#but you will always be Moriarty in my heart

[notagarroter]

Shhhhh no one tell him that some of us are still obsessed with Sherlock lmao

[localfandom]

i want to thank the yuumori fandom for not harassing the louis x sherlock shippers.(coming from someone that despises the ship)

[yandere-romanticaa]

Thinking about yanderes who know you better than anyone ever did. They know you better even than you know yourself, that's how in touch they are with your life.

I see them as the subtle types, the ones who would perhaps silently admire you from a safe distance. You look charming in the cafe you're sitting in, chatting away with a friend or two about some shared hobbies. He can't help but to stare, but it's only for a few moments! He knows better than to look for too long, he doesn't want to appear like some sort of creep now, does he? He sips on his drink quietly as his eyes ever so slightly go back and forth towards you and the door, ensuring a safe escape route, just in case things go south but they never do.

You're too lost in your own little bubble to notice him.

From that day onwards he starts to... Well, he's not sure how to put it into words.

It's natural for a person to have a crush but what he feels towards you is something much more intense to ever be in the realms of normalcy. If you've ever spoken two words with him would be a miracle but actually remembering him would be downright impossible because he is just not willing to show himself to you. He stalks all your social media, friends and family included. He is informed of where you went to school, your birthday, what jobs your estranged cousins may have. If you're the type to post stuff online, his life is made that much easier. He screenshots everything you post, no matter how silly and commits it all to memory in case he may need it.

If you don't, then it's a bit harder but he manages. He has a good head on his shoulders, even if that same head is telling him to stop doing this, this isn't right but his bleeding heart is screaming at him to please keep going, please, if I'm not keeping an eye on them 24/7 I think I might die.

No human being should ever know someone so intimately but he does not care. Even if you're not 100% in his life, he is content with whatever this is.

One day, he might grow a pair and properly introduce himself to you.

And it would be so cute if you got along just perfectly because you just so happen to like the same things too... He's always prepared.

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱ 𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐈𝐉𝐈 (haikyuu), 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘 (moriarty the patriot), 𝐊𝐀𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀 𝐊𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐇𝐀 (genshin impact), 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐆 (honkai star rail), 𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐀 𝐇𝐘𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐘𝐀 (seraph of the end), 𝐄𝐃𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐄 (bungo stray dogs), 𝐈𝐙𝐔𝐊𝐔 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐘𝐀 (my hero academia)

[saioratral]

PAIRING: various characters of mtp x gn! reader

PROMPT: when was the last time you said you loved me, and meant it? SYNOPSIS: how would they react when you ask them about the last time they loved you and whether they meant it

WARNING: none NOTE: my first time writing like this... i had fun and i hope you guys enjoy reading! also kinda changed my format haha

TEAM MORIARTY:

WILLIAM leans back in his office chair, the papers he was once marking now forgotten. a faint smile curves his lips as his calculating gaze locks onto yours. "the last time?" he repeats, his voice smooth and thoughtful. "and when did i mean it?" he inches his hand closer, fingers grazing yours ever so slightly. "i never take my love for you lightly," he continues, his voice soft yet deliberate. "but to indulge your question, it would be when i first asked for your love. actions speak louder than words, don't they?" his mind drifts to that moment, your shared history, as he answers you

the tea cup reaches the table with a small shake from the owner who was in charge of setting it. LOUIS glances up at you, a flicker of discomfort flashing across his face. for a brief moment, his vulnerable eyes looked for you before he regained his composure.  "i don’t often say it out loud, and i apologize for that," he murmurs, his voice sincere. "but i do love you, and i always mean it. every breath, every thought, every decision i make is because of you and you only. i love you.. alot”

ALBERT chuckles softly, his fingers loosely gripping his wine glass, a playful glint in his eyes. another question, another opportunity to keep you on the edge of his little game. he clears his throat before answering, his voice light and teasing, "last time? i can't recall exactly. but i do love you. i express it through my loyalty to you. would today be a good time to show it, darling?"

now this is a bit tricky, from MORAN'S perspective. his gaze darkens, and he averts his eyes as if looking at you would betray whatever he was hiding in his heart. "when you ask if i meant it... how about you look back at every moment you've been kept safe?" his rough voice cuts out all possible thoughts. he gives a long sigh, clearly done by your random questions

FRED laughs awkwardly, running a hand through his hair as if trying to dismiss the discomfort your question brings. he clearly isn't used to questions like this, but he tries! “i am in a tough spot.. i think when i go out of my way to help you, that is a way for me to express how much i love you, you know. you just have to read between the lines”. he gives you a sheepish grin that 100% kept you up all night with a giddy feeling 

a puzzled look accompanied HERDER'S face (how could you tell? a little game of guess from your side). standing tall, he tilts his head slightly, as if considering how best to respond. “my actions are my affirmation, from me to you”.... and that’s it. you're not getting anything more than that unless you threaten to jump off a window. you could try.. i guess.. 

JAMES meets your gaze with a teasing smile, sensing your growing frustration. he raises a finger to his lips, gesturing that it was a secret, and cue for your frustrated self to give up. he knows the answer very well, he really meant it. why else would he risk everything, time and time again, for you and you alone?

MONEYPENNY, ever composed, gives you a small, warm smile, her expression as if a memory train had hit her. "i'm not the type to speak my feelings directly," she replies, her voice cool yet tender. when you press her for more, she hesitates for just a moment before answering. "perhaps when i put my trust in you... that’s when i truly mean it. my love for you lies in the trust i place in you”

TEAM HOLMES:

SHERLOCK… oh sherlock. 101% he’s either going to be confused as hell or awkward from the sudden question because he thinks he’s in trouble. “i don’t think i’ve ever said it out loud,” he murmurs, brows furrowing as he thinks it over. “but if i did, i most likely meant it”.  there's a brief pause, he looks at you for a while. you are in awe because sherlock??? actually being romantic?? someone frame this moment as fast as possible. “i just prefer to show you my affection through actions. that way, you’ll know that i love you,” he says, defending his way of expressing love 

JOHN, on the other hand, offers you a warm smile, though internally he’s having an entire crisis. he’s taken off guard by the question but quickly pulls himself together before you can notice. “i can’t point to just one single moment, but i assure you, the last time i said it, and every time before that- i meant it. i love you, and i mean it. more than words could ever convey”. he doesn’t shy away to remind you of it after all, if sherlock doesn't barge in and ruin the moment 

MISS HUDSON would smile softly, her voice warm and full of affection. “my dear, i say it every time!” she teases lightly, her eyes twinkling. “every time i bring you your afternoon tea, your dinner, or even do the laundry- it’s all because i love you! the small things i do for you, and you only. i think words are too formal, fake if you call it”, her gentle voice reminds you. she would throw in a wink too, all because she loves you 

ah yes, how can MYCROFT express those hidden feelings without sounding like a broken record or feeling awkward? he forces the words out, determined to let you know, even if they sound a bit unemotional.  “i don’t express myself as freely as you might prefer,” he admits. “it’s not in my nature. but you should know that i care for you". simple thoughtful words that somehow make you fall in love again 

© saioratral 2024-25 -- do not repost, translate, alter, etc on any platform without permission. Any characters used in my work do not belong to me, they are created by their original creator. all images used are from pinterest

[theweepingangelofcas]

Eat The Rich, Feed Them to the Cats - Moriarty Bros x Reader

Anyone else in the USA having a crisis? Me too! Let's all maladaptive daydream together that our sweet dear Sherlock boys are with us, on our side.

Title is inspired by a fav nonprofit cat shelter of mine, Wonky Hearts Animal Haven. Please go check them out. They have stories that are truly so heartwarming and uplifting, it's a great distraction.

(No, I do not believe all men are bad. I myself have a male fiance whom I love and trust very much. But the election has left me feeling helpless and scared, as though my rights or my body don't matter. I'm writing this to vent. I respect if your political opinions are different than me, but I ask that you do not attack me in the comments, my dm's, etc)

******************

William Moriarty

You two had been together for years now, since you two were teenagers. You've shared everything. Hopes, dreams, ideals... So when he saw someone try to harass you simply because of your gender? That won't do.

"Oi! Pretty broad!"

The random man's words did little to phase you. You didn't even speed up your footsteps. But your dear William stopped in his tracks.

Oh, yes, that's right. No one had ever been stupid enough to cat call you with him around before.

"Y/N..." his gaze had turned to the man, unblinking, "Did you not hear what that man just so crudely yelled at you?"

You shrugged, stopping in your tracks to try and let him catch up to you. He didn't dare move.

"It's nothing, William. Happens all the time to us ladies."

If you didn't know better, you'd say his eye just twitched.

"Is that so? And here I was, thinking it was mostly noblemen who were the rotten part of our society."

He smiled then. Like his mind wasn't 100% alongside you anymore.

His cane left the ground, being weilded in both hands almost like a baseball bat.

Or, more accurately, perhaps he was holding it like a mace.

It was safe to say, no man went within a few dozen meters of you for quite some time after that. After all, you always had your dear William with you now.

Louis Moriarty

Oh, did you think William would be protective?

Ha!

Louis is SO MUCH WORSE

To be completely fair, he was already practically a guard dog for both you and William. You had been engaged to him for a few months, and each passing day he just wanted to spend more time by your side.

This was how he found out how truly awful some men could be.

You two had boarded a train back to Durham, coming back from a lunch date together. You two had managed to score a semi-private spot in the lunch car, meaning that he could hold you without too much fuss from the rest of society. One hand was in yours, the other wrapped around your waist. You had both ordered drinks, his a sophisticated Earl Grey tea, yours a refreshing seltzer water. That was when your waiter came back up to you both.

"Sir, I know this is quite uncouth of me to say, but the gentleman a few seats down won't stop staring at your lady friend there." He gestured to you, specifically your chest, and you seemed to shrink into your seat instantly.

Louis scowled, "Thank you for informing me. You're dismissed, good sir."

The waiter stepped away, and Louis's grip on you got tighter.

"It's fine, darling. You mustn't fret." You tried to comfort him, but his scowl only deepened.

"I will fret." He turned his head, catching eyes with a man a few booths down. He did, indeed, seem to be staring at you. "And I'm going to teach him to respect others, or die trying."

You saw Louis stand, and approach the man in a terrifying calmness. He shook his hand, and gestured for him to follow him.

If you happened to see a person-shaped figure get thrown out of the train that day, no one has to know.

Albert Moriarty

He understands deep, seething rage. He dealt with it much when he was younger. So he understands that the best way to deal with it, is to take care of it yourself.

Normally, women weren't allowed into a prestigious college. But Albert, with his power and wealth, managed to convince the school that having one woman among its ranks wouldn't hurt. Hence, you being halfway through a science and medicine degree. Albert supported you all the way through. Your husband truly was a lovely, understanding man.

"It was fascinating, my love!" Your eyes lit up as you opened your textbook to that day's lesson, "We learned about the chambers of the heart, and all the illnesses and diseases that can correlate to it's health. Isn't that so cool!"

His smile widened at seeing you happy, "It certainly is, my dear. Do go on, teach me more about it."

You nodded, eyes bright, about to keep talking before-

"I'm sure anything is fascinating to a woman. But can she even understand it? Why, she should be at home, not trying to educate herself on something she could never possibly understand."

A man had approached you both. His smug grin was enough to dampen your joy immediately.

Albert blinked, his expression blank, before turning his head back to you, "My dear, would you like my walking stick, or do you want to use your textbook? After all, this fine gentleman seems in need of an anatomy lesson."

Your grin came back, "Your walking stick, please. I'd rather not get my favorite chapter dirty."

The man's eyes flew open as you took the wooden cane from Albert, weilding it more like a weapon than an aid.

"Now," The excitement in your expression was back, "I'll give you an anatomy lesson as I break all of your bones in alphabetical order."

[kezdispenser]

Breaking Character pt7/?

Summary: You are the new cast member of 'The Boys' and you play Butcher's cousin and Soldier Boy's new love interest 'Solene'. You're introduced to the cast by the director at a dinner and you're seated next to Karl and Jensen to "bond".

Pairing: Jensen x reader

Warnings: language, fluff, smut maybe

The air on set was thick with unspoken tension, suffocating and heavy. I couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone knew something was off between me and Jensen. I avoided looking at him, avoided even acknowledging his presence as much as possible. Every step I took felt like it weighed a ton, and my heart seemed to be beating in double time, a reminder of how everything had spiraled out of control over the past week.

And now, they had to shoot an intimate scene. The one where Solene comforts Soldier Boy after a brutal fight. Simple enough on paper—two characters, broken in their own ways, sharing a moment of mutual vulnerability. But with every glance exchanged, the underlying tension made it unbearable.

“Places, everyone,” the director called, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts.

I walked to my mark, my feet dragging with every step. Jensen was already in position, standing there like the fucking rock he always was, but there was a crack in his façade. His eyes avoided mine, his jaw tense, his posture stiff.

The scene was supposed to be intimate, but it felt like we were acting for the camera, not for each other.

he director called for the first take, and I moved toward Jensen, my steps measured. I was careful not to get too close—no unnecessary touches, no stray glances—but the second my hand brushed against his, the heat of his body sent a jolt through me. I barely registered the next few lines, lost in the way his skin felt under my touch.

"Soldier Boy," I whispered softly, almost breathlessly. My heart thudded in my chest, and all I could think about was how goddamn real it felt.

Jensen looked at me, his eyes stormy and unreadable. His lips parted, but no words came out. He simply swallowed hard and nodded as if to say, "I’m here, but I’m not really here."

And that was it.

"Cut," the director said.

I instantly stepped back, my breath uneven, my hands trembling as I wiped them on my pants. I didn’t look at Jensen as I retreated. I couldn’t. Not with the crackling tension hanging between us. Not after everything that had happened.

I didn’t even bother going to my trailer. Instead, I found myself walking aimlessly, trying to shake the feeling that the world around me was crumbling. My feet took me to the break room, and as I passed the kitchen, Erin Moriarty caught up with me.

“Hey,” Erin said, her tone concerned, her eyes full of that familiar, sisterly worry. “You alright?”

My heart sank. I knew I had to pretend, to lie, but the words didn’t come out right.

“I’m fine,” I said, my voice too high-pitched, a forced smile pulling at my lips. "Just... just tired."

Erin arched an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. “Bullshit. You’re avoiding him, aren’t you?”

My gaze flicked away, trying to hide the truth. “What are you talking about?” I asked, my voice just a little too defensive.

Erin crossed her arms, unyielding. “Don’t act like I don’t know you, Y/N. You’ve been avoiding Jensen all week. What the hell happened?”

My shoulders slumped, the weight of the conversation finally crashing down on me. “Nothing happened,” I muttered, but it was more for myself than for Erin. “It’s just... I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending things are okay when they’re not. It’s just... a fucking mess, you know?”

Erin’s gaze softened. “I get it. It’s not easy. But avoiding him isn’t helping. It’s just making it worse. You two were close. Whatever the hell happened, you need to talk about it. Bottling it up like this? It’s not going to end well.”

I took a deep breath, my throat tightening. “I just... I can’t. I don’t know if I can do it again.”

“Do what?” Erin asked, her voice gentle, though the concern was evident.

“Trust him,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I’m scared I’ll just end up getting hurt again.”

Erin sighed softly, her eyes full of understanding. “I know you’re hurting. I get it. But you can’t just run away from everything. You need to talk to him, Y/N. You need to figure this shit out.”

I nodded, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything more. Erin had no idea what had really happened, and there was no way I was going to explain it now.

The set was alive with the usual chaos—lights being adjusted, crew members barking instructions, and actors running lines. I stepped onto the soundstage, clutching my script tightly, trying to ignore the ache in my chest that had been there since my talk with Erin. Across the room, Karl and Jensen were already in place, their banter subdued but still present.

Karl spotted me first, his sharp eyes narrowing as I approached. “Morning, love,” he said, his voice warm but edged with concern. “You look like shite. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I replied quickly, forcing a smile. “Just tired.”

“Bull-fuckin’-shit,” Karl shot back, folding his arms. “What’s going on? You’ve been off all week.”

“I’m fine, Karl,” I insisted, my voice firm.

He frowned but didn’t push further, though his gaze flicked to Jensen, who was standing nearby with his hands shoved in his pockets. “You good, mate?” Karl asked Jensen, his tone sharp now, almost accusatory.

“Fine,” Jensen replied, his voice clipped, his jaw tightening as he avoided Karl’s glare.

Karl didn’t buy it for a second. “Right. And I’m the bloody Queen of England.” He turned back to me, lowering his voice. “You let me know if this arsehole’s done somethin’, yeah?”

“Jesus, Karl,” Jensen muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Don’t ‘Jesus’ me, Ackles,” Karl snapped, his voice low but heated. “She’s been out of sorts, and I’m bettin’ it’s got fuck-all to do with anyone but you.”

“Can we just focus on the damn scene?” I interjected, my voice tight.

Karl hesitated, but the director called for everyone to take their marks, saving me from further interrogation. I moved to my position between Karl and Jensen, my heart pounding as we prepared to dive into the scene.

The dialogue crackled with tension, my character locking horns with Butcher before Soldier Boy stormed in to stir the pot.

“You two done yappin’?” Jensen sneered in character, his tone dripping with contempt. “Or should I come back when you’ve sorted out your pathetic little pissing contest?”

Karl turned on him with a snarl, getting right in his face. “Say one more word, you cocky fuck, and I’ll knock your shiny arse into next week.”

I stepped between them, delivering my lines with a fire I didn’t have to fake. The tension in the scene mirrored the chaos in my head, and by the time the director yelled “Cut!” I was ready to bolt.

“That was gold, people,” the director called. “Reset for the next take.”

Karl turned to me as soon as the cameras stopped rolling. “You all right, Y/N?”

“Yeah,” I muttered, avoiding his gaze.

Karl wasn’t buying it. He looked over at Jensen again, his expression dark. “If you’ve done somethin’ to hurt her, mate, I swear to fuck—”

“Back off, Karl,” Jensen cut in, his voice low and strained. “This isn’t about you.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” Karl shot back. “She’s like a bloody little sister to me, and I won’t stand by while you fuck with her head.”

“Enough!” I snapped, my voice breaking. Both of them turned to me, guilt flashing across Jensen’s face and frustration etched into Karl’s. “I don’t need this right now, okay? Just drop it.”

I stormed off the set, leaving both of them behind. I could feel their eyes on me, but I didn’t look back. The weight of everything—Danneel’s words, Jensen’s silence, Karl’s protectiveness—was too much. I needed space before I fell apart completely.

I barely made it halfway to my trailer before Karl’s voice stopped me in my tracks.

“Oi, Y/N. Hold up a sec.”

I sighed, trying to keep walking, but his footsteps quickly caught up to mine. He stepped in front of me, blocking my path with a calm but determined expression.

“Alright, spill. What’s goin’ on with you?” he asked, his tone softer than usual, though still laced with concern.

“It’s nothing, Karl,” I mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

He tilted his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t give me that shit. You’ve been off all week, and it’s written all over your face. So unless you want me to keep askin’ in front of everyone on set, maybe just tell me now?”

I hesitated, but the weight of everything I’d been holding in started to crush me. “It’s just... stuff,” I muttered weakly.

“Stuff?” Karl raised an eyebrow. “Alright, now I know it’s bad. You’re not exactly the type to get bent out of shape over ‘stuff.’ Who pissed you off, love? Or do I need to guess?”

I glanced at him, chewing on my lip, and he sighed. “It’s Jensen, isn’t it?”

“It’s not his fault,” I blurted, defensive. “Not really.”

Karl groaned softly, running a hand down his face. “Look, I’m not tryin’ to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong, but you and Jensen—you two had this thing, yeah? And now you’re avoidin’ him like he’s got the bloody plague. So what gives?”

I looked down, my voice barely a whisper. “It’s Danneel.”

He frowned, leaning closer to hear me better. “What about her?”

“She called me a gold digger,” I admitted, my throat tightening as I spoke. “Told me I’d never be good enough for Jensen or his kids. And then... I walked in on her trying to—” My voice broke, and I looked away, ashamed. “She was trying to get him back. She was all over him, Karl.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, his tone laced with disbelief. “That’s bloody low, even for an ex.”

I wiped at my eyes, feeling the tears start to spill over. “And now I can’t stop thinking about it. What if she’s right? What if I really don’t belong in his world? He’s this big deal, and I’m just... me.”

Karl let out a heavy sigh, his voice softening even more. “Y/N, listen to me. Danneel’s full of shit. You don’t need to listen to a damn word she says.”

“But—”

“No buts,” he interrupted, his gaze steady. “You’re smart, talented, and honestly one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. Jensen’s bloody lucky to have you, and if he hasn’t made that clear, that’s on him—not you.”

I sniffled, my chest aching with doubt. “But she—”

“She’s scared,” Karl cut in. “That’s all it is. She sees how happy Jensen is with you, and it scares the fuck outta her. So she’s doin’ everything she can to mess with your head. Don’t let her win, alright?”

I managed a shaky smile, his words sinking in a little. “Thanks, Karl. You didn’t have to say all that.”

“‘Course I did,” he said with a crooked grin. “You’re like family to me. And I don’t let family deal with shit like this alone.”

I laughed softly, the sound a little watery but genuine. “You’re too nice for your own good, you know that?”

“Don’t let it get around,” he teased. Then, with a wink, he added, “Now go on. Figure your shit out. And if Jensen’s got half a brain in that pretty head of his, he’ll sort his shit out too.”

I nodded, feeling a little lighter as I turned back toward my trailer.

Karl watched me go, muttering under his breath as I walked away, “Fuckin’ gold digger, my ass.”

The knock on my trailer door was soft but insistent, pulling me out of my thoughts. I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I was ready to face anyone, especially him.

“Y/N? It’s me,” Jensen’s voice came from the other side, gentle but firm.

I sighed, dragging myself off the small couch and shuffling to the door. “What do you want?”

“To talk,” he said, his tone almost pleading. “Please, just... let me in.”

I hesitated before opening the door just enough to peek out. There he was, standing with a massive bouquet of flowers in one hand and a carefully arranged basket in the other, filled to the brim with snacks, chocolates, marshmallows, crackers, and—of course—a bottle of Jack tucked neatly in the corner.

“What’s all this?” I asked, my brows furrowing as I stepped back to let him in.

He walked in slowly, setting the basket down on the tiny table before turning to me. Without a word, he closed the gap between us, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead. The warmth of it caught me off guard, and I froze, my heart pounding against my ribs.

“It’s an apology,” he said quietly, stepping back just enough to look me in the eye. He held out the bouquet, the colors vibrant and beautiful against the dim lighting of the trailer. “I’m sorry, Y/N. For everything.”

I took the flowers hesitantly, my fingers brushing against his. “Jensen...”

“Let me say this,” he interrupted, his voice soft but insistent. “I know I messed up. I know I let shit get out of hand, and I didn’t do enough to stop it. But I swear to you, I never wanted to hurt you. I hate that I did.”

I looked down at the bouquet, my fingers tightening around the stems. “You let her get in my head, Jensen. You let her make me feel like I don’t belong in your life.”

“I know,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “And I fucking hate myself for it. Danneel... she doesn’t know you, and she sure as hell doesn’t know us. But I do. And I know that I need you in my life.”

I swallowed hard, trying to keep the lump in my throat at bay. “It’s not that simple. You have a whole life, Jensen. Kids. Responsibilities. And I’m just... me.”

“You’re not ‘just’ anything,” he said fiercely, taking a step closer. “You’re everything, Y/N. You’re kind, and funny, and strong as hell. And you’ve already brought so much good into my life, more than I deserve. I can’t let you walk away thinking you’re not enough. You’re more than enough.”

I blinked back tears, my walls crumbling bit by bit as his words sank in. “This isn’t easy for me,” I admitted. “I’m scared, Jensen. Scared of being a burden. Scared of not being able to handle all of this.”

“You’re not a burden,” he said softly, reaching out to take my free hand in his. “You’re my peace. My fucking sanity in the middle of all this chaos. And I’m sorry I let anyone—especially her—make you feel otherwise.”

I stared at him, my heart aching with a mix of hope and doubt. “How do I know this won’t happen again? That she won’t try to come between us?”

“Because I won’t let her,” he said firmly. “And if she tries, I’ll shut it down. Every time. I promise you, Y/N, I’m all in. Whatever it takes to prove that to you, I’ll do it.”

I let out a shaky breath, my grip on the bouquet loosening as I looked up at him. “You really mean that?”

“Every fucking word,” he said, his green eyes filled with nothing but sincerity.

After a long moment, I nodded, a small smile breaking through despite the tears threatening to fall. “Alright. But you owe me more than flowers and snacks. You owe me tacos.”

A wide grin spread across his face, and he let out a laugh that made my chest feel lighter. “Tacos, huh? Consider it done.”

Before I could respond, he pulled me into a warm hug, his arms wrapping around me like a safety net I didn’t know I needed. For the first time in weeks, I let myself relax, resting my head against his chest as the faint smell of his cologne surrounded me.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

“For what?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“For not giving up on me,” I said, pulling back just enough to look at him.

His smile softened, and he leaned down to kiss my forehead again, his lips lingering for a moment. “Never.”

The knock on Danneel’s door was loud and deliberate, with just enough force to make a point. I stood beside Jensen, arms crossed, already bracing myself for whatever venom Danneel was likely to spit. Jensen’s jaw was tight, his free hand resting lightly on the small of my back.

“Last chance to back out,” he muttered under his breath, his tone laced with irritation but softened just enough for me.

“Not a chance,” I replied, meeting his eyes briefly. “We’re doing this.”

Before either of us could say anything else, the door swung open, revealing Danneel in a loose cardigan and a scowl that deepened the second she spotted me.

“Well, look who it is,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain as her eyes flicked between us. “Didn’t realize you needed backup, Jensen.”

“We’re here for the kids,” Jensen said flatly, ignoring her jab.

“They’re fine,” she snapped, leaning against the doorframe like she had all the time in the world. “You didn’t need to come storming over here like some fucking knight in shining armor.”

“They called me, Danneel,” Jensen shot back, his tone hardening. “They’re not fine.”

“They’re kids, Jensen. They’ll get over it. They always do.”

I couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “They shouldn’t have to ‘get over it,’ Danneel. If they’re uncomfortable, it’s your job to listen to them. Not force them to put up with it.”

Her gaze snapped to me, her lips curling into a bitter smirk. “Oh, and here it is—the lecture from the wannabe stepmom. Let me tell you something, sweetheart,” she said, her voice sharp and condescending. “You’re not their mother. You’ll never be their mother.”

“Enough,” Jensen barked, stepping in front of me slightly. “We’re not doing this shit, Danneel. Just get the kids.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms. “You think this little arrangement of yours is going to last? You think she’s ready for what it takes? Please. She’ll be gone the second it gets hard. Or the second she realizes she’s playing house with someone else’s family.”

“That’s enough!” Jensen’s voice was firm now, his anger barely contained. “You don’t get to talk to her like that. Ever.”

Danneel rolled her eyes but turned back into the house. Moments later, JJ, Arrow, and Zeppelin appeared, each carrying their backpacks and practically vibrating with relief.

JJ ran straight to Jensen, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “Dad!” she exclaimed before turning to me with a big smile. “Hi, Y/N!”

“Hey, kiddo,” I said, crouching to hug her. “You ready to get out of here?”

“More than ready,” she said, her voice muffled against my shoulder.

Arrow and Zeppelin were close behind, their little faces lighting up when they saw Jensen. Arrow crossed her arms, glaring back at the house. “I hate him,” she muttered.

“Who?” Jensen asked, crouching to her level.

“Mom’s boyfriend,” she said, her tone defiant. “He’s mean, Dad. He yells all the time and tells us we’re annoying.”

“And he ate my cereal!” Zeppelin chimed in, his voice small but indignant.

Jensen’s face softened as he reached out to ruffle their hair. “You don’t have to deal with him anymore, okay? You’re with me now.”

“And me,” I added, smiling at them.

Arrow grinned. “Can we have pancakes for dinner?”

“Hell fucking yes, we can,” Jensen said, making the kids burst into laughter.

Danneel reappeared at the door, her expression icy. “You’re just going to let them talk about me like that? Real mature, Jensen.”

“Maybe if you listened to them, they wouldn’t have to,” he shot back.

Her gaze snapped to me again, the disdain in her eyes almost tangible. “Don’t get too comfortable,” she said, her tone low and venomous. “This little fantasy of yours isn’t going to last.”

Jensen didn’t reply. He just turned, his hand on the small of my back again as he led me and the kids to the car.

As we drove away, the tension in the car began to melt. JJ was already chattering about a new show she wanted to watch, while Arrow and Zeppelin argued over music choices.

I glanced at Jensen, his grip on the steering wheel relaxed now, and gave him a small smile.

“Thanks for coming with me,” he said quietly.

“Always,” I replied, reaching over to squeeze his hand.

As we drove through the quiet streets, the kids’ voices were the only thing breaking the silence, but I could tell Jensen’s mind was still spinning after everything with Danneel. I couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d said, but there was something else eating at me too.

“Jensen,” I started, my voice quiet, but I knew he’d hear me.

He glanced at me briefly before focusing back on the road. “Yeah?”

I let out a sigh, my fingers tapping nervously on my knee. “As much as she hurt me... I don’t want the kids to hate their mom.”

Jensen’s grip on the wheel tightened for a second. He didn’t say anything, but I could feel the tension coming off him. “You sure about that? After everything she said to you?”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “I don’t want them growing up with that resentment. I’ve been there. My childhood was a mess, Jensen. Watching my parents tear each other apart, and I ended up stuck in the middle of it. I don’t want the kids to feel like they have to choose sides or grow up with that kind of bitterness. I can’t do that to them.”

He glanced at me for a second, his eyes softening, but he didn’t pull his gaze from the road. “You’re one hell of a person, you know that?” he muttered, his voice thick. “I get what you’re saying. I don’t want them to carry any of that weight. I’m not gonna let that happen.”

I looked out the window for a moment, letting his words sink in. “I just don’t want to be the one who makes things harder for them,” I said quietly, almost to myself.

“You won’t,” he said firmly. “They’re my kids, and I’ll always do what’s best for them. But I can’t make that happen if they feel like they have to pick sides.”

“I know,” I muttered, and we fell into a comfortable silence. It wasn’t sappy or dramatic—it was just two people who understood how important this was.

“I’ve got their backs,” he said finally, his voice steady. “And I’ve got yours.”

After we tucked the kids in, the whole vibe in the house shifted into this warm, cozy kind of energy. Jensen and I took our time, making sure each kid had their favorite blanket and stuffed animal. The whole thing was so normal and comforting that it felt like something straight out of a dream. As we moved between their rooms, Jensen kept his arm casually draped around my shoulders like he wasn’t even aware of how perfectly he was handling everything—like it was just second nature for him to be the best dad in the world and a sweet, considerate partner all at once.

We walked back into the hallway, the quiet after the kids’ laughter almost making the house feel like it was holding its breath. Then, as if on cue, Jensen turned to me and raised an eyebrow, that playful grin tugging at his lips. “Wanna do the thing?”

I grinned back, practically giddy. “You’re damn right I do.”

“Alright,” he said, reaching for my hand with that soft, reassuring grasp of his. “One, two, three…”

And then, like we’d done this a thousand times, we both walked up to Arrow and Zeppelin’s door, ready to deliver our bedtime routine for the millionth time—except this time, it felt even more important. It felt like we were doing something special. With a dramatic flair, we leaned into their rooms together.

“Time for the goodnight kisses!” Jensen announced in his best, most dramatic voice, making me laugh.

Arrow giggled, her face lighting up with excitement. “Goodnight, Daddy!” she called out, holding her arms wide for her hug.

Jensen knelt down to scoop her up with a smile that could melt the coldest hearts. “Night, sweet girl,” he whispered as he kissed her forehead, his eyes soft with affection.

Zeppelin, already under his blanket and half-asleep, raised a hand up and mumbled, “Goodnight, Dad…”

I stepped into the room with him, smiling as he reached up to give me a sleepy hug. “Goodnight, buddy,” I said, kissing the top of his head, and then gently tucking him back into bed.

Jensen looked up at me, giving me one of those looks where I could tell he was thinking exactly what I was thinking. “We’re doing a damn good job,” he said, voice low and soft.

I smiled, feeling that overwhelming affection for him again. “You’re doing the best job. Look at them—they’re so lucky to have you.”

His hand lingered on my arm as we walked out of the kids’ rooms together, and it felt so right, so comfortable. As we reached the bottom of the stairs, I leaned in closer, letting my head rest against his shoulder for a second.

“You know,” I said, voice quieter now, “you’re pretty damn perfect.”

Jensen’s laughter was light and airy, and he nudged me gently. “Nah, I’m just winging it. But having you around makes it a hell of a lot easier.”

“Stop being modest,” I teased. “You’re literally the best dad. You’re patient, and kind, and you make them feel like they’re the most important people in the world. Not everyone can pull that off.”

He shook his head, pulling me in closer. “Just doing my thing, that’s all.”

I couldn’t help but smile even more, if that was even possible. “Well, you’re doing a damn good job of it.”

He leaned down and kissed me on the forehead in that sweet, gentle way that made my heart skip a beat, and I practically melted into him. “You’re making me blush, stop it,” he whispered, but I could tell it made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

We stood there in the quiet, just enjoying the soft glow of the house, the kids tucked in bed, and the perfect calm of the night. It was all so simple, but it felt like we were building something that was far beyond anything either of us had ever had before.

“Okay,” Jensen finally said, his voice playful again. “What do you say we go grab some snacks and watch a movie?”

“Hell yeah,” I answered quickly, already feeling my excitement building at the thought of just being with him, no pressure, no drama—just the two of us, chilling out. “Let’s do it.”

We made our way to the kitchen, and Jensen immediately started rummaging through the cabinets, pulling out chips, cookies, and everything else we could need for the perfect late-night snack binge. “You good with all this junk?” he asked, holding up a bag of chips with an exaggerated look of seriousness.

“Hell yes,” I replied, snatching the bag from his hand with a grin. “You’ve got all the best snacks.”

As we both made ourselves comfortable on the couch, Jensen pulled the blanket over us, getting as close as possible, our legs tangled up together. He grinned at me, a little mischievous glint in his eye. “What movie are we watching?” he asked, like it was the most important question in the world.

“You pick,” I said, settling in against him, feeling perfectly at ease. “But nothing too serious. Let’s keep it light.”

He laughed, pulling up a random action movie. “Alright, light it is.”

And then, just as the opening credits rolled, Jensen reached over and casually brushed his lips against my cheek, making my heart skip. I leaned into him, letting myself get completely lost in the moment—this perfect little world we had carved out for ourselves, where we could just be ourselves without any of the outside noise.

It was one of those rare moments where everything felt right, and I knew, without a doubt, that this—us—was something worth holding onto.

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

A/N: I realised that i was making danneels own kids hate her, so i just wanted to add that its not what u think. OH and tell me if you want me to add something with Jared and Gen.

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[dylan729]

house’s thing with religion is… incredibly autistic

over and over through the show, house’s need for answers, for explanations, for the truth shows up. in his behavior (he only takes cases that are mysteries, he’s rudely blunt, his thing with his father, how he was haunted by esther’s case because he couldn’t solve it), in his core beliefs (“everybody lies” he lives by that, and as a result sees life as a pursuit for the truth), in how other characters treat him (“ you spend your whole life looking for answers because you think the next answer might change some thing, might make you a little bit less miserable.” -thirteen, or “ do you think the only truth that matters is that truth can be measured. Good intentions don’t count, what’s in your heart doesn’t count, caring doesn’t count.” -moriarty)

in comes his rigid thinking. these are his core beliefs and values, and he can’t accept anything else. he has incredibly black and white thinking and refuses to ever try to step outside of it. also, like every autistic person, his world has rules. he believes everyone and everything should operate by these rules, because autistic people have very rigid beliefs of how things should be and we don’t like it when the world doesn’t comply. he lives in a world that is governed by facts and explanations and answers. he can’t stand religion because it’s built on faith without answers or explanations. that simply cannot exist in his world and he can’t comprehend it. he hates the idea of people being satisfied without answers or proof. he also finds it incredibly stupid, more rigid thinking.

finally, the last autistic bit. plenty of people share his views on religion (albeit not so strongly) but they’re able to empathize. even if they don’t believe or understand, they can put themselves in other people’s shoes and see other perspectives. he literally can’t. like that’s not just him being an ass, over and over he genuinely cannot put himself in other people’s shoes (cue literally anything, first thing that pops into my head is him not understanding Cuddy’s feelings around babies), he will not believe people if it doesn’t fit his worldview (even though he’s always right because it’s the TV show, he simply could not believe that someone would jump in front of a train to save someone else just out of the goodness of their heart), and he can’t understand other people’s feelings (again literally anything but first example i thought of was the photographer who didn’t want to terminate her pregnancy to save her life).

anyway! it pisses me off that they decided “he’s not autistic, he’s just a jerk”, because you can be both and he’s very clearly autistic

[reiyldx]

The Tempest

William James Moriarty x Reader

"Then all afire with me: the king's son, Ferdinand, with hair up-staring, ーthen like reeds, not hair,ーwas the first man that leap'd; cried, 'Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.'" William leant back in his armchair, scarlet eye blinking beneath his beautiful blond eyelashes as he gazed into empty space. Over his other eye was a dark black eyepatch.

You simply hummed as you looked into the book you held, of Shakespeare's plays. You remembered only so many quotes from it. William had no need for a book, he could recite all 40 of Shakespeare's plays from memory. Him reciting thus to you helped you get through the book quickly and in a more joyous way. Hearing your husband speak was something that gave you much mirth, especially when you were both seated across each other in comfortable armchairs in front of the fireplace in the midst of a dreary winter in your small home at Brighton.

"I feel bad for Ariel." you commented. "Has to do his master's bidding."

William chuckled softly and dryly on hearing your words. "I doubt Ariel is completely blameless." he uttered as he propped one leg over the other. William had a most adorable and polite way of seating himself, it never failed to make you swoon and want to wrap him in a hug.

"Thats true." you replied, closing your book, yawning.

"Are you tired? We may stop here for today if that is your wish." William smiled, his scarlet gaze homing in on yours.

"That would be much appreciated." you smiled at him, noting the soft expression he held. William had always had a solemn, distant expression before, so seeing him thus softened brought a sort of happiness to your heart. "Sherlock didn't barge in tonight. Odd, considering he does so every single night taking every advantage of the fact he lives next door." you sighed.

William chuckled heartily. "I would have appreciated had Sherly shown himself. I do have a few things that I need to talk to him about." he hummed softly, his voice as soft and lovely as ever, decorated with his signature British accent.

"We should get to bed, Liam." you placed your hand on the man's arm, rubbing it gently. "You have an early day tomorrow."

"Indeed." William nodded gently, his scarlet eye reminiscient of either the beauty of sunsets or the glistening crimson of blood freshly smeared on the sharpened tip of a blade. "Were I but wretched, my love." he sighed, placing his hand on your cheek. "It pains me to see your attentions gone to work on so odious a man as myself, on such vulgar a connexion, as has hardly been since the notion of the propriety of society, and that of the worth of life, came into being." his tone was soft, his eyes sorrowful, such a broken man he was, yet so beautiful.

"William..." you could hardly place your words right, you had little idea of what to say, and you wished for him to finish his thought as well.

"For years have my actions led me, in desperation for a result, caused me to sin twice and twice again." William uttered, his expression hardening. "For years, have these palms been seeped through with a scarlet as irremovable as the stains of ink on a canvas pure white, untainted; marred with blotches so painfully obvious as would most likely repulse any whose misfortune beget them gaze upon it, and scruple through its length and width desperately so as to propagate the assemblage of a search of true purpose, true affability, even a sense of alacrity within but finding nothing."

You gently tugged at William's eyepatch, an action that caused him to flinch before he tried to relax ultimately under your observance. You removed it carefully, revealing a scar that marred his skin, and a discoloured eye that could see no longer. You gently kissed the scar, your hand resting on William's cheek. "There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple: If the ill spirit have so fair a house, good things will strive to dwell with't." you spoke softly. Lines from the Tempest, offered to Ferdinand by Miranda.

William's gaze immediately softened, his heart warm and full, recognizing the lines the moment they slipped past your mouth. He pulled you closer by the waist, a gentle, small smile tugging at his lips. "You render me speechless, you render me most powerless and above all, a fool to your whims." he kissed your lips gently. "Oh sweet, fair Miranda of mine." he brought you down onto his lap, kissing your neck. "My darling mistress."

[yup-thats-me]

—memories• William J. Moriarty

paring: William x wife!reader summary: Hair holds memories. Something that William had said in the past. did it mean anything to his darling wife? yes. more than he could imagine. warning: hurt/comfort, manga spoiler, angsty, rapunzle-hair, like lots and lots of hair. a/n: this came to mind while doing my haircare. Enjoy.

The first thing William had looked for immediately after entering the mansion and sharing brief greetings with his dear brothers and comrades was to ask them about his wife. During his time in New York with his now close friends Billy and Sherlock Holmes for the better half of three years, he had never forgotten the treasure he left behind in London; the treasure he was forced to part from—his darling wife, Y/n; she had stayed by his side when the world had mistaken him, misunderstood all the crimes he patriotically committed; measures needed for the greater good.

Not once could he stop his tears nor the hurt that crushed his entire being when he thought how miserable Y/n was. After all, everyone believed Lord of Crime, William James Moriarty was dead.

He did not expect to see the heads of all the people in the hall droop. Some of them had sighed, and some of them could not meet his eyes.

“Where is my wife?” he had asked again, growing impatient. He had frankly believed that Y/n would have moved on by now and perhaps jumped in his embrace the moment he revealed himself to the MI6. He was more worried than disappointed.

It was Louis who spoke up. “She’s in her—your room…” but he did not finish the sentence.

And William did not need him to. Without wasting another second, he rushed up the stairs through the all familiar halls; his feet did not stop, not until he was standing outside of their room; and the scene before him broke his heart to a million pieces.

The moonlight dimly illuminated the room, as if adding life to the atmosphere. There were no sound save one—the soft humming coming from the open balcony.

William had carefully treaded his way to where Y/n was sitting with her back towards the door.. However, his feet stepped on something dark, long. Hair.

Was this Y/n’s hair? How did this get so long? Was this some kind of rope? Why would she grow out her hair? Unless…

“I like your hair, my love,” a youthful and lively Moriarty declared as he played with his wife’s lose hair. The woman blushed, hiding her face with the book she was reading.

“…then should I grow out my hair?”

The man shook his head, a loving smile on his lips. “Whatever you wish, darling,” he had pecked her lips. “Speaking of hair, I read somewhere,”

“Hair holds memories.”

The present-day Y/n asked her hair as she combed it without a care in the world. “Do you think he had a rebirth? No. Maybe he went to heaven…if it exists. He was a good man…”

William’s heart ached. Ached he could do nothing to make up for the pain he inflicted on her. Ached for he had no words to apologize with, nor the face. All he could do was call out to her, in a soft, trembling voice.

“Y/n, darling…”

 Y/n had stopped her humming and looked out at the night sky before her. “William?”

She thought she had finally lost her mind. How could you hear voices of dead people? That was nothing but her imagination. Imagination where William lived…and was before her.  

“Darling,” William called out again, now walking towards the woman.

Y/n stood up, frantically looking all around her to search for the source of the voice, when her eyes finally landed on him. There he was, standing with his arms wide open for her; like he always had.

She cautiously walked towards him, as if still making sure she was not daydreaming again. “Are you really here?” She had asked while she gently caressed his face.

Without a word, William had embraced her and held her close. So close but still not enough. It was not enough for the two. They needed more than touch, more than words. They needed more.  

Eventually, the two could not hold back anymore and cried. Cried for the hurt they felt, the hardships they went through, and the pain they suffered; but also for the immense joy they felt. Especially Y/n. How many people in this world could say they met the person they had lost to time? It was no less than a miracle. And this time she would not let go, even if the gods came asking for him.

But all of that could wait. William gently held her meter-long hair and asked, “…why?”

She had kept quiet for sometime when she at last said “…hair holds memories.”

The tears did not stop, rather they increased but William still had that gentle smile on his lips. He hugged her yet again. Slowly, he grabbed the small knife he always hid in his socks and began to cut the thick hair gently, while whispering sweet nothings in her ear.

“Now I’m here. We will make more.”

Memories.

do not steal, copy or translate my work to any other site. All belongs to yup-thats-me™ on tumblr

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom. TW: mentions of torture (not graphically)

Sacrifices

The things Sherlock has done out of love, still stuns me. All the sacrifices he made for us to stay safe, are miracles, and there is no way I, or any of our friends can repay him for that. We’re obviously there for him, but is that enough? 

***

His heart: it still irks me that Moriarty saw it before I did, is the biggest I’ve ever known. Our first meeting was strange, as you all know, but I should’ve paused in my perception of him as aloof, detached, when I witnessed the way he greeted our landlady, and vice versa. He was more affectionate with her than with his own mother, and I guess he was the son Mrs. Hudson never got.

***

Despite his reluctance to learn Greg’s name, and the way he mocks his abilities as a policeman, he never dismisses him when Greg pleads with him. When time is of the essence, and the Met is lost in the dark, Sherlock acts as an avenging angel, not sleeping or eating until the case is solved. There’s no open amity between them, but if you observe closely, you can see it. An understanding, appreciation, respect. After all, it was Greg who led him out of the gutter all those years ago. We all have much to thank the DI for.

***

“You can’t be serious, John!” Sherlock exclaims.

He leans over my shoulder, reading the blog post.

“I’m only telling the truth, Sherlock. The sentiment is staying.”

I keep my voice even, but stern. He knows there’s no use arguing with me when I use my captain’s voice, as he calls it.

He slumps down in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin, while I continue typing. When he speaks again, I almost miss it. His voice is soft and low.

“Why do you think you aren’t enough?”

My hands freeze mid-air.

Shit, I meant to delete that.

I clear my throat and close the laptop, knowing this will take more than a cheeky remark.

“Well, you’ve changed since…since you came back. I know you think I don’t observe, but I do. Before…the…before, you sometimes had this melancholy air about you. Mostly when there were no cases, but also after…Irene.”

He rolls his eyes, but to my surprise makes no move to speak or brush me off, which encourages me to continue. 

I really need to say this.

“I’ve seen your scars and I’ve wanted to ask about them, but you always seemed…uncomfortable when… What I need you to know, Sherlock, is that you can tell me. If it helps. I fear that your current state will get worse if you don’t. Keeping it all inside is not the best solution, and I’m here for you. For every passing day, you seem more tense than I’ve ever seen you, and I fear what will happen when you snap, because you will. I’ve been down that road too, you know. Several times.”

“And who did you talk to, John? Your useless therapist? It seemed that running after me, solved most of your problems,” he sneers.

I hate what I’m about to say next, but he needs to hear it.

“It did. For a while. Until…you…jumped.”

The last word is barely a whisper and I’m unable to prevent my tears from falling. I hide my face in my hands and try to gain control of myself.

“John.”

His voice is soft. Close. Warm hands are placed on my knees. Slowly, I lower my hands. Our eyes meet. His are full of regret, sorrow, worry. A single tear escapes down his cheek. Without thinking I reach out to wipe it away.

“I’m sorry for what I put you through. I’ve never apologised properly. You were so angry, and rightfully so, and then there were cases and…”

He trails off and looks heartbroken. Before he can withdraw, I slide out of my chair and kneel in front of him. He looks startled, his eyes blown wide. His brows furrow in confusion.

“Come here,” I murmur, opening my arms.

Hesitantly, he leans closer. I let my arms rest on his back, while he locks his around my waist. He buries his face in my neck, inhales deeply, relaxes. 

“You are enough, John. And worth every scar, each stab wound, and whip laceration, the starvation, but…I don’t feel worthy when I know how much it’s cost you.”

My tears run freely now, and my throat hurts from supressing the sobs. I take several shuddering breaths and cradle Sherlock’s head, motioning it upwards. His face is paler than normal, almost ashen. A steady flow of tears trickle from his eyes. He trembles.

“Listen to me,” I urge him. “You are worthy. More than, Sherlock. What you did is immeasurable. Unselfish. Heroic.”

He shakes his head vigorously.

“No, John,” he rasps, his voice thick with emotions.

“Yes, Sherlock,” I insist. “Tell me what I can do to convince you.”

He hesitates for only a fraction of a second, but I see it.

“Nothing,” he whispers.

“Oh, but I think there is,” I say.

My heart rate skyrockets, but I’m determined now. This is probably one of the top three most important moments of my life. I still hold Sherlock’s head. My thumbs caress his cheekbones. He looks at me, befuddled. His eyes go wide with shock when he realises what I’m about to do, but he seems unable to move away. Before our lips meet his eyes have closed, and when he pulls me closer, I sag against him in relief.

“Convinced yet?” I ask when we finally part.

“No. More data required,” he replies, his eyes never leaving my lips.

“I see,” I murmur. “Care to collect some more?”

“I do,” Sherlock whispers, and this time he’s the one taking the lead.

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

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[heroin-vaccine]

His Favourite Person

jim moriarty x reader

Summary: You have a nightmare, but the consulting criminal is there to calm you down.

Warnings: it's angsty at the beginning, but turns into comfort/fluff at the end, death (not really though, just in a dream), gun usage

A/N Hello! It's just a small piece I wrote after not writing any fanfiction for 7 years. I hope I did our dear Jim justice. Let me know what you think! Please keep in mind that English is not my first language.

You watched as he pressed the gun against his scalp. A smirk evident on his lips, like he wasn't bothered in the slightest by what he was about to do. Your heart raced, panic was written all over your face. No. This is not happening.

"Jim!" You tried calling his name, but he didn't hear you. You tried louder and louder, but it was like you weren't even here. Like you were just a ghost.

You wanted to run to him, to do something, but some kind of invisible force was holding you back. You couldn't get closer. You couldn't stop him.

Before you could yell out his name again, it happened. He pulled the trigger, a loud noise from the gun firing hit your ears and his body fell motionless on the ground, blood pooling around his head.

"No..." A whisper fell from your lips. Your hands were trembling, your heart squeezed.

"God, please no." Sobs started to rack your body, as knees your hit the hard ground beneath. The world around you began to fade. This is not happening...

You wake with a gasp, your eyes shot open. Despite the immobilizing panic your eyes quickly scan the room you're in and you recognize it as yours and Jim's shared bedroom. It was just a nightmare. Your eyes and cheeks were wet, and it felt as if your heart was about to jump out your chest. Despite the slight relief of realization that what you saw was indeed not real, you just couldn't calm down. You needed to see him.

Just when a thought of searching for Jim crossed your mind, you felt a hand on your shoulder, making you jump a little. You looked up, your frantic gaze meeting his concerned one.

He was still dressed in his day clothes, indicating that he probably didn't even went to sleep that night, even though it must be awfully late by now. Still, it wasn't a surprise, as Jim's sleeping patterns were a complete mess. He was either going over business with his clients or conveying orders to his employees or planinng his next move. His mind almost never stopping, which resulted in the man rarely getting any sleep at all.

His brows were furrowed, dark eyes scanning your face. Assessing your state it seemed obvious that it was a nightmare that has shaken you up so much.

"Hey, it's ok. It's ok." He spoke softly, his distinguishable accent pouring from every word. He sat down on the bed beside you and took you in his arms. You pressed your face into his chest, hearing his heartbeat; a clear indicator of him being alive. Your arms came around him, and you inhaled deeply, trying to calm down. The slightly faded scent of his cologne has grounded you further.

"I'm here." He said as he left a small kiss on your head. Seeing you in such a state bothered him. The sight made him frown. Many thought that Jim Moriarty didn't feel anything, that he was heartless. And while it is true for the most part, you were the exception. The only thing that mattered in the long run. You were partners in crime, most of the time; literally.

He propped his chin on your head, his thumb rubbing your back in a calming motion. Finally all the emotions started to slowly evaporate. Your heart rate started going back to normal, as you soaked in Jim's touch, his warmth, his scent, his whole being.

You were the only person who's distress bothered Jim. You're his favourite person afterall. The only equal in this world full of ordinary people. And he will always be there for his one and only other extraordinary person.

[weeb-polls-with-pip]

Autistic Anime Boys Prelims - Propaganda Division - Group 6

Propaganda:

Kiriwo -

"Seems innocent at first and he's just a guy with a special interest in magic items, but watch out."

Arjuna -

"MASKING KING!!!!!! ok joke aside one of his biggest things is that he's super scared that if anyone gets too close to him they'll notice he's not perfect/has a 'secret darkness' (that's literally just a guy) and overall a lot of his storyline is a strong parallel for being neurodivergent and becoming more comfortable with accepting it. he's also super strict and hard on himself for any sort of failure that isn't in line with what's socially appropriate but at the same time he doesn't always have a good grasp on what that is which is how you get stuff like him blowing up a forest to try and impress someone. it also runs in his family bc his brother is autistic as hell too."

Sherlock -

"God, where do I start? I mean what Holmes adaptation, even if he's not the main character, would this be if he were not autistic coded? And our combo of autism and ADHD is absolute perfection, all tied up with a pretty, excitable face. Hit him with the crime hyperfixation and do not make him wear socks."

Apollo -

"Not canonically autistic but he has ZERO volume control plus he scripts/repeats stuff (“I’M FINE!!!”), sometimes mimics other people’s speech patterns (like replying “ja” to Klavier), sensitive to loud noises (stayed backstage at a concert cuz it was too loud) and bright lights (complained about the stage lights being too bright at the same concert + screamed when opening the hatch to the bright stage at magic show), and has been really into space since he was a kid, which could definitely be a hyperfixation (not to mention how he read every single one of Phoenix’s old case files back when he admired him). Plus he’s a little TOO normal, to the point where it circles back around to making him the odd one out, which is absolutely what masking feels like for me. Even when he tries to be fun and weird he gets strange looks/made fun of for not being weird in the right way. The list of autism symptoms is just a checklist for him at this point."

Heiji -

"90% of the cast in detective conan is autistic but heiji is the most autistic of them all."

Urara -

"Another alien who is so excited to dance with everyone that he does not understand that his intended purpose of inviting people to dance via water communication is brainwashing them into dancing and is causing extreme chaos. He nearly causes an apocalypse by being so excited about dancing but he apologizes and tries to make friends with Yuki at the end of the story. He is extremely soft spoken and try, finding it difficult to begin conversations and fidgeting."

Shu -

"speaking specifically about the first season but he was the "explains everything so the audience knows whats happening" guy. he was pretty antisocial (not sure if thats just how he was or if he lived alone [which was fucked up cause he was 11]) . im trying to think of more but my brain goes hghghhhggggh im just a big fan of him."

Vash -

"ain’t no way i’m the only one who’s submitted him. go look at the gif of him crawling in the dirt like a bug while he dodges bullets and get back to me."

Hyakkimaru -

"Due to a terrible curse he has lived his whole life without several body parts including his eyes and ears. Because of this he is often overstimulated and awkward in new situations (when he doesn't do what he does best, killing monsters and samurai with his sword arms) He can't say or express much, and often comes off as strange and creepy, but he is actually a cutie patootie full of emotions, has a big heart, a keen brain, endless inner strength and loves the people close to him! This adorable, cursed, demon slaying boy deserves everything!"

Kei -

"He has the tbh face. Also he canonically has sensory issues and gets sensory overload. He constantly wears earbuds. He has an extremely rigid sense of morality and considers himself a savior figure. He has a hard time relating to other people and is a bit awkward in his interactions."

[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

[aveline-amelia]

You know what I love about BBC Sherlock?

You only catch some things on your 2nd, or 5th or 10th rewatch.

Like with Mycroft and Sherlock.

You watch Mycroft be annoyed at Sherlock calling at Christmas, so you think he would rather be left alone and doesn't want to deal with anyone, including Sherlock.

But his initial expression is one of surprise. He doesn't want to believe that Sherlock could be calling for sentimental reasons because he cannot bear to be wrong.

He wants Sherlock to show him he cares, like he did back when they were children.

And notice his wording there. "Did they pass a new law?" Sherlock is not the one who cares about upholding the law, Mycroft is. He is setting the stage for Sherlock to banter, but Sherlock just tells him Irene Adler is dead and hangs up.

When Sherlock calls Mycroft (despite the fact he prefers to text) in TSO3 many speculate the reason he wants him at the wedding is to have someone for support.

Mycroft says they will spend more time together now that John is married. Just like old times. He knows Sherlock would hate that, yet Sherlock doesn't deny it. He could say he can spend extra time with Mrs Hudson, or Lestrade or Molly or Wiggins.

He could say he doesn't need him at all. But we know that's not quite true.

If Sherlock was being sincere here and said he needs someone on his side, by his side, someone to be there for him, so he feels less alone... Mycroft would most likely think he was being mocked. He wouldn't believe him. Why should he?

When Mycroft tells Sherlock his loss would break his heart, he isn't doing it because of the drugs.

The drugs are just an excuse to hide behind. A smokescreen. He can't even look at Sherlock while is he saying it because he knows what's coming. Mockery.

"What the hell am I supposed to say to that?"

Mycroft broke script. He said the quiet part, the subtextual part out loud. I do care about you and it would break my heart if you died.

Sherlock doesn't know what to say. You can even read his bewildered statement as a genuine question. Mycroft does, in a way. So he answers.

"Merry Christmas?"

"You hate Christmas."

"Perhaps there was something in the punch."

I know you are up to something.

On the tarmac, Sherlock didn't even want to say goodbye to his brother. But when Mycroft calls him in 4 minutes, Sherlock has no idea Moriarty might be back. He just thinks Mycroft couldn't go even five minutes without speaking to him again and checking up on him.

Sherlock didn't say goodbye to Mycroft because he knew that wouldn't be the last time he'd hear from him.

"I will always be there for you."

"Shouldn't you be out there getting me a pardon, like a proper big brother?"

"He was a rubbish big brother." Was, not is.

"You were great."

He didn't find Lady Bracknell convincing. He isn't talking about that.

"Dr Watson? Look after him, please?"

"Mycroft. Make sure he's looked after. He's not as strong as he thinks he is."

Neither of them are.

[saioratral]

PARING: william james moriarty x f!reader

PROMPT: believe me SYNOPSIS: would removing nobles be an excuse for killing? even if the intention was good?

WARNING: none NOTE: obsessed with jang wonyoung these days so im using her as the pictures. i saw this in my drafts for a long time so here ya go :D i wrote this feeling a little down from stuff going on at home so this was a great distraction. enjoy!

william was a dedicated man to you, the perfect man. he had no flaw and in your eyes, he was the one you thought you would spend your life with. you first met him at your university job, where he was a respected professor. his charm and intelligence quickly drew you in, as they did with everyone else. who could resist?

he was striking, with blonde hair that caught the eye, almost as if it demanded attention. yet, it wasn’t just his looks that captivated you- it was his humbleness and the genuine care with which he spoke to everyone around him. he made you feel seen, heard, and special

to call yourself lucky to marry him was an understatement. you were now like a princess in the moriarty mansion, the others being your guards. your prince was yours, and yours alone. every day felt like a dream, one you were grateful to live. but those dreams now chase you, like a monster ready to consume you into a world you could not recognise 

“how could you do this to me, william?” you screamed, your voice filled with betrayal. “all these years together… for nothing?”

“if you just let me explain-”

“there’s nothing to explain!” you raised your voice, your eyes welling with tears. “i can’t believe i’m carrying your child… you monster!”

“i did it for the good of this country,” william insisted, trying to reason with you. “you have to believe me, my dear”

you stared at him in disbelief. “good? there are other ways to do good! killing nobles isn’t one of them. you’re no better than a criminal. how can you decide on who dies?”

william looked down, the weight of your accusation hanging heavily on him. his intentions were good, you know but his way of doing it was wrong. how was he different from the others then? in their eyes, they were only doing good- the same as the man you loved 

“how could you?” you muttered, your voice breaking

“dear…” william trailed off, hesitant to approach

“don’t call me that!” you scrunch your face in disgust. “it sounds horrible when you say it”

“this dress you gave me.. it’s also given by your tainted hands right? all the noblemen, all their blood is in your hands”, you shout walking closer to him 

william stands there, his gaze falling to the pink dress you wore today. the puff sleeves with the pearl necklace, you were a picture of beauty, even as you walked closer, every heel tap filled with anger. you jabbed your finger into his chest, right where his heart beat

“wash your hands all you want,” you continued. “but that blood will never come off. you’ve tainted yourself”

“i know,” william finally spoke, his voice low. “i know i’ve done wrong. i can’t turn back time. but if you just listen-”

“listen?” you interrupted. “how could you keep something this big from me? how could you lie to me for so long?”

you hated him now, every fiber of him. “am i not trustworthy? you broke our promise to always be honest with each other”

“i had no choice,” william responded, his voice strained as he took a step back.

“it was for your sake, i did not want to stress you my dear”, he speaks softly to you in hopes you hear him 

“just answer me one thing”, you look at him sadly. “did you kill anyone? with your own hands” 

“wouldn’t you like to know?”, william replies 

“i would, but i don't in the same time” 

he looked at you, pain and regret in his eyes, but his words remained empty. you looked down at the wedding ring on your finger, it must have been tainted by their blood too. slowly, you slipped it off and threw it to the ground

william was no longer the man you had married. he was a stranger- a monster in your eyes

you turned to leave, but then the sharp pain hit your chest. time stopped, your mouth wide open from the shock. you gasped, clutching the wound as you leaned against the dresser for support. your vision blurred as you looked at william, your voice trembling, “why aren’t you helping me?”

he didn’t move. he didn’t offer comfort or reach out to touch you at all. he just stood there, staring, his gaze drifting to the window. the curtains had been drawn- when had that happened? you both never leave the curtains open

“moran has a good aim, doesn’t he?”, william said

it was all staged… everything had been planned. you should have expected that

your pink dress absorbed the red blood oozing from your wound, before you felt another sting on your leg. you fall on the ground, the dresser’s drawers being your support. you look to william, hazy vision seeing him crouch down 

“my child will not be taken from me,” he said softly. “why don’t you just take a little nap, dear? you must be so tired”

© saioratral 2024-25 -- do not repost, translate, alter, etc on any platform without permission. Any characters used in my work do not belong to me, they are created by their original creator. all images are from pinterest

[theweepingangelofcas]

Spa Day - The Moriarty Brothers

Soooooo funny story, I now work 50 hours a week as both a baker and at a spa so my schedule is PACKED. But I really missed writing. So here I am. Summary: The boys do their best to give you a well deserved spa day (I deserve one too but I don't have time to get one, so let's write about it!)

*************************

William Moriarty

He probably had to do the least research for it. Though I doubt he goes to spas himself, I imagine he understands the practices pretty well himself. After all, he's read a lot of books. At least one of them has to be on self care, right?

He is a homey type of person at heart. Though visiting new places and meeting new people is just part of the noble lifestyle, he prefers to just stay home and relax.

So, on his day off, you decided to pamper him with a little spa day.

"William?" You called. He had just woken up from a nap a few minutes ago, and you knew he had to be around the kitchen for tea, "Where are you, love?" "'I'm over here, dear." His voice was serene and calm, just how you wanted it to be. The tray in your hands rattled with the glass bottles and oils, giving away your plans. He looked up from his piping kettle of tea, cocking an eyebrow at the elixirs and concoctions in your hands, "What's this?" Your face lit up, "You're getting a facial! You deserve to relax more, Will." He stepped up, observing one of the creams on the tray, "I've never had one before. But, I do trust in your hands." He kissed your forehead, once, twice, three times. His favorite way to kiss you. Soon enough, he was laying on the living room's couch. The lights were dim, only a few candles around you two. Lavender and rosebuds could be smelt throughout the room. With each potion of beauty you layered on his skin, his love for you grew. "Are you having fun, Will?" Your elated voice, sweet like candy floss, was music to his ears. His smile could only grow, "Always, love. Always."

Louis Moriarty

Let's face it, has this man ever known a day of rest? He'd rather die.

In fact, as much as he appreciates that you booked a couples massage for you both, he's a little annoyed that he won't have a head start on dinner that night because of it.

The spa was beautiful, to say the least. Flower vines clung to pillars near the entrance, so that the spa smelled of jasmine and peonies. The staff were attentive, offering you both wine before settling you into the private room. Louis, despite his confident demeanor, was adorably shy while getting undressed. He flushed at the idea. But something about you excitedly hopping onto the massage table eased his nerves. He watched as you got comfy under the thin, lilac colored sheet, breathing in the scent of flowers around you. His heart calmed, releasing a breath he didn't even know he had been holding. Maybe this would be a lovely day after all. He loved it. The firm but targeted massage eased his sore back in a way he hadn't known possible. Plus, seeing you happy and content? That was worth everything to him. You weren't surprised when he shyly asked to go back there again for his birthday.

Albert Moriarty

I'm convinced this man has like, a monthly pampering day or something.

Y'know, some wine, a facial, a massage, maybe a nice dinner. A real 'treat yourself' kind of day.

Of course, once you become his darling beloved, he takes you along with him.

At the end of the month, every month, you two have a day out. It's not an average day out, though. It's a day full of relaxation, pampering, and overall, not stressing about absolutely anything. You'd been surprised at first, when he told you about his monthly happiness sesh. But it made sense the more you thought about it. He was a busy man. He deserved to unwind from time to time. A couples facial, couples massage, and then you'd get a manicure and pedicure. Only the best for his dear y/n. Sometimes, when it's been a particularly stressful month, he takes you to a lovely dinner, or even a walk through the nature park you love so much. No matter what you two do together, it can be guaranteed that it'll be the best day you have that month.