#question mark because I'm not sure if hes named after spencer or based on spencer or him being spencer is a bit

[your-fav-is-autistic]

the chosen from smosh (not the guy who plays him, the character himself)

The Chosen (aka Spencer Agnew?) from Smosh is autistic.

[fandom-puff]

hii- so i have a request. This is my first time requesting anything in a long time so i'm sorry if it doesn't make 100% sense Could i have a fic with Mycroft where the reader basically has been his "friend" since he was in secondary school, but recently she was having problems finding a place to live so she came to Mycroft asking to stay there for a few days but one of the nights they get just a little tipsy and confess feelings? It can be fluffy or smutty or whatever please and thank you

Hi anon :) this made perfect sense- thank you for requesting it <3 Mycroft needs some lovin’, so here we are :))))

Friends and Favours

warnings: swearing,  smut, alcohol. be responsible kiddos. 

You took a deep breath, grounding yourself in front of the heavy oak door. Raising your hand for what must have been the 19th time, you retracted your fish before you could ring the bell. You had been dithering on the spot for the past 15 minutes. You were about the raise your hand again when the door swung open, revealing your oldest friend, Mycroft. He stood at the door, his suit jacket off, but still in his green tweed waistcoat and trousers, although his burgundy tie was loosened slightly. Instantly, you felt guilty; he must have had a long day. 

“YN,” he said, arching his eyebrows. “I’ve been watching you dither on my doorstep for the past fifteen minutes. To what do I owe the pleasure?” his face was hard and his voice was cold, but his eyes softened when he saw you nibble your lip. 

“I’m sorry,” you began, looking to the floor. “My landlord kicked me out- well he kicked both of us out because Rob, you know, my flatmate, well he’s been dealing and the flat reeked of weed because he’s been growing and smoking it in his room and bringing loads of people in and the flat was a mess, and he kicked us both out, even though I’m hardly there because I’m always in Baker Street and- and- I didn’t do anything wrong Mycroft, I swear,” you rambled, feeling the need to defend yourself like a child. you buried your face into your hands, blinking back tears, determined not the let them fall. “a-and then John helped me get my stuff to 221B and said I could have his bed for the weekend because he’s taking some girl out over the weekend, but Sherlock’s on one shooting walls and the flat stinks of ammonia from his experiments and-and-” 

Mycroft sighed and grabbed your arm, pulling you inside and shutting the door, before gathering you into his arms. Only you saw this side of the Ice Man, and you were extremely grateful for it. 

“Do you need somewhere to stay for the night?” he asked carefully. While he may care for you and was getting used to dealing with people crying, he wasn’t too sure what to do if you were to cry with gratitude. You looked up, eyes glistening as you nodded. 

“Are you sure?” you whispered, but he shushed you and nodded. 

“I’m sure,” he murmured. “go and run a bath, relax for a bit. I’ll have a word with my brother to be more considerate of his guests, and pick up dinner,” you nodded. Surprising yourself, you reached and wrapped your arms around his neck, brushing your lips against his cheek. “Thank you,” you murmured, pressing your face into his shoulder for a moment before pulling away. 

During the car ride to give sherlock a verbal bollocking, Mycroft replayed that moment over and over. The two of you had always been close- he had tutored you when you started university, and when you finished university, he watched your graduation from the back, leaning on his umbrella as you went on stage. He refused to admit he cared, deeply, for you- after all, caring was not an advantage- but seeing you so vulnerable on his doorstep, knowing that you trusted him enough to come to him for help, and the grateful kiss you pressed to his cheek all stirred something deep within him. He wanted to hold you. He wanted to protect you. 

Meanwhile, back in his house, you sunk into the steaming water, sighing as the hot water eased the ache in your muscles. after a good long soak, you drained the tub, before looking at your discarded clothes on the floor. Ah. that was an issue. All of your stuff was at Sherlock and John’s.  Sighing, you bit the bullet and picked up your phone. 

Mycroft- I’m a pain, I’m sorry. I’ve left all my stuff at Baker Street. do you mind picking up a t-shirt or something for me to sleep in? cheers  

Mycroft looked down as his phone beeped. He was half-way home from baker street at this point, with your favourite Chinese takeaway in a bag next to him in his posh black car. 

I’m almost home. You’re welcome to use one of my shirts to sleep in. Just don’t tell Sherlock. I have a reputation to uphold. 

His posh car pulled into the drive. Entering the house, he wasn’t ready for the sight that blessed his eyes when he walked into the kitchen. There you were in one of his crisp white button-ups, with the sleeves rolled up over your elbows, pottering about his kitchen making a cup of tea. your legs were bare and he raked his eyes over the curve of your thighs, feeling his throat tighten slightly. He cleared his throat, and you jumped,  turning around. “Christ,” you said, grinning. “Want a cuppa?” 

Soon you were sat at his long dining room table, sharing a Chinese takeaway between you. You chatted, and eventually, the plates were in the dishwasher and your cups of tea had been abandoned in favour of some rather expensive wine. You sank into one of his luxurious armchairs, sipping at your third glass. “This is really good wine,” you grinned. “Where’d you get it? Marks and Spencers? It seems quite posh,” you grinned, feeling fluttery and giggly thanks to the alcohol. 

“No, France,” he grinned, leaning forward and pouring more into his glass. He held the bottle up for you, eyebrows raised as he silently offered more. You giggled and leaned forward, eyes locked with his as you grinned. 

“No more for me,” you said. “Wine’s the devil,” you informed him.

“Are you pissed already? Lightweight.” he laughed. He was much more relaxed when he was drunk, and used language that would make a sober Mycroft scowl.  

“Maybe a little tipsy. Nothin’ compared to you- you’re swearing and everything,” you teased, sipping at your drink before refilling your glass. 

“Thought wine was the devil, my dear YN,” Mycroft smirked, gently taking the glass off you, ignoring your pout. 

Your eyes dropped to his hands as they held the glass and the bottle delicately, and you flushed, subconsciously reaching to trace the vein that ran up the side of his index finger. His breath shuddered out and he watched you with dark eyes and raised eyebrows. You met eyes with him. “Can I kiss you Mycroft?” you mumbled, fuelled by liquid confidence. When he nodded you sighed softly, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to his lips. When he stayed frozen to the spot, you pulled away after a couple of seconds, embarrassed, but gasped slightly when you felt his hand cupping the base of your skull delicately, tilting your head for a soft yet passionate kiss. You hummed, hands on his shoulders, humming softly against his lips. Pulling away from one another and gasping for air, you stared at each other, panting. 

“Upstairs?” you mumbled, eyes wide. 

“Oh god, yes,” Mycroft hummed, taking you by the hand to his bedroom. He shut the door before gathering you in his arms and kissing you again, firmer this time, running his hands up and down your back until you grew impatient and began undoing his tie. Catching your drift, he fiddled with his cuffs and shirt buttons, slipping off his shirt and waistcoat. You hummed when he revealed his soft, strong abdomen, not caring about his extra pudge that his brother so often teased him for. You pressed kisses to his chest as you unlooped his belt, while his hands stalled over the buttons on the shirt you were wearing. 

“Please, Myc,” you whispered, looking up at him with those wide eyes that made the Ice Man melt. He nodded and slipped each button out of the holes, before letting the expensive material drop to the floor. His mouth watered; you had forgone wearing a bra underneath, and thanks to the cool air and your own excitement, your nipples were pert and pebbled, and he stared at them, eyes hooded with desire. You gasped as his large hands covered your nipples, and applied gentle pressure to your breasts, causing you to squirm and sigh prettily for him. You palmed him through his expensive trousers, and he shuddered at the friction, before grabbing your wrists and pulling your hands to his button and zip, kissing you again as you tugged them down. He slipped your knickers down and tossed them aside, holding you steady so you didn’t topple over before scooping you up and laying you on his satin sheets. He nudged your neck and shoulder with his nose, pressing soft kisses to your skin and grinding his underwear-covered erection against your heat. He groaned as you sighed his name, gripping onto his arms for dear life. “Myc...” you whined, bucking your hips up and lifting his chin so he looked you in the eyes. “I need you,” you moaned. “Need you to... to...” you blushed, arching your back and humping your clit against his tented boxers. 

“To what?” he questioned, smirking. Just having you squirming and begging beneath him without him even touching you massaging his eager to no end. “What do you need, darling? Do you need me to fuck you?” he grunted in your ear and you nodded desperately. “I bet you’ve wanted this for a while, haven’t you, YN, look how needy you are,” he smirked. Something about the normally prim and proper Mycroft Holmes muttering filth down your ear really set you off and you practically keened for him, nodding desperately and crying his name. 

Then he pulled away. 

You whined dejectedly, and although you vaguely heard the sound of a packet ripping and knew he would come back to you, the few seconds he wasn't between your legs made you wriggle, trying to grind yourself into his expensive bedsheets. He smirked down at you and lined himself up, waiting for your nod, before rocking his hips, pushing himself into your tight sheath, groaning softly. You whimpered, before you settled into a sensual steady rhythm, his body pressed tight against yours as he thrust deep inside you, hardly pulling away before slamming back into you, holding you close with those strong hands. Sighing, burying your face into his shoulder, you suckled a dark hickey into his collarbone, moaning at the thought that only you and he would know it was there- he’d be speaking in the Commons with a dirty great hickey hidden beneath his shirt and waistcoat and blazer. He grunted, hips slapping against yours as his thrusts became sloppy, drawing you out of your thoughts. You rocked your hips up to meet his, groaning lowly as his pubic bone knocked against your clit. Grunting, he pushed his thumb against your clit, rubbing in a skilled circular motion, wanting to draw you over the edge before he came. Your cries increased in pitch and volume as you teetered over the edge, your orgasm crashing in waves over you. Mycroft grunted as he stilled inside you, your pulsing walls causing his cock to twitch and jump as he came. 

Panting, you clung to him. He left you again to dispose of the condom, before holding you tight to his chest, breath coming in uneven gasps as you both came down from your highs. You moaned softly, burying your head into his chest, clinging like a koala as the pair of you drifted off into a deep, satiated sleep. 

You didn’t know what the next day would bring, or the next day, or the day after that. But you did know that regardless of what the world threw at you, Mycroft would shield you from it.