#John John Rocks Plush

[methodman13]

Disturbed: The Take Back Your Life Tour

Disturbed: The Take Back Your Life Tour

[dmitriene]

getting overstimulated during sex with john price, when everything falls on you with a too heavy weight of emotions, the feel of his bulky, hairy chest flush behind your arching back, skin dewy with sweat as his cock pistons in and out of your gooey pussy, gummy walls snug and pulsing around his fat, throbbing girth, slick pooling down like honey.

john's wide hips twist, canting them to jam the wet ridge of his cockhead against your spongy spot, his cock throbbing, jerking in the tightness of your cunt, each wet slide of his girth follow by lewd, squelching sounds that buzz through your ears, your plush ass bouncing against his hips with rapid slap.

it's when his hips stutter, hand banded around your stomach, where his thick fingers press into the softness of your skin, your tummy clenching with swirling, gut longed heat, john's movements turning jerky, sloppy as he fucks you in small circles, catching onto the same sweet spot that make you cry out sobbed wails of pleasure, silenced by his mouth as he feeds on your mewled sounds.

john's tongue deep in your mouth, licking across your teeth's and tongue, suckling at your spit soaked lips, eyes flat with glistening blue as he peers at your dazed gaze, unable to keep up with his hungry, sloppy kisses, the silken walls of your pussy clenching tight, his beard itching on the skin of your face, as you twitch and twist with the curl of your toes.

his cock spills in you, flooding your dripping pussy with thick ropes of cum, hips still rolling to pump your gooey hole full, so wet that your gushing, saccharine slick coats his veiny length with glistening strings of your cum, smearing across his thick pubic hair, holding him inside in a pulsing, fluttering vice.

only then does john, as well as you, notice the glazed, watery state of your lidded eyes, just before the beading, salty tears that spill down to your cheeks, every muscle in your body starting convulsing with exhaustion, and he lowers you on the sheets immediately, heavy hands wrapped around your waist securely as he cradles you tightly against him, cocoing you in his warmth.

you don't see the worried glint of his vivid eyes through your tears, his eyebrows scrunching in a frown, lips pulled tight together after he wets them with his tongue, cleaning your combined spit from the heated kisses, as he rocks you carefully, his cock still carved inside of you, even through softened by the sudden change in atmosphere, as john holds you delicately.

john doesn't need you to say a word, he knows that it's too much, making you lean gently against his soft, sturdy chest until your sobs and small hiccups subside, leaving only a small shakes in your body and sniffing, splotchy nose, his wet lips brushing loving kisses all over your tear straked face, every hoarse word from his mouth turning into a lulling croon.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

TF141 getting a boudoir photo album as a wedding gift ♡

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A/N: THIS WAS SO FUN!!! Great, absolutely phenomal idea, dear anon. Simon's part is very sappy (I cried) which might be ooc for him?? Idk, that's how I write him/interpret his character! :) let me know who's your favorite 👀

~Fi 🐝

《Warnings》: NSFW content. proceed with caution. PiV, creampie, cunnilingus, Johnny's oral fixation (yes, that is a warning.)

It's still very sweet and lovey dovey with all of them bc I'm a certified sap <3

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John would be grinning and smirking like a proper idiot when he lays his eyes on those delectable photos of you.

I imagine you had a date night at home, sipping wine on the couch and talking about your wedding that's supposed to take place in only 3 days. He's telling you how he can't wait to see you in your wedding dress and slip that ring onto your finger.

Sneaky bastard.

Be prepared to he called Mrs. Price the days leading up to the big day. John excuses it with:

"Need to practice, love. Don't wanna mess it up in front of anyone, eh?"

He knows what he's doing, you know what he's doing, all is well because if he only knew what that did to you. You're just talking, trying to get the nerves out now so you can go into your wedding with a clear mind and have a good time. When you tell him you have a gift for him, his eyebrows almost overshoot his forehead. Yeah, he knew that was a thing some people did, but he never gave it another thought.

In all honesty, marrying you was the best gift he could ever get. Which is why he feels slightly guilty that he doesn't have one for you (at least that's what you see, internally he's crushed) but that all goes out the window when you sit back down with a sleek beige photo album that has a little romantic quote on the front.

What he doesn't expect, however, is the angelic image of your plush body on full display, draped over a velvet chaise lounge with layered pearl necklaces hanging from your neck. This man is shell-shocked. If he wasn't frozen in place, he would've snapped the book shut.

"And what's this, doll, hm?"

His heart feels warm and fuzzy, thinking these are some lovely pictures of you together on holidays you went on, casual trips to the local pub or just some domestic shots you managed to sneak during his leave.

You can basically see the connections to his brain frying. His jaw slacks, and only after what feels like 10 minutes he regains his ability to think and close his mouth. John is sweating and his cock is rock hard as he flips through the remaining pages.

He shoots you the occasional glance while he's trying not to hyperventilate. You just sit back and savor your wine, trying to hide your laugh behind the rim of your glass. You'd expected a reaction, of course, but you didn't think you'd render the John Price speechless just from a few suggestive photographs of you.

But what absolutely breaks the camels back (or John's, in this case) is the last picture of you. You're kneeling, slightly leaned back and supported by your arms, with one of his Flannels covering your soft tits. That alone would've been enough to drive him crazy, but the sight of his old dogtags sitting against your sternum has him groaning out loud.

The only other thing covering you is a simple pair of lace panties, cupping the soft curve and rolls of your tummy so beautifully, John was ready to take a bit out of that damn page.

He nearly misses the inscription underneath the photo;

To my John; the love of my life, the man of my dreams,

I love you.

You hold my heart and you will forever.

May I be so lucky to find my place in the stars by your side when the time comes, so we'll never have to be apart.

With all my love,

Mrs. Price

And that does it. The album snaps shut and you barely have time to put down your wine glass before John is all over you, taking handfuls of you, whatever he can reach. With how fast he smashes his lips on yours, he nearly gives you whiplash.

He's tugging and pulling at your clothes as well as his own, not saying a thing, just hungrily swallowing every one of your sounds and giggled objections before he decides the couch is uncomfortable and he moves you to the bedroom. You're hoisted up without a warning and you cling to his neck. Immediately, worried words start spilling from your lips, remembering how he'd complained about a sore back just today;

"John, baby, your back-"

"I don't give a flying fuck about my back, love."

He's heaving and grunting like a fucking animal, he's downright feral. Despite all of that, you're still laid down gently on the bed, John would never, ever be reckless with you. But he needs to be inside you now, he'll actually lose his mind.

Usually, he'd spent hours between your thighs first, but he just can't wait. He's pounding you into another dimension but with such gentleness in his gestures, it makes your head spin.

He's holding your hand, breathing sweet praises into your ear despite him filling you to the brim. His urge to claim you goes haywire and he fills you with his cum multiple times before he's sane enough again.

He's covered in sweat and his beard is wet from your spit from all the sloppy kisses he gave you. John will definitely make it up to you and eat you out for as long as you want after.

He'll make a copy of one of the photos and take it with him when he's on deployment, just for the nights he's feeling lonely.

His wedding gift to you are the hickeys on your thighs and tummy and new sheets because you two tore the other ones to absolute shreds.

♥︎

Johnny would probably have a boudoir album for you, too. You get at least one shirtless pic a day, so a whole album of his body on display or in suggestive poses basically screams Johnny. He's already drooling the second he spots that book because he knows what it is and that he's in for a treat.

He's buzzing with excitment.

You never really send nudes for privacy reasons, and then for you to do something like this hit him like a truck in the best way possible. You're standing opposite from him behind the kitchen counter, and you look so nervous to him.

Cue his signature shit-eating grin. You tap your fingers on the dark blue album before having enough of your nerves and just sliding it over to him with a few mumbled words of what it is.

"Awe, for me, mo leannan?" He's a teasing bastard, and he chuckles when you huff and turn your head, obviously flustered. Johnny is legit licking his lips, but when he opens the book, his grin fades so fast.

He knew it would be good, but holy shit, this was so much better than he expected. His pupils dilate as he takes in each of the pictures of you, all of you, all your curves and bumps.

Everything he loves about you. God, you're such a woman, he thinks to himself. Some with lingerie, some without. He's full on drooling at this point, and the only reason why he roughly wipes it away with the back of his hand is to not get it on these sacred images.

He smirks at the picture of you in a tub, all soapy, with pebbled nipples. An obvious dig at his nickname, but, god, does your ass look amazing when it's covered in a thin layer of bubbles. He loves lathering you up in the shower and feeling you up while you're all wet and slippery.

"Good thing I can hold my breath, aye, hen? Might even try to set a new personal record." He's grinning and chuckling meanwhile you give him a sharp glare. You can't deny that the idea intrigues you, though.

But this, oh, this one was him swallowing thickly. It's you in very sheer panties (they're barely even underwear) and his name patch is sewn onto the front. Your hair looks so nice, so do your thighs, he doesn't know whether to look at your eyes or your tits. The button on his jeans is about to pop off from his throbbing boner.

He can't take his eyes off that 'MacTavish' patch that sits right on your lower belly, with the slight curve it has to it from your soft tummy.

Johnny has to hold himself back from gripping the book too hard. He wouldn't want to ruin it.

"Steamin' bloody Jesus, bonnie..."

The album is shut and tucked under his arm, and Johnny jumps over the counter to get his hands on you. Or his mouth, more like. He has a huge oral fixation, so he loves sucking and biting on every inch of your skin. You're pushed back into the bedroom, even though you end up on the floor, and the book is thrown onto the bed.

He rips your shirt up and sucks at your tits and nipples, groaning and moaning at the taste of your skin, all while he's rubbing his clothes cock against your leg. You end up on your hands and knees with one of Johnny's hands on your lowerback while his face is buried in your cunt.

He's eating you out like he's been starved for years, and his stubble is already starting to irritate the skin of your thighs and ass.

You'll have the worst case of beard burn in the morning, but how could you care about that when his tongue is so deep inside of you?

Remember when I said he'd have a boudoir album too? Yeah, now you're in between his legs, your back pressed to his chest with Johnny's album in your shaky hands. And the way your engagement ring catches the dim light of the room has your eyes rolling back.

And Jesus christ, Johnny looks fucking phenomal. You clench around his fingers hard, and he doesn't even have to pull his head from your neck to know what photo you're looking at.

He's smirking and grinning like the ceshire cat, knowing that the image of him in a kilt with no shirt one is gracing your field of vision right about now.

"Ah knew ye'd like tha' one, bonnie..."

Johnny's cooing in your ear, telling you to keep looking at the pictures while he's knuckle deep in your pussy. His bare dick is pressed against your ass and you can feel him rocking his hips to get off.

He's mumbling all kinds of gibberish into your ear, but one of the few things you can make out is "mo bhean"* which pushes you over the edge. You won't be leaving that bed anytime soon.

*(My wife)

♥︎

Kyle is such a sweetheart. I've said it before, and I will say it again, he's such a cutie pie!!! But that doesn't mean he can't or won't get nasty.

He'd offered to make lunch, which was delicious as always, and now you're chatting casually about your day at your dining table. Your fingers are laced together, and he's wearing the biggest smile because all he can think of is how he gets to marry you in just a few days.

He's over the moon. He can't wait to see you walk down the aisle, say your vows to each other, and overall have a great time with all your friends and family.

But the thing Kyle is looking forward the most is the honeymoon. He'll have you to himself for 2 whole weeks and he's stoked. He can't wait to treat you to nice things, love on you, but he's the most excited to fuck you as your husband.

He may look sweet and 'innocent' but this man can fuck, okay. And he fucks well. He knows every little spot that has you mewling and he's so good at using them for his gain.

Kyle will fuck you into the mattress in the Hotel you booked, he's already made up his mind about that, but he wants to absolutely melt your brain by being so loving whole doing it that you can't help but cry out for him.

He has heart eyes at this point, watching you talk about all that happened today and he only snaps out of his dream world when you present the deep red album to him with a sweet smile.

He's got a hunch of what it is so there's a hint of a smirk on his lips. Still, he almost gets whiplash when he opens it.

There's no easing into it, just straight up tits, ass and tummy. And let me tell you, Kyle is loving every second of it. It's no secret that he loves your chub, and that fact that it's extenuated so beautifully in every shot makes his heart and his cock happy. He's a very balanced man after all.

He comments on every single photo because he think it's endearing how you get all flustered and giggly from his compliments.

One picture that has him taking a second, though, is one where you have a lacy band tied around your thigh, with a little golden 'Kyle' charm hanging from it. He's all smiley and giddy, but he does try to discreet adjust his trousers because, holy shit, that's hot.

"Have you still got that, dove? Would love to see it tied around your pretty neck."

All you answer is that he'll have to be patient and wait till the wedding night to find out. He's laughing and teasing now, but just what till you get to the last page, Gazy.

And the way his smile just melts off his face is priceless. His gaze is flitting between you on the page and you sitting across from him with a shot eating grin. All the blood that drained from his face went straight to his dick.

Not only are you wearing a set of lingerie in his favorite color, but you've got his iconic pair of sunglasses hooked on the center of your bra. And that's not all either, his eyes travel upwards and his base cap is sat on your head and you've got that beautiful smile of yours on your face.

He makes an audible noise, one that indicates you took his breath away, when he takes in the whole picture.

"How in hell did you manage to snatch my hat and my glasses from right under my nose?!"

"Skilled hands, babe."

He's laughing at you breathlessly because he's still enarmoured by the sight of you.

And Kyle will absolutely whisk you away and fuck you stupid in front of your bedroom mirror while you're wearing his hat.

It makes him feral, seeing you like that. He's got both of his arms wrapped around your middle and he's panting into your shoulder. He does look up from time to time to see your blissed out face all while still wearing his cap.

He lets out a strained moan everytime he looks at you in the mirror and his hips stutter ever so slightly.

Kyle is just spewing jumbled words of love because he's genuinely so happy. You make him so happy.

He honestly can't wait to give you your wedding gift. It's a little booklet filled with poems or quotes that reminded him of you, or of how you make him feel. And it will make you cry when he reads them to you.

Definitely not because he'll be ballsdeep inside of you while doing so...

♥︎

Simon, Simon, Simon.... first of all, he's completely blindsided by this. And he hasn't got a fucking clue what's in that black book you hand him one night when you're cuddling in bed.

There's just a giant question mark above his head. When you tell him it's a wedding gift, he goes silent and just looks at that album in his hands.

He never really got gifts, which obviously changed since he's been with you, but he's still not used to it. You're so thoughtful. And sweet. And kind, and perfect and-

he turns his head to you when you softly call his name and if you notice the slight sheen of tears in his big brown eyes, you don't mention it. You just encourage him to open the book. And when he does, a small huff and gentle smile leave him because how are you so perfect?

Yes, all of the pictures are all filthy, but they're all radiating of love and softness, and he can't get over it. How are you so soft? Simon can't get enough of you. You mess up his emotions in ways he never thought possible, and he can't help that his heart starts beating twice as fast.

That you did this for him means more than you could ever fathom, and he'll treasure this album until his end. He absent mindedly reaches for your hand as he flips through the pages, trying to tell you thank you when his words fail him, like they did so many times before with you.

He comes across a shot of your neck, a black leather collared fasten around it with a little silver skull charm. It makes him smile just a bit. He knows just how much meaning is behind it.

That you love him. All of him, which includes the Ghost. In cursive, 'Riley' is written right above your heart, and he gives your hand a squeeze.

Although you love the Ghost because it's a part of him, you've shown him that it's not all he is. That Simon is enough. That he should give Simon a chance and that he's not incapable anymore, like he was as a little boy. Ghost is sort of a protector of Simon, something not many people know, that's why he wears the mask outside of duty too. To shield himself.

But as much as the Ghost's service is appreciated, Simon can handle himself now. The Ghost will forever be with him, but so will you, and you'll wipe his bloody hands with a smile. You've shown him that you accept Ghost just as much as you accept Simon, and that means the world to him.

He sniffles ever so quietly, and you lean your head against his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He moves on, gently turning the pages, and as much as his heart is touched by your kind gesture of this album, that doesn't stop his cock from stirring. It's pictures of your naked form, after all.

He loves every single inch of you and he's told you and shown you so many times, kissed all your insecurities away and took your mind off any bad thoughts about yourself by fucking you so well and lovingly to the point of tears.

Never, in a million years, had he expected you to return these efforts. You kissed all his scars and held him softly when reassuring any doubts he had. That's when he truly and fully fell in love with you.

He can feel himself getting hotter with every passing image of your soft body bent in different positions and clad in delicate garments, if any.

The best for last, as always, and it's a picture of you kneeling in front of a mirror, completely nude. A picture of Simon in full military regalia is tapped to the mirror and it's surrounded by a bunch of hearts drawn on with lipstick.

His name is written under the picture in your handwriting, and he can see you holding a lipstick, in the middle of finishing another heart. His breath hitches just for a split second.

He swears he'll burn this photo into the back of his eyelids.

It shows him just how great and raw your love for him is, and it makes him all fuzzy on the inside. The text at the bottom finishes it all off, and he's actively holding back tears, overwhelmed by so many feelings for you.

Dear Husband,

We're flawed; but that's how I like us. You're you, and I'm me, and I wouldn't change it for the world. You've made me a better version of myself, and that makes me love you so much more. I'm so proud of you, Simmy.

Love,

Your wife

"Thank you, my love. Thank you for this, and for loving me and for everything you've done for me. I love you"

His words are soft and painfully honest as he gently sets the album aside. You've made him a better man. A better Simon. A happier Simon. A Simon that's slowly starting to heal.

It starts off with a soft kiss that slowly turns more desperate and needy to the point you're gently being pushed back onto the bed, your clothes are discarded, and Simon absolutely worships you. He kisses every inch he can reach and touching you in all the ways he knows you like.

And, yeah, Simon can be rough and fuck you stupid for hours, but tonight, he just wants to feel close to you, and make you feel as good as you make him feel by simply loving him. He's talking you through it, holding you while he makes sure you take every inch of his cock.

His strokes are slow and deep, just like his love for you, and he revels in the way your eyes roll back each time he slides into you to the hilt. The drag of his dick against your walls has you moaning and whining, and when he presses down on your pudgy lower belly to intensify the sensation, you're putty.

You two fuck the whole night like this, no matter how sensitive you are, you need to be close to each other.

And in the morning, he'll wake you up with his face buried in your pussy because he's out of his sappy mood and his only goal now is to absolutely ruin you.

♡

Bonus: I can totally see Simon giving his dad the biggest middle finger known to man all the way in hell when he's standing by the altar on your wedding day. It just screams: 'fuck you, stupidly bastard. Despite all you've done to me and my family, despite all that's happened, I've persevered. I've overcome it all. Look at me now.'

Right after he's smiling up at the sky, knowing that his mum and brother are watching and that they would've loved you just as much as he does <3

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I hope you enjoyed!! I love all my boys <3

(If you find any typos, it's 2.am. give me a break pls)

[konigsblog]

OCTOBER 12TH — PERVERT!SOAP. Oh, forgive him, Bonnie. You know he can't help himself, and you look so adorable like this; knocked out cold and mumbling incoherently, pleading with him for mercy.

2024 KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. (DAY 12)

(NON-CON, DRUGGING)

You and Johnny have always been close pals. You knew everything about him from the inside out, sharing no secrets between your comfortable friendship. You had known each other for more than a decade and trusted John with your entire life, for him to always look out for you. He was like an older brother to you; protective and caring, believing he'd never put you in harm's way.

Although, you were oblivious to his admiration and adoration for you, the inappropriate, immoral, and taboo fantasies he'd play out in his twisted and depraved mind whenever he saw you. You saw your relationship as nothing more than platonic and friendly, blissfully unaware of his impure and shameless beliefs. He watched you attentively, carefully waiting for the perfect moment to take what he believes he rightfully deserves.

You trust him right, Bonnie? You know he'd never hurt you...

So when you stumbled into his apartment after a long night of hopping bars and getting drunk together, you didn't suspect anything from Johnny, who glared and scowled at any man attempted to flirt with you. You didn't second guess his wandering touch, the way his grubby hands clung to your supple and plush hips all night, playing with the hem off your tight panties beneath your dress. Your clothing barely covered you as it rolled up your rear, exposing you to the freakish degenerate lingering behind you, needily rocking himself against you as he waited patiently for you to fall unconscious.

You babbled incoherently as Johnny placed his rough palm over your eyes, slowly pushing up your skimpy and revealing dress. You didn't fight it, too numb and drugged to defend yourself from his debauchery. He was gentle with you, praising you for being so compliant with him while he affectionately kissed your cheek, gazing into your bleary and half-lidded eyes as he nudged his leaking, creamy tip against your sensitive clit. You let out soft and confused moans, barely conscious as he rubbed and rocked himself back and forth, groaning out gutturally at the warmth and wetness of your soft folds.

Your juices coated him as he thrusted between your slit, humping your limp body while you drooled all over yourself, his pungent and familiar scent lingering on your damp, sweaty skin. He didn't care for the way you whimpered and squirmed helplessly at the disgusted and horrified thoughts nagging inside of your head, barely able to move beneath Johnny's bodyweight.

Just sit still and relax, Lassie. Let your poor man have a little fun, aye?

[violetpixiedust]

thinking about spending a day at the beach with your bf jj and the rest of the pogues. ♡

18+. afab reader. no description of appearance. fluff/smut. use of ‘papa’ once, mentions of spanking. shy!kook!reader x dom!jj.

in between searching for the cross, evading the law, and intense fights with the kooks, a beach day was certainly a nice escape from an otherwise hectic lifestyle.

the sand is warm and pale beneath your knees as you sit in your cute little bikini beside jj’s damp body. he’s laid along a ratty old towel, littered with a few holes and fraying at the edges. beads of saltwater meld themselves within his tan skin from his previous surfing exertion, eager to soak up the sunlight with you now that he’s gotten his adrenaline fix. you had been searching for seashells and sea glass with kiara while the boys were out on the water. ending up with a good sized pouch by the time your boyfriend ran up to meet you on the shore, shaking out his soaking dirty blonde locks at you like a dog. squeals and joyful giggles left your lipgloss coated pout, strumming alongside the seagulls.

absentmindedly, you hum when your manicured nails sort through your small treasures, careful not to let them get lost in the never ending sand. it isn’t until you notice your boyfriend’s baritone voice humming alongside you that you burst into giggles. you meet his sea-foam blue eyes from where they peak out above his black sunglasses, frames falling to the bridge of his lightly freckled nose. one of your pearly teeth reach out to bite along your plush bottom lip, shyly taking in the handsome sight of jj laid beside you.

damp swim trunks hang low on his paler hips, golden happy trail leading you up to the toothpick balancing between his freshly licked lips. the pogue grins slyly in amusement, satisfaction at your sudden shyness running through his veins like the sweetest high. “c’mere, princess. up.” you don’t have time to check for the whereabouts of your friends before the large palm of jj’s hand crudely reaches underneath your thigh, skin burning as he leads you to straddle his torso. you briefly hear pope gagging and john b’s amused laughter behind you, but ultimately choose to ignore them when jj’s calloused fingertips reach out to play with the hem of your swimsuit, effectively distracting you. “‘gonna show me those pretty little rocks takin’ up all of your attention now?”

you nod with a soft smile, shyly avoiding jj’s heady gaze for a moment, unknowing to the way his expression softens incredibly at the sweetness emitting from you. floaty and radiant, like his own personal angel. his calloused thumbs rub soothing circles along your hips as he watches you begin to explain each piece of sea glass you chose, head feeling as if it were underwater still with how gorgeous you are. his ringed fingers faintly shake when he thinks about how undeserving he is for someone like you. an angel from figure eight. outer banks pride and joy. who used to send him a shy little wave at the boneyard, eyelashes fluttering when he would wave back, his split lip pulling up into a smirk at the dazed look that overtook you. the girl who now jumped onto the back of his bike in boarder-line scandalous mini skirts, sweet and powdery perfume clouding the pogue’s judgement for a second too long. until your freshly done nails would dig into his waist, melodic voice urging your pogue boyfriend to hurry up and drive. the overprotective housekeeper would attempt to chase after the two of you with a broom in her wrinkled hand, before being buried by the dust billowing beneath the bike’s spinning wheels every single time.

it isn’t until you hold up a few pieces of sea glass to the side of his face with a cheer of excitement that he tunes back in. “mm, what’s the squealing for, cupcake?”

“i found a piece that looks like your eyes. see!” you bend over to get a closer look at the comparison, completely unaware of the way your tits push up together near jj’s face. a shaky breath leaves your boyfriend’s bitten lips, his suddenly rosy cheeks startling you for a moment before you feel the noticeable shift of his hips beneath you. instead of gasping cutely and sitting up like jj expected you to, your moment of realization morphs into a sly expression.

and jj knew that look.

“don’t-“ you riskily pay no mind to your boyfriend’s warning tone, “innocently” slinking back along his body with a soprano sigh. your manicured nails rake over his abdomen on your path backwards, cupped heat just brushing past the now obvious tent in jj’s swim trunks-

instantly, the pogue manhandles you into place. you squeak at the firmness of his ringed grip, heart pumping with adrenaline when his sun kissed hands force your back against his warm chest in record speed. shark tooth necklace digging between your shoulder blades. your bum pushes against jj’s erection with a final maneuver- now out of sight, but still painfully hard against you.

“whoa. chill out, mike tyson-“ john b drunkly remarks with a surprised laugh before sipping on his nearly finished can of pbr, blissfully unaware of the previous situation. meanwhile, sarah smirks knowingly at the two of you from beside her aloof boyfriend, meeting your playful gaze with one of her own.

you’re about to suggest a game with a mischievous wiggle of your hips, clearly not learning your lesson- before jj’s long fingers cup your jaw from behind, gripping you in place. the blonde’s rosy lips press to your ear, his left hand intertwining with your own smaller one, voice low. “y’not going anywhere, duchess. need you to calm down and behave. unless you want me to spank you raw on this beach in front of our friends, hm?”

your breath hitches with surprise at the threat as you watch kiara and pope run back from the ocean dripping saltwater, jj’s words echoing in the now hollow structure of your head. “and if you’re good,” the blonde nods your head up and down for you like a ragdoll for good measure, smirk curling along his chapped lips with faux innocence gleaming from his eyes. he’s more than aware of the pressure building between your pretty legs, your glossy eyes looking up at him for guidance. not to mention the shivers that clatter down your spine at the idea of being put in your place for everyone on the beach to see. all he could do was harden at the thought. “papa’ will let ya show him which one of these rocks he can put on your pretty little finger soon, yeah?”.

the pogue waits for you to nod your own head ‘yes’ like a big girl before placing a kiss on the crown of your head. your shy expression stays hidden against his heart, a giddy smile drawing across your glossy lips as you think about your future with jj.

needless to say, you behaved for the rest of the afternoon.

[angelatsumu]

secrecy. [j. price]

in which captain price denies his love for you publicly, and that doesn't go over well.

cw: angst (a tiny bit...like it's a little hurtful), SMUT, minors kick rocks DNI, price called daddy but is very switch/sub here, knife play, afab!reader, sorta toxic behavior (don't deny your spouse for a bit of approval with your friends bro), blood play a tiny bit, riding, overstimulation, not proofread

“there’s simply nothing worth settling down for lads. end of discussion.” your teeth met the inside of your cheek to stave off the grimace that fought to surface. your lover, the man you called your husband, had the audacity to allow such foolishly indignant words slip from his liquor laced tongue. the gall of the man who’d insisted you make him the happiest man on earth, the one who’d spent hours practicing his speech in the mirror, was something you’d found quite unexpected. to allow such insanity slip from those precious lips you kissed every morning was far more than an insult to your heart; it broke your pride. you’d pridefully and proudly called yourself the captain’s wife, head held higher than it had been before the silly ring on your finger. it was one thing to keep your marriage a secret—that you two had agreed upon—but to admonish your place in his heart? that was unmistakably cruel. your eyes met your lover’s as the men seemed to light-up at his words, applauding him for his dedication to the taskforce and military business. the display only made you want to revolt even more.

the drive home was quiet. normally you’d pretend to be a bit too drunk so that price could pretend to chivalrously take you to your apartment, but tonight you felt no need for such a foolish charade. there was simply no scent for your fellow task force members to follow because john had snuffed out that flame with his foolish banter. you sat bitterly brewing in your misery, flames of wicked jealousy licking at your heels with each passing moment. john could feel it radiating from you, the air too thick for him to swallow as he pridefully refused to concede and beg for forgiveness. the sheer thought of your husband standing by his bravado-littered statements covered you in a figurative sheen of vengeance. you were desperate for the opportunity to right him, to make him eat every little word he’d muttered. you had half the mind roll out of the moving car right this moment, but you decided against such reckless antics. instead, you’d decided to kickstart his own descent into delirium. there was nothing more tantalizing to your husband than making love to you, and perhaps that is where your edge lied.

the sight below you was gloriously sinful. your lover with flushed cheeks and tear-speckled eyes, precious blade of your combat knife nestled just beneath his jaw. your hand could slip and it would bring scarlet red droplets to the surface, giving him a closer shave than he’d bargained for. he knew this, and the thought made his cock stir inside your velvety walls. with each teasing roll of your hips a whimper fled john’s lips, soft pleas for your mercy. his eyes glistened at you as though you hung the stars, just as they were designed to. pressing the knife’s blade ever-so-lightly, you lifted your hips high enough that only the tip remained encased in your plush cunt. the action causes your husband’s brows to knit together as you hover there with the cruelest scowl you can manage. “please, love. ‘m sorry, daddy’s sorry,” he all but whimpers, hips stirring before halting at the feel liquid running down the side of his neck. you scoff at him, eyes narrowing as you lean closer to the object of your affection. your lips hover above his, breath fanning over his skin. “yeah? daddy’s sorry, hm?” he nods eagerly, knicking himself again in dumb desire to please you. you dip your head into the crook of his neck, deft tongue licking a stripe along the path of the stray droplet of blood. the action of ownership leaves your husband dizzy as an uncontrolled whimper leaves his lips. you hum, wicked grin pulling at your lips as you plop yourself down onto him. the fat of your ass claps against his thighs, and your head falls back at the feeling of being so full. you groan, rolling your hips forward just enough to catch your clit on the ridge of his pelvis. john’s hands instinctively move to clutch your hips, and you tut at him amusedly.

your cunt was driving john to insanity, and you weren’t too far behind him. the pace you’d set was increasingly tiring, but your abdomen continued to be set aflame with carnal desire. the clap of your ass against your husband’s lap resounded through the room as you fucked yourself—and him—stupid on his girthy length. orgasm after orgasm had rushed over the two of you, yet your desire for more never wavered. your grip on your beloved knife had since loosened enough that there was no true threat, though the thrill remained. your husband was beautifully fucked beneath you, lip quivering as his eyes struggled to stay open. your tight heat felt torturous, the sensation of your walls griping him like a vice bringing him to tears. your eyes intently glared down at your man, as much as you could while being fucked open. “can’t take anymore, love,” your husband whimpers, hands gripping your hips harshly as he weakly attempted to slow your movements. you huffed at him, hand moving to grip his jaw and force his gaze to yours. your gaze made his cock stir inside your plushy cunt. “you can take it,” you spat at him, squeezing his jaw at the hinges to force his mouth open. without thought you spat into your lover’s mouth, riding him with more tenacity as you felt your high approaching. “oh fuck,” he whined, head falling back from your gasp as you milked him for his last orgasm of the night. “you look at me when I fucking cum, and you remember who you settled down with, john,” you scold him, tugging on his dog tags to force him to meet your view again. the sight before you was picture worthy, pitiful fucked out captain gazing at you like you hung the stars in the sky; to him, you did. your orgasm swept you in a vicious wave of euphoria, thighs trembling as you moaned softly over your lover. the cant of your hips slows as you ride out your high, sweat-coated body leaning to press flush against his. john sighs, arms wrapping around you as he babbles apologies into your chest and neck. “never mean’ it, never say it again” he babbles softly, and you’re certain some of his brain oozed out from his ears with how thoroughly you’ve fucked him. with a sigh you untangle yourself from him, peering softly into his beautiful eyes before leaning to pepper kisses along his face. “i love you, John. thank you for letting me have this,” you hum softly. truly he could’ve called off the whole encounter, but he allowed you this relief. oh, what a lover you have.

likes + coments + rbs always appreciated <3 thx

[tinylilacbun]

Reader is sick and whiny and begging for Jj while he’s at home so her parents ring him asking him to come over to put her to bed

"Come on, sweetie, you gotta sleep a bit." Your mother tries to soothe you but you only sniffle, pushing the bed covers from your body again, making her sigh.

"Wan' JJ." You whine, rubbing your eyes in frustration, little coughs coming out of your mouth and you whimper from how sore your throat is.

"You saw him just a few hours ago. He's at his own home now, baby." She tries to reason with you, rubbing your back only for you to shuffle away and bury your face in your pillow with a sob.

Your mother bites her lip, taking out her phone and fumbling with it in thought, hesitating to call JJ. The boy already jumps anytime your parents call him and they don't want to bother him this late.

Not being able to take in your pitiful sobs your mother leans down to kiss your head, frowning at how hot you are. "I'll be right back, yea?"

You only hiccup in response, pressing your bunny lovey to your face as she gets up and into the hallway, lifting her phone to her ear, waiting patiently.

She sighs in relief when her only chance of a peaceful night picks up. "JJ? I'm really sorry for bothering you this late."

"Oh, no, it's fine. Everything okay with the princess?" JJ asks, shushing his friends. The concern in his tone was evident, knowing from the nasty fever you're running right now.

"Not really, she um...she doesn't want to take her medicine and go to sleep. She's asking for you and I'm-" Your mother starts and he's on his feet in an instant.

"I'll be there in 10 minutes." He says as he snaps his fingers at John b to hand him the keys for the Twinkie.

"I can't thank you enough. You'll get something extra of course."

"Nah, it's fine-" JJ turns down the offer. JJ Maybank just turned down money.

"I insist." She interrupts him, hanging up before he could interject, thanking the stars for his existence.

You're still crying, your throat burning with each cough and your head hurting from all the sniffling you did today thanks to your runny nose.

"Heard someone doesn't want to sleep?" JJ's voice has you instantly lifting your head, a new round of tears filling your eyes as he approaches your pink plush bed with his hands on his hips, sitting down by your side. "Whoa, hey, what's with all the tears, huh?"

You shuffle on your knees closer to him, lifting your arms and he places hands under your armpits, hoisting you onto his lap.

"There, there, I gotcha." He murmurs, rocking you back and forth until he's certain your tears have stopped. "I know it's icky and I totally get you, but you should take your medicine, yea?"

You let out a small whine, grasping onto his shirt with your small hands. "No wanna..."

"Hm, not even for me?" He asks and you stay silent for a moment. "No? You hurt me, cupcake. And here I planned on taking you to the beach and teaching you how to surf when you're all healthy again."

You pull your face from his chest, pouting at him. "Wanna go t'beach..."

"Then you gotta take your medicine, I'll take it too, okay?" He offers and you nod, watching him grab the cup that's already waiting on your nightstand and gulp it in one go, refraining from grimacing so you would take the medicine. "See, not so bad."

He prepares the cup again for your turn and holds it to your lips, smiling when you swallow everything. "That's my princess. Proud of ya."

You smile at him, snuggling back against his chest, feeling him wrap both his arms around your small frame. At some point he can feel your body sag against him and he smiles, carefully moving you to lay you back on your bed and tucking your lovey under your arm before he covers you with your blanket.

He runs a hand through your hair. "Sleep well..." He whispers, leaning down to press a kiss to your head and sees how you snuggle your bunny in response.

Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse

@mythixmagic @iris-xoxo-juhu @mylettterstoyou @sunf1ower16

For JJ:

@chiaraanatra @chimindity @flora-eva

[sugarmeowe]

nsft ✰ mdni!

older bf! john price who catches his naive little girlfriend innocently and shamelessly talking to his soldiers on the day that he takes you to the base, privates that are in the same age group as you, clearly more appropriate for a sweet lady like you instead of the nasty old man you chose to be with instead

older bf! john price who’s eyes widen and patience finally snaps when he watches you sweetly feel one of his recruit’s biceps, after the young boy had instructed you to, finally having enough of the display as your man marches over to you and silently drags you away from the group by your arm, his firm, large hand fully wrapping around the naturally tiny limb of yours by comparison as he pulls you to his office

older bf! john price who isn’t having it at all, who’s already decided on your punishment(s) as soon as the door slams shut in the private room, immediately delivering a firm slap over your cheek when you confusedly try to reason with him by calling out his name— instead only reminding you that it’s “sir” or “captain” with him and nothing else when you’ve fucked up, during times like these

-

older bf! john price who has you bent over his work desk in the middle of the room with your trousers and panties bunched around your ankles, face down, pressed into the hard wooden surface covered with various paperwork and files scattered around as you begin to sob, while he lectures you with a firm hand pushed against your spine, on how a stupid little girl like you needs to know better next time, to not let his men take advantage of you like that, to not behave like a whore for hire in front of them and especially not in front of him (you genuinely did not know any better! •ᴖ•)

older bf! john price who decides to spank your bare, plush little ass still bent over his desk, maybe 20 or 30 times (depending on how much steam he still needs to blow after his lecture), using his belt, ordering you to cry out a meek little “thank you sir” even through the mess of tears and snot on your face after each hit, to ease you into your discipline for the evening, while he decides what else to do with you afterwards

older bf! john price who notices how much you’re sobbing and practically screaming by the time he reaches the final five blows, your plump behind shaking uncontrollably and so, sinfully reddened with little strips of purple bruises and welts already starting to form :( so once he’s done he coos and picks up your limp, trembling body effortlessly and pulls you into his lap while he sits down by his work desk, shushing you and even occasionally chuckling at your cries while he runs a big, warm hand down your back, your face buried into his neck as you continue to weep and even begin to weakly apologise

older bf! john price who stays like that, rocking you back and forth on his lap for a few minutes and letting his big, warm hands roam over your back and bare behind, trying to calm down the burn of his thick, leather belt and it’s blows as he shushes you and reassures you that it’s almost over. you’re doing so well <3

older bf! john price who was planning on fucking you senselessly after your spanking with your face pressed down into his desk, but decides to take it easy on you and have a little bit of mercy after seeing how sad and weepy you’re being, as well as how much you’ve even genuinely apologised for it all :( it’s not your fault that a naive, pretty thing like you was being approached and taken advantage of by his men! any soldier would have done the same to a girl who they had no clue already belonged to their captain

older bf! john price who instead gently lifts you off of his lap after a while, wiping your tears away with his calloused thumbs before softly pushing you down to your knees, making you kneel on the very same ass he’d just bruised and spanked senselessly as he spreads his legs a little further on his chair and begins to unzip his trousers — he wanted to take it easy on you, he truly did, but he’d also grown painfully hard after giving you that little spanking with his belt and now he still needed you to help relieve him, surely you’d understand!

[bunnyreaper]

john helps you with your gender studies work, then decides to properly educate you.

(18+/MDNI, established d/s dynamic, dubcon(ish), misogyny kink, degradation, choking, pussy slapping.)

part of you wanted to slam the textbook shut the second your handsome distraction of a boyfriend walked through the door, but a large part of you knew you had to get your reading done now before your ability to concentrate evaporated come nightfall. 

you try to focus on the words on the page as you hear john shuck off his jacket and boots, and throw his keys onto the table by the door. 

"home, love." he calls out, before stepping through into the flat. 

"hey." you greet back, small smile on your face even if your response is a little half-hearted. 

john shuffles over to the couch, collapsing down onto the plush cushions before he pulls off his beanie and throws it on the coffee table. 

he gives you a few moments to wrap up the page you're reading, then he expects you to come over and fuss over him like you always do. 

the fussing doesn't come. and his leg starts to rock in impatience--after a trip to the base, he needs his soft, sweet girl in his arms. needs his love cooing over him and staring at him like he hangs the stars in the sky for her. 

instead, your nose is in that fucking book. 

growing impatient, he calls out to you once more, though his voice doesn't betray the way he sits on the couch and fights the urge to bounce his leg, or the twitch of his fingers. "what's that, love?" 

"new class." you flash the book cover at him, key concepts in gender studies. 

john parts his thighs, making a space before he taps them. "come sit here, bring your textbook." his command is gentle yet compelling, and you rise to your feet without a second thought. 

"study snuggles?" you ask, a bright smile on your face as you make your way over. john often tempted you into his arms so he could cuddle you while you read, and you both got what you wanted. 

"something like that." he smirks, grabbing your waist and pulling you into his lap so your arse is flush against him. he circles an arm around your waist, keeping you securely in place as you get back to reading. 

john can't help himself though. his girl in his lap, right where he wants her, and he's sure if he just starts teasing he can make her forget all about the book. he's done it so many times before. 

he pulls the fabric of your top down your shoulder, baring your skin to him so he can press ravenous kisses all across your shoulder and all up your pretty neck. he knows your weak spots, targets them directly with hungry licks and playful bites, until he hears you gasp and sigh in delight, until he feels you squirm in his lap.

"john, i'm trying to focus." you sigh, protest weak as his kisses continue.

one of his hands trails up your thigh, pushing past the hem to expose your thighs and tease your sensitive skin, his hands on a mission. 

like a good girl, you sit and take what john gives you, desperately trying to keep your focus as arousal fogs your brain. maybe you have to re-read the same line about five times, but you're determined to keep going--the book's contents have made you feel determined and powerful. 

john's hands both settle on your knees, pulling your legs wider until they're stretched over his and exposing you to anything john wishes to give to you. 

still, you try to keep your mind on the book and not on the way his fingers creep up the silky skin of your inner thighs, or the way his hardness presses against your cheeks. 

you turn the page over, finally having finished with the prior one. john settles his chin against your shoulder where it glistens with his spit, and you can feel his eyes on the page, reading along with you. 

"don't you feel silly, darling?" he whispers, fingers teasing you further, making you jerk in his lap. 

"why?" you ask, trying to not pay him or his like of questioning too much mind. 

"reading feminist theory when you're far from one." his voice is taunting, a purr that shoots right through you with how condescending it is.

"i am a feminist. you're a feminist." you reason, yet as you say it, you catch onto his little game. at the same time, he reaches up to take ahold of your hand, squeezing. you squeeze back twice. 

"i mean look, women and power." he scoffs, taking your finger to point to the sentence, as if couldn't read it on your own. "i think you should drop the class, darling."

"why?"

one hand moves back to your thighs, thick fingers pads stroking across the outer seam of your panties, the other comes to the nape of your neck--stroking and kneading, giving you goosebumps everywhere.

"don't want it filling your pretty little head full of nonsense." he coos, punctuating his words with a tighter grip. 

"nonsense?" you ask, voice sweet and innocent. 

john hums for a moment, before his slips round the column of your throat. "who has power in this relationship?"

he choses that moment to ghost his fingers across your clit through your panties, and he watches as your body tries to chase his fingers. 

"y-you."

"and why's that, princess?" he turns your head and kisses the side of your jaw, hovers his fingers inches away from where you need him most. 

"because you're older and wiser, but really it's because I give you power!" you protest, voice growing whiny as your body betrays you. 

john laughs--a low, mocking sound. his fingers tighten around your throat, restricting your blood flow. "hmm. but you like listening to an older man, don't you?"

"yes..."  

finally he pushes his fingers firmly into your clit, chucking as you buck and your legs almost start kicking. "how is that empowering?"

pleasure floods you immediately. your grip on your book tightens, your eyes slip shut and a breathy moan pushes past your lips."it's just a fantasy... it's not... real."

"isn't it? are you sure?" he coos again, talking to you like you're beyond stupid. his fingers quicken, his grip chokes you harder. "if you wanted me to stop, could you fight me off?"

you thrash against his hold but find it entirely futile. "no!" you cry out. 

"why?" 

john relents, stilling all movement so you can calm down and give him a semi-coherent answer. even with his hands not actively teasing you, it still feels so hard to think.

"well you're in the army for one." you mutter, a sarcastic edge to your voice that earns you a short, sharp slap to your pussy that brings you back in line. "because you're bigger and stronger. 

"why do you think that is?"

you hate the way it feels like john is actually picking apart your thoughts, invading your brain and reprogramming you--and you know he hasn't even gotten started.

"because... you're a man."

"hmm, it's natural for men to be strong, powerful." he explains, his words patient and authoritative. he returns to massaging your clit, making you associate the words with pleasure. "for women to be weaker, in need of protection." 

you wrack your brain to think of a response, a rebuttal to john's claim. "that doesn't make us unequal."

"no, princess, this little slit between your legs does." he mocks, as his fingers now dive underneath the fabric of your soaked panties to probe at your hole. "what is a cunt's purpose?" 

"to... get fucked?" you mumble, feeling shy. finally, you close the book, tossing it down on the floor and listening to john instead.

"fucked and bred by a man. dominated. conquered." his fingers thrust inside you, ruthless as they piston into your needy hole. "it's just nature, hmm? a cunt gets fucked, a cock does the fucking." 

"i... guess." what he is saying makes sense to your aroused, confused, weak female brain. 

"and your body knows it too, that's why you're leaking all over my fingers." he croons before sweeping your wetness all over your aching clit. 

"no, that's because--" 

he slaps your cunt again. 

"If you didn't like it, you wouldn't be soaked darling." he tuts and shakes his head, dismissive of your feeble protest. "it's normal, princess. your body doesn't believe in fantasy, it just knows reality." 

"s'not a bad thing to want to be protected, coddled, cared for. not wrong to give into your instincts, to want to be filled up with cock and cum, to please a man." 

he keeps talking, keeps re-educating you as his fingers work over your puffy nub and the sensation of being a little messy girl overwhelms you. 

"goes both ways love, wanna please you too, but we each have our roles, no?" 

"yeah... you're right..." you nod weakly.

"there has to be a reason this is the way things have always been, hmm?" 

john continues, launching into a long speech as he works you closer and closer to the edge. "and look at what you do for me. what would they think if they could see you now?"

your brain starts to slow, his words echoing around your empty little brain. 

still, he persists. still, he preaches his patriarchal gospel. "if they knew the times you skipped classes just to stay at home, down on your knees, worshipping my cock with that pretty fucking mouth?"

his words turn to a condescending growl, a mocking roar as he infiltrates every last corner of your mind. "if they knew the way misogyny gets you fucking soaked, love." 

the hand on your neck glides as his fingers intrude into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue and choking you on the digits. "could you even spell patriarchy right now, explain feminism? no? go on, tell me you're a feminist, princess." He urges, unrelenting.

all you can do is gargle and choke in response, unable to do the one simple thing john asks of you, unable to do it because you're weak. a woman. just a needy cunt.

"good girl. my good girl. that's it, surrender to a big strong man like me. s'just natural, love." his filthy, forbidden words have you right on the edge. but you know the rules, you don't come without his permission.

luckily for you--john is merciful, kind, and takes care of what's his. after all, he only wants what's best for you. "cum for me. cum the last of your brains away, sweetheart."

with his command, the coil within you snaps, sending you over the edge of a brain-shattering orgasm--a high unlike any other. it feels like you do actually cum your brains out, as your body shakes against john's hold and cries leave your throat until it's almost raw.

john holds you steady, safe in his arms as you come down from the high and he presses sweet kisses along every inch of exposed skin he can possibly reach. 

"fuck, john." you sigh, eyes remaining shut in your blissed out state. you cling to where john's arms are wrapped around you, squeezing him back. 

"good?" he whispers as he strokes you soothingly. "didn't go too far?"

"no, i loved it." 

he smirks against your skin, relieved that you enjoyed exploring the fantasy with him.

"good. how about i take you to bed and really fuck the feminism out of you then?"

[savemefromanepicoftimewasted]

Between A Rock And A Hard Place

PS!Simon "Ghost" Riley X PS!John "Soap" MacTavish X PS!F!Reader

This was supposed to be easy. Easy That was a word that didn’t exist currently in Johnny’s vocabulary, not with the way his body was so tense. He’d known what the shoot entailed, hell this wasn’t his first rodeo.

thank you to everyone who voted for the poll! I'm very happy to say that I got a chance to reread the fic sooner than expected so you're getting it today instead of Sunday! warnings: THIS IS PURE SMUT, MDNI, DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 feedback is appreciated!

This was supposed to be easy.

Easy

That was a word that didn’t exist currently in Johnny’s vocabulary, not with the way his body was so tense. He’d known what the shoot entailed, hell this wasn’t his first rodeo.

However, this wasn’t what he’d been expecting at the moment.

He could feel the way your cunt nearly choked his cock, your knees pressing into his ribs as he held your hips down to his own. Simon’s breath lingered over his neck, his hand wrapped tight around his throat.

How he hadn’t cum from that alone he was amazed. No, it was Simon nestling that monster of a cock inside they nearly caused him to tumble over the edge. At the moment he was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Ha, puns.

“You’re gonna fuck her tight little pussy like a good boy.” Simon’s words sent a wave of pleasure through his spine, his cock hardening further inside of your warmth.

“Yes sir.” Johnny needed to keep his focus, needed to give you what you needed rather than what the camera wanted.

Pulling his hips back slowly Johnny couldn’t help the whimper that slipped through his lips. Simon’s cock pressed tight up against his prostate, eyes slipping closed, his grip tightened around your thighs. Everything felt as if it were moving in slow motion.

“‘As a good boy, go ahead and make her feel good.” Simon’s hands traced up along his stomach, god his skin was on fire.

“Thank you, sir.” Johnny swallowed thickly, the motion causing his Adam’s apple to press further against the grip Simon had on his throat.

Johnny's hips grinded deep against your own, his cock rubbing deliciously against your g-spot. He could feel the way your cunt tightened further around his cock, orgasm cresting as your eyes rolled back into your skull. Your moans were always so pretty, breathy as your come coated his cock like the most delicious nectar

Simon roughly pulled Johnny's hips back against his own, his cock slamming into the shorter man. Johnny’s eyes screwed shut as he tried to starve off his own orgasm, hips slamming into your cunt once more.

Johnny's name was a scream on your gorgeous lips, slick coating his cock as your orgasm tightened your core.

“Such a good girl, coming for our pretty boy right here.” Simon’s hand slid up, squeezing Johnny's cheeks until his lips pursed.

Johnny's cheeks flushed as Simon’s words sunk into his mind, his body overheating.

“Si.” Johnny’s words were slurred, pussy and cockdrunk.

“Yeah? You ‘onna be a good boy for me?” Simon pressed his hips forward, cock grinding deep inside the other man.

A whine slipped from his throat, head falling back onto Simon’s shoulder. His hips slapped against your own, a sweet moan slipping through your lips.

“Get on your knees, wan’ our lovely lady to have a good time.” Simon knew you’d already come all over Johnny's cock, could see the way your pussy glistened in the dim lighting.

Johnny pulled out of you slowly, feeling Simon following him down onto the floor. The carpet was plush beneath his knees, a small comfort for what would ensue.

“Be a good boy, don’t leave her waiting.” Simon gripped his hair roughly, pushing his mouth towards your soaked cunt.

Johnny wasted no time, hands gripping your hips to pull your soaked folds towards his waiting mouth. His tongue slipped out slowly, licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit. Your back arched so prettily, tits on full display as he groaned into your waiting heat.

As Johnny started to get into the slow motions of pleasing you, Simon pulled his hips back, slamming into the man harshly. Johnny's eyes rolled back as he moaned against your cunt, lips parted and shiny with your slick. Your thighs pressed tighter around his head, back arched as you whined.

“Look at that, she likes it.” Simon’s smirk was dark, one hand stayed in Johnny's hair, grip tight as he guided Johnny's movements. The other gripped his waist, pulling him back to meet every thrust.

You ran your hands down your body, hand sliding overtop of Simon’s in Johnny's hair.

“Feels so good baby, love the way you eat my pussy.” Your words were breathy, eyes glazed over as you struggled to stay upright.

Simon’s grip tightened in his hair, pulling him back away from your cunt as his thrusts turned harsh. Johnny could feel his release building, stomach tightening as he gasped Simon’s name like a prayer.

“Fuck, ‘m gonna.” Before Johnny could utter another word his mouth was pressed back into your cunt, the tip of his nose grinding against your swollen clit.

Simon reached down between Johnny's legs, stroking his cock in time with his thrusts. He could feel the way he tightened around his cock, just a couple more.

“Oh! Johnny!” Your orgasm crashed into your body like a tidal wave, thighs clamped around his head as you rode his tongue like you would his cock.

Johnny's grip tightened on your hips, a deep guttural groan vibrating into your core as he came around Simon’s hand. His vision whited out, legs shaking harshly as he struggled not to pass out.

“Fuck.” Simon pulled out of him gently, stroking his cock until spurts of cum landed on his back. 

While Simon would love nothing more than to cum in the both of you, he knew it didn’t always look good for the camera.

“Now you know not to touch what’s mine.” Simon slapped his ass harshly, squeezing the flesh before standing up.

You were a complete mess on the bed, chest rising and falling harshly as you stroked Johnny's hair.

“Cut! That was great guys, let’s get their robes so we can clean up.” Simon helped Johnny off the floor, reaching a hand out to help you off the bed.

You nearly fell into him, giggling softly as you rested between the two burley men.

“I have to admit, I’d definitely do that again.” Your body was flushed, sweat glistening over your naked chest.

Simon couldn’t help but admire your body in the overly fluorescent lighting, Johnny doing much of the same.

Maybe this could be the start of something beautiful.

tagging: @ssoliva @vabeachazn @lols-wdym @gaylemonshark

[halfmoth-halfman]

prologue

You’ve never been inside the famous club, The 141.

i. it's a new day, it's a new life

This isn’t where you expected to end up—stuck in some rundown motel with nothing but the clothes on your back.

ii. a collection of strangers (a series of secrets)

You can only describe them the same way you can the rest of the club’s workers—stunning.

iii. no proof except my silver tongue

You’ve never been to this side of town at night.

iv. the night was young (and so were we)

Surveying the competition turns out to be code for going on a club crawl and getting obscenely drunk.

v. she works hard for the money (so you better treat her right)

You don’t know what to expect from shopping with Valeria.

vi. would you give the devil this dance

You can’t let yourself be haunted by your past forever, and, unsure as you are, you know one thing to be true: You’ve never felt safer than you do around him.

vii. wise men say, only fools rush in

In the following weeks, you learn one very important thing: John Price is a relentless flirt.

viii. but i can't help failing in love with you

You don’t know how you feel as you kiss him. It’s a combination of emotions you haven’t felt in so long: relief, desire, comfort, joy. They all swirl together into the one emotion you’ve been chasing since your wedding. Safe.

ix. the rumor burned straight through the town (and as it grew, so did her vow)

Kyle doesn’t think much of you the day you first walk into the club.

x. everybody thought the truth had been caught (her reputation began to drown)

You haven’t looked at your wedding photo in years.

xi. screaming birds sound an awful lot like singing

Everything you’ve experienced in the past four months pales in comparison to how your heart shatters at this moment.

xii. it won't cost you much (just a single drop of blood)

Who knew rock bottom looked like standing before a wall of mirrors in a bespoke wedding gown?

xiii. little girl gone

You’re shocked into consciousness, startling awake in a pile of plush blankets and cloud-soft pillows.

xiv. nothing makes me weak now (you better run for your life)

The news of Price’s arrest—of your alleged murder—sends you into a state of shock.

xv. won't forgive what you did (i've never hurt anyone, now it's time)

They float somewhere between too compliant and too afraid, like they’re scared you may snap at any given moment. Whether they worry it’ll be in anger or anguish, you don’t know. Price is the worst of them all.

xvi. what you'll see is the worst me (I will ask you for mercy)

The nights are the hardest.

xvii. for if i'm going down i guess i'll take you with me

By the end of the week, the plan is set.

xviii. i'm free darlin' (i revenge, i revenge)

Your world is engulfed in fire and blood.

epilogue. it's a new dawn, a new day, a new life (and i'm feeling good)

The beginning of the rest of your life starts with a single, admittedly awkward, therapy appointment. 

Extras

karma is a cat purring on my lap

The cat is a wretched creature made of a vicious hatred that could rival only the Devil himself.

my personal hcs for canary

canary's dresses

canary's wedding dresses

canary and adler headcanons

how the 141 makes their money

how the gangs run their businesses

random designer dress headcanons

alternate ending ideas

songs used for chapter titles

soap hcs + canary and price children hcs

canary + 141 age headcanons

[j-eryewrites]

The Great Game (III)

Part 21 of The Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221B Baker Street

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

Previous | Next

Word Count: ~10.8k

Author's Note: Tensions rise, and the threat of M continues to loom over their heads. When pulled too tight, things are bound to break.

It's almost the end. I hope you all enjoy this chapter. I finished it around midnight, so forgive any typos and whatnot. Without further ado, I present the second-to-last chapter of Arbitrary Lives.

Warnings: Supreme angst, canon typical violence, Sherlock is Sherlock (but in the worst way), mentions of death, character death, mentions of gore, firearms, language, yandere relation themes, drugging (Let me know if I missed anything)

Case after case was how it seemed to go when Sherlock, John, and Y/N were racing against the mysterious M. Every time Sherlock would solve a puzzle given to him, the pink phone would ring moments later, presenting a new one. With each chime of the telephone, Y/N found herself getting more and more anxious. M was bigger than anything they'd ever seen; worst of all, they had no clue who they were. M seemed to operate from afar, offering their advice on cases of the illegal type, allowing M the anonymity to be anyone and be anywhere. For all Y/N knew, M could be some sick person stuck in their parent's basement on the other side of the world. Even so, M seemed one step ahead and knew every step they had taken. 

Sitting upon a plush, gray, white striped couch beneath her served more comfort than she'd like to admit. Sherlock had sent her and John on another goose chase after, yet again, another call from their tormentor. While Y/N was lost in thought, petting the hairless cat on her lap, John took the lead in questioning Kenny, the brother of Connie Prince. 

The two had done as much research as they could, which turned out to be a few newspaper articles, the bizarre gossip and facts they had gathered from Mrs. Hudson, and, of course, the Wikipedia pages on Connie. Once they put all their research together, they discovered they found a plethora of ways to tell which colors suited oneself and which ones brought out the sick in one's skin tone, but not much about Connie and her brother. 

A loud and content purr vibrated from the naked cat as Y/N's hands caressed its head and neck. Upon hearing the meow, John raised his brow, trying to hide his concern. The creature sitting on Y/N's lap was not a cat. John had seen Bjørn, and Bjørn was a cat. Y/N's pet had fur and a bush-brown tail. If anything, the Prince's cat was an abomination in his mind. 

"We're devastated," Kenny Prince sighed as he carefully placed his arm on the mantle behind him, leaning ever so slightly. As John withdrew his eyes from the fur-less animal, he found his brows pinching together as Kenny Price posed. "Of course we are." Kenny waved his hand and dramatically looked to the side with a somber expression. 

To say the least, John was confused. First, there was the cat. He didn't want to give that thing another thought. Secondly was Kenny's posing. Why was Kenny posing unless he was trying to...His finger brushed against something hard, and John scolded himself. The camera. They had brought a camera. Y/N had proposed they be reporters to gain an interview with Kenny. John would be the reporter and Y/N the photographer. Kenny was posing for candid photos for their article. 

"Can I get you anything, sir?" a voice spoke from behind John. It was Raoul, Kenny's staff member.

He whirled around and replied, shaking his head. "Er, no. No, thanks."

"And what about you, miss?" Raoul asked Y/N, who absently shook her head. Her fingers were still petting the cat. 

"Raoul is my rock," Kenny admitted, still holding his position. "I don't think I could have managed. We didn't always see eye to eye, but my sister was very dear to me."

A light pressure pushed down on John's thighs. Glancing down, he noticed the cat was no longer on Y/N's lap but his. A wave of disgust trembled through his body. With stiff fingers, he picked it up and dropped it on the other side of the couch where Y/N sat. The cat meowed in discontent, stepping back over to John. John shivered at the cat's relentless attempts and held out his arm as a barrier. 

"And–," John said, trying to continue Kenny's conversation and retain the purity of his own lap as it was reserved for Bjørn. "-and to the public, Mr. Prince."

"Oh, she was adored. I've seen her take girls who looked like the back end of Routemasters and turn them into princesses," Kenny continued. Meanwhile, his cat pounced over John's barrier and clung onto his lap. With a wince, John placed a hand on the cat's back. It happily purred.  "Still, it's a relief in a way to know that she's beyond this veil of tears."

"Absolutely," John muttered, hiding his grimace. He flashed Y/N a look, but she found gazing at Kenny Prince's coffee table intriguing. He frowned as concern for his friend bubbled to the surface. He could only imagine how exhausted she was. Not just physically from all the running around they have been doing lately but also as exhaustion of the emotional sort. John was not blind to Sherlock's actions, and it didn't take a fool to see that Sherlock was cold. His mind was solely occupied with M and the puzzles that he was given, which meant he didn't have much concern for others. It was not that he usually did, but with Y/N, it was different. She meant something to Sherlock.

John opened his mouth to whisper something to Y/N when he noticed Kenny's voice was absent. Right, John corrected himself. He was here about the case. The sooner he was done with this, the faster he could help both of his friends. 

"It's more common than people think," John began. "The tetanus is in the soil, people cut themselves on rose bushes, garden forks, that sort of thing. If left un...,"  Kenny Prince plopped down between Y/N and John. The sudden jolt of the couch awoke Y/N from her daze. Her shoulder was pressed tightly against Kenny's as he leaned into John, invading his space even more than hers. "...treated..." John finished, scooting as far away from Kenny as he could. 

"I don't know what I'm going to do now," Kenny confessed, leaning even closer to John. 

"Right," John said, biting the inside of his cheek. He peered over Kenny's shoulder and saw Y/N. They shared a look that screamed discomfort, but they could do nothing as Kenny pushed them into the sides of the sofa. As Kenny continued speaking, John and Y/N's eyes held a secret conversation, mainly curses and discontent with the situation. 

"I mean, she's left me this place, which is lovely....," Kenny's voice trailed off as his eyes never left John. "...but it's not the same without her." 

Before replying, John took a deep breath and stared down at his notes. "Th-that's why my paper wanted to get the, um, the full story straight from the horse's mouth. You sure it's not too soon?"

"No," Kenny said.  

"Right," John gulped. 

"You fire away," Kenny uttered. His longing gaze not once left John. The longer the conversation continued, the more uncomfortable Y/N felt; she could only imagine how John felt. Here was Kenny Prince, after his sister's death, flirting with John. Y/N observed Kenny staring at John, making her feel like a forgotten third wheel to a nonconsensual flirting session. She had to come to his rescue. She'd done it before with lots of her friends back home. It would be easy, so long as she could get off the couch, which's cushions were sucking her in deeper. 

Before John could ask any of his questions and Y/N could rescue him from unwanted attention, a buzzing echoed from her back pocket. Kenny turned over his shoulder to look at her as if she had interrupted a vital moment. She smiled awkwardly, shoved herself off the sofa, and answered her phone. 

"Y/N," Sherlock's voice rang over the phone.

"You know, one usually starts a call with hello," Y/N muttered. 

"Right, hello," Sherlock's voice oozed with sarcasm. 

Sherlock didn't speak for a moment. Y/N furrowed her brows. "Is there a reason you called Sherlock?"

On the other end, Sherlock struggled to find a response. He had practiced his excuse beforehand. Well, it wasn't much of an excuse, more of a warning. Even so, after hearing her voice, Sherlock had forgotten everything. He mentally reprimanded himself for falling back into his sentiment so quickly. Y/N needed to be safe, so he had to push her away. A task that only seemed to grow more impossible with each breath she took. 

John's eyes widened upon hearing Sherlock's name, and his escape was revealed to him. Shooting out of his seat, he snatched the phone from Y/N, quickly apologized, and began speaking to Sherlock. "Hi. Look, get over here quickly. I think I'm onto something," John breathed. Sherlock found himself missing Y/N's sweet voice. "You'll ne-" John was cut off by the loud footsteps barging into the room.  

Confusion plastered onto his face, and he hung up the phone. After all, there was no need to speak through a phone when Sherlock stood in the same room as him. 

"That'll be him," John said, pointing at Sherlock. Kenny Prince looked even more shaken than the consulting detective's friends were at his sudden appearance. However, the longer they pondered his arrival, the more John and Y/N realized this was normal for the great Sherlock Holmes. 

"What?" Kenny asked, looking at the unwelcome guest in his home. 

There was a calculated look on Sherlock's face before any trace of the consulting detective was washed away and replaced with a new persona. Y/N sighed as her legs lowered her body into an armchair nearby. 

"Ah, Mr. Prince, isn't it?" Sherlock took out his hand for Kenny to shake. 

"Yes," Kenny nodded, standing up to take Sherlock's hand. 

"Very good to meet you," Sherlock smiled. 

"Yes, thank you," Kenny said, still trying to figure out the situation.  

"So sorry to hear about...," Sherlock continued, but Kenny cut him off. 

Mr. Prince waved his hand, stopping Sherlock from offering false condolences about the situation. "Yes, yes, very kind."

"Shall we, er..." John cleared his throat, stepping over to Sherlock. He motioned for Sherlock to lean down before whispering in Sherlock's ear, "You were right. The bacteria got into her another way."

Sherlock couldn't help but notice the smirk that appeared on his face. "Oh yes?"

"Yes," John nodded. 

"Right. We all set?" Kenny asked, bringing his hands together. 

John, Sherlock, and Y/N frowned and watched as Kenny pointed to the camera on the sofa. Y/N grabbed it and removed the protective lens, turning it on. "Um, yes. Can you...?" she said, twirling her finger in the air, pretending to be a journalistic photographer. 

"Not too close," Kenny warned as he returned to his original stance by the mantle. "I'm raw from crying." Then he lifted his head and posed for the camera, letting Y/N take a few pictures. 

Beneath Sherlock's feet, Kenny's cat meowed. It butted its head against his dark trousers causing Sherlock to frown. He tilted his head as he peered at the cat. He wasn't sure if that's what he should call it. 

"Oh, who's this?" Sherlock wondered as he motioned to the feline. 

"Sekhmet," Kenny answered, finding a new pose for Y/N to capture. "Named after the Egyptian goddess."

"How nice! Was she Connie's?" Sherlock asked. 

"Yes," Kenny nodded, taking pride in his response. Little present from yours truly." Then John smelled it as Kenny picked up Sekhmet, and the ominous smell of disinfectant seeped from the hairless cat. John smiled as the piece clicked into place.

"Actually," John turned to Kenny, tapping Y/N on the shoulder. "I think we've got what we came for. Excuse us." 

"What?" Kenny gasped as saw Y/N place the camera strap over her shoulders and return the protective lens to its place. 

"Sherlock," John sternly stated, raising his brows to say he'd solved it. 

"What?" Sherlock frowned, trying to interpret John's signal.  

"We've got deadlines," John said, pushing his two closest friends out of Kenny Prince's living room. This left behind a puddle of confusion for Mr. Prince and his sister's cat. 

_____

Once Raoul had closed the door behind them, John erupted in cheers. Triumphantly, John raised his fist in the air and then brought it down, doing a little happy dance. Y/N smiled and giggled at the sight. 

“Yes! Ooh, yes!” John laughed. He turned to Sherlock and froze. 

One look from Sherlock swiftly ended John's parade. “You think it was the cat. It wasn't the cat,” Sherlock corrected. 

John shook his head in disbelief. “What? No, yes. Yeah, it is. It must be. It's how they got the tetanus into her system. Its paws stink of disinfectant.” John whirled around to face Y/N, seeking backup, but found none. 

“Honestly, I have no clue what’s going on,” Y/N admitted. “I just took pictures.”

A knowing smirk crept onto Sherlock’s face. “Lovely idea, John.”

“No,” John adamantly said. “He coated it onto the paws of her cat. It's a new pet, bound to be a bit jumpy around her. A scratch is almost inevitable. She wouldn't have...”

“I thought of it the minute I saw the scratches on her arm,” Sherlock announced, “but it's too random and too clever for the brother.”

“He murdered his sister for her money,” John said as his smile was wiped from his face.

“Did he?” Sherlock raised a brow.

“Didn't he?” John wondered.

Sherlock shook his head. “No. It was revenge.”

“Wait,” Y/N interjected. “Revenge? Who wanted revenge? I know his sister wasn’t the nicest to him, but even so, Kenny seemed…genuine?” 

“Raoul, the houseboy,” Sherlock began explaining the case. He straightened his coat collar and stood taller, glancing down at his friends. “Kenny Prince was the butt of his sister's jokes, week in, week out, a virtual bullying campaign. Finally, he had enough and fell out with her badly. It's all on the website. She threatened to disinherit Kenny. Raoul had grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle, so...”

John shook his head, still in denial. “No, wait, wait. Wait a second. What about the disinfectant, then, on the cat's claws?”

“Raoul keeps a very clean house,” Sherlock noted. “You came through the kitchen door, saw the state of that floor, scrubbed to within an inch of its life. You smell of disinfectant now. No, the cat doesn't come into it. Raoul's Internet records do, though. Hope we can get a cab from here.” 

Sherlock peered up and down the street. There wasn’t a cab in sight. 

“Well, we could always walk back to the station or hop on a bus-“ Y/N suggested. Then, as if by divine intervention, a cab pulled onto the street. The trio hastily hailed the cab and jumped inside.

It did not take them long to arrive at the station. Traffic was horrible on the streets, but with a hefty bribe to the cab driver, they were bursting through the door of Lestrade’s office faster than Mrs. Hudson could flick on the latest episode of her favorite soap opera. 

A wave of black trickled majestically after Sherlock as he entered the office. “Raoul de Santos is your killer. Kenny Prince's houseboy. Second autopsy shows it wasn't tetanus that poisoned Connie Prince. It was botulinum toxin.” 

Lestrade sat up in his seat and sifted through the numerous papers on his desk. Finding the second autopsy report, his eyes scanned the results. His eyes widened. Sherlock was right.

“We've been here before. Carl Powers? Tut-tut. Our bomber's repeated himself,” Sherlock said.

“So how'd he do it?” Lestrade asked.

“Botox injection,” Sherlock answered.

“Botox?” Lestrade questioned, raising his brows. After all, it was not every day that someone was murdered with Botox.

“Botox is a diluted form of botulinum,” Sherlock explained. “Among other things, Raoul de Santos was employed to give Connie her regular facial injections. My contact at the Home Office gave me the complete records of Raoul's Internet purchases. He's been bulk ordering Botox for months.” Sitting across Lestrade, Sherlock swiftly crossed his legs and dug his hand into his coat pocket. “Bided his time, then upped the strength to a fatal dose.”

“You sure about this?” Lestrade asked in confirmation.

Instead of Sherlock’s voice answering, Y/N spoke up. “He is,” Sherlock peered up at her and felt his cheeks heat up. “Connie was an avid Botox user. It was all on the blogs and magazines. No one would bat an eye at the injection sights or if Botox turned up in the autopsies.” 

Lestrade nodded his head, “All right.”

“Sherlock,” John slowly said. “How long?”

“What?” Sherlock questioned as he snapped out of his daze. 

“How long have you known?” There was hurt evident in John’s voice. 

Y/N looked between the two of them. “Wait, you’re saying you sent John and I on a goose chase?” 

Sherlock shrugged, letting John and Y/N’s confusion and hurt fly over his head. “Well, this one was quite simple, actually, and like I said, the bomber repeated himself. That was a mistake.”

“No, but Sherl... The hostage... the old woman,” John uttered. “She's been there all this time.”

“I knew I could save her,” Sherlock replied as he began to type on the small pink phone.

. “I also knew that the bomber had given us twelve hours. I solved the case quickly; that gave me time to get on with other things. Don't you see? We're one up on him!“ Sherlock cheered. 

Like clockwork, the phone rang, and Sherlock answered. “Hello?”

“Help me,” the old woman whispered.

“Tell us where you are. Address,” Sherlock looked over to Lestrade, who had his team on standby. 

“He was so... His voice...,” the woman began to describe.

Sherlock’s pale blue eyes widened, and he grew pale. “No, no, no, no,” Sherlock yelled. “Tell me nothing about him. Nothing.” There was a desperation in his voice that Y/N had only heard a few times. 

Sherlock was rarely desperate unless something dangerous was happening. She recalled the terror that trembled from his chest during the night in the museum-the night Sulin died. It was the very voice he had when he clung to her after Hilton Cubitt was killed. 

Panic coursed through Y/N’s body, constricting her lungs. Sherlock was scared, and so was she. 

“He sounded so... soft-“ the caller was cut off and the horrifying sound of the dial tone screeched in Sherlock’s ear. 

Lestrade furrowed his brow and approached the stunned consulting detective. “Sherlock?” he asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“What's happened?” John questioned. 

However, Sherlock couldn’t hear any of them. The pink phone was still glued to his ear, and his blue eyes began to fill with a salty ocean. Even in the blur, he found Y/N. She stood with her hands clutching her heart, her face in pain and shock. As he sought comfort in her presence, his fears were confirmed. 

This was a game for monsters and freaks. M had made that clear. The woman over the phone was human. She cared enough to speak up. In turn, she died. She was a chess piece in a game ruled by freaks like him. M had made his move. The botulinum that killed Connie Prince wasn’t a mistake. It was a threat. M was going to take his queen. His most important player. It wasn’t a mistake that Carl Powers' shoes were found in her flat. It wasn’t a mistake. He was also killed by botulinum. Through his cloudy eyes, Sherlock saw clearly now. 

Sherlock had to remove his queen from the chessboard before M could steal her from him forever.

______

Y/N should have found comfort in the worn leather of the sofa and the creaking of the floor beneath her feet. Steam rose from her cup as the cold air of Sherlock’s flat cooled her tea. 

Mrs. Hudson had made it for her, John, and Sherlock. The brown liquid swirled in her cup, with small herbs dancing around. Mrs. Hudson always made tea for them with the secret ingredient of love. Love was precisely what Y/N needed as the television echoed the horrific news. 

“The explosion,” the reporter announced, “which ripped through several floors, killing twelve people. It is said to have been caused by a faulty gas main. A spokesman from the utilities company...”

“He certainly gets about,” John sighed, stirring the tiny spoon in his tea. 

“Well,” Sherlock began. “Obviously, I lost that round.” 

Y/N bit her tongue. Twelve people had died, and Sherlock was still playing the game. She fought back tears as anger boiled to the surface. Sherlock had a heart, but the more he spoke, the more she thought she’d been wrong. 

“Although technically I did solve the case. He killed the old lady because she started to describe him,” Sherlock explained. “Just once, he put himself in the firing line.”

“What d'you mean?” John asked. 

“Well, usually, he must stay above it all,” Sherlock said, thinking back to all the cases M had given him so far. “He organizes these things, but no one ever has direct contact.”

“What... like the Connie Prince murder – he-he arranged that?” John’s voice wavered. “So people come to him wanting their crimes fixed up, like booking a holiday?”

“Novel,” Sherlock muttered.

Y/N scoffed. “Sounds like a demented version of what you do.” Sherlock cocked his brow. “I mean, you’re a consulting detective. People come to you wanting their cases solved. Maybe he’s a consulting criminal?”

Sherlock nodded, feigning interest. “Taking his time this time,” Sherlock said as he checked the pink phone.

John cleared his throat. “Anything on the Carl Powers case?”

Shaking his head, Sherlock replied. “Nothing. All the living classmates check out spotless. No connection.”

“ Have you checked outside of his class?“ Y/N proposed. John and Sherlock looked at her with confusion.

“I doubt anyone outside of Carl Powers’ class would-“ Sherlock replied.

“But what if he was a bully? I know that victims of bullying will sometimes fight back and m-“ Y/N explained.

“Bully?” John repeated.

“Yeah, I just…,” Y/N said. “I don’t want to leave any stone unturned. There was a reason Carl died, and M brought it to our attention.”  

“Hmmm,” Sherlock hummed before asking Lestrade to expand his search on Carl Powers' schoolmates.

“So why's he doing this, then –” John asked Sherlock. “Why is he playing this game with you? D'you think he wants to be caught?”

“I think he wants to be distracted,” Sherlock replied, shaking his head.

“I hope you'll be very happy together,” John murmured.

Sherlock frowned and stepped towards John. “Sorry, what?”

“What I think John is trying to say is that there are lives at stake, Sherlock – actual human lives...” Y/N softly spoke. “What if that was John. What if it was me?” 

Sherlock clenched his jaw and winced at her comment. He wasn’t going to let it be her. He didn’t care how many pawns he lost. So long as his queen was safe and away from the game, he’d be alright. 

“Just so I know,” John asked. “Do you care about that at all?”

“Will caring about them help save them?” Sherlock spat. 

“No, but…,” Y/N replied.

“Then I'll continue not to make that mistake,” his voice rose, startling Y/N, and his heart broke. He didn’t want to scare her off, but he had to. This was the first step: convincing her he had no heart.

“And you find that easy, do you?” John growled, stepping up to Sherlock. Their chests puffed as they glared at each other. 

“John, Sherlock,” Y/N pleaded. “Let’s not fight, please-“

“Yes, very,” Sherlock scowled. “Is that news to you?”

“No. No,” John shook his head and stepped back, pinching his brow.”

“I've disappointed you,” Sherlock observed.

“That's good,” John mumbled, “that's a good deduction, yeah.”

“Don't make people into heroes, John,” Sherlock coldly stated. “Heroes don't exist, and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them.” 

John sighed. All hope he had for Sherlock fled his mind. John scolded himself for thinking Sherlock had some semblance of empathy. He was sure his and Y/N’s presence had some sort of effect on the consulting detective. Sherlock had begun to care. He’d seen it with his eyes as he rescued them from the tunnel during the Blind Banker case. There was no mistaking it. Sherlock cared for them, but his game with M made John even more concerned. With each task M gave them, John drew more and more connections. Sherlock and M were too similar, and John feared losing his best friend to the monster. 

“Excellent!” Sherlock exclaimed the moment the pink phone buzzed with their newest case.  

Despite their flaming frustration with the detective, John and Y/N crowded around the phone, peering down at the photo.

“View of the Thames. South Bank – somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo,” Sherlock noted before turning to his friends. “You check the papers,” he instructed John. “I'll look online...”

“Oh, you're angry with me,” Sherlock paused, looking at John. “…so you won't help.” 

John only sighed. Of course, he was going to help. People's lives were on the line, and he was a doctor. There was no way John wouldn’t do his best to save anyone he could. Sitting on the sofa, he picked up a piece of paper and handed it to Y/N before taking a newsletter.

“Archway suicide,” Y/N read. 

Sherlock shrugged. “Ten a penny.” 

Y/N bit her lip at Sherlock’s nonchalance.

“Two kids stabbed in Stoke Newington,” John repeated as he scanned the pages. “Ah. Man found on the train line, Andrew West.”

Sherlock shook his head, then slammed his computer shut. “Nothing,” he grumbled. 

Y/N and John jolted at the sound, and within an instant, Sherlock had retrieved his phone and dialed Greg’s number.

“Gary, It's me,” Sherlock announced. “Have you found anything on the South Bank between Waterloo Bridge and Southwark Bridge?”

A smile crept onto Sherlock’s face upon hearing Lestrade’s words. John and Y/N needed no warning. They reluctantly got to their feet and reached for their coats. 

_____

“D'you reckon this is connected, then? The bomber?” Lestrade asked, staring down at the drenched body on the ground.

“Must be. Odd, though...” Sherlock pulled out the pink phone. “He hasn't been in touch.”

Lestrade frowned. “But we must assume that some poor bugger's primed to explode, yeah.”

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded. He tried not to notice the way Y/N shivered under her coat. He was tempted to hand her his scarf. 

“Any ideas?” Lestrade wondered. 

Sherlock tilted his head and bit his lip, counting all the ideas. “Seven... so far.”

Lestrade’s eyes bulged out of his head. “Seven?!”

Standing up from his crouch on the ground by the body, John relayed the information he had gathered. “He's dead about twenty-four hours – maybe a bit longer. Did he drown?” He asked Lestrade.

Greg shrugged. “Apparently not. Not enough of the Thames in his lungs. Asphyxiated.”

John nodded at Lestrade’s answer. “Yes, I'd agree.” Then, stepping over to Sherlock and Y/N, John continued. “There's quite a bit of bruising around the nose and mouth. More bruises here and here.”

Sherlock’s eyes followed where John had pointed out the injuries. Leaning down towards the body, he began to make his observations. “Fingertips,” Sherlock muttered quietly. Then Sherlock stood up and pulled out his phone. His feet swiftly began to trek away from the body. Greg, John, and Y/N followed along in confusion. 

“In his late thirties, I'd say, not in the best condition. He's been in the river a long while. The water's destroyed most of the data. But I'll tell you one thing: that lost Vermeer painting's a fake,” Sherlock stated. 

“What?” Lestrade asked. 

Sherlock turned towards Lestrade, with instructions readied. “We need to identify the corpse. Find out about his friends and associates...”

Lestrade shook his hands and head at the same time. Quickly, he jumped in front of Sherlock, interrupting his path to the cab awaiting them. “Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait. What painting? What are you – what are you on about?”

Blue eyes rolled in annoyance, and Sherlock pocketed his phone. “It's all over the place. Haven't you seen the posters? Dutch Old Master, supposed to have been destroyed centuries ago; now it's turned up. Worth thirty million pounds.”

“Okay,” Lestrade calmly said. His hands returned to his side. “So what has that got to do with the stiff?”

Sherlock’s eyes widened as a grin flashed across his face. “Everything. Have you ever heard of the Golem?” He asked his companions.

“Golem?” Y/N repeated. “You mean the magical creature that-“

“No,” Sherlock said, shutting down her idea.

“It's a horror story, isn't it?” John guessed. Sherlock nodded. 

“A horror story?” Y/N wondered. “What are you saying?”

“Jewish folk story,” Sherlock explained. “A gigantic man made of clay.” 

“So I was right. Sort of…” Y/N interjected. 

“It's also the name of an assassin,” Sherlock continued. “Real name: Oskar Dzundza. One of the deadliest assassins in the world. That is his trademark style.”

“So this is a hit?” Lestrade questioned.

“Definitely,” Sherlock confidently said. “The Golem squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands.”

Lestrade grimaced. “But what has this gotta do with that painting? I don't see...”

“You do see,” Sherlock hissed. “You just don't observe.”

“All right, all right, girls, calm down,” John began, but Y/N shot him a look. “Sorry, Sherlock calm down,” John corrected. “Sherlock? D'you wanna take us through it?”

Y/N placed her hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and peered up at him. With a soft smile, she reassured him. Taking a deep breath, Sherlock began. “What do we know about this corpse?” He raised a brow and looked at the three of them. “The killer's not left us with much, just the shirt and the trousers. They're pretty formal; maybe he was going out for the night. The trousers are heavy duty. Polyester, nasty, same as the shirt, cheap. They're both too big for him. So, some kind of standard-issue uniform. Dressed for work, then. What kind of work? There's a hook on his belt... for a walkie-talkie.”

“Tube driver?” Lestrade guessed.

“Construction worker?” Y/N wondered.

“Security guard?” John said, throwing his guess into the air.

“More likely,” Sherlock agreed. “That'll be borne out by his backside.”

“Backside?!” Lestrade’s mouth gaped open.

“Flabby,” Sherlock noted. “You'd think that he'd led a sedentary life, yet the soles of his feet and the nascent varicose veins in his legs show otherwise. So, a lot of walking and a lot of sitting around. Security guard's looking good. And the watch helps, too. The alarm shows he did regular night shifts.”

“Why regular?” Lestrade questioned. “Maybe he just set his alarm like that the night before he died?”

“No, no, no,” Sherlock shook his head. “The buttons are stiff, hardly touched. He set his alarm like that a long time ago. His routine never varied. But there's something else. The killer must have been interrupted; otherwise, he would have stripped the corpse completely. There was some kind of badge or insignia on the shirt front that he tore off, suggesting the dead man worked somewhere recognizable, some kind of institution.” 

Sticking his hand into the man’s pant pocket, Sherlock pulled out a wad of small papers. “Found this inside his trouser pockets. Sodden by the river but still recognizably...” Sherlock’s voice trailed off, awaiting a response from anyone.

“Tickets?” Y/N said after glancing at the papers. 

“Ticket stubs. He worked in a museum or gallery. Did a quick check. The Hickman Gallery has reported one of its attendants as missing.” Sherlock pointed to the dead man on the ground. “Alex Woodbridge. Tonight, they unveil the re-discovered masterpiece. Now, why would anyone want to pay the Golem to suffocate a perfectly ordinary gallery attendant? Inference, the dead man knew something about it, something that would stop the owner getting paid thirty million pounds. The picture's a fake.”

“Fantastic,” John complimented.

“Meretricious,” Sherlock mused.

“And a Happy New Year!” Greg blurted. 

Y/N raised a brow as she looked between the three men, uncertain of what inside joke was going on between them. 

“Poor sod,” John muttered, looking down at the deceased.

“I'd better get my feelers out for this Golem character,” Greg said as the group picked up their pace back to where the cab awaited.

“Pointless,” Sherlock warned Greg. “You'll never find him. But I know a man who can.”

“Who?” Greg asked.

Sherlock whirled around and extended his arms out. “Me,” he proudly said before gracefully disappearing into the back of the cab. “Why hasn't he phoned? He's broken his pattern. Why?” He muttered to himself. Once John and Y/N were safely seated, Sherlock instructed the cab driver on their next destination. “Waterloo Bridge.”

“Where now? The Gallery?” John wondered.

“In a bit,” Sherlock replied.

“The Hickman's contemporary art,” Y/N questioned. “Why have they got hold of an old master?” 

“Dunno,” Sherlock admitted. “Dangerous to jump to conclusions. Need data...” Sherlock’s eyes gazed out the window. The car had slowed underneath a bridge. Beside the car sat a homeless woman collecting change. “Stop!” Sherlock hollered. He leaned close to the driver's ear. “You wait here. I won't be a moment.”

“Sherlock?” John called after his friend, who walked up to the woman. They exchanged words, and Sherlock deposited a hefty sum into her cup.

“What are you doing?” John asked Sherlock once he got back into the cab. 

“Investing,” Sherlock mysteriously replied. “Now we go to the Gallery.” 

As luck would have it, the gallery was only a few minutes drive away from their detour. “Have you got any cash?” Sherlock asked John. 

John sighed and paid the driver before stepping out after Sherlock. However, Sherlock pushed John back into the car, toppling into Y/N’s lap. 

“No. I need you two to find out all you can about the gallery attendant. Lestrade will give you the address,” Sherlock said before closing the door in John’s face.

“Okay,” John grumbled. He quickly apologized to Y/N and then the two of them departed to Alex Woodbridge’s flat. 

______

It was surprisingly easy to get into Alex Woodbridge’s apartment compared to Kenny Prince’s home. There was no need for a camera and fake personas. 

Woodbridge’s apartment was a simplistic sight. The living space gave hardly any room for John, Y/N, and Julie, Alex’s roommate, to comfortably stand without brushing shoulders with one another. 

Julie appeared to be a sweet woman with her gentle expression. She wrapped her black and white flannel around her body and led them deeper into the flat. 

“We'd been sharing about a year,” Julie explained. She turned around to look back at John and Y/N. Her frizzy, short, brown hair stuck out oddly. “Just sharing.”

“Mmm,” John hummed to reassure Julie he didn’t assume otherwise. 

Stepping into Alex’s room, Y/N peered around, John close behind. In the left corner sat the bed, still unmade. Besides, a small table held a lamp, a few empty wrappers, and books. A cloaked object sat underneath a skylight on the far right side of the room. Y/N stepped closer, her brows knitting together as she guessed what it could be. 

“Is this a telescope?” Y/N asked, looking back at Julie, who nodded. 

John raised his brows, a bit impressed. It was not every day you came across someone who owned their own telescope. Gently pulling off the sheet, John felt a soft smile growing on his lips. His mind began to recall a time when he was a boy. He had learned about the solar system and was fascinated by it, so much so that he wrote to Santa to bring him a telescope for Christmas. It never happened, but still, it was a wish from childhood, and John couldn’t help but be fond. 

“May I?” He asked, motioning to the cloth covering the telescope.

“Yeah,” Julie nodded with a sadness in her voice. 

“Sorry,” John and Y/N consoled. 

“Stargazer, was he?” John questioned, and Julie’s face lit up with a caring light. 

“God, yeah. Mad about it. It's all he ever did in his spare time,” she chuckled. “He was a nice guy, Alex. I liked him. He was, er, never much of a one for hoovering.” Then Julie quickly looked away to conceal the tears that bubbled up to the surface. 

Y/N wanted to hug the woman but chose not to. Instead, she opted for her words: “Sorry for your loss.” Julie nodded in thanks. 

“What about art? Did he know anything about that?” John asked. 

“It was just a job,” Julie shrugged, “you know?” 

“Hmm. Has anyone else been around asking about Alex?” John pursed his lips in thought, bringing his hands behind his back to fiddle with his fingers. It was a habit that helped him think. 

Julie shook her head. “No…” Her voice trailed off as she realized something. “We had a break-in, though.”

“Hmm? When was that?” Y/N wondered as she peeked at the books on Alex’s bedside table. They were astronomy books of all sorts. 

“Last night. There was nothing taken,” Julie assured them. “Oh, there was a message left for Alex on the landline,” she said, trying to note anything of importance to the two of them. 

John raised his brows and strolled over to the phone beside Julie. “Who was it from?” 

“Well, I can play it for you if you like,” Julie said before turning around to enter the message box. She typed a few buttons and the phone began to whirr to life. 

Y/N and John stepped closer to hear. 

“Oh, should I speak now? Alex? Love, it's Professor Cairns. Listen, you were right. You were bloody right! Give us a call when…,” the message repeated.  

“Professor Cairns?” John mumbled, glancing up at Julie. 

Shaking her head, Julie replied. “No, no idea, sorry.”

“Mmm,” Y/N bit her lip. “Can we try and ring back?”

“Well, that's no good,” Julie replied. “I mean, I've had other calls since—sympathy ones, you know.”

John and Y/N nodded, remembering Julie’s roommate’s death. Turning to each other, they nodded. 

“Thanks again, Julie, for helping us,” Y/N thanked as the woman led John and her out of the flat. 

Julie sniffled before replying. “Anything I can do to help you catch Alex’s murderer.”

The two friends waved goodbye as the door shut. Once the click and lock of the door were heard, Y/N turned to John. 

“So,” she began. “Shall we go find Sherlock?” 

For some odd reason, John felt a slight twinge in the back of his head appear. His frustration with Sherlock was still fresh, and John was not looking to reopen the wound any time soon. Sighing, he responded, “I’m sure Sherlock will find us when he needs us.” 

Y/N chuckled in agreement. “Yeah, you’re not wrong about that. Should we go to the gallery then? Do some snooping of our own?” She wiggled her brows, which made John snicker. 

Before he could answer, the phone in his back pocket buzzed. Pulling it out, John frowned upon seeing the name, and his headache worsened. He bit back another sigh as the case Sherlock put on the back burner began to burn too hot. Mycroft was growing impatient and started to bother John about it. 

“Actually,” John said. “We’ve got another job we can work on.” 

Y/N’s face contorted with confusion. “What other-” she cut herself short. “Mycroft.” She linked her arm with John’s. “If Sherlock can have his little side-quests and detours, so can we.”

______

“He wouldn't. He just wouldn't.” The woman on the couch was inconsolable. It was not in the sense that her tears and sobs made questioning her difficult. In fact, she wasn’t crying at all. She solemnly sat on her sofa with her hands clenching tightly together. The tiny shard of sunlight peeked through her closed curtains, dimly lighting the room. While John and Y/N tried their best to sympathize and speak with her, Lucy refused to believe her boyfriend had anything to do with their case despite all the evidence against him. 

“Well, stranger things have happened,” John tried to say. 

“Westie wasn't a traitor. It's a horrible thing to say!” She glared at John as her hands turned white. 

“I'm sorry, but you must understand that's…” 

“That's what they think, isn't it, his bosses?” Lucy questioned. If someone else had watched the scene, they would have thought Lucy was interrogating John and Y/N. 

“He was a young man about to get married. He had debts…,” John softly listed off possible reasons, but Lucy was not having them. 

She defended, “Everyone's got debts, and Westie wouldn't want to clear them by selling out his country.” 

“John, can you, erm...?” Y/N sent him a look to let her give it a go. He raised his hands and let Y/N take the reins. “Lucy, we're not here to accuse Westie. We’re here for answers, and you have them. Can you tell me exactly what happened that night?”

Lucy nodded. Her shoulders relaxed, and the color returned to her hands. “We were having a night in. Just... watching a DVD. He normally falls asleep, you know, but he sat through this one. He was quiet. Out of the blue, he said he just had to go and see someone.”

“Do you know who?” Y/N asked. Lucy just shook her head and began to sob. Y/N peered over at John and whispered that it was time for them to leave. Any more questions and Y/N was afraid they’d leave Lucy in an even bigger puddle of tears and sorrow than she had been in before.

“I think it’s time we should go,” Y/N began to stand up. Lucy stood up and led John and Y/N back to the entrance. The cool light of the day momentarily blinded them, but their eyes quickly adjusted.   

“Oh, hi, Luce. You okay, love?” A man rolling in a bike asked. He stared at John and Y/N as they stepped out of his way. 

“Yeah,” Lucy nodded. 

“Who's this?” the biker asked. 

“John Watson. Hi,” John greeted. 

“Y/N L/N,” Y/N replied, taking the man’s hand. 

“This is my brother, Joe.” Lucy explained, “John and Y/N are trying to find out what happened to Westie, Joe.”

Joe raised his brows. “You two with the police?” 

“Uh…” John trailed off, looking over at Y/N, who hesitantly nodded. “...sort of, yeah.”

“Well,” Joe began, “tell 'em to get off their arses, will you? It's bloody ridiculous.”

John nodded. “I'll do my best. Well, er, thanks very much for your help. Again, I'm very, very sorry.”

“He didn't steal those things, Mr. Watson,” Lucy called out once John and Y/N stepped onto the street. “I knew Westie. He was a good man. He was my good man.”

Y/N waved goodbye before turning her back to Lucy. She shivered and whispered to John. “It’d be nice if she was right.”

“Yeah…” John absently agreed. “It would be.”

______

Sherlock’s scowl grew the longer he stood outside 221 B Baker Street. Soon, his left foot was tapping on the stone steps. He was growing impatient. John and Y/N sure seemed to be taking their time to arrive. 

Suddenly, a black cab rolled up to the street. It didn’t take a genius to spot the two figures inside. Sherlock jumped down the front steps and greeted the cab’s passengers. 

John stepped out first and then helped Y/N out afterward. “Alex Woodbridge didn't know anything special about art,” John told Sherlock. 

“And?” Sherlock questioned. John furrowed his brow in response.”Is that it? No habits, hobbies, personality?”

“Sherlock, breathe. Give us a second,” Y/N blurted. Sherlock’s wide blue eyes locked onto Y/N and he felt his heart stutter, giving John ample time to appropriately respond. 

“He was an amateur astronomer.”

A light went off in Sherlock’s mind. “Hold that cab,” he instructed them before running off to a homeless woman leaning against an iron fence. 

“Spare change, sir?” She asked Sherlock. 

“Don't mind if I do,” Sherlock stuck out his hand and retrieved the small slip of paper from the woman’s hands. 

Y/N watched the interaction with curiosity. Her eyes trailed after Sherlock as he hopped into the cab. Soon, the three of them were tucked in the back seat once again. 

It wasn’t long before they walked alongside industrial buildings and inside dark alleyways. Y/N found herself stepping closer to Sherlock as they passed from the light of the street lamps into the dark. Her hand brushed against his ever so softly. For a moment, her hand was all Sherlock could think about. 

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Sherlock whispered. His eyes trailing up to the twinkling stars above. 

Y/N’s eyes followed Sherlock’s. She paused before speaking. “I thought you didn’t care about stuff like that? Useless bits of information.”

Sherlock smirked, but his eyes moved down to hers, and his smile became a loving smile. “Doesn't mean I can't appreciate their beauty.” Time seemed to stand still as he gazed at Y/N under the starlight. His breath caught in his throat, and his eyes trickled to her lips.  

John spoke, breaking Sherlock’s trance. “Listen, Alex Woodbridge had a message on the answerphone at his flat. A Professor Cairns?”

“This way,” Sherlock said, leading John and Y/N deeper into the dark tunnels. 

“Nice! Nice part of town,” John sarcastically noted. “Er, any time you wanna explain.”

“Homeless network – really is indispensable,” Sherlock replied.

“Homeless network?” John questioned. 

“My eyes and ears all over the city,” Sherlock elaborated. 

“Ah, that's... clever. So you scratch their backs and...?” 

“Yes, then I disinfect myself,” Sherlock finished before taking out three lights for them and handing them out. 

“Flashlights?” Y/N wondered, turning hers on. 

John and Sherlock shared an odd expression. “What did you just call it?” John asked.

“A flashlight.”

John shook his head. “It’s a torch.”

Y/N fought back a sigh. “Yeah, torch, whatever. You know, sometimes I think you two forget I’m from America.”

Sherlock chuckled at the interaction. “Let’s go,” he said, flicking on his torch. 

The three of them entered the tunnel together. Small fires scattered between erected tents and cardboard boxes were the only light besides their own. As they whirled their lights around, Y/N stuck close to Sherlock. She felt as if she were more than three steps away from him; her lungs would constrict. 

“Sherlock! Y/N!” John’s voice hissed. The three of them spotted the tall shadow casting onto a nearby wall. 

Sherlock’s leather-gloved hand grasped Y/N’s arm.  “Come on!” Sherlock whispered as he quickly pulled her by his side, pushed her against the brick wall, and placed his hands beside her head. Sherlock leaned in close, using his body as a shield. Y/N’s nose was filled with his scent. She closed her eyes and bit her lip at the sudden intrusion in her personal space. 

“What's he doing sleeping rough?” John questioned. 

Y/N shuddered as Sherlock’s warm breath brushed against her cheeks. “Well, he has a very distinctive look. He has to hide somewhere where tongues won't wag – much.” Sherlock removed one of his hands from beside Y/N and reached into his pocket. 

“Oh shi…” John muttered to himself as he felt up his coat. “I wish I'd…” 

 Sherlock revealed John’s gun and handed it to him. John gratefully took the weapon and readied it. 

“Don't mention it,” Sherlock said, pushing off the wall to chase after the Golem. The three of them darted down the hallway after the giant man’s figure. By the time they reached the end, they caught sight of their killer entering a small black car. The door shut, and the car revved. Then Golem was gone. 

“ No! No! No! No!” Sherlock cried, waving his fist in the air. “It'll take us weeks to find him again.” 

Beside him, Y/N and John panted, looking at the exhaust the car had left behind. 

“Actually…” Y/N interjected. “I think I know where he’s going—or at least who he’s going after.” 

John’s eyes lit up with the same thought that occupied Y/N’s. “The Professor,” he muttered. 

“What?” Sherlock asked. 

“I told you: someone left Alex Woodbridge a message,” John recalled. “There can't be that many Professor Cairns in the book. Come on.”

______

A bright light crept out from underneath two large metal doors. Beyond the doors, Y/N could hear the voiceover of a film. She furrowed her brows and peered at her friends as they quietly and stealthily approached the doors. 

“Is that a–” Y/N began to ask when Sherlock cut her off. 

“Y/N, you’re staying out here.” 

Shock washed over Y/N’s face. “No, I am not staying behind.”

“No!” Sherlock hissed. “John and I will handle it. We’ll handle Golem, just stay here and-”

“And what? Look pretty? It’s just as dangerous staying out here in the dark than it is in the planetarium,” Y/N argued. She looked to John for assistance but was met with concerned eyes. “John?”

In an instant, Y/N was yanked away from the door. Sherlock’s firm hands grasped her shoulder and pulled her in close. “The Golem is dangerous and-” 

“Oh my God!” A shrill cry echoed from inside the planetarium. 

Sherlock’s eyes widened, and he removed his hands from Y/N. Motioning to John, he pushed open the door. “Stay here,” he commanded Y/N before the door slammed in her face. 

Muttering an array of curses under her breath, Y/N charged in after them. Immediately, her eyes burned from the flashing lights. In the flickers of light, Y/N saw John and Sherlock dance around for any sight of Golem. The longer Y/N looked, the dizzier she felt. Her feet stumbled, and she toppled off the stage. 

“Golem!”She heard Sherlock cry. 

Y/N groaned and came to a crouch position. In the distance, she spotted a woman lying on the ground. The lights continued to flash as she crawled over to who she believed to be Professor Cairns. Behind her, John and Sherlock struggled to spot Golem. 

“..many are actually long-dead, exploded into supernovas,” the film's narrator announced before the tape began to whir. 

“I can't see him. I'll go round. I'll go!” John yelled. 

Finger dug into the carpet as Y/N pulled herself closer to the professor. Her body was trembling, and her stomach began to churn. The light blared at her, and the volume of the film increased with each second. Y/N was sure that by the end, she’d come out blind and deaf. 

“Who are you working for this time, Dzundza?” She heard Sherlock taunt the assassin.

Finally, Y/N reached Professor Cairns. Suddenly, Y/N felt very cold. Sick climbed up her throat, and sweat clung to her forehead. Images of those dead, Hilton, the woman over the phone, and Soo Lin sparked in her mind. Feeling a sudden wave of determination, Y/N sat up and placed her hands on the professor’s chest. She wasn’t about to let someone else die, not if she could help it. Then she pushed down. Her shoulders pumped up and down, holding a steady pace. Up and down. Up and down. 

“Golem!” John hollered, followed by the sound of a gun cocking. “Let him go... or I will kill you.” 

Then, muffled grunts and cries reached Y/N’s ears. Her pace halted. Frightened eyes whirled around in a desperate search for John and Sherlock. The lights flickered on, and there they were. Under the spotlight, Sherlock swiftly twirled around Golem. The horror of a man towered over Sherlock, making him appear as miniscule as an ant. Nearby lay John, who struggled to get off the ground. 

“Sherlock!” Y/N screamed as Golem’s giant hand swung at Sherlock. The force of the blow dragged Sherlock to the floor. Instantly, Golem jumped on him, placing his hands over Sherlock’s nose and mouth. 

Jumping to her feet, Y/N ran as if it was the only thing she knew how to do. With each step, her mind went blank. She had to save Sherlock, but how? If Sherlock seemed tiny compared to the Golem, she was microscopic. Launching herself onto the stage, she slammed her body into the Golem. The sheer force momentarily knocked the Golem to the ground. However, he soon found himself back on his feet. A sickening grin inched onto Golem’s face as he stepped to Sherlock and Y/N. Y/N felt herself freeze over, unable to move, breathe, or blink. Golem stalked closer. Y/N shuddered before laying herself over Sherlock. She knew she didn’t stand a chance against a trained killer, but at the very least, she could give Sherlock time. 

Sherlock’s eyes blew wide as Y/N placed herself in front of him. “No, run away,” he wanted to croak but found his voice gone. It had been choked from him, instantly stunning him. With a breathless gaze, he gazed up at her. The stars and planets zoomed overhead in a taunting manner.

Clenching her eyes shut, Y/N braced herself for Golem’s hand, but it never came. John had pounced on him, locking the assassin in a chokehold. Golem struggled to pull John off, but when he did, he disappeared–jumping off the stage and running out the door. 

Y/N didn’t open her eyes until she felt Sherlock’s gentle touch on her cheek. It took her a moment to realize they were now sitting up. The film was playing overhead. With tears, she looked at him, and her voice was stolen. She wanted to say so many things but couldn’t find the words. Sherlock’s free arm wrapped around her body, pulling her close. Carefully, Y/N tucked her head into Sherlock’s neck. She breathed him in, feeling his heartbeat on her cheek. He was alive. She was alive. 

While Y/N clung to Sherlock, he found his mind in torment. He’d almost lost her. Sherlock tried so hard to keep her safe and close because, to him, Sherlock was the safest place around. However, it was a lie. Sherlock was dangerous, and being close to him was unsafe for her. 

He knew that now. If he hadn’t dragged her from case to case, she’d be safe in her flat with her cat. If he hadn’t brought her on, she wouldn’t have seen so much death. She would be safe. She would be free to live an everyday life away from Sherlock. But Sherlock was selfish. Her presence was more potent than any drug he’d ever taken. Her lips were sweeter than any victory had been. Sherlock was greedy and wanted her to stay, to be close, and never leave. Most of all, he wanted to love her. He did love her. Sherlock loved Y/N more than anything. 

A single tear fell from the pool in Sherlock’s eyes. He loved Y/N, so he had to keep safe, even if it meant he’d never see her again. She would be safe away from him, and so she had to go. Sherlock took one last moment to be selfish as they sat holding each other. His trembling lips met the crown of her head. His nose inhaled her scent one last time. His hands enveloped her body before tearing himself away. 

_____

Moriarty. The name was whispered in Sherlock’s mind as he and John opened the door to 221B Baker Street. A bittersweet triumph latched onto their shoulders, dragging them up the stairs. They had solved the case and saved that little boy, but now they had more questions. 

Warm light wrapped around Sherlock and John as they stepped into their flat. Their eyes fell onto Y/N’s sleeping figure. Sherlock had sent her home after their fight with Golem. Despite her protests, Sherlock and John’s insistence won. Both men’s eyes softened at the sight of Y/N.Her hair cascaded over her features, vaguely concealing the red skin around her eyes. 

Sherlock took a step further into the room. The floorboard creaked beneath his feet, alerting the woman from her sleep. She shot up but then relaxed at the sight. 

“You’re back,” she whispered. “What happened? Did you-”

“We solved the case,” Sherlock coldly said. He removed his coat and scarf and tossed them onto John’s armchair. 

“Sherlock,” Y/N gently muttered. “Are you alright?”

“Just stop!” Sherlock hissed. Y/N froze, and her eyes widened with shock as Sherlock appeared in front of her. “Don’t you see nothing you do helps? You’re a liability, Y/N. I’ve known it from the moment I laid eyes on you. From the moment I found you in that cab with a gun to your head, you’ve been a liability to me.” 

A new set of tears began to pour from Y/N’s eyes, too stunned to fight back.  

“If it weren’t for your emotions getting in the way—your caring…oh, your caring. You care too much.  Just as I said before, what good does caring do when people are going to die anyway? Soo Lin,  Hilton Cubitt: They all died despite your cares. Sentiment is a weakness found on the losing side. You, Y/N, are on the losing side. The only reason you haven’t realized it was because I was there. My mind free from the poison of it all,” Sherlock took in a shaky breath. His voice grew quiet. “...or so I thought.”

Stifling a sob, Y/N pleaded with Sherlock. “So why bother keeping me around?

“I had to,” he uttered. “You are my liability! Your sentiment is contagious, and its effects are leaking onto me. You make me weak. You make me lose my mind when I am not near you. And when I am, all concepts of cunning and intelligence evade me. I become human. I fear. I feel things I have never felt before. You…you have ruined me!”

Silence filled the air. John stood against the wall and clenched his fist in fury. He had never wanted to hit Sherlock more than he did now. However, Y/N’s saddened scoff drew his attention. It was her turn to say her piece. 

“I…” Y/N took in a quick breath to steady herself. “…I think I finally understand what’s going on in that mind. You say sentiment is on the losing side, that it’s weak, that I’m weak. Well, Sherlock, you’re wrong.” 

Y/N stepped closer to Sherlock—a determined gleam reflected in her eyes. “Yes, I care about others, maybe too much, but that makes me stronger. I have people to love and who love me back. Can you say the same?” 

Sherlock stared back at her, all thoughts and words fled in her presence. 

“I doubt you can,” Y/N continued. Her words commanded the room and Sherlock’s attention. He could not ignore her. “You push everyone away and blame it all on your intellectual mind. Your brother has to pay others to ensure you’re okay because he cares about you, and you couldn't care less. John buys you milk even when he knows it’ll disappear within a day due to your insane experiments, yet you never say thank you or offer to buy it yourself. Auntie M makes you tea and occasionally helps tidy up even though she’s just your landlady, and you shoot holes into her walls. Greg brings you cases and lets you get away with many things, yet you can never get his name right. Molly lets you take body parts from Bart’s, something that could cost her her job. However, you shred her apart every chance you get.  I stand up for you when others try to break you down, and here you are, breaking me. All because I care too much. Because I care too much for you. I get it. I’m just your neighbor and assistant. That’s all I’ll ever be, even though you kissed me that night. Even though I’ve wanted you to kiss me for so long.” 

“But your intelligence? That’s not the real reason you push everyone away.” Y/N’s grew low. “You treat the people around you like shit because you’re afraid they’ll leave just like everyone else and it’ll be easier to unattach yourself from them if they were never really there in the first place. So I quit. I quit being your assistant. I quit being your neighbor. You win Sherlock. You want me gone? I’ll leave. I’ll find the first flight out of London. I’ll go back home. I’ll leave, and you’ll never have to see me again because I understand now…”

A sob broke out from Y/N. John gasped, staring between his two friends. Wiping her tears away, Y/N raised her chin up high. Her feet trekked to the open door of John and Sherlock’s flat and paused before leaving. “Goodbye, John,” she said to her friend with melancholy eyes. “Goodbye…Sherlock.” It was barely a whisper, and by the time Sherlock realized what Y/N had said, she was gone. 

____

The sound of the lock on her front door was the consolation Y/N found once she entered her apartment. Tears poured from her eyes as she collapsed against the door. She couldn’t see anything and couldn’t hear anything past her sobs, so when a warm hand pressed against her shoulder, she jumped out of her skin. 

Following the hand to its owner, she saw Jim standing above her. His eyes were soft and gentle as he lifted her to her feet and hugged her. 

Mumbling into her boyfriend’s shoulder, she asked, “How’d you get here?”

“Your aunt let me in,” he replied. “But that’s not important. What’s wrong, love?”

Y/N was too caught up in her emotions to recall her aunt was out with a friend for the evening. Instead, she caved into her boyfriend's touch and sweet words. 

“I’d rather not talk about it,” she admitted, leaning deeper into his comfort. 

Jim nodded and raised his hand to rub circles on her back. “How ‘bout after tea? I find that tea always helps soothe the mind.” He pulled back and smiled at her. 

Y/N quickly agreed, and before she knew it, she’d drunk two cups of the steaming hot liquid. Upon noticing her cup was empty again, Jim poured her another cup and urged her to drink up. Y/N swallowed it down, finding the herbs to numb her senses. After a moment's silence, Y/N found her strength returning. 

Taking a deep breath, she peered over at her boyfriend, ready to speak. “It was Sherlock. He…” Tears bubbled back up to the surface. “He…he” Y/N furrowed her brow. Her tongue seemed to stop working, and her mind was growing blank. “Sherlock,” she whispered with much difficulty.

Jim groaned. “Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock.” Each time he said the detective's name, a chilling animosity grew.

“Huh?” Y/N said through the fog of her mind. She knocked her hand against something hard. The teacup fell to the floor and shattered. The deafening sound provided Y/N with some momentary clarity. When Y/N tried to stand from her seat, she discovered her legs had failed her. Instead of standing upright, she was on the floor beside the shattered cup. A groan escaped her mouth. 

“I was wondering when it’d take effect,” Jim said. Y/N dragged her head to look up at him. Confusion covered her features as she saw the grin on her boyfriend’s face. As if he sensed her gaze, Jim’s eyes turned empty. “ Oh! I love that look on your face. Utter confusion. It’s adorable. I could just…muaw!” He placed a wet kiss on her lips. The force pushed her to the ground, and the hard surface welcomed her. She felt herself growing weaker. Her breath slowed, and her eyes grew heavy. 

“You made my job a whole lot easier, and I’m very grateful for that, my dear. But I’ll have to reward you later when you wake up. I’m going to take you far away from here—away from Sherlock, John…I’m taking you away from it all.” 

With the last of her strength, her mind screamed at her. Terror filled her veins as the walls caved in on her. She whimpered.

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” Jim said, crouching down. His fingers brushed through her hair, luring her to sleep. “Just rest. Everything will be alright. I promise.”

_____

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[drugs-and-daddyissues]

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎 Watching a horror movie with Johnny on Halloween turns into a night of teasing and pleasure.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 P in V sex, cock warming, couch sex, sloppy sex, creampie, unprotected sex (getting an STD is NOT a trick or treat 🧡), edging, slightly guided masturbation??

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 Johnny Depp x f!reader

🎃 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐘 Halloween if you celebrate! This is a collab with the one, the only, the great @ghsttk! Go check out her account for another good Halloween/horror themed post <3

You were cuddled up on your couch with your boyfriend, Johnny. You'd turned off all the lights in your apartment, the only light being the flame from your scented candle, and the TV screen being illuminated. The place was completely decorated for Halloween, and you had a soft, plush, black blanket with little pumpkins over you and Johnny. He was spooning you from behind, as you watched the horror movie that played on the screen.

It took not even 15 minutes before he started getting handsy with you, pinching your nipples through the thin fabric of your pajama top, as you weren't wearing a bra underneath.

"Johnny.." You whispered, a soft whine of complaint, although you didn't have much room to argue when he always made you feel so good.

"Shhhh.. I'm watchin' the movie. I just wanna be inside my girl, is that a crime?" He asked while undoing the string on your pajama pants.

You grumbled, trying to sound annoyed, but he was making you so wet. "You're impossible. Insatiable. I swear, I don't know how I put up with you." You feigned complaint again, as he pulled your bottoms down.

"You love me and all my antics." He whispered back, pulling his hard cock out of his own pajama pants, quickly sliding your panties to the side, and slipping inside you, making you moan slightly as you felt his length stretch you and hit deep inside your pussy.

You tried, and failed, to pay attention to the movie. It was hard to keep focus when he would shift his hips, making the head of his cock brush up inside you. And it didn't help when his hand reached around, and his fingers started absentmindedly rubbing circles on your clit, effectively edging you for the entire movie.

Nearly two damn hours he was at this and you'd nearly came 4 times before he stopped his motions. It frustrated you to no end.

As the movie ended, he grabbed the remote. "Think we should watch the second one." He announced, quickly putting on the movie.

You were so worked up, that you just decided to take matters into your own hands, rocking your hips back on him. "John.." You whined again, clearly impatient.

He chuckled darkly as the movie started playing. "You that worked up for me, baby?" He asked, completely amused by your desperation.

"Johnny, I swear to God, if you don't get to fucking me in the next 5 minutes, I'm gonna be so mad at you." You whispered, voice strained with arousal.

He chuckled again before shifting so he could lift one of your legs, giving himself a deeper angle inside you. "Shhh.. I'll take care of you. Needy little thing." He teased as he rocked his lips in soft, sloppy thrusts.

"Mhm.. That's better." You whispered through a soft moan.

He chuckled again, deepening his thrusts, speeding up a bit. "You feel so good, baby.. Closest I'm ever gonna get to heaven." He rasped out.

Words failed you as you let out pleasured mewls, fucking back on him, your hips moving with his. You'd lost all focus on the movie, all you could think about what how good his length felt inside you.

"Touch yourself for me, sweetheart. I want you to make yourself cum on my dick." He softly commanded, still keeping up with his fast and sloppy thrusts, managing what he could with the position.

Your breath hitched as you trailed your hand downwards, finding your swollen clit, sensitive and needy to your touch. You let out soft whines as you circled the bud, sending sparks of pleasure to your belly. You pulsed around him, as your orgasm started to build up.

"Move those fingers down. Feel how I'm stretching this tight little pussy." He whispered, voice rough with lust as he nibbled your earlobe.

You did as he told you, spreading your fingers across your labia, a finger on either side of your drooling hole. You felt the strokes of his cock into your cunt, felt the way you stretched to accommodate his size, and it only served to turn you on even more, clenching and unclenching around him.

He let out a soft moan, his grip on your leg tightening slightly. "Baby, I'm so close.. Touch yourself again, cum with me." He softly begged, still pistoning inside you, desperately chasing his high and your own.

You moved your fingers back up to your clit, rubbing tight, quick circles on the sensitive bundle. "Uh- Johnny, Johnny, fuck! I'm so close.." You cried out, almost at the edge.

"Cum for me.. Cum for me, pretty girl." He commanded, finally breaking and releasing his seed inside you, fucking you through his orgasm.

The sensation of his warm load shooting inside you triggered your release, as you came undone around him, milking his cock for all he was worth.

It took a few moments for you both to regain your breaths, but once you did, he was pulling out and tucking his cock away, before pulling your panties and pajama pants back up.

"Soo.. Restart the movie?" He suggested with a small laugh, and you couldn't help but playfully roll your eyes.

"You just came inside me, and this is what you're asking me??" You replied, trying to stifle a laugh. "You're ridiculous. But okay, restart it. And no funny business this time, Depp! I'll punch you in the balls if your hands start wandering."

He winced slightly as he rewound the movie. "Ouch, note taken. You're harsh, princess." He teased, pressing a kiss to your forehead, cuddling you from behind. "No funny business. Just some spooks and cuddles."

┆𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓┆

𝐀/𝐍 Thank you @ghsttk for doing this collab with me! You're an amazing writer, and I can't wait to see what you bring to the table!

🎃 taglist: @ghsttk @littlerobbinphantomhive19 @kittenlittle24 @needz1nk @trekkitkat @chronicallybubbly @mgajdaaa @mininiamh @amy-fontaine @bennwazzhere @iwnterlude Thank you for your support 🧡

♡ add yourself to my taglist here

[forest-falcon]

The Butterfly Effect

Chpr 10

⚠️ Trigger Warning for angst

This could have probably been an earlier chapter, but hey, better late than never! Alan and Gordon arrive home post-TB4-mission.

❤️💛 🚀

Alan let the warmth of the shower seep into his bones. He was sure his squid brother was secretly cold-blooded. Stepping into a shower after Gordon, was akin to performing the ice bucket challenge - the water barely more tepid than the sea itself. Alan, was the polar opposite - disassociating in the molten mist until he'd generated his very own steam room.

The teen grabbed a towel and headed for the lockers.

"Gordon, what the hell?"

He slammed the locker door shut.

Asshole had taken his spare clothes.

He searched through the other lockers. John's was empty, Virgil's; locked. He opened Scott's and pulled out a finely pressed shirt and jeans. 

Gordon had better hope that Four had no further call outs today or he'd drown the fish himself.

The designer jeans were far too long in the leg. He had to fold the ends up twice to avoid tripping on the excess material as he waddled. The shirt was equally ridiculous. He looked like a child trying on their father's work clothes. It wasn't too far from the truth. But he was nineteen, not nine. And he loathed anything that could be used as ammunition by his brothers to remind him that yes... he was the baby of the family - he got it, alright?

He hooked his thumbs into the belt loops of Scott's jeans, desperate to protect himself from further embarrassment and shuffled his way back to his room. Brothers sucked ass.

*.  *.  *.

The astronaut's mood subsided a little on seeing that Grandma had been and spruced his room in his absence. His favourite green guitar top had been washed, ironed and laid out on the end of his bed.

Scooping up the casual wear; he buried his face into the soft fabric and inhaled its floral scent. Grandma was one of the few members who actually bothered to remember to add the softener to washes. He was so used to the Birds, bedrooms and gym smelling like...well, a gym; that it was a secret pleasure to enjoy the floral scent of cleanliness. Alan decided that it was the little things in life that brought the greatest pleasure.

He headed to his closet to grab his go-to shorts; pulling the tee over his head as he walked.

"FUCK!"

The floor beneath him shifted. 

His room, the villa, maybe even the island shaking with a ferocity usually reserved to a Two Bird callout.

Alan was flung to the floor. He groaned. Where was his super-plush rug to cushion his fall-

His world suddenly tipped.

Blindly reaching out; somewhat encumbered in his half-dressed state, Alan managed to grasp the doorframe to his closet. 

"GUYS! HELP!"

It sounded like a volcanic eruption...

His room roared like fracturing rock.

Steel screamed and splintered above him.

"Agh!" The sound was deafening, but he didn't dare let go.

Alan's thoughts were racing faster than Fireflash.

John. John would not have missed an impending  eruption?

...Other than that one time with Professor Quentin Questa at Hrómundartinhurmindur. 

No, this was nothing like a volcano. So what then?

His mind flitted through other possibilities. .

Earthquake? Landslide?

His room stopped shaking with one last feeble quiver.

Alan dared to pull his head through his top with a singular hand - the other still firmly glued to the doorframe.

The teen blinked; not trusting his eyes with the reality they presented him with. 

One of his bedroom walls...

His floor length windows...

They were just... gone.

A wall of silver filled the space.

[lick-me-lennon22]

How they help you through mental health struggles

(this is one of two prompts suggested by a particular anon 💞 keep an eye out for your other request soon!! hope you all enjoy this read)

John

John starts the days by ringing your house/flat to see how you're doing and to hear your voice

he'll try his damndest to talk you through panic attacks or depressive episodes, drawing from his personal experiences with inner turmoil

he'd be the type to research more alternative and obscure forms of treatment, such as primal therapy or hypnotherapy

he's willing to accompany you to these sessions if you'd like, overcoming his defensive and guarded ways in an effort to support you

helping you through your struggles opens his mind to seeking therapy and practicing healthy habits in his own life

he often invites you out for walks to get some vitamin D or over to his place in the evenings to listen to music together

even on days when he's entrenched in his own troubles John still finds the time to do small things to show his love for you, like fixing you tea just the way you like it or grabbing you a treat from the corner store

Paul

Paul feels an intense need to do whatever he can to "fix" the way you're feeling

it's just the way his mind works when a situation is out of his control

because of this he's more hands-on in his support, offering to help you with daily tasks like grocery shopping, washing up, or picking up medications

he helps you to stay organized and prioritize tasks to keep you from feeling overwhelmed

he'll walk you through more mentally draining responsibilities such as cleaning/rearranging your living space or budgeting

Paul just wants to take care of everything for his beloved partner

he will gently encourage you to engage in whichever form of therapy you feel most drawn to

you find that he shows his support in other small but thoughtful gestures, like surprising you with your favorite meal or a brand new plush

George

George shows his support by creating a sacred space in his home for you, dedicated to relaxation and recharging following social events or particularly rough days

he furnishes this room with comfy cushions and dimming drapes, always burning incense and playing calming music to soothe you

he tries to gently guide you towards mindfulness practices and encourages you to find solace in nature

he's inclined to suggest pursuing alternative therapies such as reiki and aromatherapy (especially if you don't resonate with traditional talk therapy), favoring holistic approaches to healing the mind, body, and spirit

George will begin a collaborative journal where you can both write out your thoughts and feelings, creating a sense of connection and shared experience

he also buys you a small potted plant/flower as a gift and physical representation of your progress and personal growth

he invites you to join him for stargazing sessions in the evenings, laying out an intricately patterned blanket in the backyard so you can admire the night sky together

Ringo

Ringo transforms his home into a haven for you, removing any potential stressors/triggers and creating a calm and comfortable atmosphere for you to unwind in

he'll play fun board games, dance with you, and invite you to try out new hobbies with him as a way to foster connection in your day-to-day interactions

occasionally, he will plan low-pressure social activities to help reduce feelings of isolation

Ringo would help you research treatment options and create a support network so you never feel alone in your struggles

he'll work with you to set achievable goals and celebrate every one of your accomplishments, no matter how small they may seem to you

he allows you open access to his drum set so you can release any anger or anxiety you may be harboring in a healthy and engaging way

he wants to be your rock and act as a pillar of love and encouragement in your life

he's curated a comfort box for you, filled with things to bring you joy and ground you such as photos, fragrances, plushes, and calming sensory items

[idle-soliloquy]

like a mermaid, I want to eat you by yours truly

Explicit || Buck/Bucky

One chapter, one kink.

Chapter 1: (romantic) rimming

Gale goes slack against the blanket, spreads his legs wider, and arches his back. Asking the dream presence for more, and granting access—he’s carved open already, but he wants to show off, assure the presence that he’s willing. He gasps in surprise when it roots deeper inside him, spreads its imaginary fingers. The fluttering pleasure that perched on his bones kneads his stomach like a cat, and purrs in self-delighter approval.

Sticky wetness gathers in his belly button. He’s itching all over, wants to reach out and wrap his hands around his cock, coax the shy but steady bloom of orgasm to the surface, but he can’t move his arms.

Wake up.

The words rattle inside his skull. The blanket under his cheek morphs colours—green, blue, then green again. The blades of grass lose their sharpness, mutating into a plush swipe of cloth against skin, threading between the gaps of his fingers.

Another lick of warmth, buried deep within. A wetness, warm to the touch, slides into the crevice between his thigh and the curve of his ass.

A finger joins the fleshy weight of a tongue inside his hole.

Gale comes to himself, not all at once, but in serpentine stages; he’s spinning, the meadow flickering like a light that someone is switching off and on at a rapid pace. A lightbulb dying with a lambent last breath.  

Wake up. 

The thudding of his heart, for once, does not scare him into a stupor. His chest hurts, but with the type of sweet, spanning pain only known to lovers who fear they will burst from the vehemence of their mutual adoration. Thick spurts of blood rush to his extremities, the tingling in his toes and fingers further fueled by the slide of the thick tongue inside him. John’s eating him out with the starved attention of a man who’s been denied his last meal. Lips parted, Gale moans, deep and guttural, sends it clattering against the walls. John’s nails, sharp and uncut, dig into the globe of his ass, pinching, holding him wide open. Gale squirms, rocks back against the finger and the tongue, then tries to crawl away, overstimulated, mind still fuzzy and shocked into awareness by the intensity of John’s touch.

“Don’t move,” comes a muffled moan. Johns licks a stripe against his rim, dips inside again. His finger curls up and strokes, and Gale fists the sheets, his cock twitching. “Don’t move, doll, just let me—”