#moriarty the patriot fanfic

[manias-wordcount]

Lost and Found (William James Moriarty)

Kinktober 2023 Day Seven: Body Worship

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

“Hello…it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

  Deep down inside, there’s a part of you that is trying to convince the rest of you that the man before you is familiar. 

  “Do you perhaps…remember me, my dear?”

  More so than just another nobleman you would pass by on the street. But the night is cold and faces and shapes and colors tend to blur in the rain. You have seen many of men walking along these streets. And very rarely do they pay attention to you aside from the occasional drunken pass and snide remark. So it would only make sense that the first noble that went out of his way to touch you- that willingly grabbed your wrist- would feel a least a little bit striking to the memory. It would also make sense that this same nobleman would start telling you lies and stories about how he knew you from long, long ago. Before he had lost you. It would make perfect sense. Perfect sense. Yet it doesn’t.

  Because somehow this encounter has led to you sitting in a dark room in his residency as he kneels in front of you and whispers sweet praises into your skin. 

  You’re a fool to let a stranger convince you. You’re a fool to trust a nobleman as well. But when a man with striking red eyes holds your hand so gently and says your name so quietly, it’s hard to find it in yourself to say no as he offers you a place to escape this cruel, rainy night. There would be no one around to save you if something went wrong. There would be no one around to care about you if you went missing. Yet you still took his arm when he offered it to you. You still fell step in step with him as he pulled you into his side and walked you down a few dark streets. Ones that you were unfamiliar with. Ones that made you feel as though you didn’t belong here. That you didn’t belong anywhere. 

  And yet, he still opened the door to his residency for you, like you were a gentlewoman- deserving of his kindness. He still ushered you with promises of a nice cup of tea and a spot in front of a warm fire- like you were truly an old friend. And he helped you strip out of your soaking wet outer layers before removing his own hat and coat with the absolute softest look in his crimson eyes- like you were his to nurture. His to care for. His to protect. 

  You grew very silent after that. The stranger noticed but he didn’t address it. Instead, he just directed you to the sitting room with a hand placed on the small of your back. He touches you often. You recognized that the very first moment you had run into him. You notice it even more now that he has just helped you settle into a chair with hands that seemed to linger a little too long on your waist. And even as he parted from you to get the nearly dead fire ignited for you now, you can still recall all the guiding little touches and holds you received in just the few moments you’ve known this man. 

  And yet, you aren’t afraid. You’re just lost. 

  So, so very lost.

  He knows this though. The stranger- the man who claims to know you- he knows this. You can see it in his expression when he turned back to you. You can see it up close as he walks towards you with another gentle smile on his face. It’s so peaceful. So disarming. You’re still a little cold. Your tights are a bit soaked. Your boots are full of water. And your dress still clings to your skin. But when he looks at you like that? When he looks at you like you’re worth his time.

  It makes it very hard to say no to him. Very, very hard.

“Forgive me,” He requested to you in a quiet murmur as he got down on the floor in front of you and reached his hands towards your boots. The second his long, pale fingers brush against your boots. you draw back in instinctive surprise. But the man is quick to reach out and grab at one of your legs before you can escape him. Though for a second afterward, all is quiet. All is still. The stranger in front of you’s face has taken a bit of an alarmed expression.  Almost as if he surprised himself with his own actions. But then his eyes casts down and a bitter smile grows upon your face. “But I can hardly contain my excitement now that you’re here. Louis would be most pleased to see you again.”

  He begins to tie your boots. Before you can even question him. Before you even can ask what he means. He pulls at the strings, and he loosens them more and more and more until finally- your shoe is able to slip off. He’s slow as he moves. He’s graceful. Letting his long, blonde hair hang over his face. Letting his pale, beautiful skin reach for you and touch the items that you just own. Your commoner items.

  Your face warms.

  You feel embarrassed. You feel ashamed. You’re far too beneath this man to be sitting her like this. Sinking into this plush, comfortable chair that you know is expensive enough all the food you could ever need to fill your starving little stomach. It’s so soft beneath you. Just like his fingers are just gentle as they close around your shoe and pull it off slowly- inch by inch until finally, it falls free with a dull clump. All for him to turn his head and direct his attention to your other shoe. All for him to turn his head and to follow the same routine. Like you’re deserving of it. Like you’re deserving of anything at all.

  And when all is said and done? When both shoes are off and your feet are free from their cold, wet confines. He reaches forward once more. Slowly. Slowly. Slowly. He reaches forward and you draw in your breath and you squeeze your eyes shut. Because this time, you know that there’s very little that he could be reaching for. Because this time, it’s very little reason for his fingers to be stretching out searching for what’s hidden beneath the skirt of your dress. Because this time, you knew what was coming. What was finally coming when you deal with a nobleman like him? Too kind to be honest. Too lovely to be pure. 

  A man is a man is a man. No matter how blue his blood may be.

  So just as you expected, the long pale fingers that had just disappeared beneath your dress have found their way to the very tops of your stockings and pulled down. And just as you expected, the stranger seemed very pleased with your quiet willingness as you adjusted your weight and let him strip you of them. Slowly, slowly, slowly they roll down your legs, exposing bare skin to the stranger’s unholy gaze. You bit at your lips. You squeeze your eyes shut. But you do not fight it. You knew it was coming. From the moment you took his hand tonight, you knew. You do not fight it. You do not cry. But you do brace yourself for the inevitable.

  Except, it never came.

  Your mouth parts in surprise at the feeling, but the words that need to come out sit in your throat and they struggle. They struggle and they struggle and they struggle as if words were never yours to begin with. Or perhaps, they struggle because they do were surprised that a man such as he would take such great care to ensure his lips would know every inch of your skin.

  You feel lost. You feel so lost and that he must have lost it. You had never encountered such behavior before. You had never encountered a man so willing to mix with the likes of someone like you. Never. But for some reason, you still don’t protest. For some reason, you still don’t speak. And for some reason?

  He still continues to press his mouth against your skin. 

  You had heard from other girls who were taken to noblemen’s houses on nights like these before. You heard stories of rough, cruel men picking up someone defenseless and cold and wet- someone like you- only to treat them so harshly during such a delicate act of intimacy. All to send them on their way with a little money for their trouble. A little something to keep their secrets.

  But that is not your story. This is not your rough, cruel man. It’s not. Where in those stories did those girls talk about what to do when the nobleman remains on his knees just to kiss the crown of yours? Where in those stories did those girls talk about how to feel when the nobleman starts speaking into your skin words and compliments and praises that are far too gentle, far too kind to be said to you? Oh, where in those stories did those girls talk about handsome young men with expressions so kind as they speak your name as if they truly know you? All to lead you back to their home and dance their fingers across your skin. To tell you how much they missed you. To tell you how much they longed for you. Searched for you. Hoped for your safe return. Where in those stories did the other girls talk about that?

  Nowhere. 

  Because those aren’t your stories. They never were. And you’re a very lucky girl. Very lucky that it took him many hours to strip you bare. Very lucky that it took him many hours to do anything except kiss at whatever piece of your skin he could find. Very lucky that never once told you anything but the words you thought you would never hear from a man like him. Very lucky your night ended up with you being worshipped. Being praised. Being cherished. 

  Being his.

  For now, you are still lost. For now, you are still confused. But the morning sun is just starting to rise. And the nighttime rain is just now finally turning into a spotty drizzle. And this stranger is finally letting his lips wander and brush and place themselves against a spot that is far too private for you to mention by name. But the feeling is far too good for you to wish he was doing anything else.

  And so, you sit there. In a nobleman’s fine, luxurious sitting chair. You sit there and you stay with your legs parted. Mind at ease. Body relaxed. And lips parted. Your body finally dry and warm but oh-so-wet for a much different reason. And your own fingers find themselves more and more comfortable with reaching out and touching- grabbing him now. Gripping at his clothes. Threading your hands through his hair. And calling out a name. The one he told you. The one he gave you. The one he thought would make you remember. As if the two of you truly weren’t strangers. As if the two of you truly did know each other.

  As if the name of the man now called William hadn’t lost its meaning to you when he and his brother had ultimately abandoned you.

  Long, long, long ago.

[redskull199987]

Hello🌸

Can I request an oneshot with William James Moriarty having a very romantic bath with his fem!s/o? They sip wine, chat and most of all enjoy eachother. (Sfw)

(Also reader is like, the shy type)

I really hope this made sense, and thank you very much in advance.

Bye 👋

Too Sweet

William James Moriarty x fem!reader Request

Word count:0.9k

Warnings: none at all, PURE fluff, they’re naked at some point, don’t know if that needs a warning

Summary: After all the work, the countless nights staying up, planning and scheming, you and William finally manage to spend some quality time with each other

Masterlist

You grew up in a rural area around London. You knew what hard work felt like. Or at least you thought so. That was until you met William Moriarty and his family. That was when you learned what real work felt like. What real tiredness felt like when you were staying up the third night in a row, observing those Nobles, Willaim deemed undeserving of their Title and Money.

And while you were a hundred percent hooked on William's plans, always supporting him in every way you could, You had to admit that you had never done a more exhausting job before. Not only coming up with the plans and executing them, but also having to see over and over again how cruel most nobles were, how little they cared about the People they thought were beneath them. 

“What’s on your Mind, Love?”

You blinked profoundly, before your gaze wandered up to none other than William Moriarty himself who was standing in front of you. For a few seconds, you were only able to look at him. His ash blond hair was messily hanging into his face. He had long discarded his jacket and tie, leaving him in a plain white shirt. He looked more relaxed than you had seen him in a long time.

“Just thinking about our last Mission.”, You finally answered him, slowly standing up and walking over to him,”I think if I mess up like that again, the Colonel will shoot me himself.”

William chuckled lowly, as he reached out for you, his nimble fingers embracing your waist and pulling your body against his. With a soft sigh, you leaned your head against his shoulder, your eyes fluttering shut at how sweet he was with you.

“I wouldn’t let him.”, William mumbled into your ear, before pressing a short kiss to your temple,”Come on, the bath is ready.”

You smiled warmly, letting him guide you towards the bathroom. The tender smell of roses and bath soaps hit your nostrils. 

“What’s the Occasion?”, you asked with a smile, as you watched William pull out a few Towels, preparing them for later.

“I think we both deserve something nice, don’t you?”, William elaborated,”All we ever did recently was work to fulfill our plans, my plans.”

You nodded understandingly, reaching out for him and slowly beginning to unbutton his shirt. William only smiled, gently wrapping his arms around your waist. It only took you a few seconds to free him from his shirt, pushing it off of his shoulder and leaving his upper body exposed to you. 

“Beautiful”, he mumbled into your skin, his hot breath hitting your neck,”You’re so beautiful, my love.”

“My turn”, You declared after a few seconds of just admiring him. You quickly turned around, waiting for William to unzip your dress. He took his sweet time with you, running his hands up your arms and resting them on your shoulders. You couldn’t help the blush that crept up your cheeks, as he leaned in closely, pressing a few short kisses to your neck.

Finally, he unzipped your dress, pulling the heavy piece of fabric off your body, leaving you bare in front of him.

You bashfully turned back around. Not able to form a coherent sentence, you just smiled at him, before leaning up and pressing a short kiss to his cheek. Without another word, you walked over to the bathtub, stepping over the edge and slowly lowering yourself into the water. A relieved sigh escaped your lips, when your body was fully submerged under the water, only your head still sticking out.

“You gonna keep standing there?”, You chided, once you noticed William hadn’t moved, but instead chose to stare at you with a dreamy expression on his face. Seemingly breaking out of his trance, he quickly got rid of his remaining clothes, before slowly slipping into the bathtub behind you. You watched the water slosh around a bit, until you felt William's arms wrap around your waist once more, gingerly pulling your body to rest up against his.

You sighed quietly, settling your head against his shoulder once more. After a few moments of comfortable Silence, your eyes fluttered shut. It had been a long time since you felt so at peace, so at home.

A small giggle escaped your lips, when William littered short kisses all over  your neck and shoulders.

“That tickles”, You snickered, gently pushing his head away from you. But William quickly grasped your wrist, a wicked grin on his face before he started to press kisses all over your forearm.You couldn’t help but grin at his antics, until he finally let go of your hand, letting you rest against him in peace. 

You felt Williams' hand rise, tenderly brushing your hair out of your face. His soft touch almost lulled you to sleep. 

“I love you”, You heard him mumble into your hair before he pressed a short kiss to your forehead.

You finally opened your eyes again, gazing up into his scarlet eyes,”I love you too, William.”

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine being Albert James Moriarty significant other. (twt ver)

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2023°

[iheart-nana]

͟ ͟ ͟⬚͒ *˚⁺‧͙ all's fair in love and war ✶﹐

like the moodboard? it's a teaser for an upcoming fanfic! make sure u follow me and stay tuned! thank you, bye!! <33

[bluerosepuppylover]

Are there any Moriarty the Patriot fanfiction writers that are on tumblr and ao3? Please let me know

[claudemblems]

All That Remains | Moriarty the Patriot

Written for @yumiko0987 | Prompt Here

Reminder that I'm not a request blog! This one is an exception and it was just a really cool idea/perspective that I wanted to try out. Not a happy read. 1240 words. Third person POV. Hardly any editing/proofreading.

Enjoy! (sorry if it hurts your heart JKHDASJK)

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Naive. That’s what Albert had once called her when she questioned the ill intentions of a nobleman they’d met during a house party. He was quite drunk, skin red and nose flaring as he ranted about the common folk “taking up too much space” and “contributing to the detriment of modern society.” Maybe she was an outlier, a person who wouldn’t take offense at even the most degrading of words, but even with the man’s foul temperament and even more vulgar language, she sought to understand him. Because everyone was misunderstood in some way, or so she believed. Even the most corrupt of people ought to have some shred of decency inside them.

“This man is rotten from the inside out, and the only way to purify his soul is by sending it through hell fire.” That’s all that Albert had said before staging the inconspicuous murder, all of the terrible details of the noble’s life being brought to the public eye by the hero that was Sherlock Holmes.

She was naive when the estate in which she’d lived all her life caught on fire, killing everyone but her elder brother, Albert, and their two newly-adopted brothers, William and Louis. It was framed as a tragic accident, an unfortunate circumstance likely caused by a gas leak. She’d never thought otherwise, not when Albert came rushing into her room, helping her frail body out of bed and out of the house before the flames could engulf her, too.

And when she gazed at that house slowly being devoured by flames, she watched as the memories of her loving family, her caring brothers, her safe, comfortable, and happy upbringing turned into ash at her feet. Despite her great illness, she tried to run back in, desperate to save her family, but Albert held firmly onto her, preventing another miserable death. But still she screamed and kicked and cried, slamming her fists into the ground until they began to bleed. Why her? What had she done to deserve such suffering? Why did her family have to leave her? Why did they have to die?

Almost every night she saw those corpses of her mother, father, and younger brother in her mind, bodies disfigured from the flames. And she would wake in a cold sweat, rushing to find something to vomit in. Then the rest of the memories of that terrible night would come rushing back to her, and sometimes she would scream so loudly that she would wake all of her brothers, and they would come rushing into her room, trying in vain to comfort her.

Indeed, she truly was naive, she’d learned. But years of psychological trauma and torment could change a person, and slowly she began to fit the pieces of the bigger picture together. Why had her brothers started a mission to murder the corrupt rich? When did their intense hatred of the select few of the upper class begin? Why had they barely mentioned their parents’ mistreatment of them? Surely such upsetting circumstances in their lives couldn’t be so easily forgotten. While it was true that she never stepped in to stop the “discipline,” she never enjoyed watching her brothers being ridiculed. However, her parents had instilled into her the idea of “toughening them up” and “preparing them for the challenges of the real world.” But she knew how it affected her beloved siblings, and how she wished her soothing words could dull all of their pain.

But one day when she saw Albert preparing for a mission in his room, brandishing a knife in the mirror, the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place.

The anger on his face was beyond words. It was an expression only something truly unholy could make. Vengeance burned in his eyes, and in his hand the silver glint of steel looked more like the scythe of a reaper who was finally ready to gather a new harvest of the dead.

The man standing there was not her sweet brother, Albert. That was a monster, a devil that delighted in serving people a twisted version of punishment just to further its own gain.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and she quickly rushed into another room. William and Louis stepped into Albert’s room, discussing the details of the next plan. And then she’d heard her name being mentioned.

“Brother Albert, she’s been quite distant as of late. Perhaps it’s wrong to even suggest such a thing, but I think…I think she’s finally caught onto what we did that night.”

The blood drained from her face, her heart stopping for a moment in her chest as if it had been struck with a knife and pinned to the wall behind her.

Albert kept his gaze trained on the mirror. “You’re right, Louis. I would go so far as to say she even appears to detest us.”

“It’s too difficult for her to comprehend the great severity of evil in this world,” William said. “She truly believes no one is too far gone. It’s a sentiment that will end up costing her her own life.”

“Just like it did my parents’?”

She didn’t even remember entering the room. But now the world was spinning out of control, ready to fall from its axis into a black hole of nothingness. Complete and utter nothingness. Because her brothers were once the only things she still held dear, but now they had been cruelly taken from her, too.

Rather, they cut the string of fate tying them together, and she was the one left tumbling down to a cold, dark, and miserable death.

Albert turned towards her, his expression stern, yet she could still spot that hint of love in his eyes in midst of all the disappointment. It enraged her, made her want to take that knife from his hands and plunge it deep into his chest until the hilt was soaked with his blood. “Our parents were as evil as people can possibly be. You saw how they treated William and Louis. They hated and scorned them just because they were born in the ‘wrong’ class.”

“That doesn’t justify taking away a person’s life. You are not an arbiter of fate. You are just a man…a man that took my family away from me.”

“But we are your family.”

“Not anymore.”

“Sister–”

“Don’t even address me as such anymore,” she said in a hushed tone, hand clutching at her chest. “None of you…don’t ever speak to me again. Go ahead and hunt me down and kill me if you must, but I’ll be beyond the grave making your lives a living hell.”

“This was for your sake as well,” William said gently, extending a hand to touch her shoulder, but she backed away, hugging herself tightly.

“No, it wasn’t. You’re forcing me to live through even more deaths.” And she began to drag herself out of the doorway, footsteps carrying her through the halls and across the threshold of that manor’s door for the very last time. “The deaths of my brothers who were nothing but devils in the first place.”

As she wandered down the evening rain-soaked streets of London, her mind flickered back to that terrible night. 

Why her? What had she done to deserve such suffering? Why did her family have to leave her? Why did they have to die?

“Because hell is empty, and William, Louis, and Albert are all here.”

[dream-a-little-longer-1]

Beautiful Pain :

Helping these characters on a rough day

Author : so hello!!(人*´∀｀)

No,im not dead. I was just really busy and didnt feel like writing honestly.

And like,i see blogs getting so much love (lots of likes, comments and just simple asks about their writing,not requests) that it just makes me upset how nobody really enjoys mine :)

*sighs* honestly im used to it so its ok.

Anyways! here's something for u guys ;)

✧*.｡*♡✧*.｡*♡✧*.｡*♡✧*.｡*♡✧*.｡*♡✧*.

Albert

•as soon as Albert closes the doors to your room behind himself

•he lets out a heavy sigh; rubbing his temple with shaky hand

•he can already feel a headache coming

•so when he lays down on your shared bed,and burrows further into the cold sheets that feels like heaven

•he doesnt expect anyone to knock on his door

•his heart thumps with sadness when he thinks bout having to deal with another matter

•After all duty is more important than anything

•but just as he's about to rise up,the door opens slowly,and in the darkness of the room,he can see your figure shyly stepping inside

•he can always recognize you,even in the dark

•even if he's blind

•so when you move towards him,where he's currently sitting on the bed

•he reaches out for you,and takes hold of your hand

•before planting a gentle kiss on your knuckles

• "Darling," and he hates how his voice is so tired

•and of course,you notice. You always do

•so when you slowly bury your fingers into his soft chocolate locks

•and start messaging his head

•and Albert can swear that he's died and went to heaven

•without realizing,he leans into your touch;until his forehead is resting against your stomach

•and finally,after a long week

•he feels like he can breath

.

William

•when William sits down on the couch in the wee hours of the night

•a deep,bone crushing numbness and exhaustion settles in his body

•his eyes are heavy,and they sting

•William rubs at them without any gentleness;applying an amount of unnecessary pressure until he can see stars dancing behind his eyelids

•and a heavy sigh breaks through from his mouth

•he feels exhausted, so much that he doesnt bother to take off his coat,or go to his own bedroom

•instead,he settles right there;head uncomfortably laying low from the lack of pillow

•but he doesnt care

•he just wants to sleep

•so when a pair of gentle hands raise his head slowly, only to place a pillow under it

•William knows its you, without opening his eyes

•because only you has ever treated him so gently

•you place a soft blanket on him,and with a kiss to his forehead,brush his golden locks away from his eyes

•William sighs out a breath of relief, whispers a small "thank you,my love",

•and falls into a deep sleep

[wait-thats-illegal]

I think I'm gonna try to start writing my yuumori fic again ("If He Be Mr. Hyde, then I Shall Be Mr. Seek.") I have majority of the ending planned (or as much planning as I'm capable of, my writing consists of me opening a Google doc and just going for it with little to no prior thought) and am overall pretty proud of the story so I really want to finish it

[yup-thats-me]

"let's see kids who can hug mamma the first!" Your husband told or rather commanded your twin boys as the three came back from their grocery run.

Your two sons giggled as they ran towards the house and the thirty-something-old kid (your husband) too ran with them. The only visible difference being was that he was taller and was carrying three to four bags with him. He, same as his kids, had that stupid little smile on his face.

When the door barged in and her kids ran to your side, Y/n couldn't help the smile that made its way to her lips. Putting down the cup of coffee she was holding, she stumbled back a little by the force as the two little humans hugged their mother like their lives depended on it.

Smiling, Y/n was caressing her two boys lovingly. What she did not expect was to see her husband as well to join in on the group hug and forcibly make his way into the middle making the kids grumble in dissatisfaction.

"That's not fair, dad! we came first!" Your kids whined.

The man gave them a smug grin. "You think? You little seaweeds wouldn't be here if I did not come first, you know." He blew raspberries at the kids. "Also, did you not know your mother loves me the best?"

His comment earned him a smack on the head from his beloved wife. The man held his head in feigned hurt and looked at Y/n like she just betrayed him in the worst ways.

The boys laughed at their father but were quick to ask, "Do you really love Dad more than us, mama?"

Smiling she pecked the two on their cheek, and her husband too to make him stop pouting. "Well...it may be partially true."

It was the kids turn to look betrayed. "But mom!"

Y/n giggled. "I do love you boys. I love you two so much. How can I not when you are literally a part of me? I love you two." She caressed their cheek.

"But as much as it's true that you two are a part of me," she continued, "I wouldn't be able to have you with just myself. It is thanks to your father that I am given such a beautiful gift." she smiled, her eyes shining with a sadness that is not melancholic. It was the realization that her kids would someday leave her. Of course they would, they are bound to. And when they do, she'd be thankful to her husband who stayed.

Her husband smiled at her and gave his kids a nod. Upon the command, the three hugged Y/n out of the blue and greeted, "Happy mother's day momma!"

Y/n was brought back to the present, she smiled, a few tears pricking her eyes. "Thank you, boys," she kissed their cheek. "We have brought you some food as well! We'll go bring it!" The two got up and ran to the kitchen to bring whatever they brought as a gift for their mother.

In the meantime, Y/n's husband snaked a hand around her waist, pulling her close. "Thank you, baby, for being the mother of my children. Really, thank you." And this time, her husband was speaking from the bottom of his heart

[cielettosa]

fanfics, headcanons, theories, fanons and fanarts keeps a fandom alive, even after it ends

[starlostlix]

even from the limited amount i've seen of it, i absolutely love the concept of Alcroft communicating via carrier pigeon whilst Albert is in prison, and that said pigeon even has a name and it's Charles Dickens.

so these dudes now have almost no pressing need to keep communicating (since Albert is no longer running MI6) but yet they insist on communicating still, and they're sending letters across london via MYCROFT HOLMES' PET CARRIER PIGEON CALLED CHARLES DICKENS instead of just going via the post or something. Albert sees a pigeon outside his prison cell window in the tower of london and is like 'ah yes mail is here' and is visibly disappointed when it's a random pigeon and not charles. plus the pigeon apparently even grows fond of Albert from visiting him so often so HOW MANY LETTERS DID MYCROFT SEND? how many trips was this pigeon flying per week? was charles dickens getting compensation via extra berries or seeds or something per flight? mycroft you better be treating that pet pigeon of yours well for all his work, i mean he's single-handedly maintaining your relationship with your imprisoned friend (or bf if you're an alcroft shipper, i don't really know if i am yet).

so in short Alcroft basically spend lots of time and letters bonding over the fact that they both thought their brothers were dead, becoming a support network exclusively held up by charles dickens the carrier pigeon.

the writer(s) of Moriarty the Patriot absolutely cooked with that one it's so funny and endearing. and why do i not see more alcroft shippers talk about charles dickens and how like i said he single-handedly maintained alcroft's relationship during that time skip. give charles dickens the carrier pigeon his credit and his praise.

[manias-wordcount]

Divine (Sherlock Holmes)

Kinktober 2023 Day Twenty-Two: Rough Sex

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

John tells you that you have the patience of a saint. You tell him that you know, every single time. But it still surprises you how far you’re willing to go for the sake of one man sometimes. 

For instance, right now.

You had barely a moment to prepare when he slammed open the door to 221B and locked it behind him. You tried to greet him with a smile. With a softness that could ease the pain, you knew your beloved was feeling. But he was slamming down the morning paper with the latest update about the Lord of Crime onto the ground before he stalked over to you. You couldn’t get a word in before he kissed you harshly- one hand hovering dangerously over your backside with the other combing itself through your hair to keep you near and to keep you close. And when he was done kissing you? When he was done stealing away your breath to make it his own?

He had begun stripping you down. Pulling off your dress and helping you step out of it. Exposing you to the rest of the apartment as he all but tore off your undergarments between stolen kisses. You’re ashamed to admit that you weren’t much better than him in this moment. After all, you didn’t once bother to speak up about bringing this little moment into the bedroom. You were far too busy tugging his hair out of his holder and letting it flow through your own fingers as you held him against you.

But now you’re past all that. Past the stripping and the kissing and the oh-so-dangerous way Sherlock liked to press his face between your thighs and lap at your core like no man had ever done before. Now he’s got you folded in half on the couch with your legs up on his bare shoulders. His shirt and suit jacket are on the ground by the couch. His trousers are down to his ankles. Or maybe they’ve been kicked away- possibly in the same direction as your clothes. But does that really matter? Does that really matter now that he’s sliding his erect manhood into your opening with very little resistance? Does that really now that’s making you moan and gasp and cry out so loudly and with so little restraint?

Does that really matter now that he moving faster? Going in harder? And harder? And faster? And harder? And faster? And harder? And faster? And-

You cry out suddenly. You cry out loudly. You wonder if it’s the walls or the world that is spinning or if it’s just the rapid beating of your heart. You wonder if the people outside of these walls could hear. If they could know. Of just want the great Sherlock Holmes does to you- to your body and your womanhood. But there is little you can do now that your beloved is slamming into you like you aren’t made of glass and fine china. Like he’s sure you won’t break.

And he’s right. You won’t. You’ve been in this position before. You’ve been here before. You’ve survived it then. You’ll survive it now. You’re Sherlock’s saint, John told you. And the divine don’t break so easily.

But they sure do whimper and whine and moan.

And your only saving grace was that you knew it’d be another couple of hours before John would return to the apartment. But even then, a little privacy will hardly save you from the soreness between your legs that you’ll feel tomorrow morning.

“Sherlock…” His name falls out of your mouth with a loud moan you struggle to hold on to him. It doesn’t serve its purpose. It doesn’t capture his attention or snap him out of his fervor. It doesn’t even get him to falter. To slow down. No, instead he keeps going. He just keeps slamming and pounding and thrusting away at your most precious place. His face buried in your neck, and his hot breath spanned your skin. “Sherlock, ah~!”

You whine again- the sound loud and high in your throat as he manages to make contact with that spot inside you that never fails to get you even louder than before. There’s no calming his mind when he’s in this state. There’s no calming him. Not now. Not until he’s come back to you. 

“Sherlock, please~!”

This time, the call of his name earns you a growl. Guttural and low, it tears out of his throat and into the open. But the sound doesn’t cause you to shrink away. It shamefully only spurs you on. Instinctively tightening around the manhood he has and locking it between your warm, wet walls. Instinctively reaching up and reaching out to dig your nails into the skin of his back- no doubt leaving bright red marks against his warm skin that will be left for him to in the early tomorrow morning. That action gets you another growl. But more than, that it gets him to pull his face away from your neck. It gets him to look at you- dark eyes swirling with so many emotions. 

Frustration. Lust. Anger. Desire. The face of a madman. But the face of your man. Your beloved. Your Sherlock. 

So you clutch even harder at whatever you can grab. 

Because when he looks at you, he doesn’t slow down. The intensity is all there- alive and well. But his movements- they grow more purposeful. As if he can see past the red and the anger and the frustration to give into the lust and the desire and greed of how he makes you feel. Because when he looks at you, he looks at you. He takes in your every expression. He watches as your eyes screw close and as your lips part to let through another gasp. He lets the dark expression on his face melt away into something more soft. Something more sweet. As he forgets about his troubles. As he forgets about the Lord of Crime. As he forgets about his brother or John or his rent or any of his other troubles before this. Because he has something else to look at. Because he has something else to think about. Because he has something else to do. 

You. 

To pleasure you. To lay with you. To kiss you. To hold you. To pray to you. Because you’re his as much as he’s yours. And what’s a saint without a follower to stand behind? What’s a follower without a saint to lead them? What are you without him? Him without you? 

Simple. It’s nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Because what is the purpose of being divine?

If there is nothing there to prove your divinity in the first place?

[gh0st-author]

mastermind.

Pairing: William James Moriarty x Reader

Summary: What you needed was a chance— an opening. A cause to draw him out, to approach him. But that would be easier said than achieved. Impossible even.

Tags: fluff, a little bit suggestive but nothing much, Liam is a softie

A/N: so i was listening to mastermind by taylor swift and i just realized how much it fits liam, so this brainrot you see here was born. also this is set in america somewhere in those 2.5 years after the billy incident but before they return to london. my thought process was that liam and sherlock were doing some undercover work at this ball. additionally i decided to have Liam keep his eye here man's been through enough...

The moment was like something straight out of a fairy tale. An instant that you can't quite place; a dream that would unravel and slip from your grasp and glide through your fingers if you only tried to look too close at it. Gentle candlelight tracing abstract patterns over the entire hall, making the entire scene seem magical. Delicate music from numerous hidden instruments filling the air with yearning, so beautiful it could make your heart ache. The muffled sounds of secret whispers and the rustling of numerous exotic fabrics joining the cacophony of sounds, not to overpower but to add to the overall mystique and intricacy of the night. And him. Him— this radiant and golden being, akin to an angel, luring you in, stealing your coherence.

Your eyes were on him as soon as he'd entered the room, followed by another dark-haired man who you couldn't make yourself glance at for the life of you. Because doing that would mean taking your eyes off him. Elegant frame gliding through the mass of people, pale golden strands swaying with the movement, awakening an urge in you to trace your hands through them, to find out if they were as soft as they looked.

This feeling washing over you, filling your every cell, clouding your mind more than the glass of expensive wine in your hand, was new. Completely and irrevocably unfamiliar. And that terrified you tremendously. How could one person have such an effect on you, before you'd even exchanged so much as courteous greeting?

He must've felt your attention on him— how could he not when you were burning holes in the back of his head— and his head turned towards your hiding place, the little nook you slotted yourself in as to avoid unnecessary prattle of the ladies around you.

Oh...

You felt as if all of the air had been leached out of the room in that one moment, then instantaneously rushed back in leaving you light-headed. Bewitching. That was the only word adequate enough to describe his face, his eyes. His features were timeless, elegant, touched by the innocence of youth but also impossibly wise at the same time. And when his sharp scarlet gaze connected with your own, what little thoughts you had— however trifle they might've been— evaporated into mist and smoke. Those were eyes that never missed anything, that appeared to gaze directly through your flesh and blood and straight into your soul, seeing every detail, every dirty little secret. Yes, this man was absolutely breathtaking; utterly captivating.

You averted your gaze, feeling exposed and not wanting to stare too hard. This night had just become infinitely more interesting to you. But, despite all of the stars aligning and conspiring to place you in the same room with such a magnetic and compelling presence, you had no conceivable way of conversing with him. In truth, you were only here in the first place because of your cousin, and this ball was nothing more than just a chore to you who was supposed to be her chaperone. You had no connections and no reason to seek him out, no matter how much your heart yearned for it. Even now, you could see his outline floating in the corner of your vision, surrounded by numerous important individuals.

You sighed, and deciding against hiding for now, you smoothed out your gown and abandoned your little nook. It was due time to try to mingle with the dense crowd.

Like his shadow, a phantom, you traced his steps around the room, trying to find an opportune moment to etch just a little bit closer. Wherever you went you glimpsed him from the corner of your eye, always near, but always just out of reach. As soon as one group had finished with him, he was already onto the next. He was everywhere—  anywhere you looked— making your desperation rise. It was a known fact that our psyche worked in contradictory ways; the more one tried not to gaze at something or think of something, the more the mind made them a prisoner of exactly those thoughts. The echo of his silhouette followed you around, always just a tad bit too far away.

Positively exhausted by the constant ongoing battle between your mind and your heart, you retracted back to the faraway corner of the room, choosing instead to behold the art and numerous artifacts nestled there. What you needed was a chance— an opening. A cause to draw him out, to approach him. But that would be easier said than achieved. Impossible even.

Deep in thought, one painting caught your attention. It was a magnificent piece, truly, but you were not able to decipher what exactly about it ensnared you so. It appeared no more extravagant than any other painting in the room, yet you couldn't look away from it. It felt as if it was pulling you in, calling to you.

"Captivating work, is it not?"

The sudden voice to your right made you startle, and you were forcefully ripped away from your mussings. You almost didn’t need to look to know who the person who'd just spoken was. After all, your body was tingling in his mere presence, every cell coming alive simultaneously, vibrating with hope now that he was the one who sought you out first. Unable to resist the magnetic pull, you pivoted to regard the stranger. "I'm sorry?"

"That painting." He flashed you a gentle smile, his unusual-colored eyes regarding you with interest as he approached to stand beside you. "It's a true masterpiece. The artist uses patterns and geometry to create a most aesthetically pleasing piece, painting illusions to trick the viewer into thinking they can actually step into a two-dimensional space. It's rather extraordinary."

His voice was soft and melodic, slightly amused. Your eyes caught at the slight upturning of the corners of his lips as he spoke, unable to look away. It was either that or get lost in his knowing gaze. "Are you an artist?"

"A mathematician, more accurately." You heard a wistful note in his voice. "I used to teach at a university in England, but sadly, I don't anymore." He gave you another smile, this one a little dimmer than his last one. "Some circumstances got in the way. But that is neither here nor there. I take it you are someone's chaperone tonight. If I had to guess, the young lady's over there."

You followed his gaze and saw your cousin a little further away, engaged in a conversation with some friends. How did he know that?  "I am. Thank you for your insightful deduction Mr.–"

"Liam. Call me Liam."

"Liam..." You whispered his name like a prayer on your lips, tasting how it felt on your tongue. "No title? Is it short for something?"

"No... just Liam. Classes and titles mean nothing to me." You couldn't quite read the emotion in his voice as he said that, layers of something more— perhaps dejection— intertwined beneath a calm reply. "And what shall I call you, Miss–"

"Y/N" You held out your hand to him, and Liam, never breaking his eye contact with you, raised it gently to his lips, leaving just a breath of a kiss there.

"Y/N..." He too sounded like he was sounding out your name, familiarising himself with it as if he planned to continue saying it many times more. "The pleasure is mine."

That one touch, that one kiss against your gloved hand, was enough to light a fuse within you. You felt flushed all over, both too hot and wrecked with chills at the same time. You needed to know more about this man. He was like a Venus fly trap, a mystery you wanted to solve, an equation you wanted to assess. "Did you come here alone tonight?"

"I am accompanying my good friend on some business tonight. He is the black-haired individual currently giving us the burning stare." And sure enough, when you followed his gaze, you spied the gentleman in question, the one who followed Liam when he first entered the room, giving you both suspicious glances. Looking at him now, no longer blinded by the brilliance of the mysterious mathematician, he was a handsome individual, tall and all angular features, but that was overshadowed by the arrogant eyebrow he raised at you as if contemplating to terminate your further involvement with his friend.

"Have I done something to upset him?" You haven't even met him, yet he seemed to not be pleased with you.

"No, he's just paranoid. Unnecessarily." Liam narrowed his gaze at him, and they appeared to be exchanging a wordless string of arguments between them, after which the man shrugged his shoulders and flashed you both a sheepish smile, putting his hands in his pockets and turning away to talk to some other nearby attendant. Liam's attention was back on you now. "Excuse his behaviour, he has a lot on his mind tonight."

You, too, had a lot on your mind tonight— mainly, how to slip away somewhere where you could be alone with him, away from the eyes of everyone so you could continue your conversation uninterrupted. Suddenly, a thought permeated the fog in your brain. It wiggled through and lodged itself right in the forefront. An opportunity to get him alone... This was it. If you could use this to your advantage, you could make an unfortunate situation into something worth remembering. "Don't worry. I don't mind—"

You cut your sentence off, bumping into him purposely. Your glass almost slid out of your hand, deep burgundy splashing over his coat. He caught you, a true gentleman, as you widened your eyes and flew into a flurry of apologies, as you quickly set down your— now empty— glass. "Oh my God, I am so sorry! I don't know what happened, I must've been more inebriated than I thought. I'm so sorry!"

Liam was a picture-perfect opposite to your hysteria of movement. He calmly grabbed his coat and slid it off. The dark burgundy stain had bleed through the outer layer onto his white shirt beneath, and he let out a chuckle as he inspected his coat and the stain on his chest for the damage. "Don't worry, it was an accident. Such things happen." He sighed at the coat. "Although, I suppose I can't show myself in front of our business partner tonight like this."

"Please let me do something!" You pleaded, doing your best to show him how remorseful you were. It wasn't all for show, you did feel kind of awful for staining his clothes. "I have a handkerchief, I can help you. Please, follow me." If you fail to plan, you plan to fail— or so they said. Life was about making the most out of unexpected situations, and you were not about to waste this opportunity that had been given to you. You grabbed his arm and tugged him along with you as you slinked by the walls and made your way out of the hall.

You entered the first room you saw— a study, it appeared— and pulled him with you to sit down on the couch. Quickly taking out the handkerchief, you grabbed the coat from his hand and started dabbing the stain. Luckily, his coat was dark, so it wouldn't be too noticeable in the candlelight. All the while, Liam said nothing and just observed you with an unreadable gaze.

"I expected you to be more cross with me," you said after some time, finally daring to glance in his direction. You hoped he wasn't, otherwise, this plan was all for nothing.

That gave him a pause, and he blinked at you, as if you said something unexpected. "I am afraid I don't understand. This was just an accident that could happen to anyone. There is no reason for me to be cross. Were you, perhaps, afraid I would be?" He smiled at your frown, and you averted your gaze back to the task at hand. A contradictory enigma. This coat was of very expensive material, yet he made no complaints. Chose kindness, instead of anger. You were definitely right to get this mysterious man alone, even now you felt the inescapable draw of his presence.

"It is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both," you murmured absentmindedly while still gently dabbing away on the stain, doing your utmost to try to get rid of it.

"Oh, you are familiar with Machiavelli's works?" He leaned back, placing his arm on the armrest of the couch and resting his jaw on the back of his hand.

"I've read some here and there. Why? Are you an enjoyer of his books?" You raised the coat up to the light and observed it. This had to do for now until he could get it cleaned.

"I too have read them here and there." His gaze was sharper now, both cunning and amused. It made you shiver— but not unpleasantly, you realized with a start. "I find his takes on the authority and aristocracy most fascinating."

Laying the coat aside, you scooted closer to him, the couch making you all the more aware of your proximity, the dim lights making it all seem more intimate. This close you could even smell a faint tinge of his cologne, mixed with the sharp tang of alcohol you spilled. This turned out to be a perfect excuse to touch him, to feel him. Everything went precisely by design.

Dizzy from the heat of his body, now so close to you, you slowly started to dab at the stain on his shirt. "You truly are an enigma, Mr. Liam, are you aware?" He only continued to observe you with his slight smile, the rising of his eyebrow the only indication that he was listening. Taking that as an invitation, you prattled on. "You seem like someone of noble birth, yet you appear to disprove of the class system and disregard any titles. You seem awfully intelligent, and yet I have not seen your name in any field of research, not even math." You took this opportunity to smooth out his collar, fingers gently grazing the skin of his collarbone. "And you approached me, and were able to accurately ascertain things about me I gave you no indication of." You looked up at him through your lashes, then quickly glanced down again, resuming your attempts at trying to clean up the wine.

You felt him let out a little contemplative hum, as he leaned closer to you. "You are an enigma as well, Miss Y/N. You have followed my every move since I appeared here, yet refused to approach me the entire night. You still don't seem to trust my words, but you have not yet inquired into anything I've said. It is almost as if you enjoy this little game." He raised his hand, and you watched with bated breath as he caught a strand of your hair and twirled it around his finger. "Tell me, is it fun trying to uncover my secrets?"

Hands falling into your lap, the stain and handkerchief long forgotten, you felt light‐headed again. Like a snake dancing to the magic flute, both your body and your mind were charmed, following his every move. This little plan of yours might be working better than you anticipated. If you actually survived until the end of this game, of course, because if he kept looking at you like that, giving you his undivided scrutiny, you doubt you could last. "You followed me here without question as well." You managed to whisper out. "Did you perhaps have some ulterior motives with me too, Mr. Liam?"

He gave a little tug at the lock of hair wrapped around his digit. "I wonder..." His sharp eyes were now unfocused and thoughtful as if he himself couldn't really understand his actions. "Whatever compelled me to do that?"

You glanced at his eyes, then his lips, wondering if this was such a smart idea now. Maybe you shouldn't even be here, shouldn't entertain your wicked thoughts. Your draw to him was too powerful, dangerous even. It felt like too much and too little at the same time as if you could ignite and burn and blaze down to smithereens with a single word from him, drown with a single touch.

At that moment, the door slammed open with a loud creak, cutting off your train of thought. Both of you reflexively jerked back from your compromising position, the moment gone and magic ruined. The room now felt infinitely colder without his proximity, the couch impossibly wide. Your startled gaze fell on the culprit who had barged in so suddenly, finally able to breathe without Liam's cologne tampering with your thoughts. It was him, the man Liam introduced as his friend earlier. He glanced sharply at you both, eyes staying on you for a heartbeat longer than necessary, studying you. Contemplating. You could see the same mysterious intellect you saw in Liam in him, the same razor-sharp mind, the same murky and vague past. His eyes widened imperceptibly as if taken aback by your inspection, then filled with something akin to grudging understanding. Then he swiveled towards Liam and pointed behind him. "Liam we have to go. Work's calling."

A sigh, no louder than a disturbance of air left him, and he rose, giving you a remorseful look. "Sorry, dear. Seems like our time is up. Hopefully, I will see you again one day, under more fortunate circumstances." He quickly donned his coat, adjusting it to best cover up the stain, then with a hurried gait followed his friend out the door.

"I am sure you will." You whispered, as you watched him leave, him only turning back once to shoot you a conspiratorial grin. As if saying to keep what happened here a secret.

Checkmate, you thought. You will be seeing him again, you were sure of that. There was just something about him that sang to you, some kind of kindred warm flame, like fire burning in a hearth. But in his calm gaze, you also caught a glimpse of something else beneath, another fire, blazing hot, ardent, and dangerous. All of it made you even more curious, made you crave him more. You had to arrange a meeting with him again.

You couldn't lose.

Truly, nothing moved faster than time. It was outstanding, mind-boggling, how it seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. And now, two years later, you found yourself with the hard wood of the door of digging harshly into your back as you leaned back to let Liam deepen the kiss. The soft rustling of clothes and your quick breathing were the only sounds permeating the room of Liam's and Sherlock's shared apartment in Brooklyn. Barely any light illuminated your two silhouettes, only the moonlight and a rare street light outside of the window providing any illumination.

Gasping for breath, his lips still chasing yours, you attempted to put some distance between you. "Wait, what about  Sh—"

"Do not worry." He whispered, still eager to continue. "Sherlock is already on his way to London as we speak. So is Billy. No one will bother us."

"That means we have to leave for London soon, too." You gripped his shirt in your hand, raising on the tips of your toes to whisper in his ear. "How convenient that we are free to spend our last night here as we wish." Pulling back, you looked back at him, face full of mirth, lips splitting into a cheeky grin.

Cupping the back of your neck, he gave you one last kiss before leaning away. "Call me an opportunist."

Gently, his hand slid down to your waist as he moved you from the door and laid you achingly slowly on the bed. Your own hands moved from their position on his chest to intertwine in his hair. Soft and exactly as silky as you thought it would be two years ago. On that magical night. A night so much like this. His gaze was soft, and melancholy, as if he too was remembering that time. Most days, you were scarcely able to wrap your head around the fact that so much time has passed and that you've won the affections of such an ethereal being. That you yourself were able to set the wind to your sails that first night, to not just play the role of a pawn, but to be the king instead.

He regarded you in silence for quite some time, fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your waist, your hips. His face was unreadable, haunted. "I would ask what you're thinking about, but I'm terrified to know."

He let out a quiet chuckle and rested his forehead against yours. "Oftentimes, I think night is purer than day; it is better for thinking, loving, and dreaming. Maybe I was always meant to dwell in the night, to plot. At night everything is more intense, more true."

"Enough of your philosophy." You grumbled. "If you wish to scheme and think you can do that with Sherlock." Using your hands in his hair, pulled his face closer to yours, your lips barely brushing. "I think, currently, your mouth could be much better occupied."

He gave you a deep kiss, making you forget how to breathe, then bit your lower lip teasingly. "I never scheme. You must be confusing me for someone else" So saying, he chuckled. "But I must admit, I enjoy seeing you so flustered for me."

Well, two could play that game. When his lips traced a path from your kiss-swollen ones downwards to your neck to shower it with countless marks you'll surely have to cover up tomorrow, you decided to entertain yourself as well. "What if I told you that none of this was accidental?" It was nothing more but a breathless whisper, a silky melody in the darkness of the room. His ministrations didn't stop, but you continued, eager to fluster him at least once, even if it meant sharing your biggest secret— a secret that you had sworn you would take to your grave. "Were you aware that the first night I saw you I decided that nothing was going to prevent me from getting closer to you? You were like a blazing flame and me but a simple moth drawn to your brilliance. So I conspired to get you alone." It was getting harder and harder to form coherent thoughts when his kisses felt so hot, almost burning and branding your skin wherever they landed, but you persevered, tightening your hold on his hair and enjoying his slight shudder. "I... purposely spilled wine on you that night." You swallowed against a sudden lump in your throat. "I knew I had to lay down the groundwork if I wanted to catch your attention, knew I had to set it all up like dominoes." A sudden nibble on the junction of your neck and shoulder made you gasp.

"I was aware."

You were so thoroughly distracted by the feeling of his lips on the skin of your neck that it took a few seconds for his words to register, and when they did your whole body froze. "Wait... You knew?!"

You felt his lips pull into a smirk against your skin and he slowly pulled away, his eyes dancing with barely concealed mirth. "Darling, I knew the entire time."

You were rendered speechless. Shock. Disbelief. The feeling of the world freezing in its tracks. That's all you felt as you stared wide-eyed at the man above you. Your body felt weightless and stone-heavy at the same time. What does he mean: "He knew the entire time?"  Every encounter that you two had raced through your mind as you tried to remember if he ever showed any indication of being aware of your little game. There were none. "You're lying," you stuttered out through your suddenly dry throat.

His smirk was downright devious now. "On the contrary, dear. Not only was I aware of your schemes— I was the one who orchestrated them. From the very start, this has been a chain reaction of countermoves on both sides."

"But then-" Every world felt like sandpaper as you tried to make sense of the situation.

"Steering Sherly in your direction under the guise of talking to some aristocrats the first time I saw you, just so I could be in your field of vision the entire night. Purposely asking around about that painting I knew nothing about to start a conversation with you, then letting you bump into me so you could have an excuse to talk with me in private. Accidental meetings. All actions of a desperate man, who had been completely and utterly enamored ever since he first laid eyes on you." Each sentence was followed up with a kiss— to your neck, to your cheek, to the corner of your lips. One of his hands slowly made its way upwards towards your face from its place around your waist. Still in shock, all you could do was lean into his hand when he gently cupped your jaw. "But it was incredibly enjoyable, this little game of ours. I never believed that there would be someone who would go to such lengths for my affections." His gaze softened and he traced your cheek with his thumb. "My sweet, vicious mastermind."

You felt your chest squeeze under the crushing wave of pure love that washed over you. This man— this brilliant, extraordinary, incredible, magnificent, breathtaking man— he was yours. And he had been from the beginning. Or, more accurately, you'd been his. For you weren't the one who had been setting everything up since your first encounter– you were the one being strung all along. Happy tears prickled at the corners of your vision and you couldn't help but beam up at him. "I guess this is checkmate. It's my loss."

With a matching smile of his own, the hand on your cheek then slowly moved down to your chin, and he pulled you into another kiss. You closed your eyes and melted into it. It was painfully sweet— maybe the sweetest kiss you two have ever shared.

Looks like you were no match for the former Lord of  Crime after all.

[iheart-nana]

just between us, do you remember it all too well?

like the moodboard? it's a teaser for an upcoming fanfic! make sure u follow me and stay tuned! thank you, bye!! <33

@the-one-and-only-delphi

[bluerosepuppylover]

Fanfiction prompt

I been watching the 101 Dalmations movies and I wish someone would write a Moriarty the Patriot & 101 Dalmations crossover. Maybe something like The Case of the 101 Dalmations. Where Sherlock and Liam and the help some K9 and animal friends set to find the stolen 15 puppies either working together or separately. That Would be fun.and like the idea of the Moriarty crew having dog.🐶🩷

[twynte]

What happened to Yuumori ?! Where my Yuumori fans at ????!! Can we please revive the fandom please