#one of my flatmates is keeping her cat in her room without halls knowing which hasnt been an issue yet

[nerdie-faerie]

Just had a conversation with a cat

[fandomfoodiedancer]

If these walls could talk

Pairing: Calum x reader x Luke

Summary: Fallen Angel Luke is in love with the reader, but doesn’t think he has a chance, especially as your boyfriend is Demon Calum, so what happens when he walks in on the two of you having sex and gets invited to join in?

Warnings: smut, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, p in v, just pwp

A/N: Hi, this is my first fanifc (and first smut lol) so please be kind! I would love if you reblogged or liked this, and feels free to message me through dm’s or asks! x

Exhausted from a long day of work, Luke trudged down the hall of your shared apartment, headed for his room.

“Oh fuck!” Hearing your soft voice moan made Luke worried something bad could have happened. Without thinking to simply call out, he rushed to your room, opening your bedroom door.

“Oh fuck Calum, that feels so good” you mewled as Calum knelt on the bed behind you, pounding you at a fast pace.

Sensing Luke by the door Calum looked up at him, his eyes flashing black as he stopped his movements to smirk at the timid angel.

“Aw angel. Cat got your tongue?” Luke didn't know what to say, what to think. “How about I make this simple for you, you come and join us, and we'll show you a good time”. Calum's smirk grew with that statement, watching as Luke grew more unsure of himself.

He was a fallen angel. He knew he would never be allowed back in heaven, not after what had happened a few years ago, causing him to fall to earth where he met and befriended you, becoming best friends and flatmates soon after. However Calum had always proved a problem, ever since he started dating you. Albeit not the most vile of demons, Cal was still dark as well as a constant dick in general. All Luke wanted in this world was you, yet here was Calum, rubbing it in his face that he could never have you.

Or could he? Yes, he was still an angel, and this was a sin if it wasn't an act of pure love, he couldn't betray heaven again, could he?

Getting impatient you start to push yourself back onto Calum's cock, desperately needing release. Watching you so desperate, practically begging Cal to keep fucking you with your soft little moans, Luke made up his mind. Fuck it. He wasn't going to back to heaven, may as well enjoy the sin.

“Can I join you?” His voice was more confident than he felt.

“Fuck yes” Calum grinned, knowing he had just tempted an angel.

Pulling away from Cal, you stalked towards Luke, hooking your arms around his neck and leaning up to whisper in his ear to kiss you. He didn't need to be asked twice. Grabbing behind your thighs, he picked you off the ground, legs around his waist as he kissed you with all the pent up passion he had been holding all these years.

When you both ran out of breathe he lay you on the bed, kissing down your body.

“You're so soft and gentle compared to Calum, Lu” you murmured as he kissed your neck.

“You deserve to be worshipped y/n. You're a queen but uncrowned.” You moaned at his soft words, words that coming from an angel felt like heaven itself. Getting impatient, Calum joined you both on the bed.

“How do you want this babe?” The sound of Calum's voice mixed with Luke's kisses caused another involuntary moan to escape your lips.

“I want you in my mouth baby, and I want Luke's mouth on my pussy” Luke froze at your dirty words. Was he actually doing this? Looking up at your soft face, he knew he would do anything for you. Cal chuckled at Luke's concern before gazing intently as the angel kissed his way down your body.

Shuffling into an easier position for the three of you, you lay your head off the bed, ready to take Calum in your mouth as Luke hooked his arms around you thighs, staring at your wet pussy.

“Luke, please. I need you to touch me.”

That was all it took for Luke to dive in, lapping at you like his life depended on it. Before you could cry out at the feeling of such intense pleasure, Calum tapped your lips with his cock before pushing into your mouth and slowly thrusting in and out as you swallowed around him. Luke slowly slipped a finger into you, which soon became two fingers, pumping into you whilst sucking your clit, swirling his tongue around it. That mixed with Calum's cock in you mouth had you embarrassingly close.

“I think our little slut is close, angel. If you keep going like that she'll cum.” Smugness mixed with pride laced Calum's voice as he kept fucking your throat.

You couldn't hold back anymore. The mix of Calum in your mouth and Luke's mouth licking and sucking whilst he fingered you was sheer bliss and you came hard, as Luke and Calum kept going, working you through your first orgasm of the night.

Breathing heavily, you shrugged the angel and demon off you, needing to catch your breath.

“I think we did well angel, but if you think that was fun, just wait 'til your inside her. Wet walls fucking squeezing you until you think she'll burst, but so needy she keeps going anyway. Why don't you give it a try? See if you can really fuck her, give in to your desires, give her what she wants.” Eyes flashing black again Calum stared at Luke, challenging him, tempting him. And fuck if it didn't turn both of them on. Luke knew he'd fell from grace, that going down this path he would just keep falling, but the way you rolled your hips whilst staring at him had him ripping his clothes off in record time, ready to give in.

Hovering over you, Luke lined himself up at your entrance, staring into your y/c eyes, hardly believing what he was going to do. Leaning down as if to kiss you, he softly asked.

“Ready love?” Even in such a sinful setting, he was still such a sweetheart. That's one of the things you loved about him. You'd kept it a secret since the start, never believing that an angel would like you, never thinking you could love both an angel and a demon, but here you were. Lying naked on your bed, having Luke kiss you so passionately and speak so softly, about to have sex with you, whilst Calum stood there, watching on the sidelines as the angel fell for you further.

“I'm ready, Luke.” That was all it took. Kissing you gently, Luke eased himself into you. You gasped at his size but moaned when you heard Calum whisper “oh sin again bright angel”.

Hooking your legs around Luke's waist, you curled one hand in his golden hair and the other in the sheets. You rolled you hips, signalling to him that you needed him to move. Slowly and carefully Luke started to thrust into you, groaning when you clenched around him.

“Fuck” he whispered more to himself, but Calum heard.

“Feels good doesn't she? That feeling of holding her close as you pound into her, wet walls clenching just for you. Well, and for me of course. Knowing that the little slut is so needy and desperate, that she would do anything for you. And trust me when I say anything” He caught your eye and winked. “You don't know the half of it Lukey.”

Something about the nickname ignited something in him. Soon Luke was pounding into you, almost as fast as Calum had been earlier, yet somehow he still held you with a gentleness. Looking over at Cal, you knew you needed him, and from the looks of his rock-hard cock which was leaking pre-cum, he needed you too.

“Calum, I need you too. Please. I want to make you feel good, want to make you cum baby.” Without missing a beat, he was in front of you, cock in your mouth thrusting into you in time with Luke. The feeling was that of heaven, but the sounds of both theirs and your moans was that of pure sin itself. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to that edge fro the second time tonight, and evidently Luke could too, as his hand which had rested on your hip, was now sneaking its way between your legs where it had started to rub your clit. With Luke inside you and Calum in your mouth, let alone the feeling of Luke's fingers on your clit mixed with Calum's groans, you scream around Cal as you came harder than you ever had before.

Working you through your orgasm, Calum pulled out and after a couple of pumps came all over your chest as Luke came inside you, eventually pulling out of your over-sensitive pussy.

Catching your breathe you saw Luke smile contently, only to have Calum gather a towel to clean you up.

Unsure of what to do now, Luke decided it would be best to clear his head and take a shower to clean up. Before he could go though, Calum reached out, grabbing his wrist to stop him.

“Where are you going?”

“I'm going to take a shower. Clean up.”

“You didn't think we were done, did you?” Calum raised an eyebrow at Luke.

Luke knew he'd fell from grace, that with them both, he would keep falling. There was only one thought left in his mind; if walls could talk, he hoped they wouldn't say anything. Especially after tonight.

[wontlastimokwiththat]

If these walls could talk

Angel!Luke x human!reader x demon!Calum

Warnings: Smut, Language

Exhausted from a long day of work, Luke trudged down the hall of your shared apartment, headed for his room.

“Oh fuck!” Hearing your soft voice moan made Luke worried something bad could have happened. Without thinking to simply call out, he rushed to your room, opening your bedroom door.

“Oh fuck Calum, that feels so good” you mewled as Calum knelt on the bed behind you, pounding you at a fast pace. Sensing Luke by the door Calum looked up at him, his eyes flashing black as he stopped his movements to smirk at the timid angel.

“Aw angel. Cat got your tongue?” Luke didn't know what to say, what to think. “How about I make this simple for you, you come and join us, and we'll show you a good time”. Calum's smirk grew with that statement, watching as Luke grew more unsure of himself.

He was a fallen angel. He knew he would never be allowed back in heaven, not after what had happened a few years ago, causing him to fall to earth where he met and befriended you, becoming best friends and flatmates soon after. However Calum had always proved a problem, ever since he started dating you. Albeit not the most vile of demons, Cal was still dark as well as a constant dick in general. All Luke wanted in this world was you, yet here was Calum, rubbing it in his face that he could never have you.

Or could he? Yes, he was still an angel, and this was a sin if it wasn't an act of pure love, he couldn't betray heaven again, could he? Getting impatient you start to push yourself back onto Calum's cock, desperately needing release. Watching you so desperate, practically begging Cal to keep fucking you with your soft little moans, Luke made up his mind. Fuck it. He wasn't going to back to heaven, may as well enjoy the sin.

“Can I join you?” His voice was more confident than he felt.

“Fuck yes” Calum grinned, knowing he had just tempted an angel.

Pulling away from Cal, you stalked towards Luke, hooking your arms around his neck and leaning up to whisper in his ear to kiss you. He didn't need to be asked twice. Grabbing behind your thighs, he picked you off the ground, legs around his waist as he kissed you with all the pent up passion he had been holding all these years. When you both ran out of breathe he lay you on the bed, kissing down your body.

“You're so soft and gentle compared to Calum, Lu” you murmured as he kissed your neck.

“You deserve to be worshipped y/n. You're a queen but uncrowned.” You moaned at his soft words, words that coming from an angel felt like heaven itself. Getting impatient, Calum joined you both on the bed.

“How do you want this babe?” The sound of Calum's voice mixed with Luke's kisses caused another involuntary moan to escape your lips.

“I want you in my mouth baby, and I want Luke's mouth on my pussy” Luke froze at your dirty words. Was he actually doing this? Looking up at your soft face, he knew he would do anything for you. Cal chuckled at Luke's concern before gazing intently as the angel kissed his way down your body.

Shuffling into an easier position for the three of you, you lay your head off the bed, ready to take Calum in your mouth as Luke hooked his arms around you thighs, staring at your wet pussy.

“Luke, please. I need you to touch me.” That was all it took for Luke to dive in, lapping at you like his life depended on it. Before you could cry out at the feeling of such intense pleasure, Calum tapped your lips with his cock before pushing into your mouth and slowly thrusting in and out as you swallowed around him. Luke slowly slipped a finger into you, which soon became two fingers, pumping into you whilst sucking your clit, swirling his tongue around it. That mixed with Calum's cock in you mouth had you embarrassingly close.

“I think our little slut is close, angel. If you keep going like that she'll cum.” Smugness mixed with pride laced Calum's voice as he kept fucking your throat.

You couldn't hold back anymore. The mix of Calum in your mouth and Luke's mouth licking and sucking whilst he fingered you was sheer bliss and you came hard, as Luke and Calum kept going, working you through your first orgasm of the night. Breathing heavily, you shrugged the angel and demon off you, needing to catch your breath.

“I think we did well angel, but if you think that was fun, just wait 'til your inside her. Wet walls fucking squeezing you until you think she'll burst, but so needy she keeps going anyway. Why don't you give it a try? See if you can really fuck her, give in to your desires, give her what she wants.” Eyes flashing black again Calum stared at Luke, challenging him, tempting him. And fuck if it didn't turn both of them on.

Luke knew he'd fell from grace, that going down this path he would just keep falling, but the way you rolled your hips whilst staring at him had him ripping his clothes off in record time, ready to give in. Hovering over you, Luke lined himself up at your entrance, staring into your y/c eyes, hardly believing what he was going to do.

Leaning down as if to kiss you, he softly asked. “Ready love?” Even in such a sinful setting, he was still such a sweetheart.That's one of the things you loved about him. You'd kept it a secret since the start, never believing that an angel would like you, never thinking you could love both an angel and a demon, but here you were. Lying naked on your bed, having Luke kiss you so passionately and speak so softly, about to have sex with you, whilst Calum stood there, watching on the sidelines as the angel fell for you further.

“I'm ready, Luke.”

That was all it took. Kissing you gently, Luke eased himself into you. You gasped at his size but moaned when you heard Calum whisper “oh sin again bright angel”.

Hooking your legs around Luke's waist, you curled one hand in his golden hair and the other in the sheets. You rolled you hips, signalling to him that you needed him to move. Slowly and carefully Luke started to thrust into you, groaning when you clenched around him.

“Fuck” he whispered more to himself, but Calum heard.

“Feels good doesn't she? That feeling of holding her close as you pound into her, wet walls clenching just for you. Well, and for me of course. Knowing that the little slut is so needy and desperate, that she would do anything for you. And trust me when I say anything” He caught your eye and winked. “You don't know the half of it Lukey.” Something about the nickname ignited something in him. Soon Luke was pounding into you, almost as fast as Calum had been earlier, yet somehow he still held you with a gentleness.

Looking over at Cal, you knew you needed him, and from the looks of his rock-hard cock which was leaking pre-cum, he needed you too.

“Calum, I need you too. Please. I want to make you feel good, want to make you cum baby.” Without missing a beat, he was in front of you, cock in your mouth thrusting into you in time with Luke. The feeling was that of heaven, but the sounds of both theirs and your moans was that of pure sin itself. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to that edge fro the second time tonight, and evidently Luke could too, as his hand which had rested on your hip, was now sneaking its way between your legs where it had started to rub your clit. With Luke inside you and Calum in your mouth, let alone the feeling of Luke's fingers on your clit mixed with Calum's groans, you scream around Cal as you came harder than you ever had before. Working you through your orgasm, Calum pulled out and after a couple of pumps came all over your chest as Luke came inside you, eventually pulling out of your over-sensitive pussy.

Catching your breathe you saw Luke smile contently, only to have Calum gather a towel to clean you up. Unsure of what to do now, Luke decided it would be best to clear his head and take a shower to clean up. Before he could go though, Calum reached out, grabbing his wrist to stop him.

“Where are you going?”

“I'm going to take a shower. Clean up.”

“You didn't think we were done, did you?” Calum raised an eyebrow at Luke. Luke knew he'd fell from grace, that with them both, he would keep falling. There was only one thought left in his mind; if walls could talk, he hoped they wouldn't say anything. Especially after tonight.

——————

I think Max did such a good job on this! I love it! I hope y’all do too.

[i-choose-the-danger]

The Ticklish Predicament of Mr. Sherlock Holmes

Seeing as today is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s birthday, it feels fitting that I should have finished writing this fic today. I’m sure this global pandemic has prompted many of you to read and write quarantine fics. (and if you’ve found any good ones, sharing is caring so send them my way -_^) I imagine that quarantine in 221B would be quite interesting to say the least. I wanted to write some quick fluff, so here’s my contribution. I hope y’all enjoy it, and please stay safe wherever you are. <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sherlock,” John grumbled with a sigh. He took another slow sip of his tea as he shook out the newspaper in his other hand. “We’ve been over this a thousand times.” 

“Ridiculous,” Sherlock scoffed. He glanced over at his flatmate from the desk. “Don’t exaggerate, John. It doesn’t suit you.” He opened his mouth to speak again, but firmly pressed his lips back together and turned his gaze back to his laptop screen as his fingers resumed their tapping on the keyboard.

“Go ahead then.” John put down both his tea and the paper. He inhaled sharply with his eyes on Sherlock, settling deeper into his chair. “Say it.” He crossed his arms and waited. 

“Say what?” Sherlock’s brows were raised in mock innocence. He knew that the action would irritate John. He didn’t dare make eye contact, but he could picture the look of disgust on John’s face. 

“You know exactly how many times, don’t you?” John knew he’d get an answer whether or not he asked. 

“Thirteen,” was the quiet reply.

“Thirteen… Thirteen bloody times and not a single one of them has gotten through to you!”

“Why are we even discussing this? Once you leave, there’s nothing stopping me from going out that door.” Sherlock caught sight of John’s sudden smirk and it unnerved him. “What?”

“Try it and see what happens.” John glanced to the window closest to him and then back at the detective, who quickly pushed himself from the desk. As Sherlock stomped toward the window, John smiled to himself and waited for what he expected to be quite a tantrum.

“Is that one of Mycroft’s or Lestrade’s?” Sherlock asked through gritted teeth, clutching the curtain in a tight fist and eying a car parked in front of the building.

“You might want to check again, mate.” John smiled a little wider and took another sip of his tea.

“BOTH!?” Sherlock was livid. He never would have missed such easy details on a normal day. His chest suddenly felt heavy. His feet dragged as he paced around the flat.

“And you’ll find another two out back in case you think about sneaking away through Mrs. Hudson’s garden again.” John had relocated to the kitchen. He looked over his shoulder towards the windows. “She’s still furious about the roses you trampled last time, by the way.”

“Oh please, they weren’t exactly thriving. I did her a favor by putting them out of their misery.” The detective clutched his robe and shook it out, as if doing so would alleviate the tightness in his chest. He crossed the room to the coffee table, stepping onto it and then over it to twist himself backwards and collapse across the couch. “I didn’t notice both cars out front. It’s happening, don’t you see?!” He angrily raked both hands through his curls on either side of his head and groaned.

“I see that you’re being ever the dramatic.” He rolled his eyes at Sherlock’s growl. “I could barely get you to leave the flat to go pick up milk without having you throw some sort of tantrum before this, but all of a sudden now you need to go out there in this mess?”

“Damn it, John! I NEED A CASE!” Sherlock screamed, ringing clawed hands. He sat up and pressed his hands together in a praying formation, setting his chin on outstretched thumbs. Resting his index fingers against his nose, he tried to speak more calmly. “I haven’t left the flat in weeks. I haven’t gone on cases. I can’t have experiments brought here. I am bored, John. My brain is starting to rot. I’m slipping.”

“Oh for heaven’s… Sherlock, you haven’t slept in three days. Legally, I could declare you off your nut. If you want to keep it from rotting, go to sleep. Your brain needs rest.” John stood in front of Sherlock and stared down at him with his arms folded. “Look at you. You’ve been moping around like a zombie all week.”

“My brain doesn’t need to rest. It’s been resting since this quarantine started.” Sherlock jumped up from the couch and sidestepped the coffee table to shuffle back to the desk and resume scrolling for cases at his laptop. “It needs work, John. You can deem yourself essential and-”

“I’m a bloody doctor! Of course I’m essential,” John cut in. “Lestrade is an officer of the law. He’s essential. I’m still not even sure what the hell your brother does, but if he’s essential he’s at least not going outside. He hasn’t even stopped by here since the stay-at-home order was set.”

“Thank God for small favors,” Sherlock muttered to himself.

“YOU are not considered an essential worker, so you-”

“How am I not?” Sherlock interjected. “Are there any other consulting detectives out there? Are there other ones that you write ridiculous little blogs about?” he asked, making furious typing motions above his keyboard with his hands. He paused for a rebuttal that didn’t come. “I didn’t think so.”

“Since everything is closed and everyone else is inside because they’re not as daft as you, there hasn’t been an overwhelming need for your expertise.” John moved to the kitchen to rinse his teacup. “That’s why Lestrade has been kind enough to send you some cases to look at until this is all over. He knows what you’re like when this happens. If need be, you can do work from here using your laptop, you stroppy little brat.” 

“Everything he gives me is useless!” Sherlock angrily swiped a finger across the trackpad of his laptop to emphasize the last word. “His people have an amazing talent for noticing everything at a crime scene save for anything of actual value.” 

“Yes, I know. No one else is burdened with a superior intellect like you.” John was quickly losing the last ounces of his patience. He knew that he needed to stay strong. If Sherlock saw so much as a crack in John’s mental armor, John would lose what little control over the man he had left. John busied himself putting away the last of the groceries he’d brought back to the flat, knowing Sherlock wouldn’t do it himself. “I do understand that this is stressful for you and it’s unlike anything we’ve had to deal with. I hate that I’m saying this, but at this point I’m willing to go get you some cigs if it’ll help.” 

“I don’t want patches. I don’t want to smoke. I don’t even want drugs. I. Need. A. CASE!” Sherlock buried his face in his hands and exhaled harshly through his fingers.

“I’ve tried to be nice.” John set a cereal box on a shelf so heavily that the sound echoed. “I tried to be patient.” He slammed the cabinet door shut, cringing when its contents rattled. “So help me, I will tie you to that chair and gag you if I have to. I’m sure Mrs. Hudson would appreciate the peace and quiet, not to mention fewer bullet holes in her wall.”

“Oh, please.” The detective snickered to himself. For all of its amusement, it was never wise to test the limits of John’s patience. It never ended well for Sherlock, but he was too exhausted at the moment to notice just how far he’d gone. “I’d like to see you try,” he muttered under his breath, still clacking away at the laptop keys.

“You know what? That does it.” John stood in the kitchen doorway, pointing a finger at the other man. “If you want to act like a toddler, then I’ll treat you like one.”

“And do what?” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Send me off to my room without dinner? Take away my toys? You most certainly aren’t going to spank me.”

“Oh you really have cracked. You need a nap and if you won’t take one on your own then I’ll just have to tire you out like I do with Rosie.”

“I do not need a nap.” Sherlock continue to scroll through his email until John’s words finally registered in his head. His eyes momentarily widened and he slowly reached for the top of his Macbook to close it without making any sudden movements that would trigger John to react. “It’s nearly 11:30 already. You wouldn’t want to be late for work.” Sherlock calmly stood from the table and eyed the hallway leading to his bedroom. He knew exactly what John was threatening and that he wouldn’t be able to defend himself if he let John get near him.

“See what I mean? You’re so overtired that you can’t even keep track of what day it is. I’m not working today. I told you that I’d stay here today -at the risk of my sanity, mind you- to try to make your day a little less stressful.”

“You told me you’d be staying on Friday.” The curious raise of John’s brows and tightening of his mouth made Sherlock stop and think. With a groan, he raked a hand through his curls. “Christ, it is Friday, isn’t it?”

“Would you care to listen to your doctor now and sleep? I don’t care if you sleep in your bed, on the couch, on the floor, or curled up in your chair like a bloody house cat. Just sleep.” 

“Not tired,” Sherlock grumbled without thinking. 

“Suit yourself, mate.” John took a step toward Sherlock.

And that was the moment that everything went wrong. Sherlock bolted towards his room. He knew that he could outrun John. And he would have, had John not been able to grab a fistful of the back of his dressing gown as he ran by. Sherlock let out a yelp, one which he would deny until he exhaled his last breath. He shot his arms back behind himself and shuffled off the restricting garment before John could get any closer. A few more steps down the hall and Sherlock made it safely to his room, or so he thought. As he spun around to slam his bedroom door closed, his face was only a few inches from John’s. He stepped back to push the door closed, but struggled as his flatmate held the door open from the other side.

“Get off my door! Leave me alone!” Sherlock grunted through his teeth.

“You had plenty of opportunities to not be a dick. You brought this on yourself.” Knowing that Sherlock was too tired to have the strength to hold the door, John gave it one hard push with his good shoulder and knocked the other man off balance enough to fully open it.

“John, this isn’t funny.” Sherlock nervously backed around his bed with his hands held out in defense. 

“That’s alright.” John stalked slowly, a satisfied smile playing at his lips. “You’ll be laughing soon enough.”

“No, I won’t. Whatever you’re thinking won’t work.” Sherlock’s heart was pounding and it annoyed him. John hadn’t even gotten near him and he could already feel his mouth ticking into a smile as a nervous laugh started to form in his chest. 

“Oh really? You always know exactly what I’m gonna do, and you wouldn’t be so panicked unless you knew it would work.” John stepped closer to Sherlock, eying him as prey.

Sherlock glanced back and forth between John and his bedroom door. If he could leap onto his bed with enough force to catapult himself towards the door without losing momentum, it might be possible for him to escape into the hallway. He was so tired that his brain couldn’t process any further plan of action after that. This frustrated the hell out of him. Sherlock didn’t want to acknowledge it, even just in his own mind, but he knew John was physically stronger than he was and that he’d be in serious trouble once John got his hands on him. 

Sherlock made a perfect jump onto his bed despite how tired he was, but failed to calculate in how far John could reach from his position at the foot of the bed despite his short stature. Sherlock felt a hand grip his ankle, yanking his leg backward and causing him to faceplant into his mattress with a very annoyed, “OOF!” He was immediately dragged backward to the center of his bed, his hands haphazardly clawing at his blankets. As hard as he kicked and twisted his leg, he couldn’t get free. The mattress dipped behind him. The realization that his soon-to-be attacker had now climbed onto the bed sent Sherlock into a mild panic. “No!” Sherlock cleared his throat and attempted to sound calm. “I mean no, John. Stop it. You’ve made your point.” If Sherlock hated anything more than not being in control of his own body, it was losing that control in front of others, especially John. 

“If I had, then you would have gone to bed hours ago instead of argue.” John knelt one leg over the backs of both of Sherlock’s upper legs, effectively pinning him face-down. “Besides, this’ll help us both.”

“What?! How?!” Sherlock tried to reach out behind himself to grab onto John, but the doctor was smarter than he gave him credit for and had learned how to keep himself just out of reach. “Assaulting me won’t help either of us.”

“You’ll finally allow yourself to sleep, and I’ll get some peace and quiet.” John reached out a hand and gently scratched and spidered fingers on Sherlock’s back, in between the shoulder blades. A muffled squeak left the detective’s lips as his shoulder blades shook and knitted together. “Any last words?” John asked, amusement in his voice.

“Shit…” Sherlock immediately scrambled to crawl off the bed. His body seized as a pair of hands gripped his upper ribs. His energy was nearly nonexistent and he didn’t have enough strength to free himself. “Get off! Getoffgetoffgetoff!” Sherlock barked, his voice sounding slightly higher than normal. He was far too stubborn to give John the satisfaction of hearing him laugh. His arms had been clutched to his sides to protect them from John’s attack, but they left his neck unprotected. At the same time, Sherlock felt a set of fingers flutter at one side of his neck while another set scratched right where his neck met his shoulder on the other side. It would later be heavily debated whether or not the stoic detective let out a squeal. Sherlock immediately scrunched his shoulders. His hands reflexively flew up to his neck to swat his best friend’s fingers away… exactly as John planned. 

“Some people never learn.” John’s hands shot into the hollows under Sherlock’s arms and his fingers started to scratch, causing their victim to react instantly. Sherlock slammed his arms back down at his sides and screamed, his body jolting as if he’d just been electrocuted. “And what was your plan here? I mean if my hands are trapped here, I guess they’ll just have to wiggle around until they’re free.” John’s fingers scratched quicker and harder until their captor released them, allowing them to resume their attack freely elsewhere.

“Quihihihit it!” The only thing Sherlock could do was try to preserve what was left of his dignity by burying his face in his palms while ten fingers danced their way in between each of his rib bones down to his stomach. “John! Stohohohop. This is childihihihish-sh-sh-sh.” Quiet tired giggles sounded from behind his hands. 

“Aww, you poor lamb. I think someone’s getting sleepy.”

“Piss off!” Sherlock clutched one of his pillows and repeatedly tried to swat John hard enough to get him to let go. Unfortunately, his lack of energy and focus made his aim completely abysmal. John was able to duck away from every swing. Sherlock’s pajamas had become terribly twisted around his waist and his tee shirt had ridden halfway up his torso. Without thinking, Sherlock shifted his body so that he was lying on his back in an attempt to set his clothing right. He instantly regretted his actions as John straddled across his lap. “Jesus, no no no! John, please! I cahahahan’t.” Sherlock’s hands instinctively tried to grab onto John’s wrists. Staying awake for three days straight and barely eating had completely impaired his coordination and allowed John to easily avoid being caught.

“You should have thought about that before being an annoying little shit.” John switched tactics and decided to randomly attack different places. He would wiggle his fingers in between each rib. He would all of a sudden shoot both hands under Sherlock’s arms. He would poke around Sherlock’s stomach. John would never stay on one spot for more than a few seconds at a time.

“Aaahhahaha! You sadihihihist!” Sherlock’s eyes were squeezed shut so tightly that he could see colors. He tried desperately to launch himself into his mind palace, and might have succeeded had John not found his death spot. The instant fingers had scrunched into his hip bones, Sherlock’s mind palace crumbled to bits. He shrieked. “Johnjohnjohnnononoohmygohohohohod!” he sputtered. With every scratch and poke into his hips, Sherlock’s words became less coherent, turning into nothing more than jumbled hysterical laughter. He bucked and arched his back with such force that John had to move beside him to prevent himself from being hurled right off the bed. 

“You know, I think I’ll just have to keep right on this spot.” John knew that Sherlock couldn’t handle much more. He couldn’t help laughing at his victim’s reactions. He’d never heard Sherlock laugh so freely. His sleepy giggles were almost childlike and John loved every second of them.

“Christ, pleaheheHEESE!” John had thankfully moved his hands away from Sherlock’s hips, but unfortunately chose to poke and taser his abdomen instead. Sherlock rolled onto his side and buried his face into the blanket that had bunched up during his struggling. It was the only thing he could think to muffle the embarrassing giggles and squeals coming out of him. His pride didn’t want him to give in to John, but his body was begging for peace now that his nervous system was severely overstimulated. Sherlock weakly slapped his hand down on the mattress a few times before his arm went completely limp. “I s-s-surrender.” His voice was hoarse. He was so tired that his lisp had become more prominent than he’d been comfortable with and he couldn’t control it. His assailant’s hands were still clawing at his sides. “Johohohon! Jaaawn.” Sherlock didn’t even have enough energy to laugh anymore, even though his body was still shaking and his cheeks were still scrunched from smiling.

“Have we learned our lesson, then?” John stilled his hands and leaned over, waiting for an answer. When he heard no response, he called out again. “Sherlock?” He lifted the blanket off of Sherlock’s face. “Are you not speaking to… oh.” John looked over Sherlock’s shoulder to see his cheek scrunched against the pillow, a tangle of dark matted curls over his eyes, and he heard a gentle snore coming from his slightly open mouth. “Works every time,” John laughed to himself, climbing off the bed and grabbing the blanket. He shook the covering and fanned it out so that it came down over Sherlock. Tucking it around the sleeping detective’s shoulder, he smiled. “Good night, you daft brat.”

[heyyyharry]

Chapter 10: Darlings

(from the Flatmate Trilogy: Two Hearts, One Home)

…in which Harry is excited but Y/N is worried.

Word count: 4.4k

Chapter 9: Three’s A Crowd - Harry learns a big lesson, and Y/N cannot tolerate his assistant.

Wattpad link

A/N: Please enjoy and spam my inbox. - Allie.

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Y/N was pregnant.

The doctor had confirmed it. A pregnancy test stick had confirmed it. The morning sickness had confirmed it. So it was official. She was now positively pregnant.

Before all of this, she had been devastated and almost depressed thinking she and Harry might not have children of their own. Now that the universe had given them one, she fell into a state where she was constantly afraid and anxious. She'd blame it on the hormones and the way her body was changing. The baby was probably not even...a baby yet, and she had already come up with a bunch of different scenarios where she turned out to be an awful parent. It was not until now that she realized how strong her sister had been for bringing up baby Eleanor on her own. Y/N was lucky to have a loving husband, her family, and supportive friends by her side.

"HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!!!"

Harry burst right through the door. He had just got back from work, still in his suit, and his face was white. But what he found was just Y/N and Layla sitting on the bed, blinking at him.

"Who just screamed?!"

"Layla did," said Y/N with a beam. "I just told her the news."

"I cannot believe I'm about to be a godmother!" Layla punched the air and then drop her smile to give Harry a questioning look. "Wait...why are you holding a frying pan?"

Y/N was in hysterics when her husband lowered his frying pan and rolled his eyes. "I didn't have time to choose my weapon when I heard you scream. I thought my babies were hurt."

"Ew?!"

"Not you, Layla. I meant Y/N and our actual baby."

Layla ignored him and turned back to Y/N. "He's gonna be using plural nouns from now on, isn't he?"

"He's been doing that since the doctor visit." Y/N gave her best friend a shrug and automatically lifted her face for Harry to kiss. Layla sighed in contentment as she watched them.

"I'm so excited for you guys and also for me! When I was little, I always wanted to be Cinderella and now, I, Layla Scott, is about to be the fairy godmother."

"Who says anything about—" All it took was one fierce glare from Layla for Harry to change his opinion in a heartbreak. "Yes! You're gonna be the best godmother! No doubt!"

"I'm sorry baby Styles," Layla leaned down and whispered to Y/N's nonexistent baby bump. "Your daddy's a fake."

"Well, your aunt Layla's a bully."

"Godmother! Ugh!"

Smirking as Layla jokingly flipped him off, Harry dropped his head to give Y/N a few more pecks, one hand under her chin, the other on her belly. "I'm gonna take a shower now. You ladies have fun without me."

"Don't worry," Layla gave him a lopsided grin. "We always have fun without you."

"Dick."

"Pussy."

"Real mature guys. I can totally see myself trusting you two with this child." Y/N snorted as Harry walked out with his 'weapon' after giving Layla a mocking face.

"Love you, darlings," he said. "And that plural noun doesn't include Layla!"

"Thank you, asshole!" Layla shouted at the closed door, making Y/N laugh even harder.

"He's very excited," Y/N said now that her husband was gone. Though smiling, the girl was subconsciously fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. And even such a little action couldn't get past Layla's eyes.

"What's wrong with you? Why are you upset?"

"What? I'm not!" Y/N scrunched up her face. "I'm perfectly fine."

"You don't look fine though. You blink a lot when you lie."

"I do not!"

"Here she goes again." Layla scoffed. "I don't get it though. You're finally pregnant. Harry's falling more in love with you, I didn't think it was possible, but I was just proven wrong." She stuck out her bottom lip and lifted her shoulders. "So maybe instead of looking constipated the second he turns away, you should be happy."

"I'm not unhappy, I'm just..." Y/N paused to search for the right word and then went with, "worried." Taking a deep breath, she continued, "what if I'm a terrible mother? What if Harry's the favorite parent and I'm the one my kid lies to and keeps secrets from? What if we're both terrible and our kid hates us?!"

"The kid's not even in there yet and you're already freaking out about him or her going through puberty?" Layla breathed as her eyes rolled upward. "Look, I don't hit pregnant women. But I'll slap the shit out of you if you say that again, ya hear me? This isn't you talking. This is the pregnancy hormones. Your anxiety isn't real, okay?" Quickly, she grabbed Y/N's shoulders and signaled the girl to copy her as she inhaled deeply and let go of that breath.

"Feel better?" she grinned. Y/N nodded once, looking less uneasy now. "Good. Just know that we're all here for you. You're gonna be fine."

As it turned out, Layla was right.

Soon the weekend arrived, and the young couple had grown used to the new rhythm of their life. Y/N had been paying more attention to her diet and taking vitamins regularly, so she didn't feel as terrible as she had for the first few days. This morning, Harry had a meeting with a client, so he wasn't there when she woke up. He'd left her breakfast on the kitchen table with a note saying he loved her and would miss her terribly until he came home. After everything that'd happened to them, he was making more effort to make sure she knew how much she meant to him. It began to feel like those college days again, and she wanted to enjoy it while it lasted.

"Nope, I won't do it!"

"I'll pay you."

"You haven't even paid me for catsitting Tiger!"

Y/N brought Treasure toward Nam's desk and couldn't help but overhear his little argument with Stephanie. While the blonde was rambling on, Nam seemed pretty annoyed. That wasn't at all surprising, because Stephanie's only talent besides being a bitch, was being an annoying bitch. Y/N supposed it was mean to think about her neighbor like that. But that woman deserved to be called a bitch after all the things she'd said and done.

"Y/N!" Stephanie grabbed Y/N by the arm the second she saw her. "Tell him to babysit my niece for me!"

"Oh, now you're gonna drag Y/N into this?" Nam laughed wryly as he took the white cat from Y/N's arms. "Even if you promised me a fortune, the answer would still be no. I already know I wouldn't get a single penny from you. At least Treasure's parents pay me well."

Treasure meowed softly as he stroked her head. "Do you agree, my little furry baby? Tiger's parents are stingy white people, aren't they?"

Stephanie rolled her eyes as she crossed her arms. "Well, cats, children, they're all the same."

"Well, thank God, you're not a mother." That was meant to be an insult, but Nam had unintentionally given Stephanie a new idea.

Her eyes lit up as she turned to Y/N. "Since you're about to be a parent, would you like some practice?"

"Oh, no! Leave Y/N alone!"

Stephanie completely ignored Nam as she went on before Y/N could say anything. "Don't worry, my niece's a good kid. Her parents go away on business trips all the time so she's very independent. All you need to do is to keep an eye on her until her mum picks her up."

"How old is she?"

"Y/N, you're not actually considering this!" Nam cried out.

Y/N gave him a shrug as she pursed her lips. "Tomorrow's Sunday, so why not? And I'm also good with kids."

"That's the spirit!" Stephanie smacked her on the arm, causing the poor girl to flinch. "She's five. The sweetest five-year-old you'll ever meet! Her name is Darling."

Y/N saw Nam hug Treasure and turn away as he muttered something, probably cursing Stephanie. But this time, it wasn't Stephanie's fault. Y/N simply thought this was a great opportunity for her and Harry to practice being parents. It was never too soon to get prepared for such a big change in their life.

Besides, with a name like Darling, the girl must be an angel. Now Y/N couldn't wait to talk to her husband about their new plan for Sunday.

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.

.

"Babe, I still think you're really overthinking this."

"I'm not," Y/N shouted from the living room as she checked her watch. "Would you just hurry up?! We're gonna be late."

"Relax! They literally live just across the hall!" he said and finally stumbled out of their bedroom.

She stared at him, lifting an eyebrow in amusement. "Why are you carrying your laptop?"

"I gotta check my emails." He chuckled and pressed his lips to her temple. "Come on, babe. Let's go fake-parenting."

Laughing, she reached out to hold his hand.

They had never been in Mason and Stephanie's flat and had never intended to set foot in there, unless it was the only safe place in a zombie apocalypse. So when they entered 'the devil's home' for the very first time, their jaws nearly dropped to the floor.

The place was much cleaner and tidier than they'd imagined. Harry had often joked about his cousin's flat looking like a porn movie set, with sex toys hanging on the walls and adult magazines lying all over the place. At least that was how he imagined porn movie sets would look like. However, the flat was actually decent. Y/N amused herself with the thought that, those who had never met Mason and Stephanie would think they were a basic white couple named Kevin and Barbara, who baked cookies and went to church every Sunday. Lesson learned: never judge a book by its cover.

As Y/N went into the kitchen to check what Stephanie had left for them in the fridge, Harry made himself comfortable on the couch (after having made sure there wasn't a cum stain on it) and opened his laptop. They waited for about fifteen minutes when the doorbell rang, and Y/N rushed to it with a big smile on her face. She opened the door and was greeted by a tall woman slightly older than her.

"Hi! You must be Mary!"

"And you must be Y/N, the babysitter!" The lady returned a smile as she fixed her bucket hat that covered most of her bobbed blonde hair. Then, she turned back to call her daughter who was still idling in front of the lift. "Darling, come here, baby!"

The five-year-old pouted as she crossed her arms and waddled toward her mother and Y/N. She was as adorable as the image Y/N had created in her mind, with big bright eyes and brown straight hair that fell right past her tiny shoulders. The ladybug backpack she was wearing was too big for her body that it made her look even smaller. She could be the baby girl Y/N had always wanted. But then again, she shouldn't be. The girl might look like an angel, her attitude, however, said the opposite. Her little round face contorted as she shot Y/N a spiteful glare. Why?! They had only just met!

"Hello, Darling." Y/N crouched down with both hands on her knees despite the unwelcoming reaction. "My name's Y/N. And that—" she pointed at Harry who raised his hand and gave the child a wave "—is my husband, Harry. We're your babysitters for today!"

Darling looked at Y/N, and then Harry, and then back to Mary. She repeated that one more time before telling her mother, "please pick me up on time, mummy. Don't leave me too long with these strangers."

The mother gave a startled Y/N an apologetic grin before turning back to the child. "Of course," she said. "But you gotta promise to be nice and listen to Y/N and Harry, okay?"

Darling looked annoyed as she crossed her arms, still, she replied with a nod, said goodbye to her mum and followed Y/N into the living room.

"Okay." Y/N breathed as she shut the door. "Why don't we just start by getting to know each other?"

Darling shrugged off her backpack and spoke with a straight face, "I want to color."

"Oh, okay." As Y/N plastered a smile on her face, Harry was biting his knuckles so he wouldn't crack up. "I'll get us some paper and we'll color together—"

"I said I, not we."

"Wow..." Y/N heard her husband say, but she was too stunned to react. The kid hadn't broken that intense eye contact with her that made her feel extremely uncomfortable.

She swallowed hard, nodding her head. "S-sure. Why don't you wait on that couch with Harry?"

Darling didn't reply and dragged her backpack toward the couch to sit on the other end, as far away from Harry as she could. Now that his wife had left, Harry thought he should start a conversation to get to know this child. But before he could come up with anything to say, Darling was the one who broke the silence.

"Why do you wear so many rings? Are you married to many women?"

"No!" The man laughed, his eyebrows pulled together. He didn't know why he was nervous talking to this five-year-old when he'd never found it hard to speak to a girl before (Y/N had been a special case). He stuttered for a moment before adding to his answer, "this is my wedding band, see?" He showed her his ring finger, smiling proudly. "This is the only ring that matters."

He thought she would react in a different way, a more childlike and positive one. However, what he got was a hardened expression that seemed like she was silently judging him.

"Are you lying because you think I'm a child so I don't know what cheating is?"

He arched an eyebrow in doubt. "Do you know what cheating is?"

"Yeah, aunt Steph taught me that word," she said casually. "Cheating is when a husband or a wife sleeps with another person that's not their wife or husband."

"Jesus Christ!" His eyes widened as he straightened his back. "She taught you that?!"

"Yeah." Darling nodded once. "But I think she's wrong, because what if you want to have a sleepover with your friends? You have no choice but to sleep with them, right?"

"Right." He chuckled nervously.

Y/N soon returned with some paper, and Harry didn't think he'd ever felt so relieved. Talking to that girl was like being interrogated by the police. He'd never been interrogated by the police before, but in his imagination, this could probably be worse. He took advantage of Darling being distracted by her paper and crayons to drag Y/N to the kitchen, telling her to keep her voice down.

"Harry, we are not having sex while there's a kid in the other room!"

Her reaction made him chuckle as he held her arms. "Who says anything about sex?"

"I'm not sucking your dick either."

"I may be horny for you all the time, but I know my limits. I'm only here to tell you that the child scares me."

"Don't you think it's a little too late for that?" she asked, pointing to her belly.

"No, I mean Darling!"

"You mean what?"

He exhaled and rolled his eyes, but still found the little misunderstanding hilarious. "I was talking about Darling, the little girl."

"Just call her 'the little girl' from now on to avoid confusion."

"Got it." He snorted and proceeded to tell her about their previous conversation in the living room, adding, "I haven't seen her smile, isn't that strange?"

Y/N gave him a shrug. "Maybe she's a mini Wednesday Addams."

"Maybe she's a mini Layla."

"Okay, that's funny."

Harry tried to look as serious as he sounded but his own joke amused him. Smirking, he went on, "I bet she's out there drawing a picture of the two of us with our heads cut off."

"Harry, you're overreacting. She's only a baby," Y/N said and kissed him on the cheek.

Other than being an emo five-year-old, Darling was actually a good kid. She had been quiet the entire time while working on her drawings. She was using a lot of red, which reminded Y/N of what Harry had said earlier, and now she was afraid to see what those 'works of art' were about.

Soon it was lunch and Darling stopped coloring as she told Y/N she was hungry. Y/N wanted to be a good soon-to-be-mother, so she asked her husband to play with Darling while she made some sandwiches for the three of them.

"No, wait, I'll do it!"

Before Y/N could protest, Harry had already dashed into the kitchen. She knew he couldn't cook to save his life but didn't want to fight him on this, so she sat back on the couch and let him be their chef. It would take forever until they had something to eat if at all. So while waiting, Y/N used Harry's laptop to go on YouTube. Just when she thought she could finally relax and watch some funny cat compilations, Darling's loud squeal made her head turn shot up.

"What happened, dear?" Y/N put down the laptop and came to see what was wrong.

The little girl stuck out her bottom lip, her eyes welled up as she held the red crayon now broken in half in her little palm. Y/N squatted on the floor with her elbows on her knees as she gave Darling a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry, you can still color with that."

"It's broken."

"Yeah but..." Y/N took the two halves, each in one hand. "Now you have two red crayons."

"Half a crayon doesn't make a new crayon."

"Who told you that?" Y/N asked, her eyebrows rose.

Darling pursed her tiny heart-shaped lips as she thought for a moment. She was probably trying to decide if she should tell Y/N what she'd never told anyone. Eventually, she confessed, "aunt Steph told mummy that mummy and daddy's marriage was a broken crayon. You can still color with it, but it'll make the picture ugly and messy."

Y/N was frozen by those words. A little girl should not have heard something like that about her parents, ever. Feeling a big lump in her throat, she tried to search for the right thing to say to Darling. It was only then that she looked around at the paintings scattered on the carpet. They weren't what she and Harry had assumed. They were just awful, messy, childish drawings of what any child would view as a happy family. Darling had used a lot of red to draw the hearts. There were so many hearts surrounding her, her mother and her dad. She'd even used that red color to cross out the face of another woman standing in the background, who, Y/N believed, was her father's mistress. That explained why she'd thought Harry was cheating. Her dad had done it, maybe all the men would too.

"Here." Y/N picked up one half of the red crayon as she sat down, crossing her legs. To Darling's confusion, she took a new sheet of paper and began to draw.

She'd been told by her niece Eleanor and Jamie, the boy she used to babysit during college, that she was good at drawing. That was what she loved about children. You didn't have to give it your best shot and they would still think you were extraordinary, simply because you were an adult. And she was right. Darling's mouth had formed an 'o' shape as her eyes followed every single movement of the crayon sliding across the paper. She was in awe to see Y/N quickly sketch a house with a nice garden, the fences, some trees, even a swimming pool. Y/N finished her 'masterpiece' with a family of two, a little cat, and an arrow pointing to the woman's belly as she wrote down the word 'BABY'.

"So this..." She sighed happily now that her work was done. "This is my family," she said, pointing to the picture. "This is Harry, this is me, and you can't see the baby because the baby's in my belly."

"Does your house look like this?" Darling asked, her eyes went round. It was the first time Y/N had seen her act like an actual five-year-old. And there was something so endearing about that. This was when Y/N's maternal instinct kicked in, she felt her heart flutter in a way that she'd only experienced when she was with Harry.

"Nah, we live right across the hall," she told Darling. "But this is our dream house."

"Why don't you buy it? It has a pool and everything!"

"We'll buy it someday. Right now, we want to stay here to be close to work and to our friends."

Darling clasped both hands in front of her chest. "Can I come visit when you finally buy this house?"

"Sure, love." Y/N nodded and handed her one half of the crayon. "Wanna draw yourself in?"

"Can I?!" she exclaimed with excitement, smiling from ear to ear. That was the first smile to be seen on her, and Y/N felt so proud knowing she was the reason for it.

"Sure, babe. You can put yourself next to me and the baby."

Harry finally returned with three (slightly burnt, but still edible) grilled cheese sandwiches. After having struggled in the kitchen for half an hour, he was now considering signing himself up for a cooking class so he wouldn't depend too much on his pregnant wife. But maybe he'd save this talk for later, because his mind went blank the moment he saw his wife...laughing with mini Layla.

"H-hey guys," he spoke, catching the girls' attention. "What...what are you guys doing?"

"Darling drew a picture of us. Wanna see?"

"Is my head still attached to my body?"

"Harry!"

"Alright, alright. Coming."

He put the plate down on the table and sat down with the girls on the floor. His reaction was the same one as Y/N had before when he saw what Darling had been drawing the entire time. It was far different from the horrendous scenario he'd painted in his head.

Excited, the girl stood up and raised her artwork to show it to her two audiences. "So this is you, this is Y/N, this is the baby. I made it a girl because I want a little sister."

Harry chuckled but Y/N shushed him so Darling could finish her presentation, "and this is me, the babysitter."

"She volunteered to be our babysitter," Y/N told her husband before he could ask.

"Told ya she's a mini Layla," said Harry as he waggled his eyebrows, making Y/N giggle and pushed him away.

For the rest of the afternoon, things had gotten much better for Harry and Y/N. They played a few games (that was how Harry discovered he gave great piggyback rides) and did some more coloring. Since Harry had accidentally ruined one picture by coloring outside the lines, the girls threatened to take away his crayons, but eventually agreed to let him color the insignificant details like the trees and the flowers in the background. Honestly, that was the most therapeutic activity he'd done in a long time. He didn't even bother to check his emails and chat with his clients and employees. All he cared about was this happy moment with his wife and their play-pretend family of three.

In nine months, this all would be real.

.

.

.

"I told you it'd be worth it," Y/N said contently as she followed Harry into their flat.

Darling had just left with her mum, who had been so surprised when her daughter appeared with a massive grin and showed her the picture she'd drawn with half a crayon. Y/N hoped Mary had understood and would try to do better for her little daughter. That was what that child deserved.

"I love to see you so happy," said Harry as he hugged her from behind, kissing the spot right below her ear as she held his face. "Told you you'd be a great mum. You've been acting like my mum since the first day we met."

She rolled her eyes, a corner of her mouth turned up. "I just realized that the personality of the child depended a lot on her parents' relationship."

"That's right." He nodded, holding her stomach with both hands. "Our baby's gonna be an angel, because we're in love. I love you, you love me, we're a happy family."

"I can't have a deep and serious talk with you if you keep quoting lyrics from Barney & Friends, H."

"You're so lame. Our baby would've loved that." He scrunched up his nose and tilted his head to kiss the corner of her mouth. Then, he brightened. "Hey, I think the name Darling is very cute and unique. Let's name our baby something similar, like Honey. Baby Honey sounds so cute!"

She raised an eyebrow at him, lips pressed together as she tried to contain her laughter.

"No? Okay, I'll come up with something else. But I will not give our baby some basic names like Kevin or Barbara."

She froze. "Wait, how d'you..."

"Did I say something wrong?" He gave her a confused smile as he didn't get why she seemed so shocked.

Y/N slowly shook her head and kissed the dimple on his cheek. "I almost forgot that we were like the same person sometimes. Is it weird that I want to marry you again?"

"Not at all. I would do it all over again with you." He beamed, holding her tighter. "Don't worry, love. I promise that I will be the most responsible father and role model—

"Harold!" Mason's voice on the other side of the door interrupted Harry at once. "Harold, I have your laptop!"

"Shit, my laptop!"

"Let's see what kind of porn you have in here!"

"Fuck you, Mason! Give it back right now!"

Y/N hadn't said a word but Harry had already chased his cousin down the hallway. With a gentle smile, she stared at the open door and said to their baby, as if it'd already been there, "we'll give your daddy another try tomorrow."

[ukthxbye]

Three-word-prompts: weary, telenovela, comfort (sherlolly). Please?

Here is it :)

on ao3

“You have a cold, Molly,”

“I’m fine,” she sniffled. And then proceeded to sneeze five times with a cough to follow.

“No, you are not. Home,” he commanded, turning her from the direction of her office, with a hand on her back directing her path.

“Sherlock really…”

“Don’t try it. You’re going home.”

Too weary to argue, she walked with him outside, texting her superior. She fell half asleep in the cab, leaned against the window its coolness made her headache lessen.

“Thank you, Sherlock, I think I can manage now,” she managed, struggling for her keys in her pocket at her door.

He reached around her, used his own to open the door and ushered her inside and to the sofa. He pushed her shoulders down, and she complied, sinking into the comfort of being home.

Shrugging his coat off and then his suit jacket, he hung them near her door and strode to her kitchen without a word.

Loud rifling through her pantry and refrigerator and a loud grunt were all she heard before he came around back into the sitting room, exasperation evident.

“It seems you and I have much in common.”

“How?” she asked, dabbing her nose with a new tissue.

He rolled his eyes for a moment but it was not at the question. “Neither of us believe in the concept of keeping actual food in our homes. Though yours is bereft of spare parts for experiments which would have helped with the eventual boredom.”

She pulled her chin into her neck, confused, “I don’t do those things at home”

“But I am staying here to help and eventually you’ll sleep and I’ll get bored.”

“No you don’t have to stay, Sher–er…achoo!”

“Mmmhhmm”  is all he answered. “I am going to the chemist, I’ll be back”

“No I ‘ate how mets make pheel,” she murmured out with a very stuffy nose, before blowing it loudly.

“No matter. You need them.  Be back in a few,” he smiled as he slipped on his coat and stepped out her door.

She scrolled social media her phone for while waiting for him. She wondered why this was longer than just a trip to the chemist. She almost started looking up delivery for food, quite sure he got caught on a case. But she had switched over to Youtube and was watching funny cat videos when she heard the key in her door.

He placed an armload of items on the counter and she eased up off the sofa to look at his haul.

Boots meds in one bag that she rummaged through.

As stuffy as her nose was, a wonderful smell permeated it as he began opening containers. “Pho. Best cold cure I know,” he grinned as he searched for bowls in her cabinet. He found two large glass ones and she was too hungry and exhausted to inform him they were mixing bowls. Corner of her lips curled, watching him carefully assemble the soup and noodles and meat. He added so much chili sauce her the bowls she paused.

“Um I like spicy but–”

“It will clear your head, its worth the pain I promise,” he chuckled, setting a bowl of steaming pho in front of her.

“Sit, eat, now,” he directed, setting his own bowl beside hers.

“Water?”

“Yes, good idea” He gets them both a large glass of water.

They sat in quiet, slurping their soup and gulping water to quench the fire. She would have stuffed a tissue up her nose if she was by herself but decided against it in his presence. Her nose ran constantly but he didn’t seem to notice. He typed on his phone while slurping up a noodle.

“If you need to, you know, you got a case or anything…” she spoke softly, “I’ll be good, really”

“I can solve these from my phone, they are barely a 4,” he sniffed.

She swallowed hard, asking “Why are you doing this?”

He cocked his head, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. “We are friends,” he breathed out quickly and then tipped his bowl up to drink the last of his broth.

She didn’t look at him but smiled to herself as she finished the last of hers. Her head felt much clearer and she could breathe out one side of her nose at least.

He moved to the sofa, slipping his shoes off. “I am here for the day to make sure you get well,” he grinned.

One part of her logical brain thought he wanted a favor but the weary part of her mind accepted maybe he is just being nice for once and also maybe he is a bit lonely today. She knows John is on holiday after all.

“I’m going to get into something more comfortable, “ she advised, then realized too late the typical nature of those words as her cheeks coloured. “I MEAN… just some comfy, baggy pyjamas…and a robe probably.”

He appeared to take no notice of the slip, his face remained neutral.

“I wish I could join you,” he started, and added quickly “With the comfy clothes that is, of course.”

She turned her head to hide her awkward smirk. “I think you have a pair of pyjamas still here actually.”

“Ah”

“I’ll bring them in here for you if you want to change…that is if you are staying tonight.” She kept her head turned away, emptying her pockets onto the side table near her as an excuse not look at him.

“That may be the plan yes. We’ll see how you feel.”

She nodded and retreated to her room.

She found her favorite pajama bottoms and an old well-worn uni t-shirt. Big fuzzy dressing gown soothed her as the symptoms started to come back. She shuffled back to the couch, his neatly folded pyjamas in hand.

She flopped into her usual spot.

He was standing the kitchen, preparing tea and a fresh glass of water.

“Here drink this, and take these pills, “ he advised, handing her the water while setting down her tea.

She watched his pause, hand on the pyjamas, before he grabbed them up and went down the hall without a word, she presumed to change. She turned on the telly and found the channel she always looked for when she was sick.

Well, this is a helluva thing, she thought to herself. If she had a fever, she would assume this was all a hallucination, a fevered dream. But she knew the warmth she felt as he returned to join her on the sofa was not virally provoked.

Her robe suddenly became too toasty as he sat near her.

“I don’t want to make you sick, Sherlock,” she attempted to warn without conveying her awareness of his nearness.

He rolled his eyes a bit and gave her a side glance “I am already exposed and you know this. Hardly worth worrying about now.”

She felt her head start to ache again and closing her eyes, she laid her head against the back of the sofa near his shoulder  

He stared in silence at the television for a few moments, arms folded.

“Is this really what you want to watch?”

She cracked an eye open, searching his face for a moment before answering.

“I had a flatmate in uni from Mexico. We both got the flu one week and took care of each other. We found a channel showing telenovelas and just watched them the whole time we were sick.”

She shrugged, “Since then I like to watch them when I don’t feel good.”

“It’s the same drivel as our own television, only more colors and a different language”

“Mmhmm still like it anyway,” she murmured, the medicine starting to take its effect and ease her headache.

Soon she was asleep.

Her head shifted to his shoulder and in her sleep she settled into it, her hand landing near his. She snored softly but that was to be expected, and he ignored it.

He stiffened at the contact when her head fell into his arm, but relaxed letting her cuddle up close with no protest.

He wanted to throw his arms up that the detective in the show still has not solved the murder after an hour but he stayed still to let her sleep. But soon his arm became tingly and as he shifted he forgot to make sure she stayed upright. Her head slid down his arm and before he could catch her, she shifted in her sleep.

Now her head was laying on his thigh, and her hand on his knee. He froze in place, unsure whether to move over and let her head fall to the sofa. But he was trying to keep up with the story as well. He grabbed the pillow next to him and slipped it under her head instead, she seemed settled and sleeping peacefully. He knew this was the best medicine, despite the brief moment of thoughts and sentiment he felt watching her laying there.

And he recorded in his mind every millimeter of her face in sleep for his room for her in his mind palace without even realizing it. He pushed away those musings and focused on the inane but distracting storyline on the telly.

So there she slept for another hour.

His own weariness, or perhaps it was boredom, he found no interest in the repeating storylines. He stared down Molly, sleeping quietly. He followed the compulsion to move her hair from her face, after all, it might bother her in her sleep he reminded himself. He ignored that little quake in his chest as his fingers gently moved the chestnut strands behind her ear. He restrained reaction as she shifted once more in her sleep. He only thought of her comfort, which was a new process he found oddly relieving.

He wanted to lay his head down; he had found her sofa quite comfortable before for sleep. But he didn’t know what to do with her. In more than one way, he thought to himself. He resigned himself to the position he was in and let his mind slip off into slumber, his head leaned back on the sofa.

When she woke for a few minutes late in the night, she wondered if she indeed was feverish.

Laying down, her head rested on his arm, and she found her eyes focusing on the gray t-shirt he chose to sleep in. She risked looking up to see his stubbled chin.

He was holding her tight to him, and she gulped at the realization her arm was laying across his side rising and falling with his slow breathing.

When did this happen? Was this the meds? She ran her thoughts in circles but she knew he was not sick, he was under no influence. Something unconscious happened. But it felt too good for her to ruin it now.

Maybe I should have colds more often. Enjoy it and let the morning bring what it brings, she reminded herself as she snuggled in his arms, and he returned it in his sleep.

[upthenorthmountain]

karis-the-fangirl replied to your post “1, 2 Flatmates, I forgot the number but the 'some things people don't...”

������ I am dying to see the non epistle version!

Oh, what the hell (I was going to send it just to you but then I thought why not post it, no point hoarding it) (some parts are the same as in the finished story and some parts I reworked, well you’ll see)

It was dark by the time Christopher Beaumont reached the village hall. He winced as he stepped down from the cart to tie up his horse - the end of another long day, and his left knee always told him when it was time to stop work. And now they expected him to look after a kid as well. Maybe it was not entirely coincidental that he was over an hour late, and with any luck they wouldn’t have anyone left.

The village hall was still unlocked, however, and when he opened the door he found a lamp on inside, behind the thick blackout curtains. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he heard a woman say “Here you are, dear, here’s Mr Beaumont. I told you we’d find someone for you!”

----

It had been a long day - the longest Anna Rendell could ever remember, probably. She’d met her class at the school at seven, and then they’d all walked in long crocodiles to the train station, with Miss Hope the Headmistress at the front of the line. Each class had got onto a different train, and she’d been constantly counting heads to make sure she hadn’t lost anybody. When the train had pulled out of the station the children had been excited, waving and calling to their parents, but it wasn’t long before there had been a few tears.

And after that train journey, an hour playing endless games of I Spy at a little country station; then another hour and a half on a slow stopping train; then a bus had picked them all up, the little ones very sleepy by now, and deposited them all here. Arundel. The children had been collected and ticked off the list, one by one, and now it was just her, sitting on her suitcase, so tired she’d have cheerfully curled up to sleep in the corner of the hall.

The elderly lady with the list of billets had said “Someone’ll be along” about a dozen times now, Anna thought. A little more testily every time. Doesn’t want me in her spare room, I suppose. Maybe she thought being in charge of the list meant she’d done enough work for today.

Then the door opened and someone came in. A man with scruffy blond hair, dressed like a farmer, in muddy boots that he scraped a couple of times on the mat in a half-hearted manner.

“Mrs Pentwhistle,” he said. “I thought you’d have run out of evacuees by now.”

“I’m afraid not, Mr Beaumont,” she said. “Just the one left, just for you.”

Anna stood hastily as his eyes ran over her. She knocked her suitcase with her foot and it fell to the floor with a bang.

Mrs Pentwhistle was already tidying up her knitting and putting on her coat. “There we go, then. Mr Beaumont will show you how to get to the school in the morning, dear. Now I must go and make Mr Pentwhistle his supper. Take care.”

Anna pulled her suitcase upright and carried it slowly towards the door. It wasn’t particularly heavy but oh, she was tired.

Mrs Pentwhistle turned off the lamp just as Mr Beaumont opened the door, and in the sudden darkness Anna felt the suitcase yanked out of her hand. Before she could protest they were all outside, and in the dim moonlight she saw the man swing her case up into the back of an old farm cart. A friendly-looking grey horse was waiting patiently, and it watched her over its shoulder as she climbed up onto the seat. The man - Mr Beaumont - climbed up next to her and took the reins without a word.

The horse seemed to know the way home; Anna didn’t know much about driving a cart but the reins seemed pretty loose in his hands. “Hello,” she tried.

“Hello.”

“I’m Anna Rendell.”

He looked her up and down. “What class are you in?”

“What class?”

“At school. I was expecting a little kid, to be honest.”

Anna drew herself up to her full height. “I’m not in a class! I’m the teacher!”

“The teacher?”

“You needn’t laugh at me. Yes, I’m the teacher, so I had to see all the children off first, and I was left until last, and I didn’t think anybody wanted me, but here you are. So.”

“The teacher. Huh.”

They drove on in silence for a bit longer. “Is it far? To your house?”

“Not far. Ten, fifteen minutes. Quicker in daylight. Twenty minute walk to the school, not too bad.”

“Okay. Oh dear, I don’t know what time I have to be there! Early, I suppose. I didn’t think to ask. Oh well. Oh, I hope all the children are alright.”

He grunted in response. Another long silence.

“Do you have any children, Mr Beaumont?”

“No. I’m not married.”

“Oh! Oh - you live alone?”

He looked at her sideways. “Yes. Do you want me to take you back? You’d fit on the settee in Mrs Pentwhistle’s front room, I’ll be bound.”

“No, it’s alright.”

“Sure? Well, let me know in the morning if you’ve changed your mind.”

They had turned down a dark lane, trees tall on either side. Anna found that she didn’t feel unsafe, though. She’d never have thought of staying alone with a single man back home, but this was different. We will all find ourselves doing things we didn’t think we’d ever do, she remembered her sister saying when she’d joined up. She wondered if Elizabeth would be scandalised when she wrote to her.

“Farming’s a reserved occupation, isn’t it?” she said, to fill up the silence.

“Now there’s a loaded question, Miss Rendell.”

“Sorry. I’m just asking -”

“It’s alright. Yes, it is, but they wouldn’t have me anyway, so. Here I am and here I stay.”

“Why not?” she asked, then cringed slightly. But he didn’t seem to have heard her.

“Here we are. White Horse Farm.”

-----

White Horse Farm

Arundel

----shire

Dear Els,

Here I am safe in the country! Please find my new address at the top. It's a lovely farm, lots of cows and chickens and things, the farmer is called Mr Beaumont. We're sharing the school so I only have to teach in the mornings and then I'm free the rest of the day, so I've been helping on the farm, it's hard work but such fun! You should see me digging over the vegetable patch and rummaging around in the straw for eggs. I want to help with the milking but I haven't managed to wake up early enough yet!! Despite the noisy cockerel under my window. Did you know they crow all day not just at dawn? I didn't and I thought this one was faulty. But it isn't, just loud. I've told everyone my sister is a Wren and they're all v impressed. Do you have a photograph  of yourself in uniform yet? I'm sure you look so smart, blue always did suit you.

Your loving sister,

Anna xxxxx

-----

“You're going to ruin your shoes.” Christopher - Mr Beaumont - she still wasn't sure which she should call him, he always called her Miss Rendell but that seemed ridiculous when they shared a breakfast table - had come out of the main stable and stopped to watch her digging over an extension to the vegetable garden. She was only halfway through the area she had marked out and every part of her body ached but she was determined to finish.

Anna had thought her shoes - plain brown lace-ups - were very boring and sensible when she bought them, but she had to admit that he had a point. Despite her best efforts, they were constantly wet and muddy and the laces were already on the verge of giving up the ghost. “Well, I'm not doing this barefoot.”

“I think there's some boots in the shed -” he jerked his chin towards a structure that Anna had thought was a pile of wood waiting to be kindling - “that might fit you.” Then he walked off towards the fields.

It hadn’t taken Anna long to work out why he hadn’t been called up, aside from the farming. Christopher walked with a limp, one that remained slight most days but grew more pronounced when it was cold or he was tired. He never mentioned it so she didn’t either.

The inside of the shed was small, and dark, and musty. Anna found one boot being used as a doorstop, and after a few minutes located the other thrown in a corner. Both were very dusty but they were solid enough and, after she put on a second pair of socks, fit just fine.

When Christopher came back towards the stables he looked at her feet, nodded, and continued on his way.

------

White Horse Farm

Dear Elizabeth,

Thank you so much for your letter!! You needn’t apologise for it’s length, I know you must be far too busy to write much to me! Although we are busy here in our own way, there is always a lot to do to keep the farm running and of course all the farmhands have been called up so it is just me and Mr Beaumont. And yes there is my confession….you asked what his wife was like but he doesn’t have one, I have been living alone with a man for over a month!! But you needn’t worry, he is a perfect gentleman and we get along very well (but not too well) (you know what I mean). He has never tried to take advantage and I know he wouldn’t (I’m a good judge of character as you know) (Henry doesn’t count). I’ve only just convinced him to stop calling me Miss Rendell, but he doesn’t really call me Anna either, he just doesn’t call me anything if he can help it.

What else for news…..the barn cat had kittens and I have named them, Tabitha, Dusky, Midnight and Ginger. Christopher says Tabitha is a boy cat but it’s too late now. None of the other cats have names, or the cows or the chickens, I am going to name them all, Christopher laughs at me but I don’t care. He says will I still want chicken pie if the chicken has a name. I have called the biggest fluffiest chicken Mrs Feathers, do you remember Mrs Feathers at the Post Office? I wonder if she’s still working there or if she’s run away to the country too, I suppose people still need the Post Office. Anyway I named a chicken after her.

I’d better go now and make sure she and all her feathery friends are locked up safe in the coop for the night, away from all the naughty foxes

Lots of love

Anna xxxx

PS don’t you think it funny? How when we were little we thought we’d grow up to be ladies of leisure with rich husbands and silk gowns and now you’re off swanning about with sailors and I’m looking after hens. I haven’t told Christopher my father was a baronet, it seems almost hilariously irrelevant when I’m weeding the vegetable patch

PPS Christopher is Mr Beaumont’s Christian name, I just realised I never said that

[millylanksbury]

Laundry Stories

My own stories:

I would always wait until the very last minute to do my laundry in halls because you had to pay £3 with only single pound coins. A lot of the time I would co-ordinate laundry with going home, usually filling an entire suitcase of just laundry.

In halls, doing laundry together was quite a bonding thing to do. Me and my flatmate did our laundry together on a Saturday evening, both of us exhausted from the week and laundry was the last thing we wanted to do, but we had both run out of underwear. We put our clothes in the machines and just watched it go round and round in silence for about ten minutes, completely mesmerised by it.

My other flatmate always took her laundry to her Aunt and Uncle’s who lived nearby, usually with a huge bundle of clothes to wash. I was in the library late one evening and got a call from her asking me to let her into halls through the gate which could only be opened with your ID card, which I didn’t have. I told her I wasn’t at home but she could just walk round to the other side where there was an open gate. The next day I asked if she got in ok and she proceeded to say

she stood there for about 15 minutes contemplating what to do. She decided to just climb over the gate so threw my laundry bag over and began to climb. Two boys on the other side of the gate came over and asked if she wanted them to press the button to open the gate, to which she said yes please. She then had to very awkwardly climb down, wait for the gate to slowly open and then retrieve her laundry bag.

My mum would drive me and my sister to ballet every week when we were younger and we would always pass this run-down launderette. It seemed almost every week there would be another letter missing from the “launderette” sign above the door. It almost became a game of guessing which letter would be missing when we drove past. Eventually it became a painted sign.

Interviews:

“I remember we were driving to our friend’s house in Essex. We drove past all these gardens and I noticed a washing line with a clown’s outfit hanging up to dry. You just never think of a clown doing their laundry.”

“My mum would always hang up the washing in the garden no matter how cold it was outside, and we lived in Scotland so it was always cold. You’d often get your clothes back frozen. She would also iron absolutely everything so you’d get crisp edges on all your clothes. I would get so annoyed because she would ruin my jeans and say “look how shiny they are” when I had got them roughed up perfectly. I remember she also polished my new matte D.Ms.”

“When I was in uni at Glasgow I had to do my laundry at a launderette called “Peckham and Rye,” only later realising it was named after the place. Doing laundry was about a 2 hour job and there was a delicatessen next door. I would get an almond croissant and your dad would get a nata tart and we would both get a hot chocolate and we would sit in the launderette with them. Over time we would buy more and more pastries either for dinner or breakfast, so it ended up being a very expensive laundry trip.”

“The halls at my uni were in an old hospital and the laundry room were in the old morgue and there were always rumours it was haunted. Before me and your dad were going out, he would come to my halls to do his laundry. One time when he came over, there was a warning sent out that nobody should go outside because it was cold enough freeze flesh so he ended up sleeping on my floor for a week. By the time he could leave he had to do his laundry all over again.”

“My housemate was really bad at doing laundry and could never get the measurements of detergents right. There were quite a few times when your could see the kitchen floor because it was covered in bubbles where the washing machine had over flowed.”

“When I lived in my student house, our washing was drying outside on the line. We saw next door’s ginger tabby cat we had named Tange stealing socks off the line. Later that day the owner came round and returned the socks.”

“In Thailand we paid per kilo of laundry and they always folded up the pants really nicely.”

“I remember always being too scared to touch the stuff from the dryer because I thought I would get electrocuted (from all the static)”

“I just love sniffing laundry and used to always get excited walking down the detergent aisle when I used to go shopping with my mum.”

“My sister is saying that her pants keep getting shredded by washing machine and no one knows why.”

“When I was little I was really attached to my pig toy and wouldn’t let my parents take it away to wash it. They ended up having to buy a second one so they could rotate them and wash them without me knowing.”

“A family I know went on holiday for a couple of weeks and when they got back there was a really weird smell and they didn’t know where it was coming from. Turns out the cat went in the washing machine and someone had closed the door not knowing it was in there. They found the dead cat when they did their first load of washing.”