#MTP x Reader

[yandere-romanticaa]

i know you've mainly written about yan! william with a darling who is just as crazy, but can you do one with a more innocent darling? like they just tried to run away from him, too bad he knows them like the back of his hand and knows where she could have gone

The serene song of the morning birds gave an ethereal atmosphere to the Moriarty household, as some of the large branches from the nearby trees kept tapping against the open windows, their soon to be bright orange and red leaves decorating the wooden floor.

William drank his tea in peace, the hot aroma engulfing him as he let out a satisfied hum. The branches were beyond beautiful, they truly did give a certain pop of life to the entire estate which he marvelously enjoyed.

Said branches were also quite sturdy, he duly noted.

Placing the tea cup back down onto the porcelain white plate, William uncrossed his legs and stood up, his posture as straight as it can be as he made his way towards the window, his pace slow and relaxed. He looked out the window, taking in the soon to be autumn scenery and a few footsteps left in the grass from a little someone who managed to escape. How cute, he thought to himself.

"Brother..." said a sudden voice, it being gentle and soft, but with a hint of worry in it. William did not even bother to turn around to look at his brother, already knowing what he was going to ask him. Louis always made sure that everything was in order, no matter how miniscule it may seem. He would sometimes even have him tend to the little captive he held in his basement, making sure that the shackles were tight just right, but not too tight.

He despised seeing bruises bloom on your pretty skin. The sight alone made him seethe.

"Yes Louis, I know. No need to concern yourself with anything." came William's reply, his voice neutral.

"I shall take care of everything. You just keep doing what you always do best." said William. He turned slightly back to look at his brother, to analyze his worried face. He gave him a nod, which allowed Louis to leave the room.

The room was almost vacant now, save for William and his morning paper. The man could not help but to let out a wistful sigh, red tainting his pale cheeks as he felt his heart do backflips in his chest.

You had no kind of idea just what sort of power you had over the Lord of Crime. That was always something William was going to give you credit for. Your fiery nature was beyond precious but you just had this innocent doll like quality to your person, which William James Moriarty could not help but to deeply admire.

He already knows where you are. He already knows where he was going to go tonight and at exactly what time he was going to collect you. William was buzzing at the thought of you telling him just how you had managed to get out of your shackles without waking up anyone in the entire house, all the while climbing down a tree like a little mouse.

For now though, he was going to let you enjoy this mini spoil of victory. He could already picture your sweet face, a face so sweet that he sometimes wondered if it would crumble due to his dark touch.

William was not a good man, he knew this all too well. However, he was also not cruel, especially towards you. You would be granted these few hours of freedom, you truly did deserve them.

Once the sun goes down and the silver moon comes up though, all is fair in love and war.

[ranposbabe]

Wrinkled Sheets

pairing: louis james moriarty x fem!reader

summary: louis doesn’t like the fresh sheets wrinkled but you kept provoking him :(

warning: smut, slight mention of voyeurism??, unprotected sex!! he’s sick of your bs

Each morning the same routine occurred.

From the moment Louis woke up as the rays of sun rise sneaked in past the curtains, he’d gather himself up and dress along with making the bed with fresh sheets. He found it somewhat relaxing. A simple not even task completed to start off the uncertain day.

Atlas, one’s tasks are certain to be disrupted when you are around.

“Louis !” You exhaustingly call, practically slouched over standing in the doorway. Your call did nothing but bounce off the walls as he continued to folding the sheets so precisely.

You couldn’t believe it ! You barely could find it within yourself to stay awake at the crack of dawn to even think about the daily chores let alone do them !

“y/n I’m rather busy at the moment.”

He’s polite with his words yet his back remains to yous still and suddenly a devious thought provokes your mind. “Doing what exactly ?” You tease, taking steps forward as you now stood behind him. Your curiousity leads you to stand on your tippy toes in an attempt to look over his broad shoulders. “y/n” Louis sighs, his hand patting out the creases. You could only stare down at his long fingers and the way they-

“Oh !” You gasp, your balance lost like your lucid dreams. You’re quick to fall against his back but not before Louis quick reflective kick in and he turns ever so slightly just to take you into his arms to stop you descending to the floor.

Just a moment everything stops and you feel everything. How both of his hands are placed against your lower and upper back. How even though you don’t dare look up as your heads places against his chest that its pace has indeed increased ever so slightly.

“Careful.” He softly tells you off before letting you go and it’s only when you’re not pressed against Louis, you feel the sudden coldness of the room and it leads you feeling such discomfort. Time to pursue your idea !

Louis stood still clearing his throat as he adjusted his glasses and he was none the wiser as you moved before him.

As soon as the back of your knees collided with the edge of the bed you didn’t hesitate to sit down, crossing your legs in the process.

You look up and you’re clearly not taken back by the irritated look on Louis face. His brows are practically always furrowed when in your presence.

“Get up.” A sigh once again escapes his lips, staring you down. You take on the challenge.

“Why should I ?” You tilt your head, resting down back on your elbows. He still stands above you, not threatened by your game. That is until your legs are uncrossed and ever so slightly spread and Louis realises that he’s standing ever so close to between your legs.

The faint blush on his cheeks and ears gives him away.

But Louis is quick to compose himself when he sees your elbows creasing the sheets and now he’s been set off. Poor you.

“Enough !” He finally snapped, his tone sharp with warning. His scarlet eyes filled with temptation. You will admit, his tone made a whimper out of you but when you stared up into those eyes you knew deep within you that he was welcoming this challenge.

He continue to glare right down at you, you’re not sure whether he was in contemplation or if this was your punishment. Either way, you were starting to feel uneasy about the answer that you were guaranteed to find out.

“Louis I-

You try to sit up yet as if a switch had been turned, you’re pushed down by the young Moriarty and soft lips are pressed against yours which you greedily accept. Strands of blond tickle your forehead as his hands grip onto the sheets beside your head. Creasing them far more than you’ve done.

He pulls back but before you can question him, he pulls his glasses off, throwing them above you onto the pillows.

Whenever the glasses come off that was when you understood to keep quiet.

His lips now more eager are once again on yours and you return the favour by the opening your mouth to invite his tongue.

It is when Louis reaches down to pick up your leg by the back of your knee that your skirt rises, that you realise the obvious.

“Louis !” Your eyes widened. “The door is still open !”

Anyone could walk by at any moment and the would see the disgrace of yourself. This seemed to only rile Louis up even more, you could tell by the way his teeth dragged his lip without a single care. With nothing to say, you could only pout. His kisses are moved down to your exposed neck. Sooner or later your neck wouldn’t be the only thing out in the open for anyone walking by to view.

Your eyes couldn’t help but follow his movements. How his fingertips rested around your throat, not squeezing but reminding you what he’s capable off. How the light purple and blue veins look exquisite and decorate his surprisingly smooth hands. His other hand was busy pulling up your skirt that was getting in the way of his desire. Your cheeks were warm, in an instant the buttons to your blouse were opening and your legs displayed which Louis rubbed your thigh with his remaining hand yet he was fully clothed, not even his bow tie was disturbed. It felt like a silly game that really only you were playing, following along to his rules. He was the real winner here.

While his addictive kisses which turned your skin into shades of purple moved down to your chest, you sneakily took the chance to move your seemingly stiff hands down to his belt.

You barely got it open before your hands were ripped away. “Are you going to continue to misbehave?” Louis questions you all the while he tugs down your undergarments, your skirt still ruffled around your waist. “Well ?” His movements stop. It all depends on your pretty lips to move.

“Um.” The embarrassment which prior was nonexistent is evident of your reddened face. You could feel his nails begin to dig into the skin beneath the waistband of your underwear.

“I’ll behave.” Your heart is thumping out of your chest and the sight alone of your pleading eyes of submission makes Louis weak in the knees. Quite literally.

Your back arches from the bed, sheets creasing the more your head sways back as your hands move from the sheets to Louis’ hair as he places delicate but long fulfilling kisses on your cunt. The more Louis licks and even bites the more you forget yourself and your lustful cries can be heard outside of the room where the door is wide open as ever.

It’s when Louis’ teeth have a slight nip at your clit, he looks up and those scarlet eyes can see the satisfaction on your dazed face.

He pulls back, looking down at his glistening prize. Not only are the sheets now destroyed in wrinkles from you griping so tight but also due to your soaking wet cunt that’s non stop dripping well because of Louis’ skills.

You don’t even get a second to come down from your high as his mouth is replaced with his cock. His cock so deep in you he snugly fits perfectly. Even if it takes you a minute and a gasp to adjust to his long girth. Every fast thrust, his cock touches your cervix, intending to leave bruises just like your neck. All you can do is cling onto him by his clothed shoulders as he uses your cunt to his advantage. Of course you always have to irritate him. Of course you’re delaying him of his tasks. Always you and your desirable cunt getting in his way !

Well he won’t have it anymore ! The sheets at this stage are done for ! Anymore mess to be made will be put onto you. Quite literally !

As you both reach your high together, it was rightfully Louis’ turn to make a mess and of course he would all over your exposed chest and blouse. He was fully dressed, he can’t make a mess of his own clothes now can he ?

The switch had been turned again, no longer under your enchantment. Louis gathers himself quickly, adjusting his pants as you’re left covered in his mess. “I need to prepare tea.” Louis states, his hands fumbling in an effort to fix his crooked bow tie. You can only stare in, not even budging.

He points to the sheets, his demands never tire. “I want them replaced when I come back. If not you’ll obey the repercussions.” Like that Louis bolts out the door, behind on his daily routine, not even sparing you a glance.

All you’re left to do is pathetically lie there, panting away in a useless attempt to catch your breath. But that’s doesn’t mean you follow instructions. You continue to lie there eagerly staring out at the open doorway, waiting for the repercussions.

[fairy-writes]

BY YOUR SIDE

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Moriarty the Patriot

Pairing(s): William James Moriarty x Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Female!Reader, Holmes!Reader, Pregnant!Reader, Archaeologist!Reader, Potential OOC-ness for William

Notes: I KNOW I SAID I WOULDN'T DO A PART THREE, BUT I DO WHAT I WANT

PART ONE LINKED HERE

PART TWO LINKED HERE

__________________________________________________________________________

“Professor Moriarty?”

A student interrupted your conversation with William, effectively capturing your attention. You and your husband turn to face the student, a young boy you recognized from your most recent lecture at Durham University. 

You had kept your promise to William about him stealing a lecture or two from you. And with your pregnancy advancing the way it was, you weren’t able to go on any long trips for excavations anyway. 

“Yes?” You and William say in unison, and the boy stares for just a moment before giggling, 

“Sorry, I meant Doctor Moriarty. I just had a question about the latest anthropology lecture?” He amended, and you looked back at your husband with a cheeky smile. 

“I suppose I’m needed elsewhere.” You tease, and he nods, looking at you with what seems like fondness. 

He had been doing that more and more often these days. It was doing things to your heart that you couldn't quite define. 

“I’ll meet you in my office.” He said simply, and you nodded before following the student back into the classroom you had just come from. 

“Does that make sense? I’m more of an archaeologist than a bioanthropologist. It’s been a while since I took or taught a class on it.” You trail off, the chalkboard full of supplemental notes, and the student’s eyes have glazed over. He snapped to attention and hurriedly scribbled down what he thought was important. While he did so, you placed a hand on your swollen belly, rubbing and soothing the baby inside. They were awfully wiggly today. 

The student opened his mouth to ask presumably another question when you experienced something strange.

There was a “popping” sound and a gush of water between your legs. It soaked your dress and trickled down your legs onto the hardwood floor. You paused in rubbing your belly and looked down. 

What…?

Then it hit you, along with a contraction. 

“Oh dear…” You mumble.

Where were you? 

You should’ve been here by now. 

William sat in his office, grading a mathematics exam he had just administered to his students earlier that week. His lunch sat uneaten, as you typically ate with him during your lunch period, but seeing as you weren’t here yet, he hadn’t started eating. 

But food was pushed to the back of his mind as someone frantically knocked on his office door and threw it open before he could even say anything. 

“Professor Moriarty!” The student you had been talking to gasped, leaning his hands on his knees as he sucked in great lungfuls of air. 

William was on his feet in a second, noticing immediately that you were nowhere to be found. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, though he already had an idea of what was happening. 

“She’s… in… labor!” The student wheezed, and before William could even comprehend what he was doing, he grabbed the student’s arm and steered him around back into the hallway. 

“Where is my wife?” He demanded, and the student pointed down the hall,

“In the nurse's office!” 

William made it to the nurse’s office in record time. He was alone now, having sent the student to his dorm while he went to check on you. 

However, he was stopped by the nurse’s assistant the second he tried to go through the door. 

“My wife is in there.” He snapped, feeling strangely panicked, and the assistant nodded, 

“Men aren’t allowed in the delivery room. The nurse is a former midwife, so she knows what she’s doing. You have to wait out here.” The assistant said, and William found himself gritting his teeth. 

You were vulnerable and in pain. You needed him, and he couldn’t be there for you. 

So he did the only thing he could and waited. 

Hours pass. 

He can hear your pained noises as you labor through bringing your child into the world. The door does nothing to hide the agonizing noises. He sat on the bench outside the nurse’s office, his knee bouncing and his hands clasped together. 

“Liam!” 

Who?

William looked up to see Sherlock running down the hallway. Worry was etched on his features. No one else followed. You still didn’t talk to the rest of your family, and John was at home caring for Mary, who was pregnant with their second child. You two were supposed to have your kids around the same time. 

But you were a whole month before your due date!

He forgot that he had called 221B Baker Street to explain everything. 

“How is she?” Sherlock takes a seat beside William, leaning back against the wall as he studies the door before him. 

“I don’t know. They haven’t told me anything.” He said, and Sherlock huffed. 

“‘Course they won’t. That would be too easy.” He jokes but William doesn’t even crack a smile. 

It wasn’t long before Sherlock put a hand on his shoulder. 

“It’ll be alright. My sister is a tough woman. She dealt with our parents for years. This’ll be nothing!” He tried, but William just hung his head. 

“This is one of the first times I’ve been out of control of something. I can’t do anything to help.” He said, frustration clear in his voice. It was then that the door opened, and the nurse’s assistant came out. 

“Professor Moriarty? You—”

A baby cried, and William felt his heart stop. 

Were you okay?

What was happening?

Sherlock pulled William to his feet with a grin. 

“Ready to meet your child?” He teased, and William nodded, feeling suddenly unsure. But he slipped past the nurse’s assistant into the office where your makeshift labor and delivery room was. He heard Sherlock talking to the nurse’s assistant behind him, but that didn’t matter as he spotted you. 

Sweat was a sheen on your face, hair sticking to the nape of your neck, and you looked unbelievably tired. 

But you held a little bundle in your arms, swaddled in a towel, and he saw a tuft of hair that matched his own. 

He was frozen. 

“Are you going to come and meet your son?” You whispered, exhausted, but positively glowing. 

Son. 

Son.

He took a step when Sherlock tumbled into the room and bumped into William. Your face morphed into one of surprise, 

“Sherly?” You asked, and he grinned, 

“Liam called me. I wanted to make sure you were alright.” He said, nudging William forward as he spoke. 

William made it to your side and sat in the chair beside your bed. It was more of a cot, really, and you had a multitude of pillows propping you up.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, leaning down to kiss your sweaty hairline. You let out a relieved sigh and reach up to grip his hand. 

“Better now that you’re here.” You murmur and adjust the baby in your arms to show him. 

The baby boy is pale, like William, and has blond hair, like William. He’s the spitting image of his father, and when the baby opens his eyes, William sees that he has reddish eyes much like his own. 

“He’s beautiful,” William says, and you grin,

“He got it from you.” You tease and beckon Sherlock over from where he was leaning against the door frame. 

“Cute lil’ tyke, isn’t he?” He says, and you roll your eyes,

“Of course he is. Look at his father.” You tease, and William simply smiles. 

[ananiel]

Imagine being able to see spirits. You are able to see animals and humans walking (or floating) around, hearing how they talk and how they speak, talking about how they wish they could see their family or talking about how they want nothing more but justice

You are able to touch and pet, to speak and to interact with any of them, and when people touch your bare skin, they can see spirits too, which caused You to always wear gloves and long sleaves, as well as a mask

Now, the basic answear for this Power would be to become an oracle or some crazy witch of the Town. But what if You become a Detective. Yep, a young Detective that suddenly rised into the favour of the people for being able to solve cases that are a century old (mainly because the beheaded victim cries in Your bathroom at 3:36 am sharp every night)

So You live like this, in a happy way with your gift

Logical would be to keep your gift hidden too, so that people don't try to kill You for knowing to much

You met him on a random day, thinking nothing of him while a dog spirit was hiding behind your leg. He seemed friendly, and eager to befriend You as well, almost honored to be in your presence

Now spirits upon spirits whisper his name, talk about how deranged and how he was the one who killed them, or played part into their death. Spirits that got very fond of You would tell You to stay away from that man

You clearly followed their advice, and distanced yourself from him. But he isn't dumb, he caught up to it, and now, he tries to figure out what has gotten You to hate him so much

Surely... He has been studing You for ages, talking You day and night to figure out the best personality to just steal You away only for himself. What failed in his plan?

He asked himself, oh well, guess he'd have to take You in a more forcefull attempt

[cupidandcherubs]

Mentally, I'm there

Don't get used to me posting three days in a row tho

[cyanhydrangea]

For The World We're Gonna Make

Albert James Moriarty x Reader

Summary:

You think of what the world could be

A vision of the one you see

And we can live in a world that we design

Inspired and based on "A Million Dreams" song by Hugh Jackman, Michelle Williams, and Ziv Zaifman

Tags: Songfic, Arranged Marriage, Domestic Fluff

"What makes you stay awake at night despite the comfortable life you already have?"

Ten years old Albert clearly did not see that question coming from you. You were only three years younger than him and this was only the third time you and him meet at a secluded area of Moriarty Mansion Garden after the day of engangement party.

He contemplates for a while, and his intuition is telling him he can trust you.

"Every night I try to close my eyes to sleep, I can see the world in equality"

Your fiancé's answer intrigue you, and soon you're about to know how the two of you share the same world view in this rotten system of society.

---

In a span of twenty years, Albert still found himself wide awake in midnight with the same vision he always has as a kid.

Albert was too deep in his thoughts that he didn't notice the weight shift on the bed after you woke up and you get closer to him. The sight of your husband's furrowed eyebrows in a dim light is nothing new to you, and you already know the cause of it.

It takes Albert a minute to realize his wife's keen loving eyes are on him.

"Did I wake you?", Albert asked in worry as he knows you were asleep an hour ago.

You shook your head, "You literally just spaced out for who-knows-how-long, staring at the ceilings like it's the most interesting thing in the world", A grin escapes your beautiful feature.

Albert can't help but mirror your grin, "If a mere ceilings can do that to me, your presence will make me lose my mind by how captivating you are"

You rolled your eyes playfully before you sigh in mixed feelings.

"Albert," you intertwine his hand on yours and place it where your heart beats.

"However big, however small, promise me you'll let me be part of it all. We share the same dreams, after all"

Albert's eyes softened by your declaration, he reached to cup your cheek with his free hand and gently caress it as he spoke in his loving gaze,

"I can say the same to you, my dearest. You think of what the world could be, a vision of the one you see, we can and we will live in that world we designed, a world without corrupt nobles where equality rise"

Because no matter how people would think how crazy they are, it will never change a fact that both of them are stubborn to make their dreams a reality.

"For the world we're gonna make", you said in determination.

"For the world we're gonna make", Albert repeated your words in affirmation.

#CyanHydrangea

Date written: 06/04/2025

[dazaiosamuwifeandlover16]

____________A strangeer among them____________

Chapter 2

______________A Game of Fate________________

You woke up with a jolt, feeling disoriented. The events of the past few days were too surreal to be real, yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were trapped in some twisted version of a dream. As you rubbed your eyes and tried to sit up, something caught your attention—something... strange.

A black screen, like an ethereal display, hovered in front of you, its edges glowing faintly with golden light that seemed to shimmer like the sun itself. It was unlike anything you’d ever seen before, its presence unnerving yet mesmerizing. The text on the screen seemed to pulse with each beat of your heart.

[SYSTEM ACTIVATED]

"Welcome to the game, player. You have been chosen for a task."

The words were cold, mechanical, yet somehow personal. You blinked in confusion, trying to process what you were seeing. Was this some kind of hallucination?

The system continued, as if it had no patience for your confusion:

"Go to the street and stop whatever is going to happen.

If you refuse, death awaits you.

If you accept, you will gain 100 points and a special gift.

The choice is yours."

Your stomach turned as you stared at the screen. The message was absurd—death? Points? What kind of game was this? But... was there even a choice? You didn’t want to risk the alternative.

“Okay...” you muttered, a shiver running down your spine. “I’ll do it.”

[You have chosen to accept the task.]

The system flashed a golden glow, and a small notification appeared:

"100 points granted. Special gift unlocked."

You were about to say something, but a strange sensation washed over you. It felt as though you were being pulled toward something. As if an invisible force was guiding your every step. Without thinking, you got up, your body moving almost instinctively, and walked toward the street the system had pointed you to.

The city was still, the early morning fog curling around the cobblestones. But then, you heard it—a child’s scream, cutting through the silence like a knife.

Instinctively, you ran toward the sound, your heart racing. When you rounded the corner, you saw a small boy, no older than seven or eight, struggling in the grasp of a rough-looking man. The man’s hand was clamped over the child’s mouth, pulling him toward a dark alley.

Without thinking, you rushed forward, your body moving faster than you thought possible. You grabbed the man’s arm, pulling it off the child. “Let him go!” you shouted.

The man turned, his face twisted in anger. “What’s this? Another foolish girl thinking she can stop me?”

But before he could retaliate, you tugged the boy away, shouting for him to run. The man lunged toward you, but you were already darting down the street, the child following closely behind. Your heart pounded in your chest as you ran, adrenaline fueling your every step.

Just as you thought you were safe, a shout rang out behind you. The man was chasing you, but something felt different—he was slower. You realized that your speed had somehow increased, your legs moving faster than you’d ever experienced before.

As you reached a corner and ducked into an alley, you could hear the man’s footsteps fade into the distance. You turned to check on the boy, who was panting with fear. His wide eyes locked onto yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“You saved me...” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Thank you. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t come.”

You smiled softly and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

Just as you were about to comfort him further, the system’s voice chimed in again, echoing in your mind:

"Task completed. 100 points awarded."

A new notification appeared on the screen in front of you, and you couldn’t help but read it:

**"You have completed the task successfully. You may now use your 100 points to improve one of the following:

1. IQ

2. IE (Emotional Intelligence)

3. Strange (Unusual abilities)

4. Beauty

5. Speed

6. Perception"**

You stared at the options, your mind racing. You were still trying to process everything, but you couldn’t ignore the possibilities.

Before you could make a decision, you whispered to the system, “How did I get here?”

But the screen stayed blank, the golden glow flickering slightly before it disappeared entirely.

A strange noise, like a phone ringing, broke the silence. You jumped and looked down to find your phone—your real phone—lying on the ground in front of you, its screen lighting up with a notification.

Confused and uncertain, you reached for it, your hands shaking as you picked it up.

The screen flickered, and an unfamiliar message appeared:

"Welcome to the world Stay alert, your journey has just begun."

The words burned into your mind as you stared at the phone, your mind racing with questions, and your heart pounding with fear and curiosity. What was happening to you? What kind of game had you been thrown into?

_______________________________________________

The boy had long since fled . his foot step fading into the distance.

the weight of the system’s message still heavy in your mind. Prevent the theft. You had no idea what that meant or how you were supposed to stop it, but you didn’t have time to dwell on that. The air was thick with an unsettling stillness, and you felt as though the world was holding its breath.

The system’s voice reverberated in your mind once again, calm and emotionless.

"Task initiated. Objective: Prevent the theft. Time limit: 10 minutes."

Your pulse quickened. Theft? How? The voice of the system didn’t offer any answers, only cold commands. But the strangest thing was happening. As you tried to think, to plan, a sensation crawled down your spine—the unmistakable feeling that someone was watching you.

You turned, scanning the streets. The buildings loomed over you, their windows dark and empty, but you couldn’t shake the oppressive feeling that eyes were following your every movement. A cold shiver ran down your neck. There was someone here, someone unseen. You couldn’t explain it, but you knew it with a certainty that made your skin crawl.

A low hum filled the air, and you blinked in surprise as the system’s voice sounded again, cutting through the silence.

"You must act quickly. The theft will occur soon. You have no time to waste."

You began walking, but your every step felt heavy, as though the very streets themselves were conspiring against you. The alleys stretched longer than they should have, and the fog seemed to thicken with each passing second. You had no plan, no strategy. How was a single woman supposed to stop a thief?

But then, you saw him.

A man, cloaked in dark clothes, moving stealthily through the mist. He carried something—a small, ornate chest clutched tightly in his hands, as if it were the most valuable thing in the world. Your heart raced. This is it. This is the theft.

You instinctively moved toward him, but doubt gnawed at your mind. What could you do? You were just an ordinary woman in an unfamiliar world. Your thoughts raced, but all you had was the feeling that you had no choice but to act.

The man noticed you, his eyes briefly flicking over to where you stood. For a moment, he hesitated. Then, without a word, he quickened his pace, moving toward a narrow alley as if to disappear into the shadows.

You couldn’t let him get away.

The system’s voice spoke again, a hint of urgency this time.

"Time is running out. You must stop him. Failure will result in penalty."

Fear clutched at your chest, but you forced yourself to move. You couldn’t fail—not when your life was on the line.

Without thinking, you sprinted after him, adrenaline coursing through your veins. As you turned the corner into the alley, you saw him standing at the end, a smirk curling on his lips. He knew you were following him.

You were close now, so close you could feel the heat of the chest in his arms. But what could you possibly do? You were just a woman—no weapons, no training. He was stronger, faster, and far more prepared for this moment than you were.

But you didn’t have time to doubt yourself. The moment had come. You had to act.

You lunged.

In that instant, you could hear the system’s voice, almost like a whisper in your ear: "Speed activated. Task critical."

A surge of energy flooded your body, propelling you forward with a speed that felt unnatural. Your hands shot out, grabbing the man’s arm before he could react. His eyes widened in surprise as you wrenched the chest from his grip. The force of your movement knocked him off balance, and he stumbled back, momentarily stunned.

He recovered quickly, but you had the chest now—its weight strange and foreign in your hands. For a brief moment, you stared at it, the intricate patterns carved into its surface gleaming in the dim light. It felt important—too important for someone like you to be holding.

“You won’t get away with this,” you said, voice shaking with both fear and determination.

The thief’s eyes narrowed, and he sneered. “A woman like you? What do you think you’re going to do with that?”

But before you could answer, a voice from behind you cut through the air, cold and steady.

“You’re not as invisible as you think.”

You froze, the words like ice settling in your stomach. Slowly, you turned, and there—standing in the shadows—was a man. His presence was unsettling, like a predator waiting for its prey. He was tall, his features sharp, his hair catching the faint light. His eyes were locked on you, studying you with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

He wasn’t just watching you. He was reading you—his gaze dissecting every movement, every twitch of your body. You felt exposed, as if he could see every hidden thought inside your mind.

“You... you’re not just anyone,” he said softly, stepping closer. “You’re different. I can see it in your eyes.”

You instinctively took a step back, clutching the chest tighter in your hands. What was this? Was this part of the game too?

Before you could react, the thief, still recovering from his shock, cursed and dashed for the shadows. He was retreating, but the man—the observer—was already moving. His eyes were trained on you as he closed the distance between you in seconds.

But as he reached out, a strange force seemed to ripple through the air, and you felt a surge of energy that wasn’t your own. You pushed back, startled, and the man faltered, momentarily caught off guard.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. The system’s voice echoed again in your mind, its tone almost mocking.

"Task completed. 100 points awarded. You have proven yourself useful... for now."

The screen flashed before you, and once again, the options appeared:

"You have earned 100 points. Choose how to allocate them wisely."

But you didn’t have time to think about the points. The man’s gaze was fixed on you, and there was something chilling about the way he looked at you. It wasn’t just curiosity—it was like he knew something about you, something you didn’t.

“You’re not from here, are you?” he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper. "I can see it... you're not like the rest of them."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking into your chest. This wasn’t just about the game anymore. There was something far darker, far more dangerous lurking in the shadows. And he was a part of it.

With a final glance at you, the man turned and disappeared into the mist, his figure vanishing like a ghost.

You stood there in the alley, the chest still clutched in your hands, feeling the weight of the mystery press down on you. The game had only just begun.

_______________________________________________

[maidensveil]

HOW BEING IN HIS ARMS FEEL LIKE

being in the comfort of his arms and cuddling all afternoon might be the best moments you hope to happen everyday. you dont necessarily like the cruel frigidness in the room, and the touch of his cold skin doesnt help it either. but you dont care-- as long as you're with him and he's with you. the comfortable feeling of being in his arms just makes you forget about the burdens of life, the dreadful emotions that has been eating you alive. the tightness of your mental stability automatically eases up. it makes you forget even the hardest moments of your life.

-- . fyodor, shibusawa, ayatsuji yukito . william moriarty . hanako/yugi amane , teru minamoto . tanjiro, giyuu, obanai , (and anyone else u want!!)

instead of you initiating it, its usually him. he has always been a clingy significant other, not that you mind. it doesnt matter where you two even are, public or private, he just wants to feel your skin against his. he prefers being little spoon most of the time, but it doesnt matter. he often just rests his head on your shoulder. the feeling of it comforts and relieves you, your stress, and basically everything, i mean.. the feeling of his physical affection, his warmth and shared feelings with you makes you feel warm even in the inside.

-- . ranpo, nikolai, dazai . louis moriarty . mikey, baji keisuke . tsukasa, teru (m) . zenitsu

[yandere-romanticaa]

hi my love! is it ok if i can request any mtp character that has a darling that cannot speak english very well and has an accent? so when she gets kidnapped or when character acts like yandere towards her, she is confused because she doesnt really understand some of the english? but she tries her best to speak english haha<3

i’m sorry if it is hard to understand me, english isn’t my first language :< (like the darling above!! lol) please take care ana, i love you so much<3 and feel ok to ignore this, i just thought it wouldve been cute haha

The world had bowed to the United Kingdom. There was not a single corner of the globe in which the massive nation had not stepped foot in, trampling the lives of the innocent and forcing their customs onto the so-called "savages". Even if one was not from a colony, the effects of the nation could still be felt. Each little ripple could cause a massive tide, be it good or bad.

This is why you wanted to come to London.

Start fresh, seek out a new life. Oh, the thought of leaving your family terrified you to the core but the prospect of a better future was just far too good to pass up on.

London was a city of invention and hope, a place in which things were constantly in motion. Your English was abysmal at best, and the fact that you were foreign did not go unnoticed either. The highborn lords and ladies would look down from their carriages, as if they were the mighty gods who ruled over everything and anything that dared to take breath.

No matter. There was no time to worry about that.

Find work, get a roof over your head and some food in your belly. Those are the primary objectives. Make a fat paycheck and send some money back to family and loved ones, the thought of making their lives easier made your heart do backflips. With nothing but a single suitcase and almost no money, you were no better than prey in this den of wolves.

Fate was a fascinating mistress as none of the wolves had managed to sink their fangs into your supple flesh.

It was as if the stars themselves had gazed down at you and blessed you with a man so kind and gentle, a man who just so happened to be looking for someone who could clean his very expensive and lovely manor.

His name was Albert James Moriarty and on that very day, he had become your savior. He graciously offered his hand to you, his elegance shining brightly all over him like the sun as you stared at him in awe, wondering how you had managed to get so lucky so soon. In no time he gave you a uniform and informed you of your daily duties as best as he could. You had expected your lord to become impatient with you, to at least scoff under his breath for your inability to formulate a basic sentence, and yet that was never the case.

Lord Albert did his best to be patient with you, using hand gestures, facial expressions and sometimes even drawing out whatever his desires were or what needed to be done. He would mimic drinking tea with his hands, point to places that needed dusting and he made sure that you could at least understand basic greetings and farewells, just in case you needed them. When you had the spare time, he would have you sit down in his private office, the fire crackling behind you both as he handed you a book to read out loud. Albert would work on his papers as you clutch onto the book, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as you did your best to grasp the English language. In due time, you realized that he was giving you children's tales which were always filled with easy sentences, basic grammar and just a hint of whimsy.

There would always be a hint of a smile on his face as you read to him, as if he was pleased with your efforts.

The thought alone made you want to weep from joy. Preparing for the worst case scenario seemed to be absolutely unnecessary as Albert always had everything covered when it came to you and your needs.

Although, your lord did seem to act a bit odd at times.

That dashing green gaze of his would trail after you enter the room, his deep and soothing voice always lingering nearby as you dust the bookshelves, his accent only making him more appealing that he ought to be.

Falling for him was not an option. It just couldn't be. He was your boss - your lord - and surely a man like that would never cast his gaze to someone like you, right? His wandering eyes have been chalked up to figments of your imagination, the gentle mornings you would share with him were nothing but British customs you were yet to get used to.

Lord Albert was not a wolf.

He would never harm you.

And there was truth to that. You were one of the few people that Albert James Moriarty would never even think about laying a finger on.

As for the rest of high society...

That was a different tale to tell.

My darling, your English is lovely! If it makes you feel any better, English is also not my mother language as well! My apologies if this was too rushed, I just wanted to write something for Albert and you gave me the excuse to do so. Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoyed it!

[ranposbabe]

Spillage

pairing: Albert James Moriarty x Fem!Reader

summary: Albert’s favourite wine is spilled and now he has to clean it up :(

warnings: smut, erotic content, unprotected sex!!!

The hour was late and Albert was still yet to return to your shared bedroom.

Everyone in the Moriarty manor decided to celebrate a recent victory taking down a nobleman that had been troublesome for quite some time.

However you couldn’t find it in yourself to join the celebration as you remained tired throughout the day and had returned to your room rather early. William did the same to correct some students test and Herder…

well he’s Herder, putting something together you assumed.

When it comes to celebrations of course there is all sorts of alcohol.

Of course it was Moran who didn’t hesitate to start the drinking early.

How could Albert refuse ?

You found yourself laying just in your undergarments along with one of Alberts white dress shirts that practically engulfed you. The buttons all open exposing your body underneath as the room had a tendency to become quiet warm with the heavy sheets even with the window slightly opened. A book.

Of course the calmness couldn’t last long.

The door practically swung open as the head of the manor walked in causing you to practically throw your book away in such sudden fright.

“Are you tipsy, Albert ?” You sigh, watching his every move as he walked in confident yet a slight trip to his step. His blazer out of sight he always looked fine in his suits.

Tightly gripped in his hand was a new bottle of his favourite wine half empty of course.

“Of course not, y/n.” He smirks. A familiar glow in his emerald eyes. He runs his hand through his typically combed back hair and a few loose strands fall over his forehead making him appear messy and desirable.

“Come to bed, beloved.” You pat the spot beside as if you were trying to convince a child that it was bedtime.

“You’re more so the lord of wine rather than lord of crime.” You roll your eyes, rubbing your hand up and down his back in a comforting manner.

“What’s this ?” He simply asks.

His eyes practically glowed at the sight of you his darling Wearing nothing but your undergarments along with one of his dress shirts. Overcome with tiredness you failed to even button the shirt, your stomach on view. Just like how he liked it.

“I didn’t think you’d notice.” You simply state.

“I’d be a fool not to notice.”

For a small intimate moment he presses his lips against yours before going back to taking a swig from the bottle.

Such a gentleman.

“”We’ll I’m sorry my lips don’t taste like wine, Albert !” You scoff at the sight an amused glow in his emerald eyes.

With a smirk on his wet lips Albert turns towards you and in an instant cages you in one arm

Suddenly Albert tips the expensive bottle and the warm red liquid splashed your belly and rolls down your side, staining the silk sheets.

“Albert !” You jump, your attempts to sit up fail as his arm keeps you still. He towers over you, quite the intimidating sight.

“Louis helped me change these sheets just this morning !”

His tongue pressed flat against your stomach licking up whatever was left of the wine like a starved man.

You gasp at the feeling of Albert licking the scarlet liquid from your belly and suddenly that familiar tingle starts riling up inside of you.

“Albert-

“I’ve missed this.” He whispers to himself.

It was only then did you realise he wasn’t as drunk as you originally thought he was.

He always had that certain smirk on his lips.

His tounge invades your mouth, wine spilling and running down your chin

“It seems you need cleaning kissing down from your lips to your neck.

“I don’t recall having wine splashed on my neck ?” You groan, Albert’s wet lips pressing against under your jaw all the while his fingers effortlessly grasp at your underwear. He playfully slaps at your hips silently telling you to raise them. You comply shimmying slightly while whines escape past your lips due to the lack of contact. But as soon as Albert removed your clothing he was quick to return the warmth of his touch.

He licks a long stripe of your cunt taking his time like he would sipping his wine.

His emerald eyes roll to the back of his head as you grind your cunt against his scarlet stained tongue. His brown locks feel so soft as they slip through your fingers as you grip at Albert hair holding him in place as he satisfys himself by enjoying his meal.

You learned quite early on to never interrupt Albert while he was in pure bliss.

But the cravings that rise inside of you make you suddenly wanting more. You practically have to pull Albert off of you to gain back his attention.

He always had his priorities straight.

“I’m here, my love. I’ll have your legs shaking in no time.”

You don’t hesitate in helping Albert remove his clothing while typically you would admire Albert in his nicely fitted suit, in this moment of time you’d rather see it be removed…more often.

The lamp by your bedside leaves the room in an orange glow makes Albert’s skin glow as his dress shirt is finally remover. A wave of greediness washes over you as you run you hand up and down his glistening body from his nice shoulders till just above his suit pants.

It doesn’t take long before his pants are removed and you’re suddenly too shy to look despite knowing not only the captivating appearance of his aching cock but also the sensation that it caused inside of you.

“I’m taking you now, y/n.” He assures, his hand massaging your waist. His eyes flickered down to the sight of your wet cunt, eagerly wanting to dive into his desert. You’ve both enjoyed the pleasure of love making to eacherother for a long time and yet on every occasion you’re both suddenly filled with giddiness and relaxation which come from the complete trust you both hold deeply for one another.

“Then take me, Albert.” You smile, no longer being able to hold back.

You’re connected not only physically but emotionally too. The pleasure not only feels good but Albert’s smile as he stares deeply into your eyes make you more than content.

He takes you just as good as he always has. Albert practically does all the work and yet with the pace of his thrusts you understand that he prefers it this way.

You don’t mind. The only sounds evident in the dimly lit room was your gasps of pleasure and Albert’s groans that sounded like music to your ears. Though the sound was of skin slapping was becoming much more louder.

“Don’t be shy now. You know how to use that voice of yours.”

If they hadn’t already, your ears had blushed red at his constant teasing. Yet really you couldn’t get enough of it despite how embarrassed you may of seemed.

His thrusts were deep as one of his hands rested by your hand holding himself up as his other was stained with scarlet, groping your left breast, clear determination evident on his soft yet toned features.

He soon presses soft little kisses between your breasts. He always shows the same affection with both of your breasts. You had to laugh at how considerate Albert was towards them. Your highs come when Albert leans up and presses a considerably slow kiss against your lips, purposely avoiding tongue making you wanting more. He couldn’t whether your lips were bruised or simply stained by the wine. Either way he liked the sight.

His eyes glow with not only lust but also with admiration as he brushes strands of hair away from your forehead, his touch being so gentle compared to his thrusts.

He doesn’t pull out he remains inside of you. He doesn’t hesitate to move on with the constant kissing onto your neck.

Albert was practically addicted to the sight of your newly bruised neck being mixed with the staining shade of red wine.

“I think the celebration is over.” You breathlessly sigh, running your hand through his dark hair.

“On the contrary.” He doesn’t hesitate to continue his attack on your neck.

“I think it’s just starting.”

[fairy-writes]

Would it be too much to ask for a William James Moriarty x Holmes sister reader? Like she's a travelling archaeologist/anthropologist who's a genius in the field and has found many artifacts and lost cities and can be a bit of an eccentric looney like her older brother Sherly but she's also incredibly kind to those in need and often donates her treasures to the less fortunate and even helps Sherly from time to time which is how he meets her and is impressed by her smarts and sarcastic wits. Also, a bit of a parkour junky likes to wear mens clothes tailored for her measurements and often wears her hair in loose buns or ponytails and loves riding horseback much to Mycroft's displeasure🤭

A BUSINESS PROPOSAL

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Moriarty the Patriot

Pairing(s): William James Moriarty x Reader

Word Count: 3k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Female!Reader, Holmes!Reader, Mildly sexist behavior from Mycroft? It is the 1800s after all.

Notes: So this was super fun to write! 

Fun fact! I took an archaeology class for my associate’s degree in criminal justice and highly recommend taking one to anyone in college! 

I actually took several anthropology classes (intro to anthro, bio anthro, and archaeology). I even considered switching my major to anthropology at some point! (I switched it to English lol)

PART TWO HERE

PART THREE HERE

__________________________________________________________________________

Otis whinnies, and you reach forward from your place in the saddle to pat his neck.

“Easy, Otie, almost there.” You whisper to him and gently nudge him to turn down the familiar road of Baker Street. You could spot your brother’s flat from where you were at, an unfamiliar carriage parked in front. You frown briefly and then shrug. Sherlock could have whoever he liked over. 

But… he did promise to take you out on the town in celebration of your latest discovery. Did he forget?

No… He wasn’t the type to forget something like that. You had been exchanging letters for weeks about your coming home. 

A tall man was at the front of the carriage, tending to the horses. He had spiked black hair and a glove on one hand. He looks at you with skeptical eyes as you draw near and dismount your horse. The Cleveland Bay snorts, ruffling your hair as you smooth your hand up his snout and between his eyes. Then, you promptly tied his reins to the post outside 221B Baker Street and went up to the front door. 

The door knocker was more worn than you last remembered, with the shiny brass turning a glimmering gold color from all the hands touching it. You rap the door once, twice, then a third time, and wait, stuffing your hands in your trouser pockets. 

A young man opens the door, sandy blond hair combed neatly and brown eyes alight with curiosity. A grin breaks your face, and you step forward into his arms as he realizes just who is at the door.

“My dear John!” You shriek, and he chuckles, lifting you off your feet and spinning once in a circle before setting you down. 

“I thought you weren’t due back for another two weeks!” He replies excitedly, and you laugh gleefully. 

“We finished early! Anyhow, how’s Mary? Sherlock said you two were expecting!” You say and slap his shoulder good-naturedly. He ducks his head, a pink flush on his cheeks as he nods.

“She’s home at the mo. But yes, we’re expecting. The midwife thinks it’ll be a girl based on how she’s carrying.” He said, and before you could say any more, there was a noise at the top of the stairs. 

You turn, and your grin widens even more until your cheeks hurt. 

“Sherly!” You crow, and he bounds down the stairs to sweep you up in a bear hug. His boisterous laugh made your heart sing, and you buried your nose in his hair. He smelled like cigarette smoke and whiskey. He must have been on a case. He squeezes you tight and sets you down. 

“I thought you were coming back in two weeks!” He exclaims, and you roll your eyes,

“So John said, I told you we finished early!” You tease, and it is then that you notice that there is someone else in the flat. 

He was tall, probably around your brother’s height. He had blond hair and deep scarlet eyes that studied you with interest. He was dressed in a brown suit with a crimson tie. A lord. That much is obvious.

Sherlock notices that you notice his friend and gestures to the man at the top of the stairs. 

“This is Liam! A mathematics professor at Durham University and a friend of mine who helps me on my cases.” He says proudly as “Liam” descends the stairs and approaches you. 

You stick out a hand and introduce yourself. His hand is smooth like you expected, as opposed to your calloused one. You had bandages littering your fingertips from blisters from shovels and tools. 

“William James Moriarty. I’ve heard stories about you.” His British lilt is proper and endearing. You feel your heart flutter and your ears burn. But you smile warmly nonetheless and give his hand a firm shake.

“As much as I’d like to say the same, Sherly has yet to tell me about you in his letters.” You direct the last sentence to your older brother in the same teasing tone as before. 

Sherlock rolls his eyes and punches your shoulder lightly while William watches on in amusement. 

“I got distracted!” Sherlock complains, and you break out into giggles. 

“I would love to hear some stories if you’re up to it.” William cut in gently before you, and Sherlock could start bickering. You brighten. A chance to tell stories of your work and not have someone get bored? It sounded like heaven!

That was how you got to where you were at the current moment. 

You were seated next to Sherlock at the Moriarty dining table, regaling them with a story of the most current dig you had been on.

“—and Egypt was absolutely smashing! It was so beautiful!” You say, waving your hands excitedly as you describe the tomb that had been uncovered. It had taken weeks to uncover everything, almost months. But oh so worth it. 

“Might I ask what you did with all the artifacts you found?” William inquires, and you hum as you sip at your wine. 

“Donated it all back to the locals. It’s the least I can do. Plenty of archaeologists steal their finds and bring them back to England to show in museums. I try and do the opposite.” You say and were pleased to see William nod in approval. 

At least someone shared your sentiment. 

You got a letter to your very old and very dusty flat a week after your return to England, summoning you to your eldest brother’s estate. You had been dusting and cleaning your furniture when the postman knocked on your door. You frown, brushing your pants on the seat of your trousers, and answer the door. 

The letter was short. 

Dearest sister, 

I have received news of your return to Egypt. I would like to have your company at the family estate for dinner to discuss business and your adventures. 

With best regards, 

Mycroft Holmes

A summons to the Holmes family estate that your oldest brother had inherited after your parents retired to the country. You look at the ceiling and groan, eliciting a funny look from the postman. 

This was going to be fun.

As soon as Otis realizes where you are, he tosses his head and tries to turn around. You tug the reins so he faces the right direction and nudge him into a walk down the road.

“Otie, I don’t want to do this either. But I’d rather not have Mikey send special forces after us or something.” You say to Otis, and when you reach the stables, Mycroft’s hired stable hand takes your beloved horse’s reins. “Take good care of him!” You nearly reprimand the stable hand who agrees and welcomes you back with ease. 

The maids welcome you in excitedly when you rap on the massive double doors, and you are ushered upstairs into the dining room. 

Mycroft was seated at the head of the table, where your father would be if he were here, and he stood to greet you. He offers a handshake, but you simply smile warmly and hug him tightly. He may have grated on your nerves, but he was still your brother. Mycroft stiffens and pats your shoulders awkwardly when you step back.

“As awkward as always, I see Mikey.” You said and took a seat at the table next to him like you did when you were kids. He clears his throat and calls for the kitchen staff to bring in the food. 

It wasn’t much, considering there were only two of you. But it was as extravagant as Mycroft always demanded it to be. 

“Would you like to change into dinner attire before we eat, sister dearest?” Mycroft says suddenly, just as you are about to dig into the delicious roast prepared by the staff of the household. You put your fork down and scowl.

“Don’t start with this, Mikey. You know I hate dresses.” You snap, and he raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push the issue. 

At least… he doesn’t until you are done with your meal and in his study, talking about your travels to Egypt. 

You down the rest of your whiskey and set the glass whiskey tumbler on the table between you two. 

“More whiskey?” He offers, and you shake your head.

“I want to be able to ride home after this.” You say and hold in a yawn. The excellent food combined with the fireplace blazing with a crackling fire is lulling you to sleep. 

Suddenly, Mycroft stands and walks in front of the fire, setting his own glass down on the mantle and turning to face you. 

“Might we talk some business?” He inquires, and immediately, your mood sours. 

So this was his end goal? Get you sleepy and drunk so you couldn’t ride home and were subject to his pleadings?

“I don’t want to hear it, Mikey.” You say and stand, holding onto the back of the wingback chair for a moment as the dizziness sets in. 

He scowls, 

“You are of perfect age. The season is just starting. You could still join in and find a potential suitor!” He tries, and you scrub at your face.

“I already told you I wasn’t interested in courting! I’m interested in—”

“Your work, I know. But what happens when the digs dry up and there’s nothing else for you to do? What will you do when you get too old for this?!” He snaps, and you whirl, steadying yourself with the chair as your anger flares. 

“It won’t dry up! There are thousands of years of history still to be discovered! Hundreds of thousands of cities and archaeological finds!” Your voice rises to a shout, and you hear distant footsteps as maids scurry away from you and your brother’s anger. 

This goes on for several minutes until Mycroft a bomb on you. 

“Mother and Father have decided. If you don’t find someone to court, they will no longer fund your excavations, and you’ll be stuck here with me.” 

You freeze, hands wound tightly in your hair, and argument dying on your tongue. 

“B—But that would mean—” Mycroft cuts you off gently and approaches, putting his hands on your shoulders. 

“You’d be stuck here until you find a husband—no more digs. No more artifacts. Not until you do as they and I ask.” Tears well up in your eyes, and you shrug off his hands violently and flee. 

Your boots pound against the hardwood floors, and you run outside where it has started pouring rain. Instantly, your clothes are soaked as you make it to the stables, dress Otis in his saddle and bridle, and swiftly mount his back. He tears out of the stables at a thundering gallop, and the stable hand barely dives out of the way to save himself from being trampled. 

Otis’s hooves dash against the cobblestone roads. You cling to his reins and hunch over his back as tears stream down your face and sobs wrack your body. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Taking away your funding? 

No one wanted to fund a woman on an archaeological dig! 

Much less one as young as yourself! 

You were screwed! Doomed to live as a housewife because that was society’s and your parent’s expectations of you!

Otis eventually comes to a halt, and you dismount, collapsing onto a bench, breathing hard as rain pours down your body. Your shirt sticks to your skin, and your trousers swim in water as you sit in a puddle on the bench. But you can’t bring it in you to care. 

A carriage rumbles to a stop before you, and you look up as the door opens. 

“Might I interest you in some shelter?” Comes a proper and endearing accent that you recognize. 

“William?” You sniffle, and he smiles, extending a hand. 

“If you’ll let him, Fred will handle your horse. How about you step inside the carriage, and we’ll take you back to the Moriarty estate.” He says over the rain. A young man with a blue scarf wrapped around his head gets off the front of the carriage and approaches. You hiccup and nod, handing Otis’s reins to the young man and accepting William’s hand into the carriage. He sheds his overcoat and offers it. 

It’s warm and heavy as you wrap it around your shoulders and sit down. Your boots squelch against the floor, and William knocks twice against the carriage's wall, and it starts moving once again. 

The Morairty estate is even grander than you remember, looming over you as the carriage stops by the front doors. You nearly slip in your haste to get inside and are taken up the stairs to one of the many bedrooms. 

“Draw a bath and get warm. I’ll have some clothes brought by. We can have a talk after you’ve collected yourself.” William says gently, and you nod, taking off his overcoat so he can have it back. He excuses himself, and you are left alone in the suite. 

The bath is nice and hot, and you let out a sigh as you shed your clothes into a pile on the floor and sink into the warm water. Your tears are drying, but your emotions are still raging like a rabid dog inside you.

How could they? 

Didn’t your family know archaeology was your passion? Your dream?! Of course, they did! You never shut up about it when you were but a little girl learning to play the piano! You babbled on and on about fossils and artifacts in between lessons until you were blue in the face!

It wasn’t long until you were done in the bath and dried off. As William had promised, some clothes were left on the bed. A button-down that looked like it might fit you, a pair of trousers that might be a bit too long, and a pair of undergarments. You tugged on the underwear and then the trousers, having to cuff them at the bottom so you didn’t trip. The shirt fit better than you thought so you pinned your hair out of your face and left the bedroom and down the hall. Hadn’t there been a sitting room just down the stairs? 

William was inside, stoking a fire with a poker, his back to you. He stood and turned when you rapped lightly on the entryway. His lips curled in a welcoming smile, and he gestured for you to take a seat. 

“Would you like some tea? I had Louis put the kettle on.” He said, and you nodded, sitting on the couch beside the fire.

“Thank you. For the clothes and… everything else.” You mumble, and he shakes his head,

“Don’t mention it. Sherlock mentioned you hated dresses.” He says and pours you a cup of tea.

It’s delicious. It warms you from the tips of your ears to the ends of your bare toes. You scuff them on the plush carpet as William sits across from you. His scarlet eyes are illuminated like glittering rubies in the oranges and yellows of the fire. They’re alive like a torch resides inside. 

“Now, might I ask why you were out in the rain?” William asks as soon as you’ve settled into your spot. You bite your lip and wonder if you can trust him with your problems. 

Sherlock trusted him well enough… 

Perhaps…

“I got into an argument with Mycroft. He said my parents will cut off my funding for excavations if I don’t find a proper husband.” You blurt, and he hums as he takes a sip from his cup. 

“I assume they’ve been funding your past archaeological escapades?” He says, and you nod.

“Correct. But that is going to change unless I get married.” You grumble, and he cocks his head to the side, setting his cup down on the tea table next to him and seemingly mulling something over. 

“This may be a bit forward, but I have a proposal. A business proposal, if you will.” He starts, and you narrow your eyes. A business proposal? You set your own cup down and cross one leg over the other. 

“Go on…” You say hesitantly, and he clasps his hands together as if working out a problem in his head. Sherlock did say he was a mathematics professor.

“I could marry you.” You inhale sharply and proceed to choke on your saliva. William half gets out of his chair to come to your aid when you finally get your coughing under control. 

“Why?!” You demand, and he shrugs, 

“I’ve done some research into you. You are spearheading the way in new archaeological techniques. You donate your finds back to the locals in need. And frankly, I find you fascinating. If we go ahead with this, you’ll have access to my brother Albert’s influence as well as the Moriarty name and fortune.” He says, and you sit back, stunned. 

“I could continue my work?” You say skeptically, and he nods. 

“Indeed. There’s no reason to stop you. I might ask for a lecture or two from you at Durham University. But that’s it. So…” He extends a hand for you to shake. “Have we reached an accord?”

You are speechless as possibilities run rampant through your brain. You’d be free from your parent’s influence as well as pleasing them. Though pleasing them was the last thing on your mind. Yes, you’d be married. But like William said… it was more of a business proposal…

You reach forward and shake his hand. His smile widens marginally as you speak,

“I accept your proposal.”

[knavesdamsel]

Having a crush is the most disgusting cringy sweetest painful most joyful thing you’ll ever experience in your life

I haven’t been this miserably happy in years

[yandere-wishes]

⋆ Anomaly ⋆

❤Summary: Reader is an anomaly. A noblewoman of foreign descent. She doesn't belong here. But oh how she wishes to burn the world down just like William.

❤Author's note: A little something for Ana (@yandere-romanticaa) I hope you enjoy it!!

❤Warnings: Reader is traumatized, Yandere behavior, killing and blood, cryptic. I swear I know how math works…I've just been slaking this summer.

There are equations written over your skin. Complex formulas he's yet to solve. Exponents and variables freckle your body, scattered shards that try to tell him something, whispering the world's secrets every time he kisses your hand. You are an anomaly he thinks. Face full of cracks where the stars seep through. You're a mistake in the universe. A perfect doll misplaced. You are something, William is almost sure of it.

At heart, William is and always will be a mathematician. It just so happens that crime and math follow the same principles. Both require diligence and practice. Carefully throughout plans of how one must approach such a conundrum. One may call it a formula or a modus operandi or anything else as jejune. But in the end, a rose by any other name would still smell as sweet.

And yet to Moriarty, you are an equation that refuses to be solved. An enigma he's desperately sought to unravel since your first meeting.

William notices something odd as you stroll down an exquisite exemplar of the golden ratio. Something the lord of crime can't fully place. You're akin to a puzzle missing far too many pieces to properly depict its picture. Maybe it's the setting he ponders as he watches you take careful steps in heeled shoes. Maybe it's the music from the ballroom or the meaningless prattle of the aristocrats that robs your form of all logic. Something is amiss with you and he's frantic to find out what it is.

William introduces himself when you reach the bottom of the staircase. He's never been one to show primary interest in the ladies. Rather he waits in the faint glow of the moonlight until someone approces him. Maybe it's the need to distinguish himself from the other aristocrats, maybe it's the repulsion for their customs and manners that refrains him from ever commencing idle chatter. Yet with you, a girl he's never met before, he finds it fitting to say hello first. To talk, about nothing and everything in the same breath. He mentions his admiration for the staircase in passing. Never expecting you to latch on to the words and morph them into the divine proportion. "My father was a mathematical enthusiast, he's passed that on to me as well." Your words slip into his veins like a narcotic, like the melody of an ancient tune lost to time.

William smiles, easy and bright like the melting rays of the desert sun. "Quite the coincidence, I'm a mathematics professor at Durham University". There's a giggle that bleeds from your rose-tainted lips. Reverberating in the chambers of his heart. "A toast then" you propose "to the lethal magnificence of calculation"

You click your champagne glass against his, as something feral festers within the young nobleman.

It's only days later when he's replaying that night in his head as he sips his afternoon tea. That he realizes your champagne glass was empty that whole time. How strange he pondered, wondering if he'd even seen you touch a single intoxicant all evening.

Four days and three sleepless nights later William finds himself tracing the letters of your name with tender adoration. As if he's engraving prayers upon his bones. He needs to see you again as desperately as he needs to breathe. The letter he writes is aloof, meticulous. Prying on your curiosity, hoping you'll take the bait. One miserable day later Louis delivers a letter bathed in your fragrance. Informing the lord Moriarty of your acceptance of his invitation for tea. William folds the letter with the leniency of a biologist regulating their slides. Tucking it away within his breast pocket.

You wear red when you oblige his invitation. An odd red, one that breaks his perception of the color. It's too vibrant yet too opaque. He's beginning to wonder if everything about you is an irregularity. When he ushers the conversation to your garment you merely laugh and brush it off as having belonged to your mother. There's something wrong with that reply as if the universe weeps at your every word. William watches astonished as if he's been told a secret lost to time.

It becomes a habit, an obsession, an addiction really. Tea thrice a week with the woman who plagues his dreams. He lets his cover slip between sips of tea. Permitting you glances into his dark affairs. There's a moment that breaks the norm. A bizarre instance when you ask him to spare no detail in recounting how a poor tormented man murdered the marquess that raped his wife. William stops the proclean cup mere millimeters from his lips. His voice dies in his throat as his mind races to find an appropriate way to tell a lady such a bloody tale. For a second reality slips away.

Reality has a tendency to slip away unnoticed when he's with you.

You weave William tales of foreign lands that sound like they belong in children's fairytales. You tell him about heroes who've done the impossible and kings whose hearts are as pure as the summer skies.

Something about you reverberates in his subconscious. Oh, how he wishes to engulf you, to pick apart your flesh revealing all those dainty secrets you keep in your pretty little chest.

He asks how you know of such utopic lands. You smile. "Because I once lived there"

One day, as Louis serves black tea with rose petals, you bring up a rather peculiar request. "Permit me to assist you in your quest for equality lord Moriarty." William's beginning to believe he's going mad when he hears you. Albit it may as well be expected. Any sane noble lady would have run away many times over. Yet you remain. Forever poised in your adorned seat. Now more than ever William wishes he knew what you truly are. "I want to help you", you plead. "Allow me to aid you in burning this world down and starting anew". He shouldn't have accepted, he shouldn't have nobbed. He shouldn't have left his seat to trace the side of your face with more love than he knew he possessed.

Sometimes, William wonders if something is haunting you, an apparition nesting within the depths of your heart. He ponders what could drive a brilliant mind such as yours to crave the blood of the rich. You once told him about a heritage disrespected. A legacy buried under sand and water lilies. He's yet to find the true meaning behind those words. Does that make you a threat or an ally? Can either be exalted to a lover?

Moriarty promises you the world. Promise you revenge. He's not sure if he too will burn away in your vendetta. Yet he's willing to take the risk if he can hold you close after every murder case.

"I've tried to kick the habit of strolling around the cemeteries at night. Yet I must admit I rather enjoy this." William smiles at your twisted words as he leads the way. If everything has goes as planned -which is most often the case- then the two of you should be prepared for quite the spectacle. A certain Count - who had shown more interest in you than Moriarty could permit- would be getting knifed by his butler whose life he had ruined. A whole new meaning to the term 'the butler did it'. Quite comedic from William's perspective.

You lean on a withering oak tree, hidden by London's thick fog. William stands by your side, the personification of a grim reaper. You watch the play begin, the cobblestone stage illuminated by the blood-red moon. The confrontation, the knife being thrust into the rich vermin's heart. Again and Again and Again. The butler screams into the bloodstained night. His words quelled by his sobs and screams of agony from his dying tormentor. You only catch half of his reasoning, half of his allegations. And yet that is more than enough to comprehend his motive. You sympathize with the poor man, one whose scars mirror your own.

William's scarlet gaze befalls you, as the performance nears its end.

You pick at your nails in a manner that William finds a little too adorable.

You are an anomaly masquerading as a human. Depression lays heavy over your bones as stardust gathers in the corners of your eyes.

You pray to the creator of the moon, pray for a place long since destroyed.

"I've yet to find someone who truly understands me," you say as the two of you begin the journey back to the Moriarty estate.

"Then we share the same burden, my lady," William says, stopping in his tracks.

He lays a firm hand on your shoulder pulling you backwards into his embrace. Somewhere in the distance, three crows consecrate you with their blessings. Willian's hands rest heavy on your sides. He holds you like a little boy holds his father's arithmatic books. Full of care, full of wonder. "What are you" he whispers into your ear. Leaving a playfully hard bite to the shell. His lips trace yours like one traces a treasure map. Trying to unearth all the riches of the world. "My anomaly" he mutters before he finally commits.

When Moriarty kisses you the whole world melts away.

There's an intriguing lightheadedness that follows. As if the stars themselves have exploded within you. You wonder if basking in his presence will mend your tattered heart.

"My precious little anomaly"

Tag list: @elvyshiarieko @himerurun @latolover @aru-nightmare @guidingstarsstuff @myfancollections

[briefpeachdinosaur]

My blog will turn into a zack paterson fanpage.

Content will follow soon cuz theres barly anything made of him.

@viiper1 @wolliak

[yinyunnsworld]

FANON Sherlock: Shh, it’s okay baby. I’m sorry for what I’ve done. I’m sorry. I’ll sleep on the couch, please baby, forgive me. I didn’t mean it. I live you so much that it hurts when you’re not here.

CANON Sherlock: You’re crying over my simple mistake? Well, I apologize, although *drops information*.

[dazaiosamuwifeandlover16]

Chapter 3

______An Unexpected Invitation______

The night air was crisp, carrying with it a sense of anticipation as you walked down the fog-lined streets, your mind still reeling from the strange encounter with the mysterious man. The theft was averted, the system had awarded you points, and you had managed to hold onto the ornate chest—though you still couldn’t fathom its significance. The feeling of being watched, however, hadn’t dissipated. It lingered, like an unsettling presence that refused to leave your side.

But as you turned a corner, your footsteps slowed when you saw a figure ahead. Standing by the entrance of a nearby mansion, dressed in a well-tailored coat and exuding an air of nobility, was a man who seemed oddly familiar. His sharp features were framed by locks of blonde hair that shimmered in the moonlight. His eyes were a striking crimson, gleaming like rubies, and his expression was one of cool, calculated elegance.

You froze.

It can't be...

There he was—William James Moriarty. The man from the manga and anime you adored, the one who had captivated you with his intelligence, his charisma, his dark yet refined nature. The man who had always been a mystery to you, his intentions shifting like the shadows. But now, standing before you, he was all too real.

His gaze met yours, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. His sharp eyes seemed to cut straight through you, his lips curling into a slight, polite smile.

"Ah, how fortunate. I believe we’ve crossed paths before," Moriarty said smoothly, his voice deep, rich with an unsettling yet comforting calmness. He took a step toward you, his movements precise, measured. "I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced, though. My name is William James Moriarty."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly reminded yourself to breathe. This was not the time to let your fangirl instincts take over. You had to keep it together. You couldn’t let your obsession with him—your adoration—show.

"Ah... I—I’m...," you stammered, trying to gather your thoughts, your cheeks flushing with warmth. "I’m [Your Name]. It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Moriarty."

Moriarty’s smile deepened, a glimmer of something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "The honor is mine," he replied, his gaze never wavering from you. There was a sharpness to his tone, a quiet intensity that made your pulse race. "It seems our meeting was no coincidence. You’ve been quite... intriguing since our last encounter."

The last encounter. The way his eyes had dissected every move, every decision you made, as if he knew something more about you than you did about yourself.

"I’ve been meaning to speak with you," he continued, his voice smooth as silk. "If you don’t mind, would you join me for dinner? It would be a most interesting conversation. I’m certain we have much to discuss."

You blinked, your thoughts racing. Dinner with Moriarty? This couldn’t be happening. This was real.

On one hand, the chance to have dinner with the man who had been your favorite character in the manga and anime—the William James Moriarty—was beyond your wildest dreams. On the other hand, the sudden surge of emotions was overwhelming. How could you keep your composure in front of him? You didn’t want to look like a complete fangirl, not after everything that had happened.

But then, Moriarty’s smile softened, his eyes narrowing with a hint of curiosity. He tilted his head slightly, as though trying to read your every thought. "You seem... hesitant," he observed, his voice low. "If you’re worried about the company, rest assured it will be a quiet, private affair. No need for concern."

You swallowed, trying to steady your heartbeat. Was he reading you? Did he know how much you admired him from the depths of your heart? How could he possibly know about your love for him from the manga, the anime, everything? Was he somehow aware of it all?

"No, it’s not that," you said quickly, trying to sound composed. "I just... I wasn’t expecting this. It’s... a bit overwhelming."

Moriarty's expression softened further, a flicker of understanding in his gaze. "I see. You’re not used to such attention. But rest assured, I only wish for a simple dinner. Nothing more."

You hesitated for a moment, battling with your nerves, your fangirl side screaming to say yes immediately. But then you remembered the game—the system, the tasks, the consequences. This was no ordinary dinner. There had to be something more to it. Still, the allure of the man in front of you, the way he spoke, the way his presence felt almost magnetic, was irresistible.

Finally, you nodded, albeit with a bit of uncertainty. "I’d be honored, Mr. Moriarty."

His smile returned, wider this time, almost pleased. "Wonderful. Follow me, then."

As you walked beside him toward the mansion, your mind raced. William James Moriarty. You had admired him for so long, loved him for his brilliant mind, his complexity, his charm. But now, with him walking beside you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a whole different game—one that you hadn’t yet understood.

The doors of the mansion opened, and the soft light of a luxurious dining room greeted you. Moriarty led you to a table set for two, the flickering candlelight casting gentle shadows across his face. You couldn’t help but notice how every movement, every gesture of his was so... refined. He was the epitome of sophistication.

As he seated you across from him, he poured you a glass of wine, his eyes never leaving yours.

"I must confess," he began, his voice taking on a more casual tone, "I’ve been watching you. Observing your actions, your choices. You’re quite different from others." He paused, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I wonder what your motivations are. What makes you tick, I wonder."

Your heart skipped again, and you fought to keep your emotions in check. He was speaking to you like he was analyzing a puzzle, his gaze sharp, calculating. Was he trying to read you the way he read everyone else? Did he know something about you that you didn’t even know about yourself?

"I... I don’t know what you mean," you said, trying to remain composed, your fingers gripping the edge of your glass.

His smile deepened, and for the first time since meeting him, you felt a chill run down your spine. "Oh, I think you do. But we’ll save that conversation for later."

For a moment, the room fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by the soft clink of silverware. You watched Moriarty, trying to keep your cool, to not let the overwhelming excitement of being this close to him take over. Focus, you told yourself. Stay calm. You’re not in the manga anymore. This is real. You’re here for a reason.

As the dinner progressed, Moriarty's questions grew more probing, more personal. He was a master of conversation, drawing you in with his charm, yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was testing you—looking for something.

"I must say, I find you... intriguing," he murmured, leaning back in his chair, studying you with those piercing red eyes. "You’re not like the others. Most people would have already cracked under pressure by now."

You smiled faintly, unsure whether to feel complimented or unsettled. "I suppose I’ve had a lot of strange experiences lately."

"Strange experiences, indeed," he replied, his eyes narrowing slightly. "And I can’t help but wonder: Are you truly who you claim to be?"

You froze. His words hung in the air, heavy and loaded with meaning.

What was he trying to say? What was he trying to figure out?