#which was Nokto von IkePri and my IkePri OC Clara

[krys-loves-otome]

Starting The Day [221B-Arthur]

Rating: Teen/Just on the edge of Mature Pairing: Arthur Conan Doyle x Reader Summary: Arthur starts his day with you. Warnings: Suggestive language and actions. It's Arthur, and as we all know: Arthur=just a slight notch above PG-13 Notes: Various times when ao3commentofday posts about different names for varying lengths of fic (drabble, ficlet, etc), on the list, there was a format used by the Sherlock fandom called 221B where you write a piece that's exactly 221 words, the last word starting with the letter B (in reference to Holmes's address, 221B Baker Street). While I have not participated in any Sherlock series fandom, adaptation, or whatever of that respective collective fandom, I thought it would be fun to try the writing format on Ikevamp's Mr. Doyle himself. Because I think it'd be funny and fun

Link to Masterlist

Also on Ao3!

------

"Luv, I might just kiss you."

"You say that every time you see me." 

"And have I ever not delivered on that promise?" Arthur stood up after you set his breakfast tray down, wrapping his arms around you and kissing your nose. “I never seem to be able to start my day without seeing your lovely face.”

“I’m sure the coffee helps out more though.” You reach for his wrinkled shirt, little blue dots sprinkling the cuffs. A sure sign of his late-night escapades, now that he was dating you.

“Oh? This certainly wakes a man more than your delicious coffee.” He smirked, reaching for your collar, his fingers gingerly brushing your jaw, the ink long dried enough to not mark your face.

“Laundry day, Arthur,” you reminded him with a small smack on his wrist, pointedly ignoring his little pout. “it’s going to take forever to get that ink out.”

Arthur sighed. “Pity. Sebas has you on the short rope today, does he?”

You smiled.

"I have the advantage of knowing your habits, my dear Arthur. I let you have your way, and nothing would ever get done.” 

His frown deepened in spite of your fingers making quick work of his remaining buttons, the cotton fabric sliding off his arms. 

He starts, however, feeling your brazen hand on his belt.