‘no idea’ bothers me not, just this once.” He paused, and you could practically hear the nonplussed scrunch of his eyebrows. “Love. What it does to people.”

You stifled a ridiculous giddy giggle by kissing the hollow of his throat. Love. Dear heavens, could it really be…? He had declared his love just a fortnight ago, of course, but you hadn’t believed him then. Now. Now…

He started to card his fingers lightly through your hair, and you thought of the other declaration of love he’d made moments ago. He might not have said “My lady, I am in love with you” this time, but he had sounded just as passionate—or, indeed, more so—in his attempt to prove that he was not so leery of irrational sentiment anymore.

A blush bloomed under your collar; oh, yes, Sherlock certainly could be poetic when he wanted to be. Or maybe he didn’t even realise just how poetic he’d sounded, and wasn’t that all the more endearing to you. Regardless, you wouldn’t be thinking of his little nickname for you the same way ever again.

Petal.

Eudoria always loved flowers—maybe that had played a role in Sherlock’s subconscious fixation on them while you were out causing “minor” trouble. But now, you recalled an offhand remark she often made about petals: everyone with taste appreciated their splash of colour and aesthetic variety, but those people were liable to think of them as merely pretty and delicate; only those with scientific minds could see past that, could see their deeper worth in the leading roles they played in a flower’s lifetime, could appreciate them fully.

And who had a scientific mind if not Sherlock Holmes?

He who had not believed you were a killer even if it was logical, he who had nursed you back to health even if it was illogical, he who would choose you when it was totally nonsense—through total nonsense—was Sherlock Holmes. If there was another person out there who could be right for you, you did not want to find them; you did not want anyone else to be the certainty throughout your uncertainties; and you wanted nothing more than to be the lifelong puzzle of the man you loved.

You ducked your head and searched for Sherlock’s hand, playing nervously with those clever digits once you found it. “Sherlock,” you said. “There is something I wish to tell you.”

“There is something I wish to tell you as well.”

Your breath left you in one fell swoop.

“I had wanted to tell you as soon as I returned, but then you started crying, and we had that conversation and intense osculation session—”

Heat cascaded from your head to your neck. “Yes, Sherlock, I was there.”

“I only mean to say that there did not seem to be a good time.”

Biting your lip, you forced your head up to meet his gaze in spite of your self-consciousness. “Well,” you said, deciding to let Sherlock say the words before you did if he wanted the honour so strongly, “you may speak first, sir.”

He smiled down at you. “I thank you, my sweet.”

You smiled up at him, your heart beating a more and more sweeping staccato of anticipation.

“After escorting Pashbroke to Scotland Yard and ensuring the case was in good hands, I decided to stop by Voss House since Grosvenor Square is on the way here.”

Your smile started to fade.

“I had wanted to update your loyal Mr and Mrs Rogers about your condition, you see, and hoped to grab some clothes for you while I was at it.”

Oh, dear. This wasn’t going where you’d expected, was it?

“But plans changed. As my hansom approached your address, I saw a cabriolet parked outside that boasted your family crest. Naturally, I deduced that your father was there—”

“What?”

“—so I told the driver to not stop after all…my lady, where are you going?”

On your feet now, you pressed a palm to your forehead. “Gracious. How could I have forgotten?” You shook your head and focused on getting a move on. “Sherlock, where are the clothes I was wearing when I arrived here? I ought not to appear in men’s garments and appal Father any more than I already shall when he finds out about— Oh, Father knows not what has happened with William… Heaven help me, I shall have to explain it all… Well, a confrontation would have been inevitable, at any rate, given my promise…”

“What promise?” he questioned, hot on your heels as you raced to and fro to get ready to leave. “And why are you in such a rush? Ought you to be convalescing while—?”

“I have been convalescing all morning—in front of a very pleasant fire, no less. I can handle teatime with my father,” you declared. “Now, sir: my clothes?”

With a sigh, Sherlock led you to where your numerous layers had been left to dry, evidently giving credit to your claim that tea with Lord Coltidge was well within your capabilities. Now, if only you could do the same.

Thank you for reading, and thank you to @every-username-is-taken-damnit, @wa-ni, and @marveldcmistress for helping me face the daunting task of writing The Kiss Scene lol. Feedback is always welcome!

Taglist [comment below if you’d like to be added!]: @theyaremorethanjustfictional @wonderlandfandomkingdom

[stupidthoughtsinwriting]

Spiraling (Sherlock Holmes)

Hi, this is just a thought I've concocted. I honestly dont know what it is. I dont know if anybody will enjoy it, i hope they do but i already expect disappointment. Pardon my writing as i am still new to this. there was still a bit left after this but i didnt know how to run through it so just posted this but maybe ill finish that one once ive thought it through

Summary: After an accident during a case, a hostage situation leaves you in a coma for a week. During that week in the hospital, things are going horribly in Baker Street

‘Ohh Sherlock darling that’s beautiful, though I haven’t heard it before. Dare I ask who wrote that’ I asked Sherlock as he played the unfamiliar song. It was odd that I was unfamiliar with the beautiful tune as Sherlock has played plenty and more melodies than I can count, all of which I was familiar with, however that was new. I knew that he likes to compose as it helps him think but this was different, so I assumed was he’s playing another great’s piece. His melodies were always a bit solemn, deep and intense but this was lively, light and dare I say romantic.

‘Me’ he said flatly as he continued to play. Shocked as I was, I remained quiet as he carried on fiddling with his violin. Apparently, the shock was evident in my face as a smirked crossed his. I shrugged it off and listened until he finished the number. He was focused on the violin when he started to play but now his gaze was held on me. I gave him a soft smile which caused his features to soften into a smile of its own.

After a little while he finished and set the instrument on his chair, eyes still fixed on me. The grin I’ve plastered on grew wider as he walks over to me, hand in offering. I accepted and rose from my seat as he led the way to an open area. He moved to face me, a hand that belonged to him crept up to my waist and the hand he held in his was raised. Confused of his actions, I went along with it and raised my free arm to his shoulder, having an inkling where this was going. Guessing correctly, we moved around the living area, dancing as much we could in the small, confined space. Having known the dance as the same one done at John’s wedding; I was pleased to not have forgotten the steps.

As we continued waltzing, I asked ‘what has you all cheery?’

‘What has you so inquisitive’ he countered

‘Fair enough, though what had transpired to get you to write such a beautiful melody’

‘Nothing just got bored, so I composed. I was just very fortunate enough to have a great model and inspiration.’ He smiled as I beamed at the realization of what he meant. I was sat all day reading -a rather fascinating book might I add- on John’s chair as the boys finished up on a case. He’d come in around just after noon, bored of having been done with the previous case and not being on one currently. I greeted him when he walked in and went to the kitchen to fix up some tea. When I returned, giving one of the two mugs to him -a kiss on the head as a thank you-, I returned to finishing my book.  

We continued dancing around the flat for a little while, nothing but the silent music and the rustling of our feet was heard. I laid my head on his shoulder at some point, happy and content of where I was and what I was doing. His voice broke the silence as we went for one last round.

‘Darling, can you do me a favour?’ he asked, voice a bit changed from the one he used earlier but I thought nothing of it.

‘Sure love, what is it?’

‘Wake up. Don’t leave me. Please come back to me’ His voice was now pleading and serious.

I raised my head as I said ‘What are you talking about, I’m right…’ I paused as his body and hold were loosening and disappearing ‘…here’ I continued with my sentence as I raised my hands to hold Sherlocks face. Everything had started to disappear in black. The flat and slowly his body.  

‘Please come back, I can’t lose you, I need you please’ were his final words as he disappeared, slipping through my fingers, into the darkness. Nothing but a spotlight overhead of me. I put down my hands from where they were clutching on to his face, looking around into nothing but darkness.

…

‘Ey, how’s she doing?’ Greg asked John as he walked into the hospital room. It was quiet, nothing but the steady beeping of the heart monitor, breathing of the people in the room and the rain pattering on the window. John was sat at the chair at the end of the bed where you laid, nearly dozing off but was aroused by Lestrade breaking the silence of the room. Mycroft, unnoticed yet by the DI was stood at the dark corner beside the door. He was staring at your unmoving body, wondering how such a fierce, smart, brave and strong woman could ever lay looking so fragile.

‘Same as yesterday’ John replied with a yawn. The lot of them have been juggling staying here with you, looking after Sherlock and taking care of Rosie. John and Molly’s focus were taking care of Rosie, while Mrs. Hudson looked after Sherlock somewhat. She’d inform their little group of what’s been happening with him, keeping tabs of his activities and mayhem in the flat but the woman could only do so much. Greg checked up on him from time to time, more often than John and Molly but it was no use. What greeted them was a mess that was once the great Detective Sherlock Holmes. No one could get through to him but you. Even Mycroft tried, but he knew that what his brother needed, and the lack of it resulted into relapsing back to old habits.

John went straight here after Molly came to take care of Rosie. He was absolutely knackered. Rosie couldn’t sleep through the night which kept him up as well. He’s been living off of pots of coffee the past week with barely enough sleep. He’d nod off at times when it was his watch and the others would let him.

Mycroft came to check on you from time to time and occasionally kept watch of you as well. He knew that when you woke up and found him fully rested, not having bothered with helping the others, you’d have his head.

Now it seems the boys are all here at once. Greg came to relieve John of his duties to get some rest and inform him of the situation with the younger of the Holmes brothers, still unaware that the older was in the room.

‘Just got a message from Mrs. Hudson about our boy, it isn’t good.’ Greg announces, drawing Mycroft to rub his temples and John to release a sigh. Ever since the accident, Sherlock has only visited you once. The lot of em guessed he couldn’t bear to see you that way so for the past week, he’s been holed up in Baker Street.

‘Christ, what the bloody hell has he done now’ John said exasperated. He was exhausted. Before Greg could respond, another did.

‘You wouldn’t want to know’ Mycroft breathed out. Lestrade’s head snaped to the corner of the room, where the voice originated. Mycroft walked to the centre of the room, down the foot of your bed. Greg’s eyes followed, still startled by the unseen fellow.

‘What are you doing here’ he asked Holmes.

‘I could ask you the same thing’ the eldest Holmes retorted.

‘It’s my shift with y/n’

‘Well there’s no need, you lot look like rubbish’

‘Gee Myc, thanks’ John interrupted.

‘As I was saying,’ he continued, glaring at Watson ‘You lot should get some rest. If y/n finds you’ve been staying here with her, tired and looking like rubbish, she’d have my head.’

‘She’d already be livid by us just not leaving her alone’ John chuckled

‘Ohh wait till she sees Sherlock, she’d be in flames carving us up’ Lestrade groaned with a snicker, rubbing his head at the thought.

‘She already is’ said an unknown voice. A voice they were familiar with but haven’t heard in a while.

All three heads snapped towards the bed. There they found a woman shifting in the bed, trying to sit up, groaning as a pang of pain shot up her shoulder and stomach. Her eye’s fluttering, adjusting to the light and scene in front of her. John quickly stood up from where he was sat as all three men went to check on y/n.

‘Call the nurses and her doctor’ John ordered to anyone in the room, mainly the two lads he was in conversation with and Lestrade followed, rushing from the room to get your attendants.

‘Hey there, sleeping beauty, stop moving around, your going to pop your stitches. Do you remem…’ John fretted as he started examining you, but got cut off.

‘Oh shut it John, I’m fine. Yes I remember what happened. I got shot. Last thing I remember was staring at a barrel of a gun. My name is Y/N Y/L/N, I’m presuming I’m in the hospital. I’m also presuming Elizabeth is still the queen of England now leave me alone.’ She growled and the former army doctor backed away as her doctor came in with a few others, some nurses followed by Lestrade.

‘Ahh, it seems our VIP has awoken’ the doctor said.

‘VIP!’ She took another once over the room, seeing it is rather posh than a normal one, but her focus was on the three blokes taking a laugh at what her reaction was to be when she woke, before she shot her gaze to Mycroft who is to the right of her bed ‘Mycroft Holmes you moved me to a VIP room!’ she fumed as the government official backed away.

‘Okay Ms. Y/L/N please calm down. If you don’t mind, I will perform an examination to check your abilities.’ The doctor mused as he slowly and carefully approached the bed. He asked for permission to lift up your gown to examine the wound on your stomach. You waved him off and he began asking questions.

‘Ughh, John repeat’ you grumbled, already having answered the question before John could even ask.

‘She’s fine, she answered the questions before I could even ask.’ John explained to the doctor who nodded. He asked to uncover your shoulder, as he covered your stomach, to examine the wound on your there. Complying, he examined your arm. After the examination of the wounds, he checked your mobility and reflexes, lifting up your arms and etcetera. Finished with the inspection, he explained what happened to you medically. Apparently, the shot had you fall backward, in which you hit you head very hard -that explained the headaches-. You got shot at four times, three bullet hit you. One just a graze, one a flesh wound on the shoulder and the last on the edge of your stomach. It hit no vital organs but did graze the stomach. They took you to surgery and came out with minimal complications. They left you in a medically induced coma for a day to get the swelling on your head down. You haven’t woken up till now. You nodded every so often until he left, leaving you in the room with the boys and a nurse checking up on your vitals.

Running your uninjured hand to your hair, which was full of knots and a tangled mess, you sighed. You had pads stuck on your shoulder, stomach and arm, covering the holes and grazes on each area. The doctor said it was a miracle that you haven’t sustained much damage. He said miracle, you thought those were the odds of your predicament. ‘It could have been worse’ he said, that you believed. ‘You were lucky’ he added, you didn’t believe in luck.

‘Did anybody else get hurt?’ You asked, eyes closed, leaning back on the bed.

‘No, everyone’s fine, the hostages weren’t harmed, just… you’ John hesitated as he knew the lot of them were threading on thin waters.

‘How bad is it’ You asked, looking at Greg. He knew what you were talking about, he’d be stupider than you thought if he didn’t. He realized you must have heard his news about your lover. He doesn’t respond immediately, hesitating. Just from that you knew it was bad.

‘Bad’ he replied anxiously

‘Be more specific’ you sneered, ticked off from the lack of detail

‘He’s using’ John said plainly. ‘He is, isn’t he?’

‘Yes’ both Mycroft and Greg replied.

‘Fuck’ you breathed out, unintentionally ran you hand through your hair again, pissed to be greeted with a tangled mess. You look at John. He looked tired, bags and dark circles under his eyes, he looks like rubbish.

‘How long was I out again’ you asked, having ignored the doctor most of the time during his explanation, you let that little information slip.

‘A week’ John answered. You nodded as a thought crossed you.

‘Where’s, who’s with Rosie?’ you asked, concern over who’s with your god daughter. John smiled at your concern over his offspring.

‘She’s fine, she’s with Molly.’ he explained. You let out a breath, wincing a bit at the movement. You were given a PCA pump to help you control your pain, you pressed the button to add a dosage, not to much to get you fucked high but enough so the pain was manageable.

‘Speaking of, I should inform her and Mrs. Hudson that you’re awake.’ he said pulling out his phone.

‘Wait. Where are my things’ you asked so to get your own phone. The nurse’s head picked up and she gave you a plastic bag full of your belongings. You greeted her thanks as she continued on scribbling on her clip board.

‘John, could you get me anything to eat, I’m starving’ you asked your friend. He gave you a soft smile and nodded, glad that you had an appetite, he headed out to the canteen. Your gaze moved on to Mycroft who was sat on a chair near the window.

‘You, get me a less fancy room please. I do not want to be treated as if I’m royalty.’ he opened his mouth to object, but you cut him off. ‘Please’ you begged, which caused his resolve to break and agree. Not many could order around the Holmes boys, you were just one of the few that could. He left the room with his cane in tow, shutting the door. The nurse was about to leave as well but you called her over before she could.

‘Hi, could you please get me an AMA to sign and please be discreet.’ you told her gently but the intent an order. She looked at you for a second before nodding quickly and rushing out to get the document. You knew very well you could just leave without signing a damn thing but you didn’t want to cause a problem with the hospital, so this is just a courtesy.

‘What the are you doing’ Lestrade asked you as you ripped open the bag full of your stuff.

‘Did you guys get me anything to change?’ you said as you riffled through the bag looking for your phone.

‘Yah um sure.’ He went over to the closet and took a bag from a shelve. ‘Molly went to your flat while you were in surgery.’ He explained putting the bag on the bed. Having found your phone, you opened the bag he had given you and took out a change of clothes. You grabbed a clean pair of knickers, your denim jeans, a white shirt and a blue cardigan from the bag as you told Greg to close the curtains and look away. He followed as you gently put on your underwear and jeans. Taking a deep breath, you pressed the button of the PCA pump to administer a bit more, scratch that, a lot more of morphine a few more times before pulling the needle out. You grimaced and threw the needle away. The nurse happens to have chosen that moment to come in and see what you were doing. She came to help you and pulled a plaster from one of the many drawers of medical equipment next to the machines. Greg who was still looking at the window asked what was happening.

‘Nothing just… did Molly happen to bring me any shoes’

‘Uhh yeah, bottom of the bag’ he replied.

‘Okay’ you say as the nurse helps you with your bra and shirt. You carefully put your arm through the hole of the shirt and rummaged through the bag of your items for a hair tie, your hair was killing you. Having found one, you attempted to tie your hair but a pang of pain shot your shoulder and stomach, mild but it was still there. The nurse having noticed this took the hair tie from you and tied your hair up in a bun. You were so very grateful for her at that moment.

‘Greg you can turn around now.’ Following your orders, he turned to see you fully clothed, a nurse tying up your hair.

‘What the bloody hell are you doing’ he exclaimed as he walked over to face you.

‘You are taking me to Baker Street.’ You say flatly as you reached for the clip board of forms.

‘I am not’ He handed it to you, and you asked for a pen.

‘You are’ you said sternly, leaving no room for argument.

With a sigh, he found one in his coat and handed it to you. You quickly scribbled and signed the discharge papers before handing them to the nurse, who was removing the rest of the wires attached to you.

‘Can you find me a wheelchair’ you asked Lestrade who fully knew it was an order and not a request. Grumbling he followed and left the room leaving you with the nurse. You pulled the shoes from the bag, threw the plastic bag of bloody garments in and zipped it shut. Slipping on the trainers carefully, you stood up fully from the bed and walked around with the help of the nurse, to wake up your legs from its week rest. Your clothes hung loose and big as you’ve lost a bit of weight during your hibernation. As you walk around the room, your leg starts to get a bit more feeling. The morphine was relieving most of your pain but that didn’t mean there still wasn’t some left.

Lestrade came in with a wheelchair as you’ve just slipped on the cardigan. You took a seat from the chair and asked for you bag to be placed on your lap. You thank the nurse, asking for her name as you were going to send her a gift basket or something as a thank you for getting you out of the hospital. She bided you with instructions and precautions with wounds, which you told her to tell John when he got back from the cafeteria. A thought occurred and you also asked her for a favour of giving John a few of the pain meds -morphine really- when he returned and maybe a suture kit, she nodded questionably. You thanked her one more time before asking Lestrade to wheel you to his car and head to Baker Street. You made a mental note of giving that nurse a very good thank you basket for all the things she’s done for you.

…

As Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs, a tray of tea and biscuits in hand, she heard the ramblings of her tenant. From what she can tell, he was reciting Shakespeare. As she slowly opened the kitchen door -finding it much safer than the main one directly opening to the flat-, she’d find her kitchen a mess. Her table filled with beakers, a microscope, tubes and whatnot with a bunch of other experiments in different bins. Her counters and cabinets filled with the same thing, with an added touch of pinned and hanging files and photographs. The floors ridded with stacked piles of papers and boxes. She just managed to squeeze in her tray of tea and biscuits on the table, before being startled by a gunshot. She jumped and headed to the living room where the shots originated, checking on the lad she treated like a son. As she finally managed to weave her way to the living space, she was greeted by another shot, one her wall had to suffer.

She found Sherlock shouting and waving a revolver, as he rounded the flat like a mad man.

‘Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead. In peace there's nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, then imitate the action of the tiger; ' he recited loudly, pacing around the flat, pointing the gun at pictures that hang on strings and objects he found no longer useful, before shooting a picture pinned on the wall.

Startled from the shots fired and getting quite scared of Sherlocks erratic behaviour -though she’s somewhat used to this-, she rushes out the flat and down the stairs. She was going to ring up John or Lestrade to inform them of the increase in violence in the detective’s behaviour. More shots followed at her decent down the stairs when the front door slammed open revealing a y/h/c head of hair she knew belonged to the only person who could help the bloke who live in the flat she just rushed out on.

…

As the car got closer to 221 Baker Street, a clear sound of a bullet wrang through the block. A sound I know a bit too well from a recent experience. I flew out of the vehicle before Greg could even stop the car, pain searing through my body at the force of my movements. A faint ‘Eyy’ was heard coming from Greg but again faint as I was rushing to the front door.

‘STAY THERE’ I shouted back. The slanted knocker flew at the force of the door being slammed open. That was going to leave a dent on the partition, but I didn’t care.

‘Y/N!’ Mrs. Hudson was descending the stairs but was frozen in place at my arrival. I quickly sped up the stairs, past the landlady as pain wrecked through my body. ‘NOBODY COME UP HERE’ I shouted again, my throat getting sore even from the minimal exchange of words. I slow my steps as I get to the closed door of the flat, a booming voice heard from this side of the door. I slowly and very carefully open the door, not wanting to startle and get sent to the hospital with another bullet wound.

‘On, on, you noblest English. Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof! Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, have in these parts from morn till even fought and sheathed their swords for lack of argument’

‘Sherlock’ I said softly, announcing my arrival in between his rant. As I entered, I find chaos with the man I found to love in the centre of it all. What once was a somewhat organized flat, morphed as if a tornado passed through. Papers and pictures cloud and scattered on any available space. Strings hang at odd places. Bullet holes and pictures fill the walls, shattered pieces of glass crowd the floor along with knocked over furniture. It’s a mess.

You look up at Sherlock after scanning the room. Focusing on the detective, you take in his ragged and worn appearance. His curly head of hair, a greasy mess, sticking out at odd places. A heavy stubble has grown from the lack of shaving the past week. His features, primarily his jaw and cheekbones sharp from the scarce to none amount of food consumed. His skin, sickly pale as mine from when I woke up just less than an hour ago. His clothes hung loose on his body, the navy robe wrapped around him, fluttering as it followed his movement. He looks worse than me at the moment.

‘Dishonour not your mothers; now attest That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you. Be copy now to men of grosser blood, and teach them how to war.’

He’s ranting, no reciting Henry the Fifth at the top of his lungs, waving the revolver around as he paced the flat, pulling at the papers stuck on the mirror, kicking anything his foot touched. Still in the midst of this chaos, what stood out to me were his eyes. Rounded by dark circles, sunken deep. However, behind those blue changing orbs, were emotions. I was always rather good at reading him, but his eyes always gave me the confirmation of my suspicions. Now what hid behind those beautiful cerulean blue orbs was guilt, worry and anger. I know that Sherlock cares for me and he has told me himself that he loves me, but I never knew that my absence would ever have this affect on him. Come to think of it, we’ve gone through far worse incidents but on the other hand he was always the one on that deep end. I never thought and always assumed that nobody cared enough for me to care if I was ever injured or dead. How wrong am I.

With a sigh, I whispered ‘Oh Sherlock what have you done’. I gulped before finding my voice to speak out again. I don’t think he knows of my presence yet as he’s still quite dramatically delivering the scene.

‘And you, good yeoman, whose limbs were made in England, show us here the mettle of your pasture.’

‘Sherlock’ I spoke up, receiving no response nor acknowledgement in return.

‘Let us swear That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not; For there is none of you so mean and base, that hath not noble lustre in your eyes’

‘Sherlock’ I say louder, hoping to break through his train of thought.

 ‘I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, straining upon the start. The game's afoot: Follow your spirit, and upon this charge cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!’ He finished loudly before sending steady shots at a picture pinned to the wall behind the couch, causing me to duck with a whimper, my hand flying to my stomach. I definitely popped a few stiches.

‘SHERLOCK’ I screamed, only to have the colt pointed at me again. Having a bit of a deja vu as the last thing I remember before waking up this noon was staring a barrel of a gun. Quite used to this from my previous job and years running around with the boys, I’m fairly tired of it. I raise my hands as a faint of innocence, hoping once again to save another trip to the hospital.

‘Sherlock’ I repeated softly, wincing as I slowly stand. A wave of recognization flashes through him and he wavers slightly. Taking the opportunity, quickly taking a step closer -ignoring the throbbing pain coursing through me-, I smack the hand that wields the gun upwards, causing his grip to falter and ultimately letting go of the gun. I quickly snatch the revolver mid-air with my other hand, a tight grip on the handle, holding it far away from him, taking a few steps back.

A bit fazed from recent actions, Sherlock remains frozen, possibly shocked from my presence. I on the other hand go to remove the bullets from the cylinder but find it empty, before place the firearm on the coffee table that was pushed to the side. I wince again when I stand up straight after bending to place the gun carefully on the table. I turn back to him, his stare boring a hole through me. I say his name in a soft tone once more as I slowly walk back over to him. A foot remains, the distance being the only barrier keeping us apart.

I see him looking over every inch of me, deliberating if I was a hallucination from his drugged high or really standing in front of him. He’s deducing every little detail on me after being deprived of my appearance the week. Greg told me while we were in the car that he’s only come to see me once during my stay at the hospital.

I say his name again and close the distance, sparing him the torture I’m sure he’s come up with trying to push through the intoxication. I place my palm on his cheek, caressing the sharp jawline as is eyes flutter to a close. He melts under my fingertips and leans into the hand. A bit of my heart chips and withers away, the sight of him, he looks tired, exhausted.

‘Ohh darling what happened to you’ I whisper.

My other arm goes to rub his back but instead decides to scream in pain. Sherlock feeling the wince, opens his eyes and draws back, terrified at the thought of him hurting me. With a deep breath, I try close the distance again, yet he moves away.

‘I’m fine.’ I gave him my best smile and fill the space keeping us apart. My good arm wraps around him. He hesitates but wraps his arms around me before breaking down. No one has anyone seen Sherlock Holmes break down. No one even knows if he’s ever had a break down, possibly besides his family. Mycroft told me of his emotional youth. Yes, he was traumatized after Redbeard but as far as I was told he never broke down. Not like this.

His head drops and hides at the crook of my neck, hugging me in a tight embrace, not enough to hurt much but there were still bits of it, the morphine dosage I took evidently wasn’t enough or the hospital have bloody horrible pain meds, I choose to believe in the latter. I resulted to bending my other arm caress his back, moving the good one to his hair as I kissed his head. He then sobbed, soaking up the fabric of my garments before collapsing. I eased him down the messy floor carefully -a bit more for my sake than his-, letting out a shush as he sobbed. I grimaced a bit a few times, letting out a small hiss that was thankfully barely audible due to his snivelling. Sitting at the back of my legs, I held the man I would, without second thought give my life for if it came to it. The man that has managed to capture my heart without realizing it. The man many have called heartless but had the biggest of them all.

‘it’s okay darling, let it out’ I whispered to his ear.

I held him for a long while. Rubbing his back, caressing his hair, ignoring the pain of my wounds, consoling and murmuring words of comfort into his ear. At some point the tears stopped, left with sniffles before ending up with his slow and steady breathing down my neck. He fell asleep. I smile, he was finally getting some rest and I was happy with that. Considering the state he was in I doubt at the possibility of him getting any sleep. I kissed the side of his face that was still tucked on my shoulder. He nuzzled himself closer and his never faltering grip on my ribs tightened a bit.

With my good hand, I reached to my back pocket, grabbing my phone to send a text to the boys. At some point during the wall getting packed with bullets and me consoling Sherlock, I heard the taxi pull up at front, the sound of the front door opening and the unmistakable voice that belonged to John. He had attempted to go up, but Mrs. Hudson stopped him, the same thing she did to Lestrade and the same thing she did to Mike after John had asked.

I sent a text to John You can come up now. A minute later, the stairs rumbled at the footfalls of the men rushing to flat. I looked at the open door and saw all three – or two as Mike is taking his time waiting for the two to pass- dashing to check up on us. I sent a glare at them for their loud behaviour as they stepped to 221b. I shushed them and they apologized quietly.

‘Help me get him to bed please.’ I said in a nicer tone as I’ve realized I haven’t exactly been the kindest, ordering them around. Of course that’s what I was still doing but it was better to ask or demand in a kinder tone. Greg came up to us and I kissed Sherlocks temples one more time before slowly releasing his grip on me. He stirred but I managed to lull him back to his slumber. With the help of John, they carried the detective to his room and carefully -instructed by me after sending a glare- laid him on the bed. I haven’t bothered to stand up yet so when Mycroft came up to me and offered his hand, I accepted, wincing and grimacing when ache and agony shot at different part of my body. He helped me stand up steady after wobbling my steps, the numbing of sitting on the back my legs and not being fully recovered from its week rest nearly sends me tumbling on shards of glass.

‘I should be very mad at you’ he said.

‘And I cared if you were mad because…’ you retorted with a smirk. You looked past the kitchen to the bedroom just as the Lestrade popped his head out and walked back to the living room.

‘Fuck, my bag’s still in your car now isn’t it’. I sighed, exhausted from the days crusade. Before I could even attempt to move toward the door or ask someone to get it, Lestrade is already out the door. A smile creeps up my lips and I move to the kitchen, followed closely behind by Mycroft. I find a tray of tea and biscuits -no doubt left by Mrs. Hudson-. The teas gone a bit cold, but I didn’t care and take a sip of it. I’m parched and starving so I take one of the biscuits and stuff my mouth. I turn around to see Mycroft give me a disapproving look before the kitchen door opens and the landlady comes in.

‘Hello dear, its good to see you’ she greets to me with a half hug.

‘Nice to see you too Mrs. Hudson.’ I smiled pulling apart.

‘John had this with him when he came in but left it down at my flat when he got your text.’ She waved around Johns medical bag. Speaking of, he walks into the kitchen where the party seems to be as I stuff my face in biscuits and cold tea. Mrs. Hudson noticing this, scolds me and says she’ll make a new batch for the whole lot of us. Me and John say ‘thank you’ in unison and she leaves the flat.

‘What are we doing here?’ John looks at Mike who ignores him then turn to me.

‘I was going to the bedroom, but I saw these’ waving to the tray ‘and I’m starving’ reply taking a sip of the tea.

‘Yeah, speaking of, the food is still in the bag’ he nods to his bag which I’m guessing has hospital food in it.

‘Hospital food? Bleck no thanks, I’m fine with these’ gesturing to the tray again as I go take another sip of the tea to clear my throat.

‘For goodness sake enough of that’ John frustratingly releases the cup of my grip and I glare at him. He weirdly doesn’t like me drinking cold tea.

‘Eyy I wasn’t done with that’ I pout but he ignores me. He give me a once over and gesture to my stomach.

‘Your bleeding’ he say and I look down to see a red spot on my shirt.

‘Oh really, I didn’t notice’ I counter sarcastically as he picks up his bag and looks for his equipment.

‘Do it in the bedroom just’ I sigh, I’m really exhausted. I turn to Mycroft who is looking around at files attached to the strings. ‘Mike thank you for your help, please stay until Mrs. Hudson comes back with the tea then you want you can go’ I announce but get interrupted by Greg, who’s in the living room ‘In here’ I say and open my mouth to continue but get interrupted again. ‘Ey, isn’t that the shooter at the school’ He asks, pointing his thumb at the living room. Confused and intrigued, I limp on back to the living room followed by my posse, to see his pointing at the bullet ridded wall, a picture of the shooter indeed there but with a bullet hole or holes on the face. That’s what Sherlocks been shooting at. Christ.

‘Yeah, that’s him’ I sigh and continue on what I was previously saying. ‘Greg you can leave the bag anywhere, I’ll fix it later. Stay until after Mrs. Hudson’s tea then leave. Thank you for your help really.’ I smile and finally head to the bedroom, John at the heels.

As I enter the room, I find Sherlock sound asleep in the bed, on his back. The boys haven’t bothered with the sheets, so I cover him up with a blanket. I sit down carefully on the bed with the help of John, wincing every once and a while because of the pain. I lift my feet up to the bed gently, trying not to disturb my stomach anymore as he pulls out a suture kit and painkillers. I then turn to Sherlock, fix his head on pillow and stroke his head of curls, a bit greasy. I take a deep, knowing what I have to do, that I must check but its daunting. I exhale and get on with it, grabbing his arm and pulling up his sleeves. Fuck. His arm is riddled with needle scars. Too much to even count. Fuck. I look over at John who’s also staring. He’s getting angry just looking at it, so with a sigh, I cover up his arm again and gently place it back on his side. Looking back at John, he’s still staring at the arm.

‘Hey’ snapping him out of his thoughts. He looks me in the eyes, livid at how his friend is treating himself. I lift up my shirt and he diverts his gaze to my side, peeling off the pads and checking on the wound. He’s awfully silent as he puts on a pair of gloves and opens the suture kit. He remembers the painkillers though, so he covers the wound back up temporarily and gets a syringe he’s laid out and sticks it to the bottle.

‘They had horrible pain killers’ I try fill the quiet room with humour, but the hospital did have horrible meds. His features soften when he looks at me, tapping the syringe as I remove the sleeve of the cardigan. He finds a vain before sticking the needle in to give me some relief.

‘Those are good. They the one the nurse gave you?’ I ask. He nods as he goes back to the hole on my stomach. He stitches me up after sticking another needle around the area to numb it -a whole lot better than before because I can’t even feel the wound-. He’s pulling rather aggressively on the needle and while I can’t feel it, I don’t appreciate his way of releasing his anger on my skin.

‘John, If you are to keep doing that, I’m kicking you out.’ He glances back up at me and he mutters an apology before continuing his work, gently this time.

‘I’ll make him pee in a jar, just let him sleep.’ I say glancing back at Sherlock. He just looks exhausted, I’m exhausted but I want nothing more than to hold him in my arms and run my fingers through his curls but if I do that now he’ll wrap himself around me and I don’t think John would appreciate getting interrupted from his work.

‘This is worse than Mary’ I merely murmured, barely audible but it seems John heard. I run a hand up my face, leaning back, letting out a breath as John looks from me to Sherlock.

‘It could have been much more worse if you didn’t wake up’ he looks back down to finish the sutures as I look at him. He’s right of course, he always is with these things.

‘That’s it? I expected a lecture, or you be mad about me leaving the hospital.’

‘Oh, I am mad, just there’s no point of it is there when you don’t give a damn and will do what ever the hell you want anyway’ he ties of the last stitch and grabs some gauze to cover. My lips curl up into a grin knowing he is once again right about that. I hold the gauze as he tapes it up before putting another bandage just in case. He finishes and starts to clean up his things. 

‘Thank you, John. I’m really really grateful for all that you’ve done. All the things everybody’s done.’ I beam.

‘That’s it? I expected a lecture or you livid’ he humours, repeating what I said just moments before with his own twist.

‘Oh, I am. But I get it, I would have done the same with you lot, but It’s done and just thank you.’ I admit, though I still want to be cross, I get it. They care.

‘He needs you; you know. More than you know. He lost it after you didn’t wake up when they took you off the meds for the coma. You’ve somewhat replaced his high from the drugs with your own and the probable thought and loss of it just scared him, so he resorted back to the old habit.’ He explained. I take in his deduction of his best mate with the only thought bearing through the surface is that he right. The Sherlock I know now is very different from the one I met all those years ago. That hard robotic exterior now has a beating heart. He cares more than he will want to admit but he really does.

I look at mop head beside me and beam. Since John is done with tending to my wounds, I roll my shirt back down and finally let the sleeping detective wrap himself around me. He does as soon as I placed a hand on his cheek, he rolls over to my side, draping an arm over my ribs and pulling me close like he’s always done, enveloping my side with his warmth, his head snuggling and hiding itself on the crook of my neck.

I’ve spent years thinking nobody gave a damn about me. Thinking no one cares if I was dead or not. Never have I ever been more pleased to be proven wrong. All those years alone, holed up, thinking I served no purpose to this world, ready to lose what I thought was a useless life only to be brought up the wide and bright opening and end of the cornucopia. I have friends, who will stay at my bedside just to make sure I wasn’t alone when I wake up from a gunshot. A god daughter, who’s laugh brightens up the darkest shadows cast upon us, who’s lost enough people in her few years in this rock. And a partner, fiancée, who’s meant more to me and evidently, I to him than more than we both ever thought possible. We’d be lost without each other, there’s enough evidence to prove it.

I gaze back at John, eyes getting a bit droopy, I’m surprised my mind has been making long hard thoughts. He’s just standing there, staring. Creepy admittedly, but also lovingly. Sentimental, possibly thinking of Mary.

‘Hey’ I say softly, breaking him out of his thoughts. ‘Go home. Sleep. Stay if you want tea from Mrs. Hudson but go home afterwards. Take the two if they’re still here. I’m going to sleep, just give Rosie a kiss for me and make everyone get some rest. Thank you again for staying with me at the hospital. Leave the mess, I’ll get it sorted.’ I instruct before a yawn escapes me. He looks back at the detective snuggled up at my side.

‘I’ll take care of him, don’t worry.’

‘And who taking care of you, he’s not the only one I’m worried about at the moment.’

‘I’ve got you lot now don’t I. I’ll phone you if I need anything. Right now, I just want to shut my eyes for a bit.’ I give him droopy smile, sleep really wanting to overcome my body. He bids his last warnings to take caution with my wounds and I wave him goodbye and goodnight. He nods and leaves the room, while I nestle myself better in the detective. His grip tightens and he nuzzles himself closer to my neck as I slowly drift off.

[rozcdust]

Kill me, romantically

Pairing: Rindou Haitani x F!Reader

Genre: Enemies to lovers, crack

Word count: 2.3K

Warnings: Canon divergent, ooc, profanity, violence, murder, attempted murder, casual sexism, explicit content, Rindou is a bitch

Mikey hired a new executive, and your clever eyes and sharp tongue make Rindou wish to put your face through a glass table.

Day 5 of Promptober

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

“The meeting has started.” Rindou pointed out, taking a sharp inhale through his teeth.

“No shit Sherlock.” Huffing, you snuffed out the cigarette under your boot, throwing it off the edge of the building.

“Fucking bitch.”

Standing up to stretch, you ignored his grumbling as you kneeled next to the rifle, checking the situation in the building underneath through the scope.

“Why did Mikey even pair me with you?” Groaning, Rindou laid down on the cold concrete of the roof, highly considering pushing you off the edge.

You just laughed, turning to glance at him with a smirk.

“Ran showed me your baby pictures,” Walking closer to him to nudge your boot in his side, you avoided his half-hearted attempt at a smack, “You were soooooo adorable.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“You were so tiny! Such a small precious baby.”

“I will kill you.”

“Baby.”

Actually managing to land a kick to your shin, he thrived on the unamused expression on your face.

He also paid for it by letting you kick his ribs.

Muttering curse words under his breath, he sat up, rubbing the spot your steel-toed boots decided to fucking cave in, now more than ever considering just strangling you on the spot.

He stopped himself in his thought for a second.

The necklace of darkened bruises on your neck was darker than ever, and even the layers of carefully colour corrections and concealer couldn’t hide them.

You were looking through the scope again, and Rindou noticed a beat too late your face was much too serious for his liking.

“Something’s wrong.”

Your tone was final, cold, and turning towards him with a serious expression, for just a second he imagined he saw an emotion in your eyes he has never seen you display before.

Worry.

“Rindou, go to the door! Hold it closed! Now!”

He would have argued, he would have thrown a fit and yelled at you to stop telling him what to fucking do, but he did none of that.

Your tone gave no space for questions.

Multiple fists started banging on the door to the rooftop, trying to get it open just as he leaned his whole body weight on it, desperate to keep it closed, and for a second, he was grateful you locked it behind.

He could barely hear your next words, directed at Mikey through the earpiece, over the wind blowing.

“Boss, it’s a set-up, get the fuck out of there! Rindou and I are trapped, don’t wait on us!”

Adrenaline mixing with panic in his mind, he planted his feet firmly in place, shoulder shoved into the door to keep it closed.

The lock won’t hold for much longer.

“Y/n, I can’t hold it anymore” Grunting as he felt his shoulder starting to bruise, he glanced at you in panic, desperate for your cold calmness to wash over him, but he found no comfort in the curve of your back over the rifle.

Your finger was on the trigger, and in a second he found too slow, a gunshot rang out across the roof, meeting it’s target in the building below.

You quickly stood up, turning towards him with your arm outstretched.

“Okay, let the doors go, run towards me, we’ll need momentum.”

He didn’t have time to ask what the hell did you mean, as with one final, shaky breath, he let go of the door.

He ran, his hand meeting yours, and in a second of sheer fear over his impending doom crashing his world down, he didn’t feel you push him towards the edge.

Your arms still interlocked, his hand holding onto your forearm enough to break the bones underneath his touch, you threw him off the roof.

His eyes widened, before snapping shut as the realisation fell down on him like a pile of bricks.

This was the end.

He will die.

Ran struggled against Kakucho’s chest, trying desperately to get the other man to let him go.

“We can’t fucking leave! RIN IS STILL IN THERE! WE CAN’T FUCKING LEAVE HIM!”

“WE HAVE TO!” Kokonoi screamed as he struggled to get the car open, nodding at Kakucho to throw Ran in there with himself and slam the doors shut, “Y/N SAID WE HAVE TO LEAVE!”

“I’M NOT LEAVING HIM-“ In a moment of sheer panic, Kakucho punched Ran square in the jaw, knocking him out.

Mikey nodded approvingly from the passenger seat as Sanzu hopped in last, slamming the doors shut just as Kokonoi started driving.

A pregnant silence fell over the car as Kokonoi picked up the speed.

“Do you really think they’ll be fine?” Chewing his lips nervously, Koko glanced at Mikey, trying to read into his calm, dead expression.

“Y/n’s with Rindou. They’ll get out fine. I trust her.” Even if it was said with conviction, the way Mikey’s hands shook wasn’t helpful.

Inhaling through his teeth, he pressed the gas pedal.

Rindou waited for a long fall and a deadly landing that never came.

Instead, in only mere moments that felt like hours, your hand left his as his back connected with the hard tiles of the top floor, knocking the air out of his lungs.

You rolled gracefully on the floor next to him, not giving him a chance to rest as your hands met his once again, pulling him up to his feet.

So that was what you meant by ‘planning.’

The open windows were an escape route.

“WE DON’T HAVE TIME, RINDOU! RUN!” Pushing him in front of you, your footsteps echoed behind him as he started running down the stairs.

He heard a loud crash, and glancing behind him, he found you pushed the vending machine he didn’t even notice before to the top of the stairs, blocking the entrance to the staircase.

He kept running as multiple pairs of feet and gunshots started echoing behind him on the upper floor.

“We should have taken the elevator!” He yelled at you, not allowing his pained lungs to stop him as he hopped over the railing only to be met with more stairs below.

“DO YOU SERIOUSLY WANT TO GET AMBUSHED IN THE FUCKING ELEVATOR?!”

Ah.

That was a good point.

“I left my fucking rifle upstairs!” Groaning out as you kept running behind him, he could swear he almost heard actual sadness in your voice.

“Who cares?! You’ll get a new one!”

“THAT IS MY CHILD, RINDOU HAITANI! YOU WOULDN’T REPLACE YOUR BROTHER WITH SANZU!”

“DON’T COMPARE RAN WITH YOUR STUPID ASS MILITARY TOY!”

You opened your mouth to respond, but more gunshots rang out, this time in the general directions of the two of you.

“Shit,” Cursing, never stopping, you started to wrestle out of your coat, throwing it at Rindou.

“Take that shit off and I’ll break your fucking knees.”

He knew the threat was real, so he gripped the coat that smelled of cigarettes and your perfume around his shoulders and continued running.

“Pull it over your head too, asshole!” Now screaming as you pulled out a gun from your waistband, you slowed down to shoot at the face of the man peering up from up the stairway, unsure if you actually hit him.

Rindou stopped running too, his eyes frantically moving from your form to the man, but the look you gave him sent him sprinting once again.

You looked at him with such an angry face.

Now hopping over the railway yourself, he could feel your hands on his back, pulling the coat up and over the back of his head and forcing him to run down the stairs faster.

“I’LL FUCKING TRIP!” He shouted, swatting your hands away, but keeping the coat as you fixed it on him.

His lungs burned and his legs felt like they’ll give out under him, every breath a little shorter than the last, his spleen feeling like it’ll burst and his hands aching from the way he gripped your coat, but he never stopped running.

“NO, THE FUCK YOU WON’T UNDER MY WATCH!” Shooting behind you a couple of times more as footsteps echoed behind the two of you, he heard his own earpiece crackle as well as your own.

“Y/n, what is the situation?! Y/N!”

“MIKEY, NOW’S NOT THE BEST FUCKING TIME!” Your tone was frantic as Rindou reached the entrance door at the bottom.

You were right on his heels, running through the doors he held open for you.

The men were approaching.

One of your hands held the coat so it stayed over his head, the other frantically searching for something inside the pockets.

You found it, and as you started pulling him behind you to keep running, you pressed the detonator.

The entrance doors collapsed behind the two of you.

“Just a little more! Don’t you fucking give up now Rindou!” Continuing to pull him as you kept running, he felt like he’ll pass out.

He wasn’t even sure where exactly the two of you were when you stopped, letting go of his hand as soon as you ducked inside a small alleyway, leaning on the wall, holding your side.

He gasped and struggled for air, the burn in all of his bones finally catching up, and he allowed the tiredness to take over his muscles as he fell to the ground, laying down with your coat still under him, wrapped around his shaking body tightly.

“Rindou? Rin! Rin, are you okay?!” You sounded so, so worried, a tone he didn’t expect to make his heart play, “Did you get shot?!”

Before he could respond, you fell to your knees next to him, your hands passing over his body with feather light touches, so rushed and so, so gentle, searching for any wounds.

He shivered, gripping your hand to make you stop.

“‘M fine,” Barely managing to cough out, he looked at you through half-hooded eyes, “I just need a little break.”

Nodding, you let out a long-held breath, allowing your body to fall next to his, your breathing similar to his own.

You brought a hand up to your ear, pressing on the little device that somehow managed to get out unscathed.

“Mikey, we’re alright,” Starting to laugh, you had to take a couple of breaths before you could continue, “We got out unharmed. What’s your status?”

Rindou finally breathed out a sigh of relief he didn’t know he was holding, closing his eyes tightly shut.

He was alive.

He heard Mikey’s response through his own earpiece, and he could swear for a split second that his boss sighed a sigh of relief.

“We’re also fine. They weren’t followed, surprisingly.”

“I knew you wouldn’t be.” You started laughing again, plucking out the earpiece before Mikey could hear your response.

Rindou opened his eyes to look at you sceptically.

“How did you know?”

“Huh?” Tilting your head up to look at him, a smile still played on your shaking lips.

“How did you know the other gang wouldn’t follow them?”

The grin you flashed him seemed to split your face in half.

“Because I slashed their tires.”

He stopped to stare at you, mouth agape, in an equal mix of astonishment and admiration.

So you weren’t actually late to the mission.

“How the fuck did you plan it all so meticulously? I mean, the windows, the tires, the dynamite- When the fuck did you put the dynamite on the entrance? How did you think of all this?”

“I took physics in high school.” Shrugging, you closed your eyes as well, shivering against the cold air and your body trying to stop the frantic beat of your own heart.

“The fuck does that have to do with anything?” He raised an eyebrow, confusion playing on his face.

You started laughing again.

“Murphy’s law, baby!”

“Fuck, what?”

“Murphy’s law states that everything that can go wrong, my dear boy,” Propping yourself up on one arm to look at him properly, the twinkle in your eye made his heart beat faster, “Will go wrong. If left unattended, things will always go from bad to worse.”

He started laughing with you this time, the manic laughter escaping his lips mixing with your own, creating a cacophony that made him be glad he was ignoring the ache coursing through his body to allow himself to shake in a mix of adrenaline and joy.

He was fucking alive.

“Thank you for being such a crazy fucking bitch.” Giggling, he closed his eyes tightly, allowing the scent of your coat to overtake him, finding comfort in the warmth of the fabric.

His eyes snapped open.

Why the fuck did you give him that damned coat?

Looking at your shaking, gasping form, he barely managed out his question.

“Why’d you give me your coat?”

You looked at him as if he were the dumbest man alive, allowing yourself to plop back on the ground on your side, your face barely inches away from his.

“Because it’s bulletproof.”

His heart stopped.

“You- what?”

You let out another short, rushed laugh, taking ragged breaths as you closed your eyes, a smile playing on your face.

“I’m not letting you die on my watch, you stupid, stupid man.”

In a moment Rindou will never admit to himself, a warmth he hasn’t experienced in a long, long fucking time filled his chest, making his tender lungs and heart ache.

You never looked more beautiful than in that moment, lying next to him on the cold asphalt of a filthy alleyway.

Without thinking, he propped himself up on his side, planting a small, soft kiss to your temple.

“Thank you.” Whispering against your skin, he curled up next to you, his arm wrapping around your waist as his free hand found yours, interlacing your fingers.

“Don’t mention it.”

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Requested by: Anon

a/n: I FUCKING LOVED WRITING THIS DON’T EVEN @ ME THIS WAS SO CUTE